Lviv Through Polish Eyes: Lychakiv Polish Cemetery

The group is called 'Viagra' (seriously) and they are one of the most memorable things I saw on TV at Retro Hostel Schevcheko.  There are worse ways to nurse a hangover than sitting in a hostel lobby watching three beautiful women singing really bad Russian pop music.  My Polish comrades and I spent the late morning staring at the TV while making plans for the day.

I was fine with leaving the day's plans up to the Polacks.  History dictates it.  Lviv has twice been under Polish control: once from 1349 until 1772 and again from 1918 until 1939.  This Polish influence still is evident in much of Western Ukraine's culture and people.  In fact most of the Ukrainians one meets in the area are able to speak Polish as well as Ukrainian.  We were lucky to have one Polish guy who had not gone out the previous night and was able to guide our group of hungover vagrants through the various (Polish) points of interest in the city.

Time was limited.  We had already lost much of the morning trying to find another hostel.  The Retro Hostel staff had neglected to tell us the previous night that the entire University of Amsterdam Student Orchestra had booked there for the next 3 days.  Fifty-four Dutch college kids were to arrive that afternoon with their instruments, meaning our Polish crew had no place to stay.  We already walked to several nearby hostels; all were booked solid.  We returned tired and explained our predicament to the staff.  I used my 'hostel manager' title to explain that they had acted unprofessionally by double-booking us...blah blah blah...besides we'd hate to leave a place with such a cute staff.

After some consideration they agreed to let us sleep on the lobby sofas for free.  

Before I continue I should introduce my partners in crime: Adam, Rado and Mateusz.  Mateusz was the sensible one who had slept early last night, brought a guidebook and was to be our patient tour guide for the day.  Meanwhile Adam, Rado and I spent most of the time making stupid 'debil' jokes and hitting on Ukraine girls in the street.  Once again I discovered that my Polish heritage influences my behavior much more than I thought.  The arrival of the University of Amsterdam Orchestra only confirmed this.

Just before noon fifty-four Dutch university students started filling up the hostel lobby.  Our attempts to greet them and be friendly were met with curt "hello's" and skeptical looks.  Its here I learned that many Western Europeans view Eastern European immigrants in the same way Americans view Latino immigrants: uneducated, poor, a social burden and an automatic scapegoat for all the Western countries' problems.  The fact that these Polish jokers were with a loud, 'ignorant' American probably didn't help.  It was time to go. 

 Our first destination, the Lychakiv Polish Cemetery, was a long, long walk.  On the map it looked like a straight shot east from the hostel, but of course the winding, crooked old streets got us disoriented.  Polacks are fortunately not that strict and we took our meanderings in stride.  On the way to the cemetery we took out our cameras to snap several pictures.  We followed a simple tourist maxim:

"If it looks important, take a picture."

Here's some examples.  If you asked me what they were, I'd have no idea.  But they look important.

Perhaps Mateusz has identified these buildings in his guidebook.  I was not concerned with the data.  I was simply happy to see that Lviv was a beautiful, historic city with elegant architecture, and not a burned-out, post-Soviet hellhole like some people had led me to believe.  What I had seen in only one day would put it on par with any major European capitol like Paris or Vienna.

Once we got our bearings east on Levyts'koho Ulica we arrived at the Lychakiv Polish Cemetery gates quite quickly.  I noted with some concern that there was a ticket booth with a line.  We have to pay to see dead people?  I accepted it as part of the tourist industry and got in line behind the Polacks.

There were three entrance fees: adult, child and student.  The student fee was about a third the price of regular admission.  How could I get that price?  I noticed the Polacks pulling out their student identifications and saying "Studentky" to the large, grumpy ticket man before they paid.  Thinking quickly I took out my Illinois State Driver's License and presented it at the booth.  Without hesitating I said loudly:

"Studentky!!"

The man barely glanced at my US driver's license.  He didn't even care.  I received a student price ticket for 5 Hryvnia and was waved away by the lazy ticket employee.   I turned to see my Polish friends laughing their heads off.  They thought my "studentky" scheme was quite funny and gave it the high Polish honor of being "totally zajebisty."

We started walking down a stone path into the leafy forest that covered the cemetery.  Gothic statues, large crosses and the occasional elaborate masoleum were scattered haphazardly among the tall trees and overgrown bushes.  The area had the usual post-communist country's lack of city maintenance and it was easy to wander off the marked stone paths onto the many dirt footpaths that had been created by the constant wear of thousands of unchecked visitors' shoes.  At night the cover of trees would have added to the sinister feeling typical of many graveyards, but during midday they created relief from the hot summer sun and added a pleasant dappled effect to the grey tombstones.

 

The sunny day and general good nature of our group kept us in high spirits despite walking through a dreary graveyard.  We strolled down the shady path while pointing out notable tombstones and discussing the history of the area.  Mateusz was taking the tour seriously, but Rado, Adam and I mainly spent the time continuing with our stupid jokes and talking of things that men worldwide can relate too: sports, booze and women.  As expected it turned into a male contest to see who had drank the most and who had slept with the most international women.  After debate it seemed I was winning...  I may fail at many other things in life, but when it comes to "living the life" I'm always on top.

We decided to adventure off the main stone road onto one of the smaller meandering paths.  We found a path just wide enough for one person so we formed a single file.  It took us down an incline that lead out of the shady forest and into the bright sunlight.  Carefully we made our way downhill to where the ground leveled out.  We were still in the cemetery but this part was clearly more orderly.  A large stone necropolis looked out over hundreds of rows of white marble crosses.   Mateusz pulled out his guidebook while asking me:

"It looks like the famous American military cemetery.  How you call it?"

"Arlington National Cemetery.  In our capitol of Washington D.C...well actually Alexandria, Virginia.  We don't have crosses though."

A few close looks at the crosses confirmed our guessing.  This section of the cemetery was for Polish military veterans.  The gravestones designated each members military ranking below their names.  Many of the stones were covered in fresh flowers and red and white ribbons for the Polish flag.  However some bore no nameplate at all.  Unknown soldiers.

This was the 'Cemetery of The Defenders of Lwow' where some 3,000 Polish fighters who died in the Polish-Ukrainian War of 1918-1919 are buried.  Their fight over the territory of Eastern Galicia resulted in the region falling under Polish control.  My mother later informed me that my Polish roots are from Galicia - which would make me half Ukrainian.  I didn't know this at the time, but the quiet, ordered serenity of the white rowed gravestones left me in a rare moment of silent contemplation.



We all needed some silent contemplation. Too little sleep and too much partying had caught up to us.  In this open part of the cemetery the only shade we found was under one of the stone archways that marked an entrance.  Despite the hard gravel we gratefully sat down.  Poor Rado had lost a 'comrade' in the fight against alcohol last night, leaving his Polish girl very unhappy.  We performed a burial ceremony for his little K.I.A. 'soldier.'  It was one of the most absurd moments of my Lviv trip, yet we completed the ceremony with a serious, solemn air.

Mateusz regaled us with some important facts about the cemetery.  I can't recall any off the top of my head, but I'm sure they can be found online.  We lay in the comforting shade, listening to him read the guidebook until our hunger came.

"Let's get lunch!"