Lost In Lwow: A Travelogue

‘5 days in Lwow? In January? In this weather? Don’t tell me … you’re English, right?’

Saturday afternoon, late January. Krakowians hunch and crunch their way home through the snow while, inside, I sit cosy with my crossword. My girlfriend appears, informing me of my neighbourly and boyfriendly duty to clear the snow and icicles from our three balconies, lest a lawsuit await our return from five days in Lwów. I discover the answer to 5 Across (‘Winter Instrument Of Torture’: shovel).Duties discharged and bags packed, we depart for Lwów late on Saturday night. Our driver is Rafał, the son of Asia’s colleagues in Lwów. He’s a quiet, amiable young man, studying at Krakow’s theological college. Tonight, however, he is disconcertingly dressed in camouflage trousers and kicker boots and commences to drive with the same attention to safety as any normal Polish young man. However, as the realities of the severe road conditions and a seven-hour drive begin to unfold, he settles down and selects a Nat King Cole CD. In turn, I relax and stare out of the window, as mile after snowy mile passes, illuminated by a full moon, brilliant stars and memories of Doctor Zhivago.
Suddenly, we hit a snowstorm and slow from 100kph to 10kph in 5 seconds. Outside our warm cocoon, it’s a whiteout: our main Kraków to Lwów road now resembles a mountain track in the Tatras. We crawl slowly through, hoping to pass unnoticed, sheltering for a while in the warm neon-glow of a service station.
I’d heard horror stories about the border, especially the Ukrainian, and fully expected a long, cold wait of several hours. However, we were in and out in only 20 minutes. We could not believe it. What Rafał, a Ukrainian, could believe, however, was the all too predictable demand by a Ukrainian border guard for a 30GRN fee, based upon some spurious ‘problem’ with his car. Be warned, also, that Polish travellers (and maybe other eastern Europeans) will need to buy 10zl insurance at the border. Although this is a legal requirement, the insurance is worthless – just think of it as an entrance fee.

We arrive at Lala and Władek’s flat at 4:30am – a journey time of 7 hours for 350 km. Straight to bed.

Sunday afternoon: Our first taste of Ukrainian hospitality. Lala’s sister has a big, busy house in the woods and the glasses and plates on the long dining-room table bear witness to the day’s many visitors. Some arrive with best wishes, others bear small presents for the children. All leave with bear-like hugs and alcohol breaths – a combination of beer, wine and vodka. In the words of The Borg: ‘Resistance Is Futile’.

The next morning, it’s snowing heavily and the icy paths in the city centre are treacherous (not having been cleared since the winter’s first snowfall). Cars and trucks negotiate their way brusquely past the ice, other vehicles and – sometimes - pedestrians. We retire to a cosy fin-de-siecle patisserie, from where we stock up on provisions: tea (chai), coffee (kawa) and one gateau (ciasto) for 26GRN before the journey home.

A word about the buses. There are lots of them, small and rickety but cheap, scooting past as frequently as Krakówian taxis. A ticket costs 1GRN, no matter how long or short the journey. They are always very full. One night, I found myself acting as go-between between passengers and the driver – my plea of ‘nie rozumiem’ (I don’t understand) failing to discharge me of my duties. So, if you get in through the back door and can’t see, never mind reach, the driver, just pass the money to the person in front, signal ‘1’ and your change will come back to you shortly. (OK, it’s like sardines in there and you’d probably get away with it, but think: it’s only 60 groszy; the country needs the money, and; do you really want to spend a long night in a Ukrainian police station?)

In the evening, our hosts gave a house party; the guests writers, poets and painters all. While poetry was read, cognac, wine and vodka were drunk and a parody composed on-the-spot. Such homely gatherings (whether artistic or otherwise) were a mainstay of both Ukrainian and eastern European communities under Communism, where public gatherings of more than, say, four or five people would attract the attention of the authorities, concerned that they were not simply chewing the fat but plotting the overthrow of an authoritarian regime. Ukrainian, German, Polish and English was exchanged and we raised our glasses as the immaculately-dressed elderly German surgeon gave lengthy toasts to the charming women of Ukraine, Poland and England.

Lwów old town is beautiful. The Rynek (main square) and surrounding streets are calm and dignified; uncluttered by media hoardings, hordes of tourists or the babble of foreign tongues. The four-storey 17th and 18th century buildings share the same pastel-coloured grace and former glories as their counterparts in Venice. We glanced at galleries, crept quietly into cathedrals and quaffed in the kawiarnas. In the churches, it was refreshing to see brightly-lit Christmas trees and nativity scenes, when in England, at the beginning of February, television ads would already be shoving Easter eggs down our throats and dragging us off on sunny summer holidays.

That evening, we ate traditional Ukrainian food at Stefa Restaurant (Steфa Pestpaн) on Svobody Avenue (Пpocпekt Cвoбoди), near to the statue of the hero of Polish literature, Adam Mickiewicz). 63GRN bought 4 beers, 2 starters and 3 main courses (I was hungry!) and, refreshed, we stepped into winter darkness. In the meantime, the city had awoken and people were hustling and bustling their way home.

We were hustling for a bar and found ‘Titanic’, a clean, bright watering hole on Teatral’na Street (Teатpaльна), where we fell in with a friendly bunch of Ukrainians. Graduates of Lwów University, Roman and Zoran’s knowledge of Applied Mathematics was used mainly by the military until the collapse of the USSR. Now they work in printing and marketing, while most of their peers apply their mathematical skills with foreign corporations **** . We discussed politics, the Orange Revolution, and life in general, before proceeding to a newly-opened pub-club ‘Kult’, on Tchaikovsky Street (Чайковського). Although a little empty at 2am, the manageress, Iryna, promised great live music at the weekends.

There seems to be very few bars in Lwów, at least compared to Kraków. Keep your eyes open, follow every lead and see where the people are going; we found several dark, unpromising passageways that led to cosy, hidden bars. Once settled, enjoy the cheap prices. A large beer on the Rynek costs around 4GRN to 5GRN (2.50zl – 3zl) and a vodka about 2.50GRN (1.50zl).

Another night, we were taken to Pub “Korzo” on Brativ Rohatyntsiv Street (Братів Рогатинців). This is a cosy place with live music from Thursday to Sunday and the only pub where I saw Murphy’s. Although heavily tempted, we decided against the 20GRN price-tag, in favour of the local brew, at 8GRN a glass. My frugality, however, proved unnecessary as Roman insisted on paying for everything – both nights we met him: we were his guests and that was all there was to it! Such kindness was, I found, to be typical of the Lwówians.

When not imbibing, my girlfriend and I took several long walks around the old city and castle (Zamek) area, on the hillside. The city, named after Lew, the Lion, is 750 years old (like Krakow) and has an extensive old town, almost a small town in itself, with many old buildings, streets and local churches to explore and get lost in. It felt how Krakow must have felt some years ago: a whole city, seemingly, suspended; a page in a book caught at the moment of turning.

We arose at 7am on Thursday as our host, Władek, was eager to show us Lwów’s market. From furniture (reconditioned) to fish (fresh), it had it all, including a giant meat hall, where all manner of meats lay, hung and were presented for our approval by smiling, well-fed women, who seemed very curious and happy to see us, particularly me, I think, looking, as I do, distinctly non-eastern European. A twenty-second wonder, I felt like I was in Mongolia, not the second city of an aspiring European Union member state.

Earlier in the week, we had tried to book a theatre show. Lwów has many theatres, but they only perform at the weekends. However, after a chance comment of mine on the first day, opera tickets for Thursday were arranged. They were a gift from one of the performers that our hosts knew: more Ukrainian hospitality.

Back to reality and the journey back to Krakow: take the 71 bus from the corner of the opera house - corner of Torhova (Пл Торгова) and Svobody Avenue (Пpocпект Cвободи). Allow about 45 minutes and get off at the last stop, the bus station, in time for the 22:00 departure to Krakow. Tickets are about 110GRN, booked at least a day before. The journey itself was almost too calm: I had expected to share a seat with a formidable middle-aged woman, trussed up like a Christmas turkey, packs of cheap Ukrainian cigarettes and vodka strapped to her body. But it was not to be so. Ten minutes out of the bus station, the lights went off and a peaceful ten-hour journey began, interrupted only by a much more typical border wait of three hours.

Lwów is a beautiful city with generous inhabitants. I advise you to go there, and soon, before people start writing magazine articles about it …