First You Make a Right, Then Hang a Right, Then Another Right...

   First of all, to cross the street in Kyiv, you don't just wait for the pedestrian 'walk' sign to light up--the drivers are just too damn crazy! Instead, every major intersection has something called a перехід: an underground walkway that pedestrians use to get from one side of, say, the Khreschatik to the other. And the way you access this underground walkway is, you guessed it, going down a flight of concrete stairs. No escalators, mind you; guess they outdid themselves on the escalator that takes you down to the Metro.

Notice the stroller/wheelchair ramp camera left. An engineering breakthrough.

   Here's what using a перехід sounds like if you've just flown in from the States and haven't checked in to your room and dropped off your luggage: CLUNK... CLUNK... CLUNK... CLUNK... CLUNK... you get the idea.

   Aaaaaaaaanyway. I get to the other side (no jokes, please), and I am trying to interpret my location on my trusty Google maplet printout by the curvature of the street. Bankova appears to be on a street that loops around, however, the maplet does not indicate elevation.

We've been through a lot together...

I am standing at the foot of a very steep street called Крутій Узвіз which, in fact, does loop around and seems to pass Bankova. I come to learn, from experience, of course, that Крутій Узвіз is the Ukrainian term for "crazy, roundabout, steep-ass hill that eventually brings you back to where you started." However, that teachable moment occurred much, much later in my journey. For now, me and my luggage start truckin' uphill, all four of us.

   Thirty feet later, I pause, panting. I forgot to mention that it's a balmy 86 degrees outside. My clothing sweat-clings to my body... takin' off this hoodie god dammit. During the break, I take a look at my surroundings, then at the map, then at my surroundings again. Hey there, Obvious Tourist and/or Westerner!

   Now a kindly, older gent approaches me. In Russian, he asks me if I need help (I think). "Так," I reply in Ukrainian. I ask if he knows how to get to Bankova. I show him the address on the itinerary, I point at the Google maplet. We attempt conversation through context clues and key words. He's got no clue. Nor do I.

   "Let's ask someone who truly lives in Kyiv," I decipher from the Russian, "Someone who is from here." At that moment, a towering Slavic vision with gold fronts, slightly older, is walking past us. "Excuse me, please," the man stops her. "This дівка is trying to find 19/11 Bankova вулиця. Can you help her?" The man hands her the map, then bounces. I've just been pawned off!!

   This баба speaks Russian as well. Despite the language barrier, she is quite friendly, gold-toothed smile gleaming in the sun. She tells me she is unsure how to get to the address, but that I should try continuing up the Узвіз and I might see it. She then stops yet another passer-by, this time a young woman in her 20s, and asks her. This is getting ridiculous.

   Perhaps I should mention that the apartment building at 19/11 Bankova is a (cobble)stone's throw away from the Presidential Building, Ukraine's version of the White House. Parlez vous Pennsylvania Avenue?

   Looks like the consensus is: keep walking uphill. Боже милостивий будь мені грішному.

   I come to a small street with no street marker, but the building on the corner bears a striking resemblance to the picture from the airbnb listing:

Not bad for $23 USD a night, right?

Not absolutely certain, though. Hmmm. I can just go a little further, and if I don't find "Bankova," I can just come back. Keep on keepin' on.

    That bitch, Крутій Узвіз, only gets steeper. I am publicly panting, unapologetically. The handle of one of my carry-ons is starting to tear. Fuck. Walking, walking... I come to a street called Лютеранська... hmm, did I go too far?

Вулиця Лютеранська: Ample sidewalk parking available in Kyiv! No parking permit necessary :)

I turn right and walk a little--there's a busy boulevard. My spidey-sense tells me it is not the way; I turn around and walk in the opposite direction.

   Walking, walking... My pace slows, partially from exhaustion, partially because I notice an awful lot of soldiers standing about. Two on one corner, three on the other. One standing in the middle of the street, two standing beside a wrought iron gate that opens onto a площа that cuts between two rows of official-looking buildings. Getting a little closer, I see a crowd of people congregating in front of a white marble fortress of a building with soaring columns and a синьо-жовтий Тризуб shield above the entrance.

Um, it's pretty much, like, the White House of Ukraine. 'Sup Poroshenko.

Tres importante. What street is this, I wonder. I cross over to get a closer look at the address plaque, which I have finally figured out that Kyiv uses instead of street signs. Bankova 9. Holy shit! I've stumbled upon the elusive Bankova street!

Here's a throwback: December 1, 2013. Courtesy of the Kyiv Post.

   Now I am truly confused, and not just jet-lag delirious. Armed guards, military personnel, demonstrators, television cameras. I'm pret-ty sure this is a government building. The security around the Державні Будинки might not be as air-tight as the federal equivalent in post-911 USA, but why would there be an apartment building within the same complex as the Ukrainian Presidential Headquarters? What if I walk to the other end of what I now know to be Bankova? Will the building numbers ascend? Let's see, this is Bankova 9. Start walking...

   In doing so, I am passing right through the eye of the demonstration, luggage and all. What a moment. Obvious Westerner, baby!

   No matter. I am getting closer in my quest for Bankova 19/11. Latest time: 12:02 pm. 28 minutes until check in, and I've been hauling ass in the sun for the better part of the past 2 1/2 hours. Oy, bed. I can just feel your tender embrace of my travel-weary body!

We've got a lot of catching up to do...

   I navigate the crowd of demonstrators and quickly locate the address plaque on the facade of the next important-looking building. Bankova 5/7. So much for the ascending address theory. I turn back around, and make my way through the eye of the demonstration, again, luggage and all. I can hear the сторожі thinking, "Either this bitch is a terrorist, or she's just plain crazy."

   My energy wanes and I start to lose hope. Slowing my pace, I begin to take notice of the demonstrators around me. Many of them appear to be older, and some of them wear bandages on their heads. They glare with desperate expressions. What happened to them? The protest dies down and people deliberately fold up their banners. I find a nice shady spot on a retaining wall in the shade of a tree, set my luggage down, and watch the crowd trickle away.

   The moment of rest spawns a moment of clarity. "If that over there is Bankova 5/7, and that's Bankova 9," I say to myself, "then maybe 19/11 is across the street in the opposite direction." I mount up and make moves. Bankova 22--wtf?! Is there no system here whatsoever?! Where is this building?! It is decided--return to the building that looked vaguely familiar. So let it be written, so let it be done. Wait, that's the building right past Bankova 22, the one from the airbnb posting pic! I'm back where I started. Oy, Kyiv, why do you do these things to me? Welp, this has to be it... ain't no stopping me now...