Saturday, 3 April 2010 — intro to Lviv

I keep telling myself the local time, forget about that old timezone. It’s afternoon now, soon evening, so after I wash up and change, I go for a walk around the old town. It’s the day before Easter, so lots of things are closed. But there’s some kind of fair setting up in the old city square (Ploshcha Rynok), with booths selling crafts, hot sausages, honey, beer, bread, and other things I don’t take the time to decipher. A little kid’s carousel is going, and a crew is setting up a stage in one corner of the square with some decent-looking loudspeakers and subs, monitors, a 24-channel Allen & Heath board, and so on. Looks like it won’t be ready until tomorrow. I have a sausage (the most tender bratwurst I’ve ever had, and delicious) along with a glass of kvass. If you don’t know kvass, imagine what root beer would be like if it weren’t sweet and was made from pumpernickel bread. Yum! And I continue to walk around some of the old streets — it’s a lot more exercise walking on cobbles than walking on smooth pavement!

During my walking, I come across a crowd in front of a church. They’re standing around the entrance, leaving a large empty square space in front. I go closer to see what’s going on, and there’s a holy guy, a bishop or something, with a microphone getting ready to speak. All around the empty space, at people’s feet, are easter baskets (full of baked goods, I gather) covered with embroidered cloth with a variety of designs and texts. The bishop starts talking — I can make out something about Christ’s crucifixion — and after a while passes the mike to a young fellow in a black frock who starts singing chants — again I can make out Christ and cross — while the bishop progresses slowly around the perimeter with a sort of holy bucket and feather duster. As he goes, he is shaking holy water onto the baskets and onlookers; they cross themselves each time this happens. Some of the drops reach me in the back row. I don’t bust into flame or anything, so I guess I’m not Satan. I am guessing that this is the local Orthodox-styled Catholic rite, but I don’t know. I am aware that this is a rare year in that Easter falls on the same day for both the Orthodox and Western calendars.

Back to the hotel room to check in with family — Skype Nina for a bit (she tells me that walking on cobbles is even harder in stiletto heels and recommends I try it sometime…) and then I figure I’ll go out for a bit more strolling and finally some kind of dinner.

This time the other direction, over to the Prospekt Svobody; I start at the Shevchenko statue, light up a cigar, and stroll along. Past kids on BMX bikes, young couples, groups of older men playing backgammon, and the trees and buildings all a little like a smaller, older Paris. As it’s getting dark and the cafes aren’t opening (I guess this Easter weekend might not be the time for cafe hopping…) I think I’ll make an effort to get a bite to eat. The hotel reception suggested a place called “Fashion Club” just up the street, but it’s really a discotheque-bar with a cover charge. So no thanks, and I continue wandering… Stop in sort of randomly at a cafe “El Greco” where some young folk are having drinks, pizzette and what-not. My Russian isn’t really winning friends, but the waitress speaks some English, and I end up having a big pint of Ukrainian draft beer, a delicious mushroom soup (I was expecting some other mushroom dish, but them’s the breaks…) and a cappuccino. This cost 40 uah (about $5 US including the 5% tip written in the bill). There’s a small, middle-aged Ukrainian guy alone at the table next to me, and from time to time he tries to tell me something. I can’t understand him, and I keep telling him so in Russian. I think he’s very drunk. We manage to get across that yes, I am American and yes, he is from Lviv. He breaks a wooden match in half and makes me a gift of it. Is he trying to pick me up? Is this some gang symbol? I have no idea. Eventually he gets up and weaves over to the bar; a discussion ensues and I think the manager is scolding him; eventually the bouncer (I think there’s some sort of night club downstairs) throws him out and I never see him again.

Back at the hotel, I have a bath (aaahhhhhh) and manage to stay up a little longer with some work details and Lviv Googling, and finally towards midnight decide to turn in. The bed is far too soft, but I only notice this for a minute before I’m fast asleep.