From across a table crowded with wine bottles, my friend, , announces that he’s flying to the middle of nowhere in less than twelve hours. That is, to a part of Russia bordering Kazakhstan—nearly 1,800 miles from the Saint Petersburg kitchen in which we’re drinking—where he’s “going to buy a Daewoo.”

“A Daewoo?” I ask, needing to hear the words again.

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“Yes. A Daewoo Damas.” Mitya replies, reaching for his phone to reveal a blurry used car ad. “This Daewoo,” he says.

is still for sale with some updates as the .) The Super Carry is also

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And it was on a visit to Uzbekistan in 2018, where Mitya found himself surrounded by Damas after Damas. “As soon as I saw those tiny little vans driving around, I knew I had to get one,” Mitya reflected in his

I should note that, when Mitya says he “has to do” X, he is actually going to do X. Which brings me to the part of the trip where Mitya encounters a soft-serve ice cream machine. Amazed by the its cheapness and simplicity, Mitya thought to himself: Why not pair this with the cheap and simple Damas and make bank back home in Russia?

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Less than twelve hours after that dinner party, Mitya found himself in middle-of-nowhere Russia, sitting in that frail Daewoo. And he was, in fact, going to purchase the car.

The seller, Farroukh, was apparently very nice, and invited Mitya into his home for tea and desserts. His kindness could’ve been veiled guilt over the state of the Damas, but let’s not be cynical. Let’s just call it hospitality.

“The car is old, beat-up, and has no seat-belts, not that they really matter. You sit with your legs leaning up against bare metal... so any accident is a life sentence,” Mitya wrote of his first impressions, adding that, twenty minutes into the drive, “the radiator overflow tank, located under my elbow, starts spraying boiling water at my arms like a fountain.” (Yes, the Damas is mid-engined, just like the C8 Corvette).

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After limping to the nearest mechanic and tightening up a few hoses here and there, Mitya was “smooth sailing” for the next several hours. Okay, maybe smooth-sailing isn’t the right term. Here’s what Mitya learned about the Daewoo in that time, as noted in his :

1) The Van has working headlights, which is a pleasant surprise

2) The fuel filter, which keeps swinging around and banging against the engine, can be adjusted on the fly by sticking your hand under the passenger seat.

3) When there’s a truck coming head on, it’s best to ditch into a field

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4) There is a glove compartment

5) There is no handbrake

The Daewoo waited until nightfall to break down for the second time. And this time the thing wouldn’t start. Stranded on the side of the road, Mitya signaled other motorists to no avail for an hour-and-a-half, until a local tow truck driver (who follows and saw his distressing story) pulled up to the rescue.

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The Daewoo spent the night getting fixed up by a mechanic (a faulty starter & ignition being the main culprits), while Mitya got some rest. The next day, with the Daewoo tentatively “fixed,” Mitya plowed onward.

After his unpleasant ordeal the previous night, Mitya vowed “to stop for anyone in need on the side of the road.” And he kept that vow when he came across a young man and his grandmother hitchhiking somewhere in Tatarstan.

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Eventually—and I mean eventually—Mitya made it to the train station. And, after a few days and some shifting plans, Mitya and the Damas finally arrived in Saint Petersburg.

This journey, however epic and life-threateningly ridiculous, might be the easiest part. The Daewoo needed pretty much a full restoration to see Mitya’s vision through—a process that would take months. But, again, this is Mitya, so he went for it.

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This includes the interior as well:

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Fast forward to Summer 2019, I arrive at Port Sevkabel—this reclaimed urban-industrial area turned art space with sushi-burrito trucks, techno clubs, and lanky European tourists—all on the western edge of Saint Petersburg, overlooking the Finnish Gulf. It’s an enormously popular place with all kinds of young people in it, from bearded steak aficionados with sleeve tattoos to vegans with septum piercings, and everyone in between.

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Just past the rusty entry gate, I peek through the dense crowd, and see this oasis of baby-pink draped in incandescent lightbulbs. It is topped off by a paper-mache ice cream cone. There’s that Daewoo, flanked by a line of young, stylish Russians taking selfies, patiently awaiting their soft serve.

I catch Mitya just as he returns from gathering extra supplies. Business is booming, apparently. He gives me that big old smile, the same one he gave me when he first pitched the idea of doing this.

I admit, I doubted Mitya when he showed me the blurry Daewoo ad on his phone. Moreover, I tried hard to get him to reconsider. And I can tell Mitya remembers this as I scarf down the pink ice cream (the flavor is strawberry, by the way, and it is good) that just materialized out of the Daewoo I said not to buy. There’s definitely an unspoken sense of I told you so.

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Nonetheless, there are no hard feelings. Mitya then pulls me to the side and tells me, almost in a whisper:

“I’m getting another Daewoo.”