Lwow, Ukraine in 3 days or less

Gross generalization of a very big country based on one city and a border town: Ukraine makes Poland seem modern, efficient, and organized, as well as wealthy and prosperous. Best as I could tell, there have been very few upgrades in infrastructure and public transportation since the Soviet era. The roads, trains, trams and buses are all old, molting parts, repeatedly patched, yet mysteriously functional. Like a soldier who's yet to receive a mortal wound, just stop the bleeding and send him back out, Ukraine is still standing, a little shaky on its feet, really just needing some time to recover. Oh yeah, and it was frigging cold.
Lwow (L'viv) is a beautiful city, 750 years old, and looks it. Gorgeous, elegant buildings, elaborately carved and ornamented, in desperate need of repair and love. A wonderful market square centered around City Hall with its clock tower (350 creaking wooden steps up to a none-sturdy steel platform on top - a breathtaking view, a sigh of relief when you make it back down safely), but hardly bustling. Peeked inside some of the cathedrals, and if you're into gilt (or guilt) and vaulted ceilings with religious murals and iconography, Lwow is the place to be. Some very impressive public monuments on wide boulevards and large parks that are probably lovely to stroll down and through in spring and summer; late February, however, is a really shitty time to visit.
I would guess, given the low prices and many sights, that Lwow will become the new Prague for backpackers in the next 5-10 years, and the city could sure use it. There isn't much in the way of tourist infrastructure yet, few signs in English, virtually no souvenir shops, only two hostels and those both small, and while we may deplore that kind of thing as unsightly and whatnot, the fact is it brings money and a reason to preserve valuable history and since there's so much worth preserving in Lwow, I hope it takes its rightful place on the tourist track soon. I could've stayed another couple days, but the cold and my friend Patrick's needing to be back by today is why I returned with him.
The hostel was clean, modern and empty. The first night we had it to ourselves, and one other guest showed up the next day. It was also the warmest place we were in the whole time: whether because heating is expensive or inefficient or both, everywhere else, museums, pubs, restaurants, etc, all were just barely tolerable temperature-wise. I'd never wanted to claim my Jewish heritage more than in the cathedrals, which had no heat, as an excuse to keep my hat on.
Language was an experience as well: Ukrainian is similar to Polish, but written in Cyrilic. Patrick's Polish is better than mine, but my one year of Russian lo those many years ago helped me with the alphabet, so between us we did fairly well. I'd sound out the words, and he'd figure out the Polish equivalents and we managed to navigate and communicate our way around. At one restaurant, on the Rynok, where the old Venetian embassy used to be, we attempted to order some food. The woman who worked there got very excited, all we could understand was "chicken", and then she rushed off to the kitchen. After much clattering and chattering with her coworker (or employee, it was difficult to tell) out came soup, hearty and salty with meat we refused to speculate about, olives, lemon wedges, and Patrick had a mushroom in his bowl, though I did not. This was followed by a salad of hard-boiled eggs, canned white mushrooms, bacon and lots of mayo. The main course was a grilled chicken breast topped with dollops of ketchup and pickle slices, shoestring french fries and sides of pickled, grated carrots and cabbage. Uncertain as to whether this was something traditional, or something whipped up for the Americans. Including two beers, altogether it cost 82 gryvna, about 50zl, or about $16. This was the most expensive thing we bought while there, excluding the hostel. Average price for one beer in a pub: 3.50 UAH (2zl, or 75 cents).
But it was the border crossing that was in many ways the most enlightening experience. On the way in, we took a train from Przemysl in Poland direct to Lwow. Our fellow passengers were carting huge bags and parcels of various goods, mostly clothing it looked like. When I say huge, i mean people-sized and when I say carting, I mean they used carts loaded with these bags. Lots of stuff. The train itself was scary, cold and confusing, right out of a Bond movie. We were definitely heading east. On the way back we took a minibus, or actually two. You really haven't lived until you've crammed yourself onto a bus with seats for 17, but so small you're lucky to have one cheek on it, with about 30 people, then go careening away on ill-kept roads and all you can see are foggy windows and the crotch of the guy standing next to you.
This route means walking over the border, and while it's definitely cheaper, entails a lot more standing in the cold, and this is important when it's 15C below. First and fastest was the Ukrainian border, only about 5 minutes outside, 15 total, with some extra time because the officer couldn't figure out which was my first name and which my last. However, like most Polish people and unlike most Americans, he could pronounce it properly, with the minor exception of substituting a "v" sound for the "w". Then it was off to the Polish border, and 30 minutes outside, a stiff wind blowing from the north. Ultimately, of course, we made it through and home again, but I'm a bit surprised I still have all my toes and fingers.
I've wandered. The point is, at this crossing, there's a vibrant economy at work. Mostly in cigarettes and vodka. On the Ukrainian side, cigarettes are at least half as much as in Poland, probably due to EU taxes and so on. So many Poles cross the border to do some shopping, and on the Ukrainian side are all these little shops that sell cigarettes and booze. However, one person can only bring one carton across. Thus, you have all these people who spend their day going back and forth buying cartons in Ukraine and selling them in Poland. Of course, they don't waste a trip on only one. They break open one or two more cartons and put the individual packs in various places of their clothing. But there must be hundreds, if not thousands that do this. So on the Ukrainian side, you see people stuffing their clothes with smokes and on the Polish side you see them taking them out, and usually giving them to somebody, who presumably pays them to be a mule. And on that side, you then have the vendors, waiting for Poles who don't want the hassle of the crossing to drive up and buy cheap smokes. And this happens every day, all day. People trying to survive, trying to find a way.
Enough for now. I'm home, I have my stamp on my passport, I've seen some churches, it's all good.