Standing in the centre of the city, I felt the buzz of this beautiful old cosmopolitan hub. Bustling cafes, fine restaurants, grand hotels, chic bars and boutiques. Locals exuded enviable street-style cool. Was I in Prague, Paris, Barcelona?
No, I was on a weekend break in L’viv, Ukraine – a nation experiencing the bombs and bullets of a brutal invasion.
It began, as many crazy ideas do, with an invitation from a total stranger on social media. Ukrainian journalist, Maria Romanenko, tweeted a shout-out to join a trip to L’viv. I was tempted.
Part of my family is from L’viv region – so I wanted to make a personal journey to my grandfather’s birthplace. But that was out of the question with the full-scale invasion by Russia.
Now, with the safety-cushion of a group and the help of a native speaker, it seemed like a possibility. Of course, a holiday in a warzone wasn’t the most sensible idea I’d ever had.
The UK government advises against all but essential travel to western parts of Ukraine, including L’viv. But the decision was made and the countdown was on. I didn’t tell my parents for fear they’d worry.
Added to the aptly named, L’viving La Vida Loca,WhatsApp group, I contacted my fellow travellers. A lovely, lively bunch. Nine of us were travelling from the UK, four women and five men from very different backgrounds, aged from twenties to fifties.
We prepared by downloading air raid alarm apps onto our phones, as advised by Maria’s partner, Jez – the mastermind behind our travel logistics. A sobering reminder we’d be in a country under attack.
The mood lightened when group member Phil posted: “Downloaded the air raid app yesterday and it made me incredibly popular at home when it went off at 3am last night!”
Gearing up to go, I booked my flight to Poland. I packed a mini-portable powerbank for phone charging to keep in touch with the group. Sadly, power cuts are frequent as Russia bombs energy infrastructure to make daily life difficult for civilians.
Excitement was growing – but on September 4, ten days before departure, Russia bombed L’viv, destroying residential buildings with missiles. Seven people were killed and 66 wounded. Heartbreakingly, mother Eugenia, 43 and her daughters Yaryna, 21, Daryna, 18, and Emilia, 7, were killed. Father, Yaroslav, narrowly survived – his family annihilated in one terrible moment.
Shock, anger and disgust rattled around our group at these senseless murders of innocents. Another emotion was fear. What on earth were we doing?
One person dropped out, but happily soon rejoined after calming his family’s understandable fears. I briefly considered not going. But it was unlikely another attack would happen so soon in this region hundreds of kilometres from the frontlines. In a weird way I felt even more determined to show my support by visiting.
On a chilly September morning, my husband and I bundled ourselves into a 5am taxi to Stansted airport. Maria and Jez’s tried and tested route is flying to Rzeszów in Poland, then taking the Lev bus directly to L’viv. We met Phil in the airport café. The rest of our group were on the Manchester flight.
Meeting the group was a buzz. I was surprised by how fast and efficient the bus border crossing was – we may have been lucky. The Ukrainian border guard looked delighted and amused at us Brits on a sightseeing trip to Ukraine.
Crossing the border, a bundle of Ukrainian flags intermixed with EU flags fluttered in the breeze – symbol of future hope. Arriving, we split to settle into our hotels – many now with air raid shelters. I stayed at the centrally located George Hotel, a gorgeous old building with a pink and white Art Nouveau-style façade.
Standing on our amazingly long private balcony overlooking downtown L’viv, solemn music began playing outside. I saw a procession of black cars with people stopping to show respect. A funeral procession for three fallen defenders had been held that day, I later discovered.
In the evening, we were going for dinner at Choven, a gastro-pub with a sprawling range of craft beers. But the place was rammed, so we couldn’t get a table. It was heartening to see Ukrainians trying to live as normally as possible despite the horrors of invasion, just as Brits did during the Blitz.
Instead, we went to Chiberechna, a Crimean Tatar restaurant specialising in chebureki savoury fried pancakes filled with meat, veggies or cheese. I opted for the yantiq pancakes – grilled instead of fried – stuffed with lamb, onion, coriander. Delicious!
Sipping on a glass of Odesa Black – a rich cherry, chocolatey red wine – I chatted to Anca, a Romanian citizen who joined us for dinner.
Fresh from finishing a Master’s Degree at Liverpool University, she was spending five weeks at L’viv Volunteer Kitchen helping peel, slice and dehydrate vegetables for meals for frontline soldiers. She also volunteered to weave nets to protect troops in the trenches.
Anca pointed out that safety is relative, saying: ‘As a woman, I feel safer in L’viv than in parts of London or Liverpool. There are many risks [in life] some closer to home.’ I couldn’t agree more.
Three men in military uniform were eating heartily and drinking shots, with Ukrainian cheers of ‘budmo!’
Everyone fell silent as the tough-looking men belted out an uplifting song in perfect three-part harmony! Diners applauded as the waitress brought a birthday cake for one of them. I wondered who those men were before the invasion began – and whether they would survive.
Our group dispersed at 11.30pm, exhausted from travelling but that wasn’t the reason. L’viv has a curfew due to the Russian invasion. In L’viv, it’s 12am until 5am. Everybody must be off the streets. We hurried through the rapidly emptying city – distracted by brightly lit boutique window displays of handmade jewellery, bags and clothes.
I was nervous on the first night – expecting an air raid siren. We had warm clothes and documents ready to flee to a shelter. Thankfully, we didn’t need them.
As morning rain turned to sunshine, we gathered for a walking tour, led by L’viv local, Diana, who showed us an array of amazing sights including awe-inspiring churches, one with Christening guests wearing traditional vyshyvanka embroidered shirts.
We saw captivating street art, the fascinating Armenian quarter, and rows of beautiful old buildings – from Art Nouveau and Art deco to Gothic flourishes – some obscured by sandbags and scaffolding to protect from bomb blasts. A trumpeter belted out a patriotic tune from the balcony of a government building.
Outside the Dzyga Arts Centre, we met brightly dressed couple Alex and Nathalia. Alex said he was a hippy in L’viv when it was part of the USSR – his lifestyle frowned on by anti-western authorities. He loved listening to bands such as The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Jimi Hendrix and Led Zeppelin, even though he couldn’t understand the words.
We finished at the spectacular L’viv opera house. People were queuing to register for the Sunday morning run around the city – a bit like Parkrun. Maria was taking part too.
As the group headed for lunch at Cantona Pub – a Manchester United-themed bar, I set off on a mission of my own. To my grandfather’s village of Zvenyhorod. An impressive golden-domed church stood on the outskirts. Further on, a public square with a stream and monumental Viking-like statues, created in the Eighties to mark the village’s 900th anniversary.
A statue of Ukrainian national poet, Taras Shevchenko, stood outside the museum. I found Shevchenko poems among my grandfather’s most treasured possessions. Inside the museum the ladies on the front desk were delightful. I’d brought flowers to put on the grave of my great-grandmother but didn’t know where to search. So, I presented them to the lovely museum ladies.
I’d sent a Google-translated DM to Zvenyhorod Facebook page before our visit. But I didn’t hear back. However, when I showed the message, the women excitedly brandished their own printed copy – I was amazed. Unfortunately, I couldn’t speak Ukrainian, so we couldn’t communicate. The museum was full of fascinating local artefacts such as jewellery, traditional embroideries and stained-glass windows. Virtual reality tech allows you to ‘walk around’ old Zvenyhorod, which was once a grand principality – I’d love to try it next time. The ever-helpful ladies collared two English-speaking Ukrainians. They told me the town archivist was searching for my family. I was moved they went to such trouble for a stranger. I thanked them and bought items from their shop – a lovely hand-embroidered bag. I wanted to explore further, but our taxi was waiting.
Hopping over to the next village for Gryniv Music Festival, rain began pounding down but I felt dizzily elated.
Arriving to catch ДикоBrass, a brass funk ensemble so good people were dancing in the pouring rain, we found fellow festival-goers Maria, Ollie and Ash. The rest of our group remained in L’viv for a football match: Shakhtar Donetsk versus Karpaty L’viv. We stayed dry under large awnings, watching NAZVA, a young folky-poppy duo, but the final act blew us away. As if by magic, rain stopped and all-female folk-rock band, Yagody, stole our souls for an hour – there was something electric in the atmosphere.
On our final day, we visited Unbroken, a rehabilitation centre for victims of Russian violence, such as bomb blast injuries. More than 15,000 Ukrainians, including 2,000 children, have been treated there, says its website. Unbroken offers reconstructive surgery, orthopaedics, prosthetics, physical and psychological rehabilitation. Communications director, Julie, showed us around with passion and enthusiasm that was contagious. We met amputee soldier, Artem, whose mental strength was humbling. ‘No matter what they [Russians] do, we will keep coming back,’ he said. We met Vadim, a Marine, recuperating but keen to return to the frontlines. Finding out we were British, Artem quipped: ‘Say hello to Prince Harry for me!’
Seeing rehabilitation rooms for children who’d lost limbs in Russian bombings was incredibly sad. We met a severely injured man in his hospital bed who told us of horrific experiences. But far from sad stories this was the testimony of survivors, each determined to have a fulfilling future.
Unbroken needs funding for equipment – you can donate.
As Maria said: ‘Ukrainian soldiers have given up their lives, limbs, careers and family life to protect us all. We must ensure Ukraine wins soon. But it’s not just about Ukraine – it’s about future peace for the world.’
Returning to the city, I walked to Ivan Franko National University of Lviv, where my grandfather was once a student. Soldiers sat on benches talking animatedly, while old men played board games. By Taras Shevchenko statue, a group of older people gathered to sing. A man in military uniform hoisted a delighted little boy on his shoulders.
That night, our farewell dinner was at the achingly cool Cloud no. 7 Panorama with rooftop bar, before catching the train from L’viv to Przemyśl in Poland. The train is a quicker route back than the coach. The crossing was smooth and efficient. Soon we were on our flight home – which had Ukrainian football hero Andriy Shevchenko on board! The following morning, my air raid siren app went off. L’viv was under threat. I thought about all the people I’d seen there and hoped they would be safe.
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