Hello....I am Victor

Patriot with Ukranian Flag -- on the main square.

We arrived in Lviv at midnight -- Victor, the tour guide/translator & researcher that I contacted by email over six months ago - met us. It was quite a relief to find out there is a real person behind the emails, and he recognized us from a picture I sent him, so we did not have to look for someone holding up the COBRA (KObHA) sign. Victor took us to the apartment that I booked over the internet, and Taras, the owner of the apartment was there to meet us on the spot, so everyone stayed up late to welcome Nelson to the land of his grandparents!

Sidebar…Mum commented in an email that she could not find Lviv on the map. That might be because, depending on the age of your map, it could be in Poland (pre WW2) or Germany (during WW2) or in the Soviet Union (pre 1990). If your map is really old you will find it in the Austrian Empire. When it was Russian, the town was called Lvov. When it was German it was called Lemberg. Not that it is Ukrainian, it’s called Lviv. If you still can’t find it, look at the map and find Poland…find Warsaw…go SW to Krakow…(or is that Crakow?)….go west to Lviv, it’s just across the border.

We spent our first day recovering from the train ride and looking around the old town center. Our apartment was 500 meters from the main square, just around the corner from the pedestrian zone and right in the middle of the action. Every night a young woman busker played violin outside the restaurants on the main road, and we sat on our balcony and listened to her music! There are beautiful old buildings, cobblestone streets, museums, restaurants, there are crowds of people but…everyone is Ukrainian! Nelson heard only one English voice all week, and the man was confused about something. Nelson said “What are you after?” to him, but the man looked right past him and worried away. By the end of the day we had found the (one!) bank that would accept our debit cards, found the farmer’s market and the flower market, spotted the Canadian consulate (big red and white flag flying from an ordinary apartment building balcony) and picked up an English city guide at one of the fancy hotels. The most challenging part of the day was finding a place to eat….

We went to the main square. Pizza by the slice? Nah. Most of these street side places seem to be “drinks only” establishments. Oh, here’s a place. Let’s sit outside. Oh, the tables are high and the seats are low. I feel like a kindergarten kid in a grade 7 room. This is not comfortable. I made Nelson and John move along. Next place….let’s sit inside. Hmm, what’s with the two girls in bunny outfits? Is that a stage back there? Menu? No thanks. (Waiter follows us and gives us the restaurant card….Exotic Dancers….who would have guessed?).

Final stop, outside tables, a few people have food but most just have drinks. It’s 7:45 p.m. on a Thursday night. Nelson and John order pasta, I decide pasta is for chickens and order something “Ukrainian”. Beer, wine, and Fanta are delivered. Wine is in a parfait dish. Hmmm? Wine is dreadful. Oh well, we are still in beer country. The big man sitting behind Nelson hears our English voices and introduces himself. He tells Nelson that Nelson has ordered the wrong beer, he should be drinking the other brand. His table is drinking vodka shots, but he definitely has an opinion about beer. He speaks very little English, but he can talk about beer! Spaghetti arrives, very small servings. No sign of other food. Spaghetti is eaten. Big fellow insists on ordering Nelson a half liter of the “right beer.” No sign of other food. Waitress looks at me, smiles and shrugs. I have another parfait glass of terrible wine, live like the locals, right? Other food finally arrives, it’s a baked fish dish, cheese on top, and it’s really good, so I feel better. We walk home and sit on the balcony listening to the violin playing down at the corner.