By Andriy OKHRYMOVYCH
There was so much history there that I have lost all interest in it. The
phrase is mine and deals with Prague. The same may be said also about Lviv.
It is, of course, a crude exaggeration to talk about loss of interest.
It is impossible to satiate oneself with Prague or Lviv, nor is it possible
to miss the twin-like mutual resemblance of these cities, in architecture,
above all.
This is a kind of an Austrian sting of gems: Vienna, Krakow, Prague,
and Lviv. They are very introverted, intimate, and perhaps sinister. At
any rate, Lviv's compact medieval center with its narrow streets does inspire
such a mood. This city is also called the Piedmont of the Ukrainian nation,
a departure point of national cultural revival. The Lviv version of the
latter differs from, although is not an alternative to, that of Kyiv. People
communicate here in a narrower, closer, and more family-like warm way.
I observed something similar in the Dzyha fine arts center. A refined coffee
and a still more refined cognac. Taras Chubai, so familiar on television,
and a host of unknown artists, poets, and musicians. One of them looked
like Salvador Dali. He lives in Kyiv and has a grown-up son. He comes to
Lviv to hang out, for here he finds more warmth and understanding. Even
the local toughs look softer. What is to blame for this seems to be the
traditional Galician upbringing: a prayer before meals and inborn respect
for parents and family. All this seems incompatible with street toughs,
as much as street toughs are incompatible with Lviv's architecture, with
the idea of Lviv as the Piedmont of Ukraine and the last bastion of its
national spirit. When you leave Lviv, you feel a deeply-set unclear desire,
and you only become fully aware of its essence when you approach Kyiv and,
looking out the train window, your eye catches concrete fences with debilitating
and morbid phrases: "Bandera nationalists, we'll hang you all" or "Long
live the Soviet Union." The emotions provoked by these graffiti are somewhat
consonant with one of Taras Shevchenko's verses: "And with your head in
your hands, you wonder where is the apostle of truth and knowledge." Sometimes
it seems we will have to wait for him forever.






