Updated: September 6, 2001
Lviv, Ukraine
Every time I sit down to write about my experiences here, whether for this site or just to friends, it feels like two weeks have elapsed. Only once I start cataloguing everything that's actually happened in my mind do I realize that it's been a matter of a few days. Nonetheless, it seems that enough happens in that kind of time to justify a few words.
Our original plan was to move on to Odesa, a Black Sea port in southern Ukraine after Kyiv. We elected to skip Odesa as we were enjoying Kyiv too much.
We saw Lavra today. Lavra is the Ukrainian word for the Caves Monastery. Though Kyiv is filled with gold spired Cathedrals and assorted religious locations, none rival Lavra. Lavra has been in active use (and remains so) for around 900 years. This means it has seen the rise and fall of Turkish, Byzantine, Polish, and Russian rule (multiple Polish and Russian rules in fact) and still stands. This is rather remarkable.
In fact, not all of it is original. The main cathedral was bombed by the Russians during the Second World War for some inexplicable reason except for the Russian penchant for destroying everything of beauty. At any rate, Lavra is an extensive eastern Orthodox complex with multiple cathedrals, refectories, and other related buildings. Many soar gracefully above the treetops of the richly wooded monastery grounds. The entire complex sits at the top of a hill which then dips down into the Dnipro river. It makes for beautiful photographs and there is certainly no shortage of those around the city.
Despite all this, the most fascinating bit of Lavra lies beneath the surface. Underground manmade caves run beneath the compound like gopher holes. In order to enter them one has to buy a beeswax candle which is the only light you can hope for. The caves are full of (brace yourself for this) mummified monks. There are literally hundreds of dead monks from the past 900 years entombed in small wooden coffins in the caves. Occasionally the long rows of coffins are broken up by gold alters filled with carefully made mosaics and frescoes. As the light from your candle hits these altars they seem to flair in bright gold, providing an extra lighting to the dim surroundings. The bodies are all tastefully covered, though if you look carefully enough you will see an ancient mummified hand or foot. The passages run in confusing circles for hundreds of metres.
The most remarkable thing of all though is the pilgrims. We came on a busy day so the tunnel was full of orthodox pilgrims: chanting, murmuring, singing, and kissing the coffins of the dead, many of whom are saints. I have never seen anything quite like it.
After perusing the rest of the complex for a while we became tired of being yelled at by the vicious old babushkas who stand guard at every gate, chapel, or museum in the complex (the highlight: being called a dunce and a village idiot in Russian by one who simply didn't think we should be going through her gate). These babushkas are a rather interesting trait of Kyiv that one cannot escape no matter how badly one would like to. They seem to work at every museum or monument and if they have a job besides yelling at unfortunate and frequently confused tourists I have not discerned it.
This is an interesting facet of the Ukrainian personality. In general the people are quite friendly, hospitable to a fault (there is no apparent way from stopping a Ukrainian from placing even more food on your plate after you've already eaten half a cow), and eager to talk. However, as soon as you stick one of them in the slightest authority position they become cold, harsh, and tend to bark at you rather than talk. This seems to be the rule whether the target of abuse is foreign or Ukrainian. It does impair one's ability to enjoy situations, but you do learn to live with it.
Our next stop after Lavra was the military museum/park. The park is filled with old Soviet military vehicles: tanks, rocket launchers, MIGs, and mobile missile launchers (which would roll around Siberia to hide their location). There were two separate museums (one military and one to the Afghani war), but in typical Ukrainian fashion both were closed. Either that or the women at the door did not feel like admitting us. It is difficult to tell. Nevertheless, the crowning achievement of the park could not be closed: a 100+ foot giant tin status of a woman wielding a sword and a shield emblazoned with the hammer and sickle and looking proudly out over the Dnipro. From the end of the park, you could see her, several war statues, and in the background the graceful spires of Lavra. It made a lovely picture of great contrast. Contrast is the defining feature of Kyiv it seems.
We passed a few more comparatively unremarkable days in Kyiv. Then we took an all night train from Kyiv to Lviv. It was on this train that I had one of the most singular experiences of this trip.
Lada fell asleep almost as soon as our train had pulled out of the station. Paul and I sat around reading and writing for a little while, then decided to take the bread, cheese, and wine we had bought to the dining cabin to have a bite to eat before hitting the sack. The first thing that struck us as we entered the cabin was the table of four at the rear of the cabin drinking vodka and singing folk songs to the accompaniment of, you guessed it, AN ACCORDIAN. This was to prove the background for the rest of the evening.
Soon, through a comedy of errors we ended up attempting to converse with the three drunk Ukrainians at the table next to ours. Two of them spoke only very halting English. The third had much more graciously elected to pass out in a drunken stupor. At some point, a bottle of vodka was ordered (by the Ukrainians, of course) and we ended up polishing it off. Vodka here is like wine, there is something of a dishonor in ever "recorking" the bottle.
At the beginning of the evening our companions were only drunk enough to believe that they could convince us that they were, respectively, a neurosurgeon and a psychiatrist, headed for Lviv for an operation. This grossly untrue story appeared to have been told to persuade us in drinking more vodka ("We're doctors!"). Another facet of Ukrainians is that it is veritably impossible to decline a proffered shot of vodka. By the end of the evening one of our companions was drunkenly stumbling through a joke about Russian and American cosmonauts on the moon. He must have repeated every line of the joke (or, as he loudly declared every time he prepared a joke, "Anecdote!!") at least four times and I certainly didn't understand a bit. In general, the challenge was to figure out when he was done so that we could laugh raucously at his sharp wit. At last the cosmonaut joke ended with our drunker companion burning up an empty tea bag which "launched" itself into the air. Admittedly, it looked cool, but after half an hour of not understanding a joke the humor was certainly NOT in the punchline.
At last something I could have never imagined happened: the Ukrainians declared themselves too drunk and asked us to go to bed. We stumbled back to our cabin around 4am. And thus it was that we arrived in Lviv, hungover with only three hours of sleep.
Lviv is an interesting city. It is dirtier than Kyiv: less developed, with more decaying buildings and poorly maintained roads. The poverty is much more present. However, the downtown area is an absolute treasure trove full of baroque buildings, chapels, and charming apartment buildings. It is so nice in fact, that the entire historic city center is considered a UNESCO world heritage site.
That said though, there is very little to do in Lviv. We spent our two days in Lviv mostly bored. Our first afternoon we managed to take in most of the beautiful buildings (including a lovely Opera house where I hope to see Aida before leaving Ukraine). That left our second day mostly open. Consequently we stumbled around the city rather haphazardly and somewhat drunkenly with Lada's family friends, Misha (14) and Yuri (17). Needless to say, Misha and Yuri probably did not need to be matching Paul and I beer for beer, but frankly, the whole scene was far too amusing to do anything about it. We had been following Yuri around most of the day attempting to locate Castle Hill: a tall hill with (surprise!) the ruins of an old castle. The location affords a beautiful panaramic view of the city in all its contradictory glory. Finally, after turning around at least three times, Paul decided to mutiny the now quite intoxicated Yuri, and lead the expedition. Fifteen minutes later we found ourselves sitting, out of breath, and rather buzzed at the top of Castle Hill.
Then things got even more strange. Some Ukrainian hippies showed up. And I do mean Ukrainian hippies. They were dressed in second hand hipster clothes, and all sported long hair and baggy eyes. At least one had a degree in math. The ultimate evidence however was later, when we were having a beer with the hippies, they toasted us with the declaration, "To the beautiful people". This incidentally, was one of the few coherent words of English we heard from any of them.
Immediately upon their arrival, Misha started talking to the hippies (one had a t-shirt for a metal band Misha liked). Misha had spent much of the day quoting metal bands to Paul and I, who he seemed to develop quite a crush upon ("You mean Americans drink and smoke? Wow!"). About ten minutes later we heard Misha call, "Hey, Paul, Phil! Wanna smoke?" Yep, a fourteen year old invited us to smoke with a group of twenty something Ukrainian hippies who couldn't speak a bit of English. It was strange, utterly bizarre, unendingly amusing, and absolutely sublime.
Afterwards we repaid their generosity by buying everyone a beer before we grabbed a cab and hurried off to eat dinner at Lada's grandmother's house. All three of us in a daze: outmatched only by the rowdy, stupendously drunk (and toked) Misha and Yuri.
Hilarious.