Hydropark is probably one of the most favorite places in Kyiv for young people to hang out during warmer months. The beach, amusement-park rides and the beer booths buzz with activity. But on weekend evenings, a distinctly older crowd (50 on up) gets together in their own little corner of the city's recreation island. They don't rally for higher pensions or protest for lower public transportation fares. They simply dance!
In fact, it would be more accurate to say that they dance gracefully and even beautifully rather than just 'simply dance'. The women wear high-heeled shoes and long old-fashioned dresses, while the men are in jackets and ties.
A small square hemmed in by wooden benches marks the territory of bygone elegance.
The sounds of the Tango, the Waltz, the Twist and the Cha Cha Cha fill the surrounding air with nostalgia. Passersby stop to get a glimpse of the past. But the faces of the prancing couples aren't wistful or sad. On the contrary - they beam with joy and pride. For three or four hours a week, they get to forget about aching backs and relentless inflation, returning briefly to the charm and romance of their youth. It's the casual observer who may feel regret - that he never learned to dance like they do. Gyrating one's hips to electronic pulses at a discotheque is not something today's youth will likely do after they retire.
Is this an inevitable generation gap made more glaring by our rapid decline into an amorphous and global mass culture? Or have teenagers of the 21st century forsaken an important legacy left by their grandparents?
Overall, the observers gather round as much as the participants. They seem to be enjoying the spectacle. Gossip and quaint chit chat waft above the heads of the crowd.
"Hey, Sveta! Look, our Whistler-Twister is here!"
"Yeah, and with a new lady again. How old is he any way?"
"Didn't you know? He's 82 but looks much younger, they say."
"Right they are. He looks and dances very well for his age."
A man wearing a baseball cap with his suit walks up. He appears to be the husband of one of the ladies.
"Vasya, go and dance some more," says his wife from the company of her lady friends. "We'd like to stand a little longer, go, go!"
But as soon as Vasya makes his exit, another gentleman in a light-blue suit approaches to try his luck with a self-confident smile: "Good evening ladies! Come and dance with me. You know
I invite only the youngest and most beautiful!"
The elderly dames give in to temptation and follow him out on to the 'floor'.
These aged dancers are in fact skilled actors. For the duration of the evening, they play the roles of their youth, careful not to forget a single detail: hairdos, make up and perfume or cologne complement courtesy, protocol and timeless charm. All of this makes one forget the actors' age.
"Ludmila, I didn't see you last week. Has anything happened?" one woman asks her lady friend.
"Nothing serious. My blood pressure fell again, so I could not get up. But today I decided nothing would stop me!"
"Then let's go dance, Ludochka!"
"Let's go, but now it's your turn to lead."
The gender ratio is in favour of the men. Volodymyr, a pensioner who lives alone, is a member of this select minority. "I always pay attention to beautiful girls, it's a pity, though, that the new generation does not dance like this. But I am ready to teach anyone. The main thing is to hear the rhythm and follow your partner."
Volodymyr doesn't come to practice his footwork as much as to sharpen his social skills. "I enjoy watching others dance. This reminds me of my youth ... People love this place. This dance floor existed in Soviet times. In the beginning of the 1990s people fought to preserve it until the administration of Hydropark gave in. I heard that a similar dance floor was supposed to be built in Moscow. But the experiment did not work there. It's obvious why. Ukrainians have a genetic affection for dancing and remember the old traditions, when people often sang and danced."
Others come to find a more long-term partner. Larisa and Margarita are old friends whose personal lives have not worked out.
"I come to Hydropark every weekend," says Larisa, "ever since my husband died 15 years ago. My aim is to find someone to live with the rest of my life."
"We still hope," adds Margarita, "and never get tired. We simply don't have time for that. It may sound strange but loneliness pushes people to very different actions."
"Though we also like to dance," continues Larisa, "we come here even in the winter. We catch flu and break our legs, but we come!"
Some of these silver foxes are so enthusiastic that they show up in the early morning to practice and then continue on into the evening for pleasure. Some of the more popular songs include the "Boogie-Woogie," "Rita, Rita" and of course "She's Got It!" But it's the tango that really gets the chimney stoking when there's snow on the roof.
"Lady's choice" announces the master of ceremonies. Lubov, a 60-something blond wearing bright red lipstick, leads her gentleman in black to the center of the floor. They are the stars of the show.
"I like to dance beautifully," says Lubov, "I have been dancing for 10 years. Before the rules were strict: a limit on the number of dancers, a serious dress code and so on. Of course these clubs weren't for professionals, only those who liked to dance. You paid one rouble, fifty kopecks."
After the Soviet Union collapsed, so did most of Kyiv's dance clubs, except the one at Hydropark.
Lubov continues: "Two years ago, a famous classic dancer came here and gathered volunteers to create a dancing group called "Vdokhnovenie (Inspiration). Now I dance there as well. We often do performances on Independence Day and the May holidays."
Unlike some of her fellow foxes, Lubov puts dancing above partnership. "I divorced my husband 30 years ago. He did not dance!" Her current partner, Bogdan, does his socializing with his feet. "He is a very good dancer and an old friend," says Lubov.
However, for Grigory and Elena, it was dance that brought them together. Their story is a romantic one. Elena had worked at a confectionery all her life, where she had organized an amateur theater among the workers. Then her husband died: "That was a real tragedy for me. I literally cried for two years," she recalls, "One day my daughter told me about this place, remembering that I used to love dancing. So I came here and met Grigory."
As for Grigory: "I was never married," he said, "One day I dropped by here by chance just to have a look, saw this beautiful lady and invited her to dance. Since that day, we have always been together, not only in dancing but in life."
Now, "Every time we come here we relive our first date," says Elena, "it's just like a fairy tale isn't it?"
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