The difference having left Europe behind was obvious and immediate. The heavily pot-holed road and cows and horses ambling about forced Kuba to slow down, thank goodness. We passed through lush countryside and villages, old men in dusty grey suits huddled round benches watching others play chess or sitting on corners smoking, and before long we were in Lviv. It was deserted as we had arrived on one of their many public holidays. It looks just like Krakow but in a worse state, cracked and crumbling ornate buildings looking down on wonderfully wonky cobbled streets, the eerie desolation added to the feeling of a once grand city now neglected.
Our 'flat' turns out to be a dark and damp two room hovel with no comforts, not even beds, and much to my disappointment, Kuba and Paddy seem to be quite grubby. Paddy is also reluctant to pull out his wallet. He wears a rocker's leather jacket over t-shirts with music logos and says 'man' and 'wicked' which for a fat Irish grandfather in his mid-fifties just doesn't sit right. He talks big and name-drops various musicians he's 'played' with, but it's obvious at a glance that he has achieved little. We had to carry him back the first night as he got horribly drunk (so boring), he should know his limits by now. Once at our filthy den he threw up all over himself. I went to sleep with the stench of vomit and those two snoring and farting within a few feet of me.
Not surprisingly, I have decided to look for another place to stay. Kuba says it will be impossible as many tourists (mainly Russians and Poles) invade the town during the May Day Holiday. I shall set off early in the morning with my large vintage suitcase (too heavy), my city map (in Ukrainian), and my hopes high.
