I am sitting in an Italian restaurant on the seventh floor of a fancy shopping center in the center of Kyiv with two foreign and two Ukrainian friends, Taras and Hanna, serious people, very active in persuading the world to support their country. in the war against Russia.
It's half past six in the afternoon and I haven't had lunch, so my most urgent interest is not focused so much on the forecasts made by the two natives of the imminent disintegration of the Russian federation, according to them the solution to the ills of Ukraine and on the planet, but on the pepperoni pizza I just ordered.
Suddenly I hear a message over the loudspeakers in the venue. I don't understand what it means, but the tone is solemn. Immediately afterwards, the waiter who had taken my order appears and indicates with his hands that he will not be able to feed us, that by law the kitchen must close. I look at the two Ukrainians and they tell me that we have to go. Already.
The siren warning of an imminent Russian air raid had just sounded throughout the city. We had not been able to hear it thanks to the fact that the walls of the restaurant had been vibrating to the happy rhythm of the song Flowers, by Miley Cyrus.
I look at my phone and consult an app that I had downloaded shortly after arriving in Kyiv. In English it is called Air Alarm Ukraine. It is the version of the siren in digital format. Until now, whenever I opened it, it said “No worries” (no problems). Now he orders me to go as quickly as possible to the nearest “shelter”. I confess I was nervous, especially since the night before the Russians had launched 11 missiles on Kyiv, the first such attack in 51 days.
“Is this serious?” I ask Hanna, a former parliamentarian, now a high-level diplomat. “Very seriously”, she replies to me. "The problem we have is that people here in Kyiv have stopped feeling the Russian threat as real." Looking around me, I understand her.
No one except us gets up from their tables. People continue to drink their coffees and chat as if we were in Madrid, on the top floor of El Corte Inglés. My foreign friends and I don't know how to proceed, and no idea where the nearest shelter is. We follow Hannah and Taras and go down in the elevator.
Panic signals at the mall, zero; on the central avenue of Kyiv, even less. The traffic of cars, electric scooters and people is dense, just like in any other modern city at sunset. I see cyclists carrying yellow bags with the Glovo logo; the Mango brand store full to bursting; young girls taking selfies in front of a tulip garden.
The only ones who seem to walk steadily and look serious are our two guides, Taras and Hanna. I feel a vibration on my phone and I see that Air Alarm Ukraine keeps insisting that I go to a “shelter” right now. I scan the sky for missiles, a mission that seems to have only occurred to me.
Ten minutes later we go down some stairs to what appears to be another mall, this time underground. What a relief, I think: we made it to the shelter before the barrage of missiles fell.
Taras opens a black metal door and we follow him. We go through a dark corridor, open another door and from the gloom emerges a girl with metallic orange hair with several rings in her ears, about 22 years old. “Follow me”, she tells us in English. We cross another dark corridor, a huge door opens and we arrive at our destination: a spacious restaurant, wooden floor, dim lights, cocktail bar, tables occupied by what appears to be the coolest people in town. On a small stage, a young man plays a guitar and sings, in a melancholic tone, Lady, by the French duo Modjo. The restaurant is called La Última Barricada.
The five of us sat at a table and ordered wines and margaritas. I see that we are only one floor below ground: behind and above me I see a skylight that overlooks the street. I look at Hanna puzzled.
"Are we safe from Russian supersonic missiles here?"
Hanna shrugs.
Let's wait, he says.
"But didn't you tell me that this was very serious?"
“Calm down,” Taras replies. Weren't you hungry?
Now I understand. The intention was never to save us from the missiles, the intention was to find a restaurant whose kitchen was still working. This one could feed us because theoretically it was underground.
I order a burrata with pumpkin sauce, then a trout with mashed potatoes and delicious black bread that I've only had in Ukraine. I see on my mobile that 40 minutes after the siren Kyiv is still on acute alert. “Air alarm continues. Do not leave shelter” (the air alarm continues. Do not leave your shelter). We all drink to the glory of Ukraine and once again talk about the disintegration of the Russian Federation.
