A holiday air floats over Ukraine. Both during the war and in times of peace, the inhabitants of Kiev used to come to relax on the municipal beaches of the Dnieper, which, in the absence of clean water, offered a refuge from the scorching heat, in the shade of a few trees. This summer, conflict is never far away. In recent days, sirens have sounded regularly in the afternoon.
On social networks, the Ukrainian air force has warned that Russian MiG-31K planes are carrying out exercises a few hundred kilometers away, in Russia, carrying Kinjal hypersonic missiles, which are impossible to stop by air defense. Not enough to slow down those who have returned for only a few weeks “at home”. Nearly 6.3 million Ukrainians are still refugees abroad, according to the UN, and at least half of Ukrainian families remain separated by war : some have taken the path of the front, others that of exile.
“Our lives have taken different paths”
Eighteen months after settling in Frankfurt, Lioudmila, 28, traveled alone for three days by car to reach Ukraine. In the early morning of February 25, 2022, she had made the same journey in the opposite direction, fleeing kyiv with friends. The young woman, who ran a café before the invasion, does not intend to return to live in the Ukrainian capital as long as the war continues. She had only been home once, last summer, for a month.
This year, “it was the 30th anniversary of my parents’ marriage, so I surprised them by arriving with flowers and my sister, to keep our tradition”, explains the young woman, who continues to meet her friends. since three weeks ago. “I have the impression that this year and a half in Frankfurt was just a dream, and that overnight I woke up, as if I had never stopped living here, he breathes. On the surface, life hasn’t changed much in Kiev, but when I talk to my relatives I see that our lives have taken different paths: I am a refugee in a foreign country, they live in a country at war. “
On social networks, some soldiers are annoyed by this apparent lightness in the sunny capital, as they lead a deadly counter-offensive on the front. Dzianis, commander of the Belarusian legion, met in a park in the center of kyiv, is more nuanced. “Civilians should lead a normal and peaceful civilian life, people go clubbing, go for a walk! I saw the streets of Kiev empty at the beginning of the invasion, and I can tell you that this emptiness is is horror!” exclaims the soldier, sitting on a bench, very close to a place hit by a Russian strike last October. “Look around you, life is possible, and that means the army is doing its job well,” Dzianis continues. Behind him, elderly men calmly play chess while drinking vodka, despite the oppressive heat and the early hour. One of them offers him a game.
Tourism resumes, far from Russian strikes
Other Kyiv residents are taking advantage of the summer to take their mind off things outside the capital. The station, scene of the exodus at the start of the invasion, is filled with travellers. Most night trains to tourist and less dangerous destinations in the west of the country are fully booked. On the platform, in front of wagons painted blue and yellow, Margarita and Hryhoriy embrace their 4-year-old daughter, Milana, while waiting for their train to leave for Rakhiv, in the Carpathians, in the south-west of the country. “Since February 24, 2022, we had not left Kiev. It was very difficult, especially with a child, but we felt more useful here, even under the bombs: we hold the economic front, assures the 30-year-old who , like her husband, works in the restaurant business. Morally, we weren’t ready to go on vacation, but in the end we’re going to the mountains for the weekend. The little one motivates us to continue living ‘normally’…” Les tourist infrastructures of the Carpathian Mountains have made it possible to accommodate some of the five million of internally displaced persons. Today, tourism is gradually resuming there, the area being one of the most spared by the Russian strikes.
A woman poses for photos, holding the Ukrainian flag next to destroyed Russian armored military vehicles displayed on Khreshchatyk street, on Ukraine’s Independence Day in Kyiv, August 24, 2023.
© / AFP
A little further, Lyubov and Dmytro leave for two days in the ski resort of Bukovel, one of the most upscale in Ukraine, for some hikes. Their last vacation together was in Barcelona, just before the invasion. Since then, Lyubov has been visiting friends in Europe for a while, but her husband can no longer leave the country, like all Ukrainian men aged 18 to 60 who can be mobilized by the army. “Of course, we all blame each other, with this impression of not doing enough [NDLR : dans l’effort de guerre], but everyone has the right to rest, she slips. Even my soldier friends take a few days off to see their families.”
A few hundred meters away, at the bus station, Valeri, 61, is ending his short stay in Ukraine with his wife and their six huge suitcases. When asked where he lives, the sexagenarian remains pensive. “We are inhabitants of kyiv, but we live temporarily in Switzerland”, he finally answers. The couple must reach Prague by coach, before taking a night bus to Lausanne, where their daughter and granddaughter are waiting for them. A day and a half of travel, where it only took a few hours by plane. Valeri leaves her town reluctantly, but “the most important thing is to be reunited again”.
Despite the counter-offensive, summer often corresponds to leave time for some soldiers. President Volodymyr Zelensky signed a law to extend military annual leave from ten to thirty days. In Kramatorsk, in the Donbass, those who are not so lucky spend a few days with their families, despite the regular bombardments.
This city, about thirty kilometers from the front line, near Bakhmout, has gradually transformed into the “capital of love” for military wives. Sporadic bombardments rumble in the distance when the 1:38 p.m. intercity enters the station. Dozens of women throw themselves into the arms of their uniformed husbands. “I’ve waited so long for this moment that I wasn’t even afraid to come close to the front line,” breathes Anastasia, who turns 31 tomorrow. Her husband, whom she has not seen for eight months, gives her 31 white roses. On the program, “nothing exceptional, she said, we’re just going to try to spend a few days of normal life… almost like before.”