This was written in September 2022, before a lot of things changed, and my perspective changed with it.
——————————————
Coming back to Ukraine felt like one thing for me. Going home.
I’m English, but for three years I lived in Kyiv. In my mind, I always felt it was temporary, that soon I would return to the UK or to somewhere else that many may consider a “proper country”, essentially a place where things worked and I understood the culture. Ironically, I now realise how in many ways, Ukraine was, and is that place.
As I write, I am on a train, going through the Carpathian Mountains, from Lviv to Uzhhorod. Okay, there are no chargers on this train but, the train was delayed a whole 20 minutes for whatever reason when in the UK they can be cancelled for strikes, storms, leaves on the lines, covid, or brexit. Pick your excuse.
My wife and I returned to Ukraine, temporarily we say, but we said that last time. When we first arrived, from a night bus that went from Kosice in Slovakia to Uzhhorod, a quaint city in Zakarpattia bordering Slovakia, I heard and saw the language. I felt home. After 8 months away.
Once we arrived, we took a taxi, and on the radio, they announced Russian losses from the previous day, as if it was the weather. After being in the UK, where there are masses of support for Ukraine, but there is squeamishness about death, it was honestly refreshing. Pacifism is a luxury of privileged nations who have never had to fight for their freedom. What people need to understand is, to defend your country from people who want to kill you, you have to kill them. It’s strange for me as well to celebrate death. I consider myself a liberal person, yet the war is far too personal at this point, and with the actions we have seen, I have no sympathy for the soldiers. They may be victims of this war, especially those now conscripted, but it is not the same as those people who were just wanting to live their lives. They can be perpetrators and victims too.
In Uzhhorod, I noticed several things when we were there. For one, there are a lot of people from the east, obviously. I could tell by the volume of Russian I heard. Now, Uzhhorod has always been a linguistically diverse city. You can hear Ukrainian, Russian, Hungarian, Slovak, and Polish from its natives. There are many foreign students, particularly from India and other southern Asian countries. Yet since the full-scale invasion, many fled within Ukraine to the safety of this city, as it literally borders the EU and is one of the few areas that never had a single rocket land. That doesn’t stop the sirens though.
At the same time, some people I knew who tended to speak Russian had now switched. This applies to many people across the country. There is also a noticeable surge of patriotism in this region. Ukraine has always since I have lived there, been patriotic, with flags and other national symbols across the country. Yet Zakarpattia wasn’t as overt as say, Lviv, Ivano Frankivsk, Kyiv, or even Odesa or Kherson, places associated as “Russian Speaking”, as if that means “Russian supporting”. This is mostly because of its diversity, and its noticeable Hungarian minority, among others. Yet I saw Ukrainian and Hungarian flags flying together this time and a vast increase of patriotic slogans and flags. It represented a kind of patriotism that is not exclusive, but inclusive. Regardless of your language, even how you identify, we are all Ukrainians.
We had our first siren there. Rationally, we knew that nothing would come here. Yet you are still scared. It is a sound that I had never heard firsthand before. By now I’ve heard it several times, and my worry is not for me, but that somewhere, someone may die for the crime of wanting to live in their country.
I can talk a lot about the beauty of Uzhorod. Uzhorod was part of Austro-Hungary, Western Ukraine Republic then Ukrainian Republic, Czechoslovakia, Carpatho-Ukraine for almost a day, Hungary again briefly during ww2, the USSR, then finally, Ukraine. As a result, there is a diversity of architecture. Austro-Hungarian grand buildings alongside Czechoslovak art deco-style houses. In other areas are the soviet Krushovkas, and the post-independence apartment blocks, with some very modern ones appearing on the outskirts of the city. Also, in some areas there are many houses, built in the 90s. The city centre feels like a fairy tale, old, slightly tatty but in a charming way, and it’s only a stone’s throw from a castle.
We had to move on though. We went up to Rivne, to see my wife’s parents, our cats, and sort some boring things out. Rivne itself is not the most exciting city. In the summer and autumn, it does have its charms, with leafy trees and parks offering some beauty, however, it has a considerable amount of soviet architecture. Interesting city in its history. In the USSR, it had a noticeable hippy population, along with Lviv, with people coming from other countries for events. Post-independence it developed a strong rock and counter-culture scene, which is a contrast to the city’s politics, which are quite conservative and traditional. They do not celebrate Halloween for example, and the church place many advertisements about abortion or makes homophobic remarks. Ukraine is changing, but the changes will come for these cities last, no doubt. No wonder most alternative people flock to Lviv, Kyiv, Odesa, Kharkiv, or abroad.
After that, it was onward to Kyiv and back west to Lviv before Uzhorod. (I will write separately about Kyiv and Lviv, as they deserve it)
Now, we return to Uzhorod, with the intention of staying for the mid-term. I await to see what is there.
But why does it feel like home?
In the UK, I felt the country I used to know wasn’t available to us. Prices have gone up, as in many places, but we have a staff shortage in every service, the NHS is dangerously slow and crippled, the trains don’t work, and if they do you pay a small fortune. If you don’t have a car and don’t live in a city, you are effectively stuck in what you can do. People seem to be weirdly calm about everything. I feel perhaps too Ukrainian now, Ukrainians are not patient in their politics, and would not stand for such a situation. The fact that despite upping our budget by 200% we could not even get a look in aside from one dingy flat was strange, money couldn’t even help us. It was all due to ridiculous bureaucracy and requirements of credit checks and bank statements, which, of course, my wife didn’t have. The systems to help Ukrainians are not there, and because UK systems are designed for 75-year-olds who think all computer games are called Nintendos it rests on paper letters and static addresses. Ukraine, conversely, has digitalised to such a degree that it is easy to do everything on your phone. Unless you’re a foreigner, even so, the obstacles I faced in integrating into Ukrainian systems are nothing compared to what Ukrainians face in much of western Europe.
Ultimately, we missed Ukraine. And, strangely, I feel calmer here than away. When in the UK, we only saw the bad news. Here, we see life continue. People having coffee, going to work, having drinks, talking about small things (though switching perhaps to war news quite comfortably), and moaning about this or that. It gives you a sense of happiness. At least until the next reminder of the war, a siren, a recently wounded soldier, a crying woman saying goodbye to her man. Then you are reminded.
Leave a Reply