Journey to Ukraine, Through a Snowbound Landscape

Andrew had offered – so kindly – to come with me to Ukraine.  Thank God he was organising the flights, trains, airbnbs.  I’m impatient at the best of times, with a tendency to panic – we’d have got nowhere if it was me organising the trip. 

 But the night before, when we were packing, he sat glumly on my sofa, wearing a Russian hat with side-flaps on his head and with a duvet pulled up to his chin, staring moodily at about eight pairs of boots lined up in front of him, not knowing which to take.  Oh God, oh God! But the next afternoon, when we arrived in Warsaw, all was joy.  The Old Town looked glorious, Christmas lights up everywhere as we wandered the streets.  We met up with a couple of Ukrainian friends, who’d been staying with me in London a month earlier.  They’d fled Kyiv early in the war and were now living in Poland.

“Staring at the miles of snowbound landscape, dotted here and there with simple cottages, I was enraptured by the mystery of being here, being on my way…”

Later that day, I was pelting through the streets in search of a taxi.  None to be seen.  One, when I stopped him, laughed in my face, “You won’t get one now!”  I ran on, towards the Bristol Hotel, where I was sure I’d find something – for a price. We boarded the train, leaving at 5.30pm.   A lonely kitbag had been standing by the stairs leading up to the platform, UKRAINE painted on its side.  Some soldier, I suppose. We were in a tiny sleeper compartment – me jammed up against the heater, taking off layer after layer as the temperature rose.  At 19.53 the train halted at Lublin.  I’d encountered mention of Lublin in so many books…it was the scene of so many wartime deaths… It was starting to snow, people were standing motionless on the platform, waiting for phantom trains… The compartment walls were thin, we heard the voices of our neighbours either side.  Would we sleep…?

Twice in the night we were abruptly woken with shouts and blinding lights.  The compartment door banged open,  “Passports!”  First Polish border police, then two hours later, Ukrainian border police. Each time the shock drove me bolt upright in the bunk.  But as the dawn light filtered in through the compartment window, I stared at the miles of snowbound landscape, dotted here and there with simple cottages and was enraptured by the mystery of being here, being on my way…