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Published: August 13th 2007
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My mental compass point...
This monument was the nexus of my Lviv orientation. Always seemed to find my way back to here. I shook my head in barely hidden frustration as another bulging Ukrainian oaf barged in front of me and slapped his wad of Hryvnia on the bus ticket counter. I'm a well tempered professional Englishman, proud of my queue skills and patience, but this was barbarism! I had arrived at the train station without a shred of Lviv knowledge, just the way I like it. I must have looked a little flustered because a woman tapped me on the shoulder and said she spoke English. Behind her, a gaggle of old Ukrainian women glowered at me, wondering why on earth their leader had engaged me in conversation. I explained my predicament. The woman looked non-plussed till I mentioned that my mother had been from the Ukraine (well, no need to give the full story... nevertheless my point was clearly understood). A thunder of activity exploded as the regiment of women were relayed the information by their leader, then they surged forward, carrying my backpacked figure deeper into the queue. The women's cries filled the air as other travellers were forced aside, and I was told that they were shouting "His Mother is Ukrainian! His Mother is Ukrainian!". Despite the absurdity of
Lviv First Look...
The outskirts of town are never the best place to step off... the situation, a very sudden, very deep feeling of loss hit me. She was never going to be next to me again. Ever.
But I think, if she could have seen me just then, in the centre of a swarm of Ukrainian women helping me find the right bus and weilding "His Mother is Ukrainian!" as a sword for the unfortunates in the way, she would have started laughing. And so, with such a wonderful opening sequence, my time in Lviv had begun.
Well, I, of course, got off at the wrong stop, bought a map and after a halted conversation with a wandering student, was pointed to the city centre. It was hot, but with the available foresight to Bucharest, this was a cooling mountain stream of a day. As with every city thus far, the outskirts aren't what you would take away as memories. Groups of crumpled old men teetered on stools, seemingly quite content with their bottle of unmarked something balanced on a communal box. Even further gnarled women cloaked in black thrust bunches of little flowers at me, barking annoyance as I shook my head and mouthed "sorry". The inbuilt navigation system of heading
How to navigate...
Look for the biggest building and head for it... for the biggest building paid off well, and I soon found myself sat on the main monument drag of Lviv. The jump in wandering clientele was quite dramatic, and the women had become younger and they'd swapped their flowers for Prada bags and black drapes for, uh, well, not all that much.
I was relatively unorientated so browsed my map, trying to make sense of the new alphabet that I had to work with. A young Ukrainian girl sat down next to me and promptly asked if I knew where I was. "Lviv" was about as lame an answer as there can be, but she took pity and with characteristic Ukrainian friendliness, led me on a tour of the city. I hadn't the heart to tell her my backpack felt like I was giving Keg a piggyback, so I endured an aching, but beautiful introduction to the city of Lviv.
Lviv is on the Western border of Ukraine, close to Poland. I wasn't heading to Kiev and my queries made me happy with my choice of not plunging further. For the charm and european hello's of Lviv, Kiev was full of sighs and dismissive Soviet brush offs. Lviv
The main square...
To my back is a about a half kilometre of monuments and city benches. was untouched through the wars and has a pantheon of churches, statues, monuments and grand buildings. However, underneath the surface beauty, a great deal flaking paint and cracked plaster emerged on closer inspection. The city was old and certainly not getting any younger.
Monuments changed to biergartens and some wonderfully cheap beer, cheap food and surroundings like something out of a prettiest-girls-in-the-world catalogue. Seriously boys, the women in the Ukraine are just unbelievable. You just don't know which way to look.
The days, again, squeezed together and there must be something to be said for slowing down. I've experienced a number of beautiful cities and I hate to think that they are blending together, let alone becoming diluted by overload. Lviv was sad, beautiful and enjoyable all at once. I didn't actively intend to track family heritage... to simply walk through the same city as one of my blood relatives was experience enough. Perhaps in the future I'll plunge deeper, but for now, I'm happy.
So, Lviv trains to Bucharest and the beginning of The Laidback Days to look forward to, beer in my belly and the Butterfly Villa booked, life is good.
Tom
ps
- Dad thanks for sorting out hostels on the fly. Great help.
- until I leave Bucharest, which is planned for tomorrow (but the way things have run the past two weeks, that could mean absolutely anything), I will say goodbye for now.
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Pete
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Thanks Tom.