Kyiv had a rough night of ballistic missiles and drone attacks last night. Meanwhile, life goes on with dance videos, busking and protests here in Lviv.
He opened his wallet and showed a picture of his wife, and “his boys.” Pointing to three, killed defending their homeland. “All gone.” He shook his head, eyes glistened. “Tears cannot be shown.” Google doesn’t translate pain well. He can’t let go of the what he has seen. He is unable to cry it out. “I can’t sleep at night.”
Within minutes of when we had met him, he was hugging us. Google translated our love of Ukraine, and appreciation of his sacrifice.
An hour or more, more hugs, an invitation to go mushroom hunting with him, some drinks, a look at our bikes.
I gathered he must have been a lower level leader at the front. What he had seen was written on his ruddy face. He was now reassigned to the border patrol. I think we were looking at the broken soul of PTSD. His eyes were filled with pain and his voice desperate for relief. With Google between us we could offer little more than hugs. Some days that may be enough. He smiled some, even laughed.
Purple Heart of Lviv
We have several reasons why we wanted to visit Ukraine: we have the time and the privilege, we want to show our support, we want to be of service (more on that later). One reason is that we prefer to drop our tourist dollars here rather than anyplace else. Lviv is a nice place to visit. There are a lot of other tourists here: an Australian who came to Lviv for a couple of nights to say he’s been here, an Austrian who hopes to go to Kharkiv to see what is happening. We are going day by day. Bob is fulfilling his goal of bringing a smile to the face of one stranger each day.
Lviv streets
Claire here: The relief of making it through a border crossing into a new country always makes me a bit high spirited, so the clouds didn’t bother me at all, at first. Then the questions at passport control settled a bit deeper: have you ever been in a war zone before? The armor of all the special preparations I’d made—extra insurance, heavy duty medical supplies, a detailed itinerary—might still not be enough for the weight on the psyche of a population under threat for the last three years. First it was a grandfather holding tightly to a toddler, waiting by the roadside. Where was the loved one that connected these two? Were they coming back? Our years and years of touring and observing gave me a pang of intuition. Later, as I wandered around town, my naive behavior caught the attention of a policeman. I was trying to translate a bulletin board featuring the local PD’s most wanted. It’s his job to spot peculiar behavior.
On my way home, I visited what will likely be the first of many memorials we’ll see, remembering the locals killed in this war. Some were in the military, many were civilians, pictured in candid photographs with nothing darker than what’s next on their schedule reflected in their eyes.