Don't worry, I hate reading too
First Nights in Lviv
I was already in Poland and Ukraine felt like the natural next move. I'd been traveling for nine months and wanted to see what it was actually like on the ground right now, so I did what any person would do, I chatted with ChatGPT and asked if it was possible. I knew a friend there, a DJ who'd been playing shows in Kyiv, so I reached out to ask if it was safe and whether we might cross paths. She said yes. So I went.
My very first night set the tone. Air raid sirens at 2 a.m., and all the foreigners slowly worked their way down to the bunker, if you really call it that. I went down to the hostel reception and asked the guy at the desk if he was coming. In a thick Ukrainian accent he looked at me and said: "If you scared, you go to bunker. If you not scared, you go to sleep. I'm staying here working." By the third air raid I put in my earplugs, lay back on my top floor bunk, stared up through the skylights above me, and meditated myself to sleep.
That's Lviv in a sentence. The locals are numb to it. If anything, they get annoyed when foreigners wake them up climbing out of bunks at 2 a.m.
The next morning, everyone wakes up. There's a daily moment of silence in the streets for those who lost their lives the night before that ends with, and I kid you not “May the force be with you”. Then life resumes. People line up for coffee, dress sharply, carry on. Lviv feels fashionable even in wartime. Service members mix into the crowd. Kids run around laughing jumping through fountains on a hot day. It's a city that feels alive, despite everything.
I'm in Western Ukraine, relatively far from the frontlines. It's not safe, but safer. A week before I arrived, a drone flew right over my hostel. Another strike had recently hit a factory nearby. I had plans to go to Kyiv after Lviv, to meet my friend there. Then a missile hit frighteningly close to her neighborhood and she told me not to come. She was leaving anyway, heading south to a smaller town. I stayed in Lviv. A British guy I'd met at my hostel ended up going to Kyiv instead, and he's basically been there ever since. Raves about it. Part of me still regrets not going.
I went in with zero agenda. No plan, no checklist. Just a spectator with an open mind, curious what it actually felt like on the ground. Some of the most interesting conversations came from simply asking people what they were seeing. When I asked if they still got many foreigners through, the answer surprised me: Brazil, Spain, Portugal, the U.S. But almost all of them were there to volunteer for the war effort. I was just there to see the place. That felt strange for a moment, like I should have a better reason. But every time I brought it up, people assured me it was fine. More than fine.
Multiple people went out of their way to thank me for coming. There were Americans there too, some who had been living in Ukraine since before the war teaching English, one who had just moved there to do the same. I heard stories from a soldier back from the frontline, a guy who runs a bar, people just living their lives inside something enormous. Over five days in one city I made real friends, heard things I'm still thinking about, and left wishing I'd had more time.
Nights Out in Lviv
After a few more days the rhythm of the city starts to reveal itself. Friday nights are surreal. Everything officially shuts down for curfew at midnight til 5am, but somehow everyone knows about three or four speakeasies scattered around town. Secret doors with literal red buttons, hidden bars, music going late. That first Friday there were drone alarms all night. Inside the speakeasy nobody paid attention. People just carried on.
Saturday nights are a different scene entirely. Fancier spots, champagne flowing, beautiful people everywhere. The martial law out here in the west isn't super strict. If you're American they really don't bother you. Ukrainians get a slap on the wrist at worst. Mostly people just quietly push past the rules, but also not blatantly ignoring them.
Something you notice pretty quickly: a lot of Ukrainian women based abroad come back specifically for this. They fly in, party for a few days, post content, leave. Easy to talk to, warm, genuinely fun to be around. But local Ukrainian men have a very different read on it. Some are pretty openly annoyed. Their fathers are being pulled off streets and sent to the front, and here are women treating Lviv like a content opportunity. I'm not going to judge it. I asked myself more than once: if this was happening to my country, how would I react? I honestly don't know. Every situation is different. Context changes everything.
And then there's the photography. Everywhere you go, at every bar and club and outdoor event, there are couples where the guy is functioning as a full time unpaid photographer for his girlfriend. I watched one guy photograph the same woman in the exact same spot for forty five minutes straight because she didn't like any of the photos. In Lviv. During a war. I'm nine months into traveling the world specifically because I retired from being someone's Instagram boyfriend, and here I am watching it play out in a warzone. Some things are universal.
Conversations With Soldiers
The other side of it shows up in conversations. I talked to an injured Ukrainian soldier and asked what he thought about a possible peace deal. His answer was blunt: he just wanted people to stop dying. He told me Ukraine would probably have to give up some territory for peace to happen, but not too much. Not the heartland, not Kyiv, nothing that erases who they are. Just enough to stop the bloodshed.
When I asked about Zelensky he didn't hesitate. "This man is defending our country. He hasn't given up. That inspires us." Then he said something that stuck with me: "We won't know the truth about this war for 10 years." Not just the frontlines. The big picture, the politics, the foreign interests. From where he stands he can only see what's right in front of him: men trying to kill him, and his brothers trying to hold the line. Everything else is fog that history will sort out later.
Life Between Two Realities
That's what Ukraine feels like right now. Two realities running side by side. Speakeasies and sirens. Influencers flying in for the weekend (to be fair also visiting family) and soldiers coming back from the front on a few days off or to heal. A receptionist at his desk at 2 a.m. while drones pass overhead, not going anywhere.
I didn't come here to say I visited a warzone. I came because I was curious and wanted to understand how people actually live inside something like this. And honestly, Ukraine is underestimated. The people, the resilience, the quality of life that somehow persists. It's also the cheapest place I've been in Europe by a wide margin, and apparently prices have doubled since the war started. When this is over, this place is going to boom. I'd bet on it.
American movies portray it as a third world soviet gray looking country. I didn’t see it like that at all, although I was there in the summer time, but ultimately, not a far cry from how rural USA looks either. Gray block buildings and leafless trees in the winter time. Not much different, just less stylish.
Tourism matters here too. The economy is still open, people are still running businesses, and simply showing up and spending money is not a small thing. Multiple people thanked me for coming. That wasn't nothing.
I only had five days in one city. Barely a scratch on the surface. A full guide on how to actually get there, where to stay, and what to know is coming in another post. But this one was never about logistics. It was about going in open, paying attention, and trying to understand. I think everyone who can should consider it.
Everyone keeps going. What else can you do.