In the midst of the need for contact, “this is the cure”

kyiv, Ukraine – The rave had been scheduled for weeks, with guaranteed space and DJs, drinks, invitations and security lined up.

But after a recent missile strike far from the front lines killed more than 25 people, including children, in central Ukraine, an attack that deeply troubled the whole of Ukraine, the organizers of the rave teamed up to make a difficult decision. of last resort.

they should postpone Party?

They decided: Absolutely not.

“This is exactly what the Russians want,” said Dmytro Vasylkov, one of the organizers.

Then they installed huge speakers, blew up the air conditioning, and covered the windows of a cavernous room with thick black curtains.

Then the gates of a former silk factory in the Kyiv industrial district were opened wide.

And as if by invisible order, the room filled with young men in open shirts and girls in tight black dresses, all in motion. as if in a trancein front, almost like in a church, the DJ at the altar.

It was dark, sweaty, loud and wonderful.

Here was a country stuck in a war that touched every person in the room, but still they were dancing their hearts out.

“If you know how to use itthat’s the cure, “said one raver, Oleksii Pidhoretskii, a young man who lives with his grandmother and hasn’t been out for months.

After a long silence, kyiv’s nightlife is roaring again.

Many people are venturing for the first time since the war began.

To drink by the river.

To meet a friend. Sit in a bar and have a cocktail. Or three.

This is a city full of young people who have been locked up for two years first because of COVID and then because of the war with Russia.

They want contact.

War makes that push even bigger, especially this war, where a Russian cruise missile can take you out, in anywhere and anytime.

And now that summer is in full swing and heavy fighting is mainly concentrated in eastern Ukraine, hundreds of miles away, Kiev is finally feeling a little less guilty go out

“This was a great question for me:

Is it okay to work during the war?

Is it okay to serve a cocktail during the war? said Bohdan Chehorka, a bartender.

“But the first round was the answer. I saw it in the eyes of the customers. Was psychotherapy for them”.

Every weekend that passes, in a city that already had a reputation for being cool, it’s easier to find a party.

A hip-hop event the other night turned into a sea of ​​spinning heads.

The party took place outdoors.

For a while it started to rain.

But it didn’t matter.

The party had begun.

On the dance floor, the bodies collided.

Across the city, people poured out of the outdoor cafes.

There were fewer empty stools inside the bars than there were a few weeks ago.

Along the Dnieper River, which flows through Kiev, hundreds of people sat on the walled banks, with friends and often drinking, silhouetted by an incredibly long twilight and a silky blue sky, absorbing the wonders of a northern climate. summer night storm.

But curfew hangs over this city like a hammer.

The party may be active, but so is the war.

At 11 pm, by municipal decree, everyone must be off the road.

Anyone caught violating this law risks a fine or, for young people, a potentially more serious consequence:

an order to report for military service.

Working backwards means that the bars close at 10, to allow workers to go home.

The last call is at 9.

So people leave soon.

The rave at the old silk factory, for example, started at 2.30pm.

Yet, even at that odd hour, people at the rave said they had managed, with the help of techno and a few other aids, to forget the war.

They synchronized with the bass vibrations, closed their eyes and were able to “dissolve “and” escape “, they said.

Momentarily.

War is not just a looming shadow, but a force that directs everyone’s life, dominates everyone’s thoughts, darkens everyone’s mood, even if they try very hard to do the things they previously enjoyed.

Both the hip-hop party and the raves donated the proceeds of the war effort or humanitarian causes, primarily part of the reason the parties were held.

And in casual conversations, like at Pink Freud, a bar, war keeps coming.

A chat between a young woman and Chehorka, the waitress, who also works as a psychotherapist, led to a conversation about the hobbies that led to an argument.

Some books that have led, inexorably, to the Russians.

Chehorka told the young woman that she was selling her large collection of Russian-language books because she no longer wanted to read Russian.

“This is my own war,” he explained.

He added that he felt that the entire psyche of the city had changed.

“kyiv is different now,” he said.

“People are more political, more friendly. They are not drinking much. “

A year without a close bond, for some a significant thing in the midst of a terrifying earthquake that will not end, is what drew two dozen people to a recent “hug” party.

The pampering started before the war, but people who came two Sundays ago, a mix of men and women in their 20s and 60s, said they they really needed it now.

The huggers gathered in a large tent-like structure by the river and, while the new age music played, they lay down on cushions on the floor in a large warm heap.

Some stroked the neighbor’s hair.

Others hugged tightly, their eyes closed, as if this were the last hug they would ever share with anyone.

After about 15-20 minutes, the group woke up.

The Huggers opened their eyes, disentangled themselves, stood up and smoothed their trousers.

The idea is to seek physical comfort by cuddling with a stranger.

They have found new cuddling companions and new positions.

The instructor was clear that none of this had to be sexual or romantic.

But still, it felt like a G-class orgy.

These hugs are another dimension of the Kiev party scene right now:

Many social gatherings are specifically designed to provide comfort.

Maksym Yasnyi, a graphic designer, just got organized a 24 hour yoga partywho said “really cool”, but it wasn’t like going out before the war.

“Before the war, Kiev’s nightlife glowed with different colors,” he said.

“You could spend all night going from party to party. If I allow myself to think about it, I will be very angry. “

Now, when 10 am, kyiv exudes a nervous energy.

People who drink on the street or by the river look at their watches.

They plug the clear plastic bottles of the cider they were drinking, get up and walk quickly.

Cars move faster. No more running with yellow lights. The clock is ticking.

prices of Triple Uberif you can find one.

Some young people, seeing the impossibility of asking for a ride, say goodbye to friends, bow their heads and start running home, desperate to beat the curfew.

At 11, kiev stops. Nothing moves.

The sidewalks are empty.

All that energy he was building, building, building suddenly subsides in an impressive silence for the whole city.

Oleksandra Mykolyshyn contributed to this report.

c.2022 The New York Times Company