Przemyśl—Sheh-mo-schull; the un-phonetic pronunciation of this Polish border town could easily be a metaphor for the Slavic experience that at this moment could not feel more alien. The Poland-Ukraine border is where the east of eastern Europe really begins.
Przemyśl‘s railway station is a Belle Epoque confection that has probably seen a lot. It has a volunteer station and even a soup kitchen for displaced Ukrainians—the first sign of the vast humanitarian overspill from the war next door. The most notable thing about those waiting for the train to Kyiv is that they are almost entirely women, unsurprising as men up to the age of 60 are banned from leaving the country due to military service obligations. Why did these people leave, why are they coming back, and back to what? I scan the crowd for a western face but cannot find any.
Over the border, the train chugs on—a 12 hour cross country ride to the city of Kyiv. This is a country at war but you would not know it immediately; just vast summer fields of sunflowers and the occasional newly built home, the latter a proxy indicator for a modest prosperity. The only noticeable thing to indicate things are not “normal” are the public service announcements about bomb and air raid self-awareness that run on the train’s TV screens. Life beyond the front lines is not risk free—Russia still lobs guided missiles into civilian areas. At first this had been military and industrial targets, but now more often is shopping malls, office and apartment blocks. Here is to hoping that today that does not include moving passenger trains.
In the meantime, Ukraine stretches to the horizon, field after field, a vast fecund land at the centre of Europe; no wonder Russia wants it so bad.
The train arrives in Kyiv with less than 20 minutes to the close of 11PM curfew. Other passengers advise that if it is too late we will have to sleep in the train station as soldiers enforce the curfew “strictly”. They also recommend downloading the “Air Raid App”. It is a wise precaution—this day a city beyond the Kyiv commuter belt near to where our train passes is hit by 3 Russian missiles, killing 23 people in a commercial complex. Most hotel’s now advertise their access to an air raid shelter, usually the underground parking lot, and advise guests to follow the “three wall rule”: get as many walls as possible between yourself and the building’s outside wall.
People are exiting the train and the station on the run—not panic, but as fast as they can. The taxi driver—I am lucky to find one—is also driving at speed through the empty streets. After he drops me at my hotel with 5 minutes to the close of curfew I wonder how he will make it home himself.