A Momentary Peace

So, you see, my restless sleep was warranted. The early-morning yowls of disaffected youth in their nationalistic fervor, punctuated by smashing glass, contributed to my tossing and turning all night. At times, it sounded as if the posse was right outside my window… as if they knew where I was hiding.

The night went kind of like this:

Startled by a noise, I open my eyes: 1:27 am.

Try to be still… 1:52

2:12

2:17

3:03

Слава Богу, the alarm is set for 4:30 am. I fiiiiinally drift off to sleep, and, of course, АЛЯРМ. Time to spring into action--I got a plane to catch!

Being the efficient half-Uke that I am, with a little Deutsch mixed into my mutt-ness for good measure, I had set my clothes out before bed and packed everything except essential toiletries. In spite of my perceived preparedness, I am still brushing my teeth when Пані Господиня softly raps on the door of my квартира. “Таксівка чекає.” What!?--It’s only 4:45! The taxi was supposed to be here at 5... No matter, hussle up. I roll out of the cat piss suite at 5 am on the dot, exhausted as ever. 

On the way out the door, I hand my payment to

Пані Господиня, with an extra 20 hryvnia from the day before. I'm so nice.

The taxi driver has a soft voice and kind face, big blue eyes framed by laugh lines. He reminds me of my godfather, вуйко Олег. Funny, that although I am utterly foreign to Ukraine, I feel like I am surrounded close family and distant relatives: people's faces look a lot like mine. For a moment, I pretend that I am riding alongside my uncle, and conjure comfort in feigned familiarity.

During my short time here, I have come to understand that Ukrainian drivers operate their vehicles as if on the autobahn. Seriously! Even the timing of the stoplights resembles an auto race: red counts down as a warning to pedestrians, which gives way to yellow as a signal for drivers to get ready, then green. And they’re off! However, вуйко drives slow and steady, a welcome relief.

The sleeping streets of Львів are eerily calm, even as the hooliganistic howls of just a few hours earlier still ring in my ears. The night time sky reluctantly gives way to dawn, bathing the city in a supernatural slate and complementary creamsicle hue. Quiet instrumental techno plays on the taxi radio: momentary peace.

Before too long, we drive up tree-lined road approaching Львів International. It’s a small airport, with a grandiose pseudo-classical facade that looks like it was built in the Soviet 50s, though it may be a vestige from Euro 2012 for all I know. Triumphant columns support a triangular pediment, with bloc-ey cyrillic letters declaring: “АЕРОПОРТ.” Вуйко pulls up to the entrance of the domestic terminal, where I absorb my luggage and prepare to check in.

Snap! I'm late for my dirigible!

While waiting in line, I notice a man clad in Ukrainian Army fatigues patrolling the terminal with a highly visible semi-automatic weapon strapped to his chest. There’s only one ticket counter open in the entire airport, and there only seems to be one flight departing at this time of morning. The entire place is desolate, save for airport personnel, security, Пан Солдат, and the handful of folks who can afford to fly to Kyiv instead of taking the train.

Muted terminal televisions show a constant stream of footage from the frontlines, interspersed with briefings by Armed Forces leaders. Video shows military machines digging trenches in sunflower fields, and interviews with young men in uniform dangling cigarettes from their lips as if trying to look older than they actually are. The scene is utterly surreal. And lonely. Momentary peace has evaporated in the morning sunlight, and anxiety starts to whisper to me once again.