The prices in Wunderbar, like the pit outside, always felt like they would stay there forever.

Back then, before COVID-19 and Russia’s full-scale invasion, a shot of homemade tincture cost only 50 cents, even though the bar had a great location right in the heart of Kiev, just two blocks from Maidan Nezalezhnosti.

As the trough continued, Wunderbar’s prices eventually rose. So far, Saturday, October 26th is the bar’s last day in business, as it cements its place in history. life in ukraine.

Cocktails, flames and a wrench

Its sister bar, Palata No. 1, closed a few weeks ago. Around 6, Wunderbar’s vibe has always been that of an underground dive bar, catering first and foremost to those looking for a good bargain.

Both bars adopted a hospital theme, with staff dressed in scrubs. The idea came from Anton Chekhov’s novel about the mental hospital, Ward No. 6 (“Palata No. 6” in Russian), which probably explains the uniform.

Both bars used to have “cocktail specials” where people wore straitjackets and helmets. Then the bartender sets the helmet on fire and you are forced to drink the three cocktails in front of you. Between each drink, the bartender would hit your helmet with a wrench, a beer keg, or anything else he could get his hands on.

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The ritual reached its climax when the bartender sipped a mouthful of clear liquor, then brought the helmet closer and spat into the flame, creating a trail of fire on the ceiling.

Just to confirm that I’m not making any of this up, here’s a photo from the past.

Unfortunately, the signature cocktail was removed from the menu about a year ago.

stories from the bottle

I remembered celebrating my first job offer in Ukraine at the bar in 2018 and meeting my future colleagues at the same bar later that night, incredibly drunk and unprepared.

That night I also met Lyosha, a young regular who frequented the bar on weekends. Clean-shaven and bespectacled, Lyosha looked no more than 15, although he claimed to be over 18. The night I met my future colleagues, Lyosha was going to celebrate his friend’s marriage the next day, and I remembered that I had bought them a dose of injections.

I wonder where they are now.

Then there were Jägermeister brand socks. During some of their promotions, you’ll get a pair of these socks if you order three shots of Jägermeister. That summer, each of my friends was given at least one pair of shoes. I bought four (could have been more).

At the same job, I would also frequent the bar for dinner since my old office was nearby, so I would mingle with the bartenders and regulars over a cheap plate of pasta and a few drinks before slowly heading home.

I would complain to Vova, one of the bartenders, that I was having a bad day at work, and she would laugh in my face because, in her opinion, working an office job was nothing compared to a bartending job at a bar.

In the summer of 2022, I saw Vova’s photo in a Facebook post. His mother said he died defending Mariupol in April of that year.

good luck to you

A lot has changed at Wunderbar over the years. First came Covid-19, then the large-scale invasion. What was once a lively bar with sticky tabletops has turned into a quiet, unpretentious bar with only a handful of customers.

Many of those who served as witnesses to these turbulent days were long gone.

On Wednesday, when a group of friends and I went to the bar to say goodbye, the three of us realized we were the only ones left from the original crew.

One is my colleague who currently works as an editor at the Kyiv Post; another friend found his niche as a video creator by focusing on Ukraine-related content; and yours truly is now working as a news reporter, trying to fit six years of bar memories into a readable obituary.

Farewell is always difficult. I didn’t know this was also true for places.