A Ukrainian Fairy Tale
We sprinted across the station platform, panting, racing in an effort to jump aboard the slow-moving train that chugged out of Lviv. I clutched a door handle, lost my balance, and thought I was going to break my neck. Somebody opened the door and hoisted me up. My boyfriend, Taras, was right behind me, and they yanked him on board, too. We fell into the train with our bags, huffing and laughing. It was summer’s end and we didn’t want to leave, but it was time and we had things to do back on the other side of the world. Everything was still lovely in Lviv.
Summer felt like a dream. Day after sunny day we lolled around on Ploshcha Rynok, the old Market Square under the mythological statues. We sipped vodka drinks steeped in spices and herbs and honey, glasses of clear medovukha, and got mildly smashed.
The real dream hadn’t kicked in yet.
In the cool of Lviv evenings, we strolled along the washed cobblestones, looking for lavish suppers. Throughout the darkened Square, restaurants and terraces were festive with lit candles, flickering and constant.
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