We'll Swim After Victory

When my company offered me a couple of days in Odesa in September to oversee a logistics operation, I jumped at the opportunity, booking train tickets from Poland, and even packing my swimming trunks. Alas, the beaches where I spent glorious weekends last summer remain off limits, mined against Russian landing attempts and empty save for stray cats that roam the dunes and gnaw at dead gulls.

The normal city bustle that greets me as I exit the central station after the overnight journey belies the precariousness of life here. The imminent invasion threat of the first weeks of the war receded after Ukraine received anti-ship missiles from its allies. But Russia’s Black Sea Fleet still casts a shadow over Odesa from afar, air-raid sirens sound most days, and occasional missiles launched from Crimea hit buildings and infrastructure. The Ukrainian counteroffensive rages just 100 kilometers away in the Kherson region, and, despite the staunch loyalty of most of the local population to the Ukrainian state, the SBU (Security Service) has its work cut out hunting down cells of collaborators and saboteurs intent on assisting a Russian takeover.

I get a tingle just being back here, not only because of the conflict conditions. Of the cities I have visited in Ukraine over the years, Odesa always had a special attraction, in large part because of its Imperial heritage. Steeped in tsarist history and architecture and proud of its legacy as Catherine the Great’s holiday resort, it still feels like a bastion of cultural “Russianness” in the Ukrainian southwest. Russian remains the lingua franca, and, prior to the February 24 invasion, skeptical local media liked to refer to Ukraine’s language ombudsman Taras Kremin as the “Sprechenführer,” as he sought to steer Odesa deeper into the Ukrainian fold. The monument to Tsarina Catherine II towers proudly near the barricaded Potemkin steps and was a scene of tensions in early September as opposing factions gathered to demand and protest the removal of the symbol of past Russian rule. An official decision on the issue was expected soon.

“I am really of two minds about this,” says Vitaly, a young tour guide who waits hopefully for customers on Deribasivska Street, quiet now compared to scenes of teeming holidaymakers a year ago. “But considering the bad things she did to the Ukrainian people, maybe it is right to remove her finally.” He also dispels one of the main arguments for retaining the statue, that the Tsarina founded the city. “She didn’t – it already existed as a fortress and port called Khadjibey in the fifteenth century or even earlier,” he says, noting the debate among historians about whether it became a proper settlement under the Tatars, Lithuanians, or Turks.

Talk to them about the war and Odesites refer happily to the sinking of Russia’s Moskva missile ship in April and the withdrawal of Russian forces from the strategically important Snake Island, located 140 kilometers to the south. Few realistically expect Moscow’s forces to appear here now, even if the grain export deal brokered in July potentially creates opportunities for Russian ships to sneak through Odesa’s sea defenses. Then the extent of Ukraine’s new inventory of weapons will fast become apparent. “If they try to come in, the Black Sea will become the Dead Sea for them,” Odesa Oblast Military Administration spokesman Sergei Bratchuk told the Apostrophе TV channel in August.

However, a missile strike on the Odesa port facilities on July 23, the day after the grain deal between Kyiv and Moscow was signed, came as a reminder that nothing is certain these days when dealing with Russia. “I usually don’t respond to the air-raid sirens, apart from maybe saying a quick prayer from my bed, but that was the first time I was terrified,” says resident Tanya, who was wrenched from her sleep by the attack. “I don’t live anywhere near the port area, but it was so loud, they must have used some really powerful weapons.”

Nonetheless, the security situation shows signs of steady stabilization. The Czech hedgehog tank traps were removed from Deribasivska and other central streets in early summer, as were the sandbag fortifications in front of the Opera House. Vendor stalls reopened with new lines of patriotic merchandise like the popular “Russian warship go #&*$#yourself” T-shirts and mugs.* Unfortunately, there aren’t many customers apart from curious IDPs – internally displaced persons – who came to the city in large numbers from frontline areas like Mykolayiv. Tour guide Vitaly has hosted only a handful of foreigners this summer, including a small group of Mexican men and a biker from Slovakia who rode here specially “to support Ukraine’s economy.” Rents in the tourist area have halved since February, and many vacation apartments are still empty. Visitors hoping to indulge in the seamier side of local life are in for a disappointment anyway – the city’s numerous strip clubs are largely closed due to the 11 p.m. curfew and the 8 p.m. watershed on alcohol sales. Convenience stores in the Deribasivska area are also boarded up, creating impromptu display stands for the vibrant anti-war art scene that has appeared.

I can’t help thinking that Russia isn’t done with this city yet, and I tell a fellow passenger on the night train that I hope I am wrong. She gives me a reproachful look and says, “You mustn’t hope, you must believe. Our guys are cleaning up the Russians in one place after the other. Everything will be all right.” It’s an opinion I hear from many people over my two days in Odesa.

Once the fighting stops, the beaches and coastline will have to be thoroughly cleansed of deadly hazards. Russian naval mines are still floating around the Black Sea and have been found off Romania and even Turkey. There have been cases where people in Odesa disregarded warning signs only to be blown up on the sands by Ukrainian mines. I take the cable car down to the beach area, the only passenger apart from a smooching couple that glides past me uphill. As I walk parallel to the deserted waterline, a machine-gun fires intermittent bursts across the bay in live fire training that the locals seem not to notice anymore.

A newspaper runs the full-page article, “Sunny Bulgaria is almost like our beloved Odesa,” citing the experience of the 120,000 Ukrainians who have sought refuge in that nearby country since February and who are mostly expected to come home when it is safe. Full resumption of normal life will have to wait a while yet, but the consensus is that it is on its way. “We’ll swim after victory and peace,” said military administration spokesman Bratchuk.

At the end of my brief stay, I boarded my train to Lviv in near darkness as an air-raid siren wailed. I for one will return with my wife, kids, and swimming trunks as soon as possible.