“Slava Ukraini” (Glory to Ukraine) “Geroyam slava” (Glory to its heroes).
Sophie Ibbotson
We arrived in Lviv in the pitch dark and fairly close to the witching hour. A few black-clad pedestrians had done their usual clever thing of wandering aimlessly into the road without warning and, as a result, my nerves were somewhat on edge. I was also tired, rather hungry and we’d driven round in circles for the best part of an hour trying to find our hostel. One day the former USSR will discover street signs and it will be to the benefit of us all.
When the hostel receptionist introduced himself as Igor, I stifled a giggle. It was childish I know, but we were in a huge old house in Eastern Europe and, for all I knew, Dracula could have been hiding under the stairs. I didn’t expect to be able to get any dinner but Igor was confident that Lviv was home to a number of 24 hour eateries. He sent us back out into the night to find an unmarked bar with machine-gun-toting heavies on the door and a Ukrainian password to get past them. We were told to enter, drink the honey vodka, and then we’d be served food.
I was a little more than apprehensive as we walked to the bar’s supposed location. I didn’t have a clue where we were, didn’t know Igor from Adam, and recognized that my brain was completely addled from tiredness. Added to that, I don’t usually make a habit of actively seeking out men with guns. I felt very vulnerable indeed.
We reached the site of the bar to find well-dressed, arty types spilling out onto the street. I began to feel a little better about it, though still rather confused. We entered a dingy corridor into an uninviting apartment block and were met by two heavies in black uniforms, with badges sewn to their sleeves. They gave us a cursory nod and grunt and allowed us to go down the stairs. It seems we pronounced the password correctly.
As we hit the bottom of the stairs, reality slowly began to dawn on me. The basement was decked out as a bunker, with uniforms, weapons and other items hanging from the walls. Raucous Ukrainian songs blared out, the beer and local vodka were in full flow, and at every crowded table people were tucking into local food. Photos and newspaper clippings of Ukraine’s resistance heroes were pinned to multiple surfaces, and there was a Stalin picture for target shooting. We’d entered the stylized home of the Ukrainian Insurgent Army.
The UIA (UPA in Ukrainian) were partisans who fought a series of guerilla conflicts in the latter part of WW2 and in the years that immediately followed. They were determined to maintain an independent and united Ukraine and, in the course of their struggle, took on the invading forces of the Nazis, the Soviet Union, and Poland. The UIA had no foreign support but enjoyed popularity across western Ukraine, particularly in Lviv. Although the UIA was formally treated as a terrorist organization by the USSR, since independence the Ukrainian government has recognized UIA fighters as war veterans, introduced their history into school text books, and honored their anniversaries.
In true Ukrainian style, we drank to their memory with the toast “Slava Ukraini” (Glory to Ukraine) and its traditional response, “Geroyam slava” (Glory to its heroes). For us as for them, the beer and half-meter sausages slipped down a treat.
Sophie Ibbotson
We arrived in Lviv in the pitch dark and fairly close to the witching hour. A few black-clad pedestrians had done their usual clever thing of wandering aimlessly into the road without warning and, as a result, my nerves were somewhat on edge. I was also tired, rather hungry and we’d driven round in circles for the best part of an hour trying to find our hostel. One day the former USSR will discover street signs and it will be to the benefit of us all.
When the hostel receptionist introduced himself as Igor, I stifled a giggle. It was childish I know, but we were in a huge old house in Eastern Europe and, for all I knew, Dracula could have been hiding under the stairs. I didn’t expect to be able to get any dinner but Igor was confident that Lviv was home to a number of 24 hour eateries. He sent us back out into the night to find an unmarked bar with machine-gun-toting heavies on the door and a Ukrainian password to get past them. We were told to enter, drink the honey vodka, and then we’d be served food.
I was a little more than apprehensive as we walked to the bar’s supposed location. I didn’t have a clue where we were, didn’t know Igor from Adam, and recognized that my brain was completely addled from tiredness. Added to that, I don’t usually make a habit of actively seeking out men with guns. I felt very vulnerable indeed.
We reached the site of the bar to find well-dressed, arty types spilling out onto the street. I began to feel a little better about it, though still rather confused. We entered a dingy corridor into an uninviting apartment block and were met by two heavies in black uniforms, with badges sewn to their sleeves. They gave us a cursory nod and grunt and allowed us to go down the stairs. It seems we pronounced the password correctly.
As we hit the bottom of the stairs, reality slowly began to dawn on me. The basement was decked out as a bunker, with uniforms, weapons and other items hanging from the walls. Raucous Ukrainian songs blared out, the beer and local vodka were in full flow, and at every crowded table people were tucking into local food. Photos and newspaper clippings of Ukraine’s resistance heroes were pinned to multiple surfaces, and there was a Stalin picture for target shooting. We’d entered the stylized home of the Ukrainian Insurgent Army.
The UIA (UPA in Ukrainian) were partisans who fought a series of guerilla conflicts in the latter part of WW2 and in the years that immediately followed. They were determined to maintain an independent and united Ukraine and, in the course of their struggle, took on the invading forces of the Nazis, the Soviet Union, and Poland. The UIA had no foreign support but enjoyed popularity across western Ukraine, particularly in Lviv. Although the UIA was formally treated as a terrorist organization by the USSR, since independence the Ukrainian government has recognized UIA fighters as war veterans, introduced their history into school text books, and honored their anniversaries.
In true Ukrainian style, we drank to their memory with the toast “Slava Ukraini” (Glory to Ukraine) and its traditional response, “Geroyam slava” (Glory to its heroes). For us as for them, the beer and half-meter sausages slipped down a treat.
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