The Russian army is 13 miles from my rather fancy Airbnb flat on Khreshchatyk, Kyiv’s main thoroughfare, where I am typing this. The hot tub doesn’t work, but there is a war on. Every now and then the air raid sirens howl and artillery crumps sound; however, the last time I felt incoming through my boots was three days ago. The electricity is still on, the internet is still on, and I still wear my neon-orange, lucky beanie around the city. I am not a complete idiot: The hat gets me through Ukrainian National Guard checkpoints quickly. But more significantly, 22 days into Russian President Vladimir Putin’s war, there are no Russian tanks on Khreshchatyk or anything like it. And that means the Kremlin’s blitzkrieg on Kyiv has gone to hell in a handbasket.
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