The horrors of our Kiev vacation

Day 1: relatives attempt to give us alcohol poisoning using cayenne vodka.

Day 2: relatives take us on a tour of an ice field. Noel slips and falls. Trip #1 to hospital = broken knee, torn ligaments.

Day 3: Trip #2 to hospital because the pain gets worse.

Day 4: Noel sleeps all day on painkillers. I go grocery shopping and cook dinner.

Day 5: Noel sleeps all day on painkillers. I go to pick up stuff for my cousin’s wedding. Her maid of honour text messages her that she’s not coming. Cousin cries on my shoulder for hours, then we all play poker. I win lots.

Day 6: Cousin’s wedding. Only way I can describe that is: “fast-food wedding”. There was no actual fast food, but everything seemed rushed, processed and unorganized. Still fun though. My younger cousin throws my rechargeable batteries off the balcony so I’m out $40 and can’t take pics. Uncle gets drunk and falls on Noel’s broken leg. Uncle starts punching cab driver on the way home risking us getting shot or something.

Day 7: We escape to my grandmother’s. There I get my grandfather’s samovar :D

Day 8: Car tour of the city. I take pics of a ‘no cameras’ sign and beyond :D We buy souvenirs.

Day 9: Trip #3 to hospital for check up. Everything is healing great, big improvement on Noel’s knee. My uncle buys salty fish and beer to celebrate that. My great-aunt sits on Noel’s leg. I have to sleep on the floor because Noel is in more pain than he was before so he’s taking up the whole couch.

Day 10: Trip #4 to hospital. Noel has a dislocated foot, and his knee got twisted again so we’re back to square 1 with that as well. I have food poisoning. Everyone comes over to have a final dinner with us. We shoo them out early and go to sleep.

Day 11: we get up at 3am and leave as soon as possible so that nothing else happens to us. In Shithole, I mean.. Schiphole we get dicked around and sent back and forth by the incompetent fucking morons at KLM from one transfer desk to another trying to change our seats. Noel obviously can’t fit in a regular seat with a full-leg brace and a foot that’s swollen to the size of a watermelon. No one can do anything and I have to carry 3 carry-ons (because somehow having 2 bags total the same weight as one bag makes a BIG difference) and push Noel’s wheelchair. When I ask someone to help me get him to the transfer desk they tell me it’s “not far”. Then they send me into the plane carrying almost 40lbs of luggage and pushing a 220-pound guy in a wheelchair up a 30-degree ramp. We do get good seats in the end though and arrive ok. Only one item gets taken away from us at customs (sausage) and we get home and finally rest knowing that we’re safely out of the grasp of whatever was haunting us.

I swear I’m never leaving Toronto again.