I am sitting in an Italian restaurant on the seventh floor of a luxury shopping center in the center of Kyiv with two foreign and two Ukrainian friends, Taras and Hanna, serious people, very active in the mission of persuading the world to defend its country in the war against Russia.
It is half past seven in the afternoon and I have not eaten, so my most urgent interest is not so much in the predictions made by the two natives of the imminent disintegration of the Russian Federation, a solution, according to them, of the ills of ' Ukraine and the planet, but in the pepperoni pizza I just ordered.
Suddenly, I hear a message over the speakers in the venue. I don't understand what it means, but the tone is solemn. Then the waiter who had taken my order appears and indicates with his hands that he cannot give us food, that by law the kitchen must close. I look at the two Ukrainians and they tell me that we have to go. Right Now.
The siren warning of an imminent Russian air attack had just sounded throughout the city. We hadn't been able to hear it thanks to the fact that the walls of the restaurant had been vibrating to the cheerful rhythm of the song Flowers, by MileyCyrus.
I look at my mobile and consult an application 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 must say I was nervous, especially since the night before the Russians had launched 11 missiles at Kyiv, the first such attack in 51 days.
"Is this for real?", I ask Hanna, ex-parliamentarian, now a high-level diplomat. "Seriously", he answers me. "The problem we have is that people in Kyiv have stopped feeling the Russian threat as real." Looking around, I get it.
No one, except us, gets up from the tables. People continue to make coffee and chat as if we were in Madrid, on the top floor of El Corte Inglés. My foreign friends and I do not know how to proceed, and no idea where the nearest shelter is. We follow Hannah and Tares and go down with the elevator.
Panic signals in the mall, zero; on the central avenue of Kyiv, even less so. The traffic of cars, e-scooters and people is heavy, like in any other late modern city. 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 with a firm step and a serious look are our two guides, Tares and Hanna. I hear a vibration on my cell phone and see that the Air Alarm Ukraine continues to insist that I go to a "shelter" right now. I scan the sky for missiles, a mission that seems to have occurred only to me.
Ten minutes later we go down some stairs to what appears to be another mall, this time basement. What a relief, I think: we get to the shelter before the missiles rain down.
Taràs opens a black metal door and we follow him. We pass through a dark corridor, open another door and a girl with metallic orange hair, with different rings in her ears, about 22 emerges from the gloom. "Follow me", he tells us in English. We cross another dark corridor, a huge door opens and we arrive at our destination: a large restaurant, with a wooden floor, dim lights, a cocktail bar, tables occupied by what appear 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 L'Última.
I see that we are only one floor underground: behind and above I see a skylight that looks out onto the street. I look at Hanna perplexed.
–Are we safe from Russian supersonic missiles here?
Hanna shrugs.
- I hope so, he says.
- But you didn't tell me that this was for real?
-Quiet - he answers me in -. weren't you hungry
Now I understand. The intention was never to save us from the missiles; the intention was to find a restaurant with a kitchen that would continue to function. This one could give us food because it was theoretically underground.
I order a burrata with pumpkin sauce to start, then an omelette with mashed potatoes and a delicious black bread that I have only tasted in Ukraine. I see on my mobile that 40 minutes after the siren sounded, Kyiv is still on high alert. “Air alarm. Do not leave shelter” (the aerial alarm continues. Do not leave the shelter). Let's all toast to the glory of Ukraine and talk about the disintegration of Russia again.
