– Preamble

In 2023, I spent 3 days in Ukraine. It wasn’t on the front lines, about as far from it as you can be actually. It wasn’t a humanitarian mission or on behalf of any IGO. I just wanted to know. I wanted to see it for myself. Now I’d like to share it with you, for whatever its worth.

I had been planning a big trip for a while, all the way around the world. I would fly from New York to Switzerland, and fly back from Hong Kong, with over 2 dozen countries in between. It would take 2 months. What resonates with me now more than anything are those 3 days in Ukraine however.

Since the Russian invasion of Ukraine, I had been a vocal supporter of Ukraine. I’ve donated, what amount I was able, and have made countless social media posts, not that either of those things have made a huge difference, but I felt the need to do something. And something isn’t nothing. I imagine for someone living in Ukraine, facing what they’re facing, a few hundred bucks could change a person’s life, save it even. Nobody can save the world but 1 person can save 1 person, maybe. And that’s not nothing, that is the world to that person.

As I planned visits to Krakow and Budapest, I couldn’t help but notice Ukraine on their borders. It felt odd that I would stroll through the medieval square in Krakow and relax in the thermal springs in Budapest, while schools were bombed in Ukraine so near to where I was. It brought further discomfort to think that I would be spending money in Hungary, whose quasi-dictator President has done everything possible to aid Russia, despite being old enough to remember a time when Hungary was effectively a Russian colony, while Ukrainians suffered. So I rearranged my original plans to spend only 3 nights in Hungary, down from my original 5, in order to spend 2 nights, or 3 days, in Ukraine.

Again, I want to emphasize that I’m not delusional enough to think what I did was an example of bravery, more of curiosity. I was hugging the NATO border in western Ukraine. Despite what Russian bots might tell you, Russia would not stand a chance against NATO, even without the US. They’re borrowing troops from North Korea in a 3-year stalemate with Ukraine, you throw in the rest of Europe and it’s not going to get better. I was very aware of that when planning my trip and how Russia was very careful to avoid doing anything near a NATO border, despite any tough talk out of them.

So enough preamble, let’s get to it.

– Day 1

I had left Krakow and was driving through Slovakia, thoughts of Auschwitz fresh in my mind. I approached Ukraine in a rental car I got in Vienna with the intent of crossing over the border by land and staying at a town called Uzhhorod. The town was not far from the border.

When I arrived at the border checkpoint there was a line of cars. I got in line. There were people with machine guns smoking cigarettes. There was a couple people I saw walk from one side to the other, civilians, and I wondered where they were going or coming from. One older woman seemed to be asking for a ride. Slovakian flags gave way to Ukrainian ones. I saw so many blue and yellow flags in Europe. You can’t go to a European city without seeing a Ukrainian flag. These ones felt different though, flags, not of sympathy or support but, of pride and defiance and hope.

It was my turn and the woman working the checkpoint asked for documentation. Passport, rental car agreement, insurance, etc. I assumed all this would be needed so I had it ready to go. Everything was going smoothly. Then she asked me to open the trunk.

I didn’t know where the button was to open the trunk from inside the car. I started looking around in the area where it might be. I was looking for a button or something on my car. I couldn’t find it. I couldn’t see one under the wheel or near the door or down by the seat or anywhere.

She asked me to open my trunk again. I explained that I could not find the button. She didn’t understand. Everywhere you go in Europe people speak English. But here, a border crossing of all places, they didn’t speak English. She asked me to open the trunk, seeming a little confused. I pulled out my phone and googled ‘where is the trunk button on the Peugeot 2008’. I held my finger up to indicate I needed a moment.

She waved another border agent over. He asked me to open my trunk. I tried to explain again but I think his English was only barely better than hers. He stepped back and pointed to the back of the car and said to open the trunk. But the way he pointed to the back of the car suggested to me that he was ushering me in that direction.

I looked at him. I grabbed the door handle and asked if he wanted me to step out and open the trunk myself. I don’t know if he understood but he saw me starting to open the door and nodded and continued the ushering gesture toward the back of the car, asking me to open the trunk again.

I’m an idiot. They were asking me to step out of the car to open the trunk myself, not just to unlock it from inside of my car. So I opened the door and went back there and opened the trunk. They looked around and it was all good. I tried to explain that I was an idiot, so I didn’t realize what they were asking. I’m not sure they understood every word but I think they understood that I was embarrassed and apologetic. After they checked, the guy walked away and the woman stamped some things and sent me off with a welcome.

There are also laws in Ukraine about taking pictures of military equipment or personnel, because it could reveal locations or other information if you post it that they would not want to get out. So I didn’t take photos at the border crossing given the military and government presence you might expect there.

Entering Ukraine is not like other parts of Europe, as you could imagine. You’re required to buy a special insurance package to enter Ukraine. Normal travel insurance doesn’t cover you if you knowingly enter a country with an ongoing war. They take visitors but you have to educate yourself and receive the proper documentation before entering.

It was the afternoon when I entered Ukraine. The houses along the road were often modest and interestingly colored. Casual and cozy. Not luxurious but full of personality. It was very green and hilly and wet, striking me not dissimilar to Ireland’s landscape. The Carpathian mountains were in the distance.

I also noticed the roads. They could have used a paving, a lot of potholes. But, when you’re fighting for your life you have to prioritize certain things in the budget and a comfortable ride has to come second to matters of life or death. It was clear that ‘drivable’ was a sufficient standard while the war was going on given that a smooth road might come at the expense of lives.

I drove at a pace appropriate for someone who didn’t know what potholes were around the next corner. For me, it was not unlike driving on the moon but locals more familiar with the roads occasionally zipped by me.

It was not long before I reached my hotel. I stayed at a hotel called Villa P. I parked outside. There was a parking area inside of a gate but I didn’t have a key yet so I parked outside on the street.

I walked in the human sized door onto the property and looked around. The hotel appeared to me to be something that was maybe once a house. It had a beautiful backyard with an incredible view, being on a higher part of the city. I was outside smoking a cigarette, prior to going in to check in, when a girl walked by. I said hello. She replied hello back to me and walked into the building.

There were a couple cars parked in the back area. A nice patch of grass, all surrounded by a high brick wall. I could see the second stories of the neighboring buildings on each side peaking over the walls. The back, over the wall, was a little skyline. A guy walked out of the hotel, I nodded at him and he reciprocated. I half-expected to be the only person here. The sun was going down and I didn’t want to get a parking ticket so I walked into the hotel.

The girl who walked by me a moment ago was sitting at a table. It wasn’t a desk or anything formal. It was a table, adding to the house vibes. This was not a Holiday Inn. She greeted me and I did the check in. She asked me what breakfast I would like and showed me a menu. It had various nation-based options. English breakfast, Viennese breakfast, etc. I chose Viennese. Not sure why. That’s where I had gotten my rental car from so it was in my mind and I think after a couple seconds I just felt compelled to pick something.

After checking in I ran back outside and didn’t see a ticket on my car. There was a car sized gate, with a person sized door within it. I opened the doors to the gate and drove in.

I made my way up the staircase. The second flood had light music playing and a couch, books, and wine bottles that I assumed were for display purposes only. There was a window at the end of the hall that looked out on the backyard and the city over the walls.

I entered my room. It felt more like an apartment than a hotel. I found that to be the case in Eastern Europe often, not sure if it is typical or if that’s just the type of places I happened to choose. I cracked the window and heard American rock music. A huge smile went across my face. I appreciated that we were appreciated, yes in the sense of fighting for democracy, which we used to do, but in music and the arts as well. I wondered where it was coming from.

I walked out of my room and looked out of the big window on the second floor. I couldn’t believe I was in Ukraine. I was happy that I was contributing money to Ukraine and that I was looking at Ukraine. It was dark now. I was humbled by the lights flickering, the sounds and signs of life, while a Russian dictator threatened that life and those freedoms every day. Here they are, operating hotels and putting one foot in front of the other, not even a thought of giving up or giving in.

I decided to go for a walk. I made my way down the stairs. The receptionist was still seated there and I nodded to her. I walked out of the door and out of the gate. I found myself hit with crisp, moist, cool air. It wasn’t cold, just cool, refreshing even. It felt like mountain air feels, like an iced coffee on your skin and up your nose. We were in the Carpathians now.

I heard the American rock and roll and followed it. There was a bar a few doors down from my hotel, and they were blasting American rock music. I thought about going in but wanted to explore more. There was a big castle across the street, Uzhhorod Castle. I would go the next day but it was closed now. I saw a church, lit up, Holy Cross Church, and walked toward it. It was the tallest thing in the area. There was a small park across the street with a statue or two in it. There was a couple sitting on a bench. I didn’t stick around so as to give them some privacy. I was taking pictures and videos and didn’t want to interrupt them or make them feel awkward.

I walked back to the castle, past the bar, and looked right. A steep hill with a cobble stone road. I walked down it. I made a right with the road when it met the river. I walked down the road.

The buildings around me were nondescript. It was dark. It was so dark that I pulled my phone flashlight out. As I walked I saw a little ball of fuzz on the curb. It was a kitten. He mewed. He breathed heavily. I petted him for a few moments. I wondered if it was clean to do so. I pulled my sleeve over my hand to pet him a little longer. I didn’t have food or anything for him. I said bye and called him little buddy and walked on.

I made a right at the end of the block and saw what looked like a restaurant. I walked in and it was a restaurant. I stood there at the front door. I stood there for a while and a couple people walked by and gave me a nod. I thought someone would seat me. I started to feel confused about what was going on, so I just turned around and left.

Back on the street, crisp mountain air. I walked to the end of that street. I looked up a hill back toward where the church was. It was dark there now. I looked around and the streetlights were off. I thought I had turned down a dark road earlier, but I think at some point before turning onto it the streetlights turned off. Apparently, for the same reason there are potholes, the streetlights do not stay on long. It just comes down to rationing resources and prioritizing things.

But I made a left, rather than walking back to the church and my hotel. There was a commercial area I saw on my phone. I was looking for food. I saw lights. Vulytsya Korzo was an open commercial walking area with shops. There were people walking around. It was just like a regular city center, like anywhere else.

Ukrainian flags were hung around. Someone walked a dog on the wet street. It was busy. I saw a place selling ice cream. I went in and the person at the counter looked at me. I don’t speak Ukrainian. I asked for a flavor and he replied in something in Ukrainian. I wasn’t sure what to do. He pointed at different sized cups. I chose the middle one. I took my ice cream and walked around on the pedestrian walkway.

I saw a restaurant with a sign that had a cactus and longhorns on it. The name was something I couldn’t pronounce but the theme looked like the American southwest. I looked in and saw American flags, cowboy boots and hats. Again, a massive smile spread across my face and I was proud to be an American. I wonder if they still have that theme today. I imagine America isn’t as popular a brand as it once was.

I was, for some reason, too intimated to walk into a restaurant. Other places in Europe are full of people bending over backwards to accommodate English speaking tourists. But in Ukraine, I found people living their lives. Everyone I spoke English to looked at me like they couldn’t believe I was here and speaking to them in some weird language they don’t understand. Even in the rare instances in European cities when I encountered a service sector worker who didn’t speak English, they knew some way to deal with it with combination of basic keywords and hand gestures.

I walked into a convenience store to buy a couple snacks. I figured that, and the ice cream I had, would hold me over until breakfast. I walked around the convenience store. It was bright and arranged similar to a small grocery/convenience anywhere else. I looked at the various goofy candies and snacks with their fun names and appearances, and taking note of various items, like Kit Kats, that we share. I carefully walked around looking at everything.

I checked out, overcoming the, again, language barrier. But not without first snatching up a very cool yellow and blue lighter with a little Ukrainian cartoon on it.

I went back to my hotel, but on the way, just outside the castle, I noticed a little goofy statue of a guy with a big head. It was almost hidden, a little Easter egg. It was just sitting there on the stone fence outside of the castle, not drawing any attention to itself. It was the first little such statue that I saw, but not the last.

But I had a Viennese-style Ukrainian breakfast to wake up for so I went in to go to bed.

– Day 2

I woke up the next morning in time for breakfast. I went downstairs and was unsure how to get to the basement. Eventually I figured it out. It was a bomb shelter. It was also a wine cellar and a breakfast nook, but it was a bomb shelter. I had heard that a lot of hotels had bomb shelters. There was an older couple staying there as well, or at least eating breakfast. After my Viennese breakfast in Ukraine, I quickly headed out.

First stop, my neighbor: Uzhhorod Castle. I walked up and in through the gate. It was on the outside of a castle wall. There was a second gate on the inside. I stood there, alone, in the nether space within the castle wall. I looked around. There was a lot of room. I expected someone to be there to take my money so I could buy a ticket or something. There was a machine in the corner. I looked at it. The writing was, I assume, Ukrainian and I could not read it.

A door opened, a third door, neither toward the street nor the castle but a smaller door within the wall. An older woman emerged and looked at me looking at her and acted as though she was startled or surprised to see me and laughed. I laughed too and apologized. She said something in Ukrainian. I didn’t understand and replied back in English. I pointed to the castle. She peaked back into the door she came out of and brought a second person out, an older man this time. They managed to help me get a ticket out of the machine. I thanked them, they smiled and waved and said welcome.

I quite like history and archaeological sites when traveling, so I explored the grounds. Castles tend to be found at high points, so there were great views. After meandering around the grounds for a little while, I walked over a wooden bridge to, what I guessed was, the entrance. There was a nice courtyard. It was cool fall weather and the sun shone down through the clouds providing a little warmth.

I entered the castle and walked through the various rooms. There were pictures of old mustached men, paintings of battles, manikins with clothing from times gone by. There were also various weapons and helmets and armors. The walls and ceilings were often painted or muraled.

The rooms were in roughly chronological order. I then entered the room about the Nazis and the holocaust. In Southern and Western Europe, it’s all about Rome. Rome, Rome, Rome. Everywhere you go, even as fast as Chester, England, right next to Wales, half of Europe is like, “Look at our Roman stuff!” But in Eastern and Northern Europe: it’s the holocaust. There aren’t roman amphitheaters, there are Jewish quarters, which no longer contain any jews, with monuments and museums filling the hole in their communities.

Unfortunately, for many of the latter countries of Europe, that part of their history is immediately followed by another terrible part of their history. While Western Europe returned to freedom and normalcy after WWII, Eastern Europe was left trapped on the other side under the thumb of the Soviet Union. Where previously I’d seen rusty swords and funny outfits on manikins, now I saw modern photos of faces of people forced off to a Russian prison camps.

As I neared the end, I saw a room with modern items. There were helmets and hockey gear. Photos of the Russian invasion of Crimea. The current Russian invasion of Ukraine is not the first. There were photos and items and newspaper clippings from the current Russian invasion as well. I studied them all. These were modern people who go to school and work, who have social media accounts, there throwing Molotov cocktails at tanks. People like those I walked around with the night before, living their lives until the Russian army rolled in to murder and enslave them. Some of those people are still on the other side, still in Crimea or the Donbas, but now they’re under a Russian dictator and can’t escape.

When I left the castle, I went to a Museum of Folk Architecture and Rural Life next door. There was a very goofy looking white limo outside of it. I wasn’t sure why. I walked in the entrance and nobody was there at the gate. A police officer called out and stopped me. He tried to speak to me. I couldn’t speak back. He pointed at a door. I assumed the only thing that could be going on was that he was showing me where the tickets were meant to be purchased. I was right. Got my ticket and was on my way.

It was a park full of funny little wooden buildings with thatch roofs from various eras of time. You could walk in them and they were furnished as per their historical eras. There were even various chickens and goats milling about and adding an extra layer of authenticity.

Then I saw the cause for that goofy looking white limo, there was a man in a military uniform and a woman in a wedding gown. They were having wedding photos taken. A couple of friends, dressed appropriately for, presumably, when it was time for the best man and maid of honor to have a photo. Photographer and family there as well, less than 10 people.

Once I noticed them, I kind of felt somewhat overwhelmed. He had seen the horrors of war and would maybe be returning. But they pressed on. Love wouldn’t wait. Life wouldn’t wait. Ukraine was facing the extermination of their country but 2 Ukrainians were there celebrating their love. A flower bloomed in hell. You might assume with all the fire and demons above a seed might think it best not to bloom at all. But this fearless flower emerged from the dirt and reached for the sky and I was lucky enough to be there to see it.

I wanted to take photos of them. I got a couple awkward ones because I wanted to be careful not to point my phone at them or gawk at them. I didn’t want to disturb this beautiful thing in front of me. I was grateful to be there and witness it. I was grateful it existed at all.

I entered the tallest building. It was a big wooden church. It was made of logs and brown wood. The tall section in the middle allowed sunlight in. I was hiding from the love outside. I had all these feelings inside of me thinking of these two people defiantly declaring their eternal love in world that could end at any moment. There were potholes and dark streets and bomb shelters in hotels, but love pressed on.

I paced inside of the church. I put my hands on my hips and pushed my head back and exhaled deeply. I was 36 at the time and society had trained me well to not cry as a man. I had walked the tops of mountains over Lauterbrunnen Valley, pressed my foot to the floor in a Mercedes Benz on the autobahn, seen incredible art in the palaces of Vienna, but this was the thing that broke me, these two people who refused to let even war and destruction keep them from each other.

I composed myself and left the old church. I arranged my path out to unobtrusively walk by them again. I lowered my head and smiled as I did, keeping my distance. I noticed a bizarre vivid purple weed or bush emerging from the cracks in the sidewalk as I left. Ordinary things born in an extraordinary circumstances can leave an impression. Though their only intention is to live and survive, that alone, if strong enough, can beautiful.

I left the museum/park and walked by the goofy white limo, now understanding its purpose. I walked to the church I had seen last night all lit up. The big yellow church with white trim and twin spires. I wanted to enter but the front doors were closed. I walked to the side where I saw people going in and out. They did not appear to be tourists or parishioners though. I kept walking closer to the door.

I entered the door and heard banging sounds. It sounded like construction was going on. I entered and looked around. There was definitely some kind of construction work going on and I was just some doofus who wondered in.

I took a quick picture and turned around. It was amusing that various construction workers had just walked past me, in and out, doing their job, with no one bothering to ask me what I was doing or to tell me it was closed. They just went about their business. But I didn’t want to be in their way.

So, I walked down the hill toward the commercial area I had been the day before. On the way was what appeared to be a phone booth but, rather than containing a phone, held a book shelf full of books.

I also took a moment to look at something that caught my eye. It was on that pitch black street with the kitten on it from the night before. There was a building with large mural of a woman’s face on it. A dark haired woman with blue eyes, looking out to her audience with a look that suggested she was waiting for you to react to something, to notice what she had noticed, like she was giving you a look and waiting for you to understand what that look was for, and she was sure you would know soon, and watching you come to that understanding was something she eagerly awaited.

The building had red stripes and looked somewhat modern. It was some kind of industrial building or warehouse converted into a commercial space. There was a yellow building next to it. I couldn’t see any of this the night before but hiding in the dark was such color and personality. The sun let me see it.

There was an art museum I was looking for though, the Transcarpathian Regional Art Museum of Joseph Bokshay, so I didn’t linger. I went back to my path. I walked by the commercial pedestrian area I walked by the night before. I saw a park with a pair of statue men sitting on a bench, life size this time. I also saw my second tiny statue: a little guy sitting cross-legged on what looked like a bell.

I found the museum. I entered. There was a courtyard area on the inside. Two women sat on a bench by the entrance speaking to each other in Ukrainian. I looked around. It was not obvious to me where I should go. I could have asked the women on the bench, but I liked just figuring things out at this point and stumbling into various places that weren’t expecting tourists.

There were tents in the courtyard. They had the red cross logo on the side. I don’t think it was part of the museum but an area being used for storage or maybe to provide COVID vaccines or something. I kept walking around but couldn’t figure out what I was supposed to do.

I walked into one of the doors facing the courtyard. The lights were off, I didn’t explore further. I opened another door, the lights were off again but I walked in and found a hallway that looked like it was undergoing renovations or was at least a mess of some kind, for some reason. I wondered what the two women on the bench outside thought I was doing. But that might have been just the ego you get in European tourism centers and this was not that, so they probably didn’t pay any attention to me.

I tried another door. I walked around a little. There wasn’t much space between the door I walked in and another door leading to what appeared to be sunlight. There was a staircase. But just then a guy walked in from the door showing sunlight. I tried to ask him where the museum was. He told me that this is the museum. I asked him where am I supposed to go. He said he doesn’t work here. I said Oh, and asked if he knew where tickets were sold. He said he didn’t speak English. I said thanks.

At that point, while I may still not have known what I was supposed to do, I figured either I’d find out or maybe I could just walk around this building and nobody would stop me. So I walked up the stairs I saw.

When I reached the stop of the stairs there were lights on and art on the wall. This had to be it. I walked around looking at the art for a little bit. At a certain point a woman peaked around a corner and saw me. She expressed surprise and said something to me in Ukrainian. People being surprised to see me was a common greeting in Ukraine apparently. Wherever I went, people did not expect me to be there. Understandable under the circumstances, not a lot of tourists go to countries at war I suppose.

I told her I only spoke English. She smiled and said welcome. She was very friendly, big smiles. She waved for me to follow her. She only knew a couple basic English words but enough to tell me how much the ticket cost. She pointed down the hallway and at various rooms saying things in Ukrainian. I nodded and smiled, reciprocating her friendliness even if I didn’t understand her words. She went back to the ticket area and I meandered around and looked at the art.

Much of the art depicted old settings and old people, traditional Carpathian or Ukrainian images. But the art was done in a more modern way. The castle I went to earlier had stuffy old men with mustaches in portraits but the art here depicted more abstract and impressionist styles, but with regular people in their daily lives as the subject matter. When I left the museum I waved to the woman who I saw earlier and she lit up with a big smile and waved goodbye to me.

From there, I passed through the commercial pedestrian area and made a left toward the river. There was a road bridge I had crossed when I entered the town in the other direction along the river, but I was heading toward a pedestrian footbridge in the other direction.

Before crossing I looked around a bit. There was a life-size sculpture man, painting the river on a metal canvas on a metal easel, facing the Uzh River. There was a nice area in front of the river and bridge, where people were having tea or lunch outside.

It was starting to rain though so people were finishing up or looking for shelter. My investment in a waterproof jacket and boots allowed me to stay on course. I noticed a large red brick building not far from me so I went to look at it before crossing the bridge.

The building had interesting windows and architecture, and six-pointed stars. I looked up what the red building was. Apparently, it was a synagogue once. There were once as many as 10,000 Jews in this modest border town. By the time the Nazis left there were only a couple hundred. The synagogue is now a theater and art center for the community, as many synagogues in Eastern and Northern Europe are. There is a holocaust memorial outside of the building.

It’s a weird reoccurring theme throughout northern and Eastern Europe, the holocaust. The statues and buildings and memorials that remain for the people who didn’t. You can feel the absence. Imagine a group of people who are part of your community, part of your history, and now they’re gone. Hundreds of years of history, art, architecture, culture, politics, with these people part of it, unable to be untied from it, and now gone. So much of the history of Europe includes Jewish people, especially in Eastern Europe where they received more tolerance and less racism than other parts of Europe. Then they’re just gone.

It feels like parts of Europe are waiting for them to come back. They’re keeping their room for them. They can’t change the locks because they won’t be able to get in when they return. But, not unlike a person who keeps the clothes or the room of someone who is deceased, it also feels necessary to do so to respect their memory. Their influence and contributions will linger, so why shouldn’t the clothes in their closet or their synagogues in the city center, to let their memories know that you know what they meant. If, by chance, a ghost needs a place to pray, the synagogue is here for them.

I walked to the bridge. My hood up on my rainproof coat now as it was still lightly raining. I noticed a couple more of the funny little statues. One was of a boat, the other looked like a gnome. They all looked like gnomes I guess.

When I got to the other side of the bridge, that’s when I saw her. It was another little statue. But I knew this one. She was short, and maybe a little fat, but I knew who she was. It was the Statue of Liberty. A chubby little modest Statue of Liberty, wet with the rain but defiantly raising that light just as she did in New York’s harbor. Bring us your tired, your poor, your huddled masses. It was incredible how often I was proud to be American while in Ukraine. I have no idea why this little lady liberty was there or how long it had been there. It had Ukrainian writing underneath on a sort of plaque that might have told me if I could read Ukrainian.

Regardless, I went down the walkway from the bridge to the street level. I stood around, looking. Cobblestones, colorful shops, just like on the other side of the bridge. This side didn’t have as large a footprint. The downtown was on the other side of the bridge and it spilled out a little on this side of the bridge but it was pretty limited, so I decided to explore a little outside of the cobblestones commercial pedestrian area.

I found myself walking through an area where the roads were often gravel and the buildings were a little older and less wealthy or built up. It was a primarily residential area, other than the odd school or little church. The school and the area around it was covered with various cartoon characters, some of which were recognizable to me. They were, I assumed, not properly licensed depictions of Disney and Nickelodeon intellectual property.

As charming as the areas I had been were, it was apparent from this area, which was much more a reflection of how people actually lived, that this was not a wealthy American suburb. A lot of Eastern European towns have a very charming downtown area where people can walk and enjoy themselves and then the rest of town and outside of it contain much more modest, working class houses, facilities, and infrastructure. But then everyone converges on the shared space which the community enjoys together.

I emerged by the river and walked along it back toward the bridge. The river was covered with more of these little statues. Big heads, fat bodies, exaggerated proportions. I didn’t know who any of these little caricatures were. I saw a kid poking at one while his mom stood by. There was big colorful church along the wet footpath. It had red and gold and blue and white and an onion dome on top, Intercession Orthodox Church.

It was getting dark now and I was getting hungry. I made my way to the pedestrian bridge. I said goodbye to lady liberty. I looked at her. She had the rain on her face. The drops may have appeared to be tears, except this little lady liberty had a big smile across her face. Whether tears or rain, she’d persevere regardless.

I came back to the commercial pedestrian walking area that seemed to be the center of my time there. I thought about going into this or that restaurant, but I felt intimidated. I don’t know why. Other parts of Europe you can bumble into anywhere as an American and you’ll be greeted in English. It’s not that I anticipated them being rude to me, not at all, I just didn’t want to impose. I was on vacation, but I understood they were at war. I just wanted to err on the side of being respectful and not being intrusive. But, I needed to eat.

I ended up looking for restaurants on google maps. Some of them were closing. It was getting to be late evening. Others I looked at and walked on. I went into a building, a mall of some kind maybe. I went up to the second floor and there was a restaurant. It looked like a chain restaurant of some kind, or a corporate one. I thought that boded well for the odds of an English language menu.

After I was seated at a table, a waitress came up and said welcome. I said hello back to her and she spoke in English to me. I wondered if she was assigned by the hostess to me because she spoke English but she also handled the table next to me so maybe I was just lucky.

I ordered soup for the appetizer and pizza for entree. The soup was good. Ukrainian pizza could use some work. The table next to me had a group of young people hanging out and talking to each other. They must have known the waitress since she came by somewhat frequently and would join the conversation.

This was another example of Ukrainian perseverance. These kids were just hanging out at a restaurant with their friends. They were laughing and joking and having fun while a war was going on. What else can you do?

After the meal, I went and walked around the little rain-soaked town square. It was dark out. The shops that were still open were closing. The street lights started turning off. Some locals shuffling around with umbrellas. A stray dog asleep under an awning.

I walked back to my hotel along the brick road, past the big yellow church. The bar next to my hotel was playing American rock music again. I went inside the gate of my hotel but I stood outside for a while, looking at the lights in the buildings around the town and listening to the bar next door play music. I imagined the various mundane tasks they were doing. The were brushing their teeth, saying goodnight to their children, reading a book next to their spouse. And I stood in awe of it.

– Day 3

The next day I woke up and went down to my breakfast bomb shelter and enjoyed my breakfast. I checked out and thanked the staff. The girl at reception said she would help with the gate, given how I had just given her my key to it. I didn’t think about that. So she opened it as I pulled out and I was back on the road.

My plan was to visit a nearby castle, Nevytske Castle. I would drive northeast and see that and then drive through the Carpathians for a while until reaching a town called Mukachevo. Then I’d meander my way through Ukraine to the border crossing where Ukraine met Hungary and Romania.

Ukraine has interesting mix of rural and industrial vibes, not unlike my native western Pennsylvania. I was back on the pothole covered roads. I drove alongside a train for a little while. The morning fog obscured any mountains off in the distance for the moment.

The fog was so thick that even the road was difficult to see in the distance, made worse by it winding through the various mountains. I got to a point where the road forked. I was confused but I had to make a split second decision. I needed to go left ultimately, so I took the left most prong of the fork. Makes sense, right? I quickly realized that the road merged back shortly after they split and I had, in fact, entered the wrong lane. I was driving the wrong direction in this lane. I quickly sped up in order to pass the divider and get back to where I could get into the correct lane.

As soon as I got near the other side of the divider, I could see far enough ahead that no cars were coming, so I would make it just fine. But I also saw 3 Ukrainian police cars pulled over on the side of the road, the officers standing outside of them, all of them looking in my direction, surely wondering what the hell they were looking at. As I approached, one of them waved me toward them.

I pulled over and they asked for my documentation. They did so in Ukrainian. I knew what the guy wanted. I spoke in English as I gathered my passport and IDL, and my car rental documents. He waved to someone else. The guy who came over spoke a little English.

He looked at my documents and asked why I was here. I told him I was on vacation. He made a face, like every Ukrainian did, presumably thinking sitting here in the rain in a war zone is not a particularly fun excursion but to each his own. He asked where I was going and I told him to Nevytske Castle. He repeated the name back to me, though it sounded very different from how I said it. And I affirmed. He asked me where I was from and I said America. He replied that he loves America.

He let me know I was on the correct path. He told me it was close and that I should keep driving ahead and that if I looked to my right, I would see it and then you just take the road up the mountain. He handed all my documents back to me and told me I could go. As I drove away, he, and the non-English speaker both, said welcome and waved. I drove off smiling.

I continued to drive down the road smiling to myself like a doofus, winding through the Carpathians. Sure enough, just as I was told, I could see the castle up high on one of the mountains. I drove toward it. Eventually finding my way to a winding road leading up that mountain. The road was thin, so thin in some places I wondered what I would do if I saw a car coming the other way. I didn’t have to find out.

When I got to the castle, I couldn’t quite figure out the parking lot and where I was meant to enter. I looked at the castle ruins. For some reason I felt like I got what I needed. I didn’t end up entering. I had a similar feeling in Belfast, where I didn’t really need the museums and the monuments and the castles, because history was happening right now.

I drove back down the winding road. I would drive through the mountains a little more on the way to Mukachevo. As I emerged from the winding mountain road, surrounded by trees and fog, I got back to the main road.

The fog was lifting and the mountains surrounding me emerged. If the Alps are the Rockies of Europe, the Carpathians are the Appalachians. They’re lower, softer, more covered in trees. They’re in areas of industry and regular people, not wealthy ski excursions and expensive tourism. Just a few weeks prior I was in Lauterbrunnen Valley, which was Tolkien’s inspiration for Rivendell. If the Alps felt like heaven, the Carpathians felt like home.

It was certainly awe-inspiring. I don’t want to downplay it. When your road follows the valley of mountains you’ve got an incredible view. But it also felt welcoming somehow. It felt warm and alive. And I just looked around my car as I drove, observing the mountains as the fog disappeared. It was as if the mountains themselves were waking up and emerging from the Earth to guide me along the valley road as it skipped over rivers and train tracks.

As I drove, little colorful houses shared the valley with me. Locals would fly by on the pothole riddled roads at speeds that just didn’t make sense. They’d come up fast behind me and sit there for a bit. Then they would, either from the time elapsed or the Austrian license plate, realize I was not going to speed up and they would have to pass.

Occasionally, I would briefly enter a small town environment from the rural one. The tallest building was always a church, always with interesting color or architecture, often wooden. There would be a Main Street with sidewalks and a few shops and maybe a post office, some brick or stone buildings. Usually within the town or shortly outside of it would be a big brick or stone building that was a school. You could tell because of the colorful non-licensed or original (or at least not American) cartoon characters that were around.

I stopped just outside of Mukachevo to see a castle called St, Miklos. As I approached where google maps said it was, it didn’t jump out to me. I saw a kind of strip mall so I parked there. I tried to figure out where it was on my phone and it seemed to be off of the road a little. I noticed a creepy looking guy staring at me as I sat in the car. I stared back at him to make him feel weird. Didn’t take.

I got out of the car, having decided to look around to see if I could find some path back to the old castle. I walked past the creepy staring guy. I looked at him and said hi, not really in a friendly way. He kept standing and staring. He looked rough. He didn’t appear homeless or hungry, he was not elderly. My guess was he was maybe dealing with some PTSD. He was of fighting age. He just had this vacant, unmoving look.

I saw a little bit of a clearing by the road with a gravel path going back behind the buildings that were right up against the road. As I walked the path, I imagined the creepy staring guy was possibly a soldier, not active currently, he was wearing regular civilian clothes. I wondered if maybe he was just keeping an eye out. Its possible that Russians or their agents might drive around Ukraine looking for military storage or equipment or any kind of intel.

I’m not saying it was this guys official off-duty duty to keep an eye out for such things but maybe a combination of PTSD and patriotism made him feel the need to keep an eye out for his little town. As I walked the gravel, I did peak over my shoulder to make sure he wasn’t following. He wasn’t.

The building was interesting, and it was more of a building than a castle. Big gray walls with an orange roof. It had kind of a little sculpture garden on one side of it. I sat on the bench. It was totally empty, quiet, surrounded by houses. I looked at the mountains and sat there for a little while.

I walked around the building and all the doors were closed. I wasn’t sure what to do. There was one door open. I walked up and into it. I looked around a little bit.

I didn’t explore much. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to be there or what was going on. So after looking around the first floor a little bit, I just went back outside. I finished my circle around the building and sat in the little sculpture garden area some more.

The fog was fully gone by now. I could see the mountains in the distance. I could see that the sun was no longer overhead but beginning to sink in the west behind me. I would need to get on the road if I was going to make it all the way down to the Romanian border and to Budapest at a reasonable hour.

So I headed back down to my car. The creepy staring guy was still hanging around. I looked at him all the way to my car. He looked at me with his blank face. I started the car. Pulled it backwards onto the street. He watched me do it. So I stopped, rolled down the window and yelled bye as I waved to him. Again, not in a particularly friendly way. Then I drove off.

I wondered if I should feel bad, if he was some guy with PTSD. I decided I wasn’t that mean. So I just kept driving. Hours of little rural houses in mountain valleys periodically interrupted by a small town with a big church.

As I approached the border checkpoint with Hungary, I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to abandon Ukraine. I was happy that I was able to visit and spend money there, but I I wanted to do more. I was so proud of these people and what I saw, which was people living ordinary lives in extraordinary circumstances, heroically going about their days.

The border crossing into Hungary took much longer than the one entering Ukraine from Slovakia, not sure why. Roughly the same process, machine guns and cigarettes, just longer. It felt surreal to leave a war zone, to have the luxury to be able to leave.

As I entered Hungary, I thought about the decades that Hungary spent as a Russian colony. I thought about how hard they fought against it, for freedom and democracy. I thought about how quickly they gave it up too, how they let it be taken from them by Orban, who now, ironically, sides with his country’s recent oppressors, Russia, a country that owned his country. Hungarians had the deaths, the protests, the revolutions, the jail sentences, and the torture to prove they understood, at that time, it was something to fight against. And yet, they panicked, they blew it, they reverted to fear and old prejudices, and they’re not better off for it. Their GDP per capita half that of Germany. Meanwhile Poland embraced freedom and democracy and thrived. I thought about how easy it was to forget. I thought about Ukraine, and Ukrainians, and I knew I would never forget.

Slava Ukraini

by Zackary Goncz

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