- After an early arrival in Lviv, I first take my time to let all the images, experiences and things I heard in the days before sink in. I sit in a café near the railway station, and if I wouldn't know, there is nothing to remind me that I am in a country at war. Oh wait, there is a soldier walking towards the city, his hand intertwined with a young woman who carries a red rose. There, another soldier, sitting on a bench, on the phone. When I have written down my thoughts and feelings, it is time to leave my bag at the station and walk into the city. I have been here before, when Russia had already illegally annexed Crimea and was fomenting unrest in the east of the country, back in 2014. I remember having liked Lviv a lot, and when I walk through the streets towards its historic centre, I know why. This is a very attractive Central European city, which has escaped destruction in the Second World War, which is clearly and rightly proud of its beauty, and where it is easy to find a all kinds of restaurants and shops.
- After having seen mostly destruction and seeing devastating sights, and being amazed by the reconstruction efforts already underway in parts of the country where Russians have been expelled, I first want to wander around places I haven't seen on my first visit. Here, a huge statue of Shevchenko on a square: this time, without a bullet hole or any damage (unlike the bust I saw just two days before in Borodyanka). A street which is the Armenian Quarter, where one building is even more lavishly decorated than the previous one. Statues holding balconies, niches with statues in the wall, and all the horoscopic signs depicted by sculptures: it is a feast for the eye. I take my time to walk the street, and then return with my eyes fixed on the walls rising in front of me. I can only access the Armenian cathedral from the western side: the courtyard on the south side is closed. Through the fence, I can see a khachkar, the typical Armenian stele with a cross. There is only one other person in the church, and I take some time to feel the peace inside.
- After a lunch with a friend, who updates me on the situation, tells me how he sees things developing in the future, I am on my way again following his suggestions. I see more soldiers, and although this is easily the place where there is very little to remind me of the war, the number of soldiers I see in public is higher than I have seen anywhere else. First, I walk to Shevchenko Grove, where I find typical wooden buildings and churches in an attractive park. I then walk to Lychakiv cemetery, where I have been nine years earlier. This time, I don't go inside, but I head to the Field of Mars, on the north side of the famous cemetery. I see a sea of Ukrainian flags, both the blue-and-yellow and the red-and-black, a symbol of Ukrainian nationalism. Almost every grave has a small bench. I see a woman mourning at a grave, and assume she is the wife of a soldier who was killed during the war. She sits next to the grave, talking to her husband, and then stands at his feet. I can feel her pain, and I have to suppress my human reaction to give her a hug of support. I walk the cemetery, and the further I get, the newer the graves. The last ones are still makeshift, and the youngest grave I find is of a soldier who was killed only five days earlier. I see some graves of guys who were hardly twenty years old when they were killed defending their country against the Russian invaders. Then, a couple come to a grave: the parents who have lost their son. I watch from a distance. The fluttering flags, the people carrying their deep sorrow, the graves covered by flowers and flags - this experience makes a deep impression. It is impossible not to be profoundly touched.
