Weekend in Kyiv

Chapter One; Taxi!

It ws just after 5pm when my plane touched down at Borispyl airport; 15 minutes ahead of schedule. It was amazing how things had changed since my first visit - I was through immmigration and collecting my bags in no time, and the customs official actually smiled as he wished me a pleasant stay! As I came through the door into the bright sunlight of the main lobby, the usual sea of eager faces greeted me, jostling for a place near the barrier. Now where were Natalie and Volodje? Not like them not to be right at the front of the crowd! I edged my way through the crowd without seeing them, then turned to look back. Fatal mistake! My bemused tourist stance immediately drew a swarm of sweaty, unshaven men in my direction, waving their car keys and aksing "Maybe taxi?" "Nyet!" I said, firmly, picking up my suitcase and marching purposefully to a seat near the main entrance, where I caould wait in peace. Obviously they'd been delayed in trafic. I rummaged in my bag for my mobile phone to check the time. As I looked up, a youngish guy in tight black jeans and a loose white t shirt sat down on the seat across from me. "You need a taxi?" he enquired, a friendly smile lighting up his bronzed face.
"No, it's okay: my friends are coming for me," I said in my best Russian.
"You need to make phome call?" the newcomer continued in English, nodding at my mobile.
"Maybe later." I replied, shortly, following my normal instinct to cut short the conversation as quickly as possible. most of these 'taxi drivers' were nuormally unlicensed and out to take us wealthy Westerners for every dollar they can. Yet somehow this one seemd different.
"You've come from London?" he asked.
"Yes." For the first time I looked up and caught his eye, an invol.untary smile crossing my face as I noticed how incredibly largre and piercingly blue they were.
"I was in England two years ago for practicing English. From University. You know Ely?"
"A little. I've been there once."
"Very beautiful. I visit Cambridge too, and Oxford. I like it very much."
"I really like Cambridge myself."
The blue eyed stranger glanced at his watch and rose to his feet. "I go now see if I can get work. Maybe if your friend not come and you need taxi you come find me. I am manager of taxi company," he indicated the badge hanging from his belt. "I give you receipt if you need."
"Okay, thanks."
I watched closely as he headed off towards the dwindling line of people filing through the arrivals door, my eyes lingering on the firm, nicely rounded buttocks hugged by those neatly pressed black jeans. Definitely not your average Ukrainian taxi driver!

Still no sign of Natalie and Volodje. I wondered if they'd got the time wrong. I decided to go and get a drink before trying to phone; if they'd already left only Natalie's mother would be at home and my Russiaqn was definitely not up to explaining the situation to her! So first I lugged my bags over to the bank desk and changed $20 into the local currency, then over to the bar (another new addition) where I ordered a bottle of CocaCola. Just as I was wondering how to juggle it and my bags over to a table, a sun-tanned arm reache over and picked up the bottle.
"May I help you, please?" It was my friend the taxi driver.
"Thanks," I smiled, noticing again the amazing clarity of those big, pale blue eyes, and, picking up my case, headed over to the nearest empty table.
"One moment; I come back." He placed the coke in front of my and loped over to the bar. Opening my coke, I watched with pleasure the broad, easy smile with which he ordered his own coke. From the look on the waitress's face, I wasn't the only one to appreciate those baby blue eyes!
"May I join you?" He smiled, sliding gracefully into the seat next to me, revealing a remarkably perfect set of dazzling white teeth. "Your friend still not come?"
"No. still not here."
"Maybe I wait with you, practice my English. No work for me now today." He gestured towards the now empty arrivals area.
"Yes, sure," I agreed - trying not to sound too eager at the prospect of such delightful company "How long were you in England for?"
"Three months. almost nearly four. I like to stay longer, but for me very expensive."
"I'm sure."
For another ten minutes or so, we chatted easily along soimilar predictable lines, as we sipped our cokes and I surreptitiously took every chance to take in the charming way he would flick back the fringe of of fine, sun-bleached golden-brown hair which kept falling over his forehead as he laughed, and the distinct, firm outline of his well-toned chest beneath that white shirt. I could think of far worse ways of filling in the time!
"Maybe you need phone your friend." my charming companion finally suggested. I'd almost forgotten about Natalie and Volodje!
"You're right," I agreed. "Only, if she's out her mother doesn't speak English, and my russia's pretty useless."
He shrugged. "No matter. I help you."
"Thanks," I smiled as I dialled the number. "Alloa. Priviet. Eta Andy vr'Angia. Natalie na domu?"A stream of Russian greeted me. "Moment pajalsta!" Grimacing, I held the phone out to my helpful friend "Do you mind?"
He took it from me, his fingers lighly brushing mine, and I tried to catch the odd word of the conversation that followed, but with little success.
"Your friend is not at home," he explained as he handed back the phone. "She gone to wedding in another city. Her mother say she think you not come till next Saturday. But maybe she back to home later tonight."
"Oh, that's just great!" For the first time I started to feel slightly irritated about the situation. "I suppose you'd better drive me over there, if that's okay."
"I can do that, " he shrugged. "But I tell mother we go eat and you phone again later when maybe daughter back home. Is okay with you?"
Okay with me? I should say! Right now I could think of few things I'd like better! "Sure. No problem," I nodded, hoping I was successful in keeping my enthusiasm to myself.
"Okay. We go!"
Beckoning me to follow, he grabbed one of my bags and headed for the car park. Outside, the early evening sushine glinted on the golden highlights of his hair, and made those blue eyes shine even brighter - definitely a drop of Viking blood there! It was surprisingly warm, and I was already regretting my English sweatshirt. We reached his car - a fairly new Opel estate - and he took my case from me, swinging it easily into the boot, its weight highlighting the muscles of his slim, but well-toned arms. I peeled off my sweatshirt and threw that in the boot also, conscious of the inadequacies of my own pale body against this golden-skinned Adonis. Nearer forty than thirty, middle age was beginning to tell around my waist and hair line.
"Please, get in", he beamed, opening the passenger door for me. A tingle of pleasure ran through my body as he gently placed his arm around my waist to encourage me into the car. Nothing to get excited about, I reminded myself, these Ukrainians don't have our English inhibitions about physical contact. I remembered I didn't yet know my rescuer's name; if we were to eat together, it seemed only right I knew that much.
"Sascha," he smiled as he settled into the driver's seat beside me.
"And I'm Andy - but then you know that from the phone." Stupidly, I blushed at my mistake, but Sascha seemed not to notice as he swung the car round and headed for the gate.
Driving down the dual carriageway towards town, I tried not to stare too obviously at that idyllic, finely chiselled face - those impossibly blue pools of eyes, thier delicately arched brows moving expressively as he talked, the slightly prominent, angular nose (was it true what they say about the size of a man's nose and his other endowments?), the strong, smoothly shaven chin, and those full, slightly pouting lips, which broke regularly into a boyish, mischevious grin, revealing the fine set of white teeth within. I imagined what it would be like to place a kiss on those lips and run my hands through that beautiful golden hair - the long fringe flopping seductively across his forehead, but clipped short at the back as it gave way to the perfect bronzed skin of his neck. A slight stirring in my groin prompted me to focus my attention back on the road. Sascha appeared not to have noticed my admiring gaze (or if he had, he was clearly unconcerned) and we chatted easily about how I came to be in Kiev and the changes I had noticed over the ten years since I first met Natalie and her boss Volodje through a cultural exchnage visit in the early years of Perestroika.
"Okay, Andy," Sascha said as we entered the first suburbs of the city. "Where you want to eat. If you like we go to McDonald's here in this district. Or maybe better I drive to Khreshchatik and we buy pizza?"
"Pizza sounds good to me." I was never a great fan of McD's, and the relaxed Saturday evening atmosphere of the Khreshchatik (Kyiv's stylish main street, where it seemed the whole of the city gathers to window shop in the designer stores or stroll between the fountains, meeting friends and sharing a beer while listening to one of the local bands who perform each night for the price of a few Kopeks in their guitar cases) had to win hands down.
"Me too," he beamed. "I know very good place - and good price too. I promise you not be disappointed."
How could an evening spent with so charming and handsome a guide ever be a disappointment! I stole another gaze at the golden, smiling face, then lowered my eyes to take in the muscular play of those bronzed arms as they manoevred us through the many obstacles of the busier streets towards the historic centre of the city, the evening sun highlighting the fine blond hair on his forearms. Was there anything about this guy that was less than perfect.