Among Chernivtsi's strengths, she indicated its landscape and terrain, which make it possible to cross the city in half an hour, and also the openness of the local government to new ideas. Nevertheless, the local youth tend to move to Kyiv or Lviv, and their place here is taken over by newcomers from the countryside. 'The city has no decent concert-hall, nor alternative cultural spaces,' Natalia says. Indeed, after 9 p. m. Chernivtsi is dead quiet.

On the other hand, the deserted city centre in the evening has a romantic touch to it. Olha Kobylanska Street, or 'stometrivka' (100-meter promenade), as it is popularly called, is one of the most beautiful streets in Chernivtsi. A closer look at the city will reveal that everything here speaks about this land's link to Austria-Hungary. At such moments, one has a weird feeling that the events that have happened here after the Second World War are pure fiction. Chernivtsi has been lucky to preserve its pro-Western aspect, even if in appearance only.

'There is true Austria there!' a passer-by, aged fifty or so, responds when we ask him the way to the literary café. And having noticed that we are holding a city map from a local tourist office, he adds:

'That map is good for nothing, you'd better take mine,' and produces a map of Chernivtsi printed on an A4 sheet.

'OK, but why is true Austria in the literary café?'

'Because the old furniture from the Habsburg café, which was here in the Habsburg times, has been carried over to the literary café. That place is better than our museums. All the worthy stuff has been taken away to Lviv and Kyiv, and we are left with crap, so you'd better go to the literary café. And one more thing: use their toilet. They have the old toilet bowl. No, just wait. The toilet bowl has been broken – someone climbed up on it with his feet.'

'Is that true that every Chernivtsi resident once felt obliged to visit Vienna?'

'Previously, before the Soviet regime, as I was told, every hotel had the telephone connection with Paris or Berlin, or Vienna, for that matter. It was not a problem.

'Well, thank you!'

'Wait a minute. Take my advice: they will offer you a mannik pie, but don't buy it, it is Jewish here. Also, they will offer you some wine – but don't drink it,' the man added with a mischievous wink and walked on to the road crossing.

According to Serhiy Osachuk, a historian and Austria's Honorary Consul to Chernivtsi, the houses in Chernivtsi before the Habsburg rule were clay-walled, and few people could read and write. 'In the times of Austria-Hungary, people started getting education. Sometimes parents could even be fined, if they prevented their children from going to school. The grown-ups, however, were not compelled to study. If someone wanted to make a career, they had to learn the German language and become literate. If one chose to graze cows, then they did not need to speak German. You can speak any language to cows,' Mr. Osachuk says.

Indeed, in a periodical of those days we find a job advertisement for a nanny that marks the knowledge of German as a key eligibility requirement. Local newspapers in Chernivtsi in those times were multilingual – they included texts in Polish, French, and German. But the laws were drafted mostly in German, Old-Ukrainian, and Romanian.

'This is the best way to learn German,' says Karina. 'I was surprised to meet a German volunteer here. He is learning Ukrainian. Now, a German guy has a better command of Ukrainian than myself, a native Hutsul.'

Daniel, a language assistant, is not the one who speaks Ukrainian. But he is fluent in Polish and Russian. He says he takes a great interest in other cultures. His choice of Chernivtsi as a place to live and work for the next six months was not random. Daniel says that in Lviv or Kyiv you are but one in a million, while in Chernivtsi people tend to treat you more personally.

'I love Chernivtsi. In Germany, I met some people whose ancestors left this city in the early 20th century.'

'Who are the people that come to you to study German?'

'Those who have German or Austrian ancestry. They want to know the language of their forefathers. However, I am trying to speak not only about the language, but also about the traditions, everyday life and culture. I think people must realize that a country means more than just a language. It's a system.'

'Do you feel the connection with local Germans and Austrians?'

'I feel that sometimes they are more German than I am. They are the stereotypical Germans that people often imagine. They sing to accordion, celebrate all German festivals and so on. They are like the Germans from the past. Therefore, here I am not only learning things about Ukraine, I am also learning things about myself and Germany.'

We are travelling to Ivano-Frankivsk by the express-train Chernivtsi-Lviv. As there is no direct train service to Vienna anymore, we are bracing ourselves for frequent transfers. There are no berths in the carriage; this is rather a suburban train with new seats, automatic doors, and cleanliness. This train can take you from Chernivtsi to Ivano-Frankivsk in 1 hour and 45 minutes. It takes almost the same time to get from Kyiv's outskirts to its centre. The mobility is impressive and reassuring – we will not have to spend half a day in the usual stuffiness or cold of Ukrainian trains. However, today the railroad tracks are covered with thick snow, and we arrive two and a half hours late. At the Ivano-Frankivsk railway station, the guard woman does not even open the door. Looking dreamily out of the window, she suddenly hears our voices:

'Hey, let us get off,' we begin to panic when the train starts off ready to depart for Lviv.

'I didn't think any one was going to get off here,' the guard woman says and opens the door.

Indeed, only we two of all the passengers get off the train, and our two suitcases. Then the station café and a cup of tea, followed by our attempts to hail a cab to the hotel, and the awareness that we will have to walk.

'I am telling her that she should go to Poland to earn money for an apartment. Either with or without her husband,' says a woman in her mid-thirties sitting at a neighbouring table.

'Why don't you go?' her companion says, finishing his light beer.

'I'd rather go to Moscow. Why not? I'll be giving sports lessons there,' and the woman cuts the conversation short.

Yuriy Andrukhovych, a writer, believes that the city should officially resume its former name only on condition that a historical and cultural reserve is created in the central area. Otherwise, this makes no sense, since it is not only the architecture and people that are different in contemporary Ivano-Frankivsk, but also the very lifestyle. 'The 20^th century caused irreparable damage to Ivano-Frankivsk. Take Holocaust. An overwhelming majority of local Jews were killed. The Polish population was forced to leave the city. Moreover, the Ukrainian population of the city in 1946 was not the same as the Ukrainian population of the 1930s. There was a great relocation of people here: some were exiled to Siberia, some were killed, and others moved to the West,' says the Patriarch of the modern Ukrainian literature (this is what Yuriy Andrukhovych is called in the literary community). And the deserted apartments and houses were later taken over by newcomers from eastern parts of the Soviet Union and people from rural areas, he adds.

'Did you feel as a Soviet child in Ivano-Frankivsk of the 1960-70s?'

'I was growing up with the opposition: there are 'us', and there are 'them'. "They" are party members, "they" are not local, and "they" are Russian-speaking. Meanwhile, the Russian-speaking folks called us 'the locals'. We called them 'Russians'. Many of them, though, had family names ending in '-enko' (the most typical suffix of Ukrainian surnames), they came here from Kyiv or Kharkiv regions. But we didn't care. I was dreaming about Europe. When I was eight, I visited Prague: it turned out that our relatives who had left Ukraine some time before lived there. That was in 1968, and that event seems to have determined my further life. One may wonder: what was so special about the communist Czechoslovakia? But there we witnessed the culmination of the Prague spring, and when we returned home, we heard that the Soviet troops invaded Czechoslovakia (the Soviet troops invaded Czechoslovakia in summer 1968 to suppress the anti-communist protests). I remembered Prague as a colourful world, where people were friendly, not angry nor aggressive. It is there that I first saw long-haired boys and girls wearing mini-skirts. Local TV channels were broadcasting concerts of the Beatles. I remember that after that trip I became a kind of informal leader in the boys' community: they would listen to my stories about the Western world, and look at the toys and clothes brought back from there. I was like Orpheus, who returned from the hell. Hence, I was shocked to learn that the Soviet Army invaded that beautiful world. Moreover, my father was then drafted as a reservist into the army. And I was not a fan of the Soviet Army. Thus, at the age of eight, I had my first political conflict with the Soviet regime.'

Today, Ivano-Frankivsk is a city where many urbanistic projects are being implemented. Also, this city is rightly regarded as the literary capital of Ukraine. Suffice it to mention the so-called 'Stanislav Phenomenon' (the artistic and literary boom in Ivano-Frankivsk in the 1980-90s, which represented a watershed in the Ukrainian culture).

The local youth is full of enthusiasm and ideas inspired by Western examples. This can be accounted for not only by the 'us – them' opposition, which existed in Ivano-Frankivsk throughout the whole Soviet era, but also by the Austro-Hungarian influence. In the Ukrainian Galicia, people tend to be more pragmatic than in other regions of Ukraine.

The office of the ' Warm City' project is swarming with activity – everyone is trying to get things done in time, to do more and better. The ' Warm City' is a platform for various local initiatives – from bike paths to online radio UrbanSpace. Yuriy Fyliuk, the head of the project, says they just want to make life more comfortable:

'Self-help is common among the people of Galicia. The Austro-Hungarian period positively affected the sense of private ownership as well as some cultural issues.'

'So Austria-Hungary still remains a source of inspiration, doesn't it?'

"Our task is to find sound elements in the cultures where we used to belong, and construct our own identity. Because we are Ukrainians after all,' says Yuriy Fyliuk.

'Please, buy sopilkas,' someone at the end of the third-class sleeper is saying. An old man, aged about eighty, is playing Hutsul melodies, selling simultaneously wooden Carpathian flutes.

'Was it you who made them?' we ask.

'Why?'

'Well, are they handmade?'

'Why?'

'What's the price?'

'20 hryvnias.'

The dim light of the car is flickering like a dying butterfly. Only one thought is racing through my mind: 'Why is it always so hot here?' And another: 'When are we going to arrive?'

As we have decided to buy tickets to Przemyśl in advance, we go to the only international booking office at the station.

'I was told that here I can buy a ticket for a suburban train,' a woman with a kerchief on her head says.

'It is written here distinctly: INTERNATIONAL!' her companion protests.

'It is only written!'

Unfortunately, the only international booking office at the station does not only sell international tickets, it also sells tickets for suburban trains. The explanation for that is hard to find; perhaps, it is because Ukrainians usually travel abroad by bus or by plane, and the railway is not particularly popular. Therefore, to keep itself busy, the booking office sells tickets for suburban trains as well.

'What's the problem?' the women in the line start to get nervous. They are worried, for they think that the cashier is too slow. Also, they are anxious that someone is going to buy international tickets here. And they get really furious when a man wants to print his electronic ticket here, which he has a legal right to do without waiting in the line. However, in this case, the legal right challenges the unwritten rules.

'Mister! You are a gentleman, are you not? Let us buy our tickets! My train is about to depart.' A squabble breaks out at the booking office. We are lucky, in the end, to have bought our tickets, having miraculously escaped the women's wrath.

The modern Lviv is developing so fast that it can already compete with Kyiv – not only economically, but also in terms of human resources. Today, Lviv has the most powerful creative environment in Ukraine. The driving force behind these changes is Lviv's romantic past coupled with the elements of the civil society in Galicia and the atmosphere of "otherness". Old buildings are being renovated, abandoned industrial areas are being redeveloped, and new public spaces and entrepreneurial communities are burgeoning.

'Lviv is casting a long shadow, as once Vienna was. Lviv shows the otherness which is possible. Lviv is Europe without the Schengen system. In Lviv, you feel different. Lviv is a bacterium that has to be developed and exported. A lot of young people come to Lviv from Eastern Ukraine. In Ukraine, human and financial resources migrate westward. I believe that Lviv can bring Ukraine closer to Europe, as it can also bring Europe closer to Ukraine. A nation means communication. Communication means trains. If it takes 24 hours to reach Kharkiv from Lviv, then forget about the connection between the east and the west. We have to work as a virus. But there have to be channels for these viruses,' Yaroslav Hrytsak is reflecting on Lviv's role in Ukraine.

Lviv is exporting its brand to the rest of Ukraine more and more from year to year. Some residents of Chernivtsi say that a coffee-shop was first opened in Chernivtsi, while the similar event happened in Lviv fourteen years later.

In any case, it is the Galician capital that is now commonly regarded as the city of coffee houses. Another thing is that not all residents of Lviv keep pace with the evolution of their city. The city's infrastructure also leaves much to be desired – the transport connections are bad, the roads are in disrepair, and there are problems with waste recycling. However, if we keep in mind that only ten years ago water was supplied to people's homes in Lviv during several hours in a day, then the progress is evident. If in the past a young man had to take his girlfriend to Vienna to propose to her (at least this is the way the legend goes), then in modern Ukraine such city is Lviv.

The picturesque border city of Przemyśl has spread itself out over the San River. This river is highly significant for both Ukrainian and Polish patriots. It is believed that the relations between Poles and Ukrainians are particularly strained here. The former think that the recent conflicts are fomented, while the latter believe that they are seeking historical justice. As you have probably guessed, we are heading towards Przemyśl – the next destination point on our way from Chernivtsi to Vienna.

According to historians, initially the place was inhabited by White Croats; later Prince Volodymyr the Great of Kyivan Rus took it over. During several centuries, Przemyśl was under the rule of Galician and Kyiv princes, until it was taken by King Casimir III of Poland. In this way, the town became Polish, and after the First Partition of Poland, Przemyśl was incorporated into Austria-Hungary.

It's about 10 p.m. We are at the Lviv railway station. A homeless man wearing a railroad uniform is walking on the platform. He asks for a cigarette, but there is nobody here except us and a Polish-speaking woman. We do not smoke; the woman does not understand him. The train which is to take us to Przemyśl is on the platform already, but its doors are closed. A guard emerges from the train and stretches himself lazily.

'Would you tell us, please, which way is our carriage?'

'Tam, (over there)' the guard replies in Polish and points out the direction.

Having realized that our carriage is dark and still inside, we start banging on the windows. We are banging, and the uniformed homeless man, seeing a guard woman in the window, shouts:

'Madam, give me some bread! Madam, a cigarette, please! Madam, do you have any booze?'

The three of us must be making an awkward impression, but nonetheless, the guard opens the door. The nice Polish lady as she is tells us to go to our compartment, simultaneously explaining to the homeless that she cannot help him. The train is empty, but neat and tidy. There are no annoying smells inside, which baffles us: are we really on a train? We have been told that the road to Przemyśl takes three hours, including the passport control procedure. It should be much faster than travelling by bus. Suddenly, at the very last minute, the carriage gets filled with Ukrainians carrying bags. We are not alone, which is rather good.

'Excuse me, it's too hot here,' a passenger says to the guard.

'Then why don't you open the window?' the lady replies. The passenger is shocked.

The matter is that it is strictly forbidden to open windows in Ukrainian trains. Even when the air is burning hot and people are blushing, not with embarrassment, windows have to be closed. Such are the rules, you will be told. Therefore, to hear that you may let some fresh air in is not just surprising, but amazing.

Soon enough we reach the border. The passport check starts. The Ukrainian border guards look strict and focused, while their Polish counterparts are making jokes and telling stories. The Ukrainian border guards speak Ukrainian and Polish; the Polish border guards speak only one of the two languages. And, as you may have already guessed, this is not our official national language. Upon hearing that we are travelling to Przemyśl, the border guards are utterly perplexed: 'You mean you are travelling to Przemyśl by a night train? While you could have used the pedestrian border crossing or a bus?' It is twice as expensive to travel to Przemyśl by train as by bus; so whenever Ukrainians travel to Przemyśl, they are unlikely to use railway. It is by train that Ukrainians travel to Wroclaw, Warsaw, etc. However, it is our aim to reach each destination by train; therefore, we have no option. After making sure that we are really travelling to Przemyśl, the border guards decide not to check our suitcases at all. It is hard to imagine that someone who has paid 500 hryvnias for the ticket should be smuggling some cigarettes to sell them eventually for 300.

In Przemyśl, only the two of us get off the train.

At first sight, the place looks like real Europe. At least, the Europe that comes to one's mind on hearing the word: clean streets, majestic Austrian buildings, street lamps, good roads, nice coffee houses in which one can see elderly people as well – a rare sight in Ukraine. After 9 p.m., the streets become deserted, and the unique romantic atmosphere sets in, which is only possible in European provincial towns.

Maria Tucka, Head of the Przemyśl branch of the Union of Ukrainians in Poland, says that conflicts between Ukrainians and Poles have been stirred up by politicians, who are trying to score political points on these issues. The Second World War forced Ukrainians to leave the city. Some emigrated to Canada, others – to Australia, and still others – to the Lviv or Ternopil area. Today, about two thousand Ukrainians live in Przemyśl, some of them having had their roots in this land for generations. Unfortunately, some Poles fail to understand this, Maria Tucka says. Quite a few of them believe that Ukrainians have come to Przemyśl but recently and are trying to 'seize' the city.

'Back in the 1990s, there were conflicts between Poles and Ukrainians. There were insulting graffiti on the walls and attacks on Ukrainians – which is still the case today. I experienced some of those things when we wanted to open the Markiyan Shashkevych School in 1990. During the Ukrainian Culture Festival, someone set fire to the buses that had brought the children here. Similar things happened when we were trying to reclaim the Ukrainian House. There are always some people who are only too ready to tell us that we are but guests here. However, my grandparents and great-grandparents are buried here; my parents lived on this land. I was born and bred here. And I want my children to have a peaceful life here,' Maria says.

She adds that Poles want respect for themselves in other countries – for example, in the United Kingdom, but they show no respect for Ukrainians: 'Some just don't know the history; nor do they understand that we pay taxes, give our energy, and invest in this city, in this land, just as they do.'

Interestingly, when a fragment of the old town called 'the Knight's Gate' was being renovated, the Austrian national emblem was removed from it. The local government announced it to be the symbol of the occupation, Maria Tucka says.

She adds that now there is a problem with transport connection as well: 'Now Przemyśl is virtually cut off from the rest of Poland, thus being turned into a provincial town. Under the Austrian-Hungarian rule, Przemyśl was a cultural and scientific centre, sitting at the crossroads of commerce. Meanwhile, to travel to Warsaw today, you have to change trains in Rzeszów. Young people migrate to other places and the city is gradually losing its former significance.'

Getting inside the Ukrainian House turns out to be a problem, for the door is locked. As we learn later, the building is under renovation. Tonight, there will be a commemoration of Ivan Franko, and we want to get inside. We notice an old man wearing a suit jacket over an embroidered shirt. Our intuition – or is it his embroidered shirt? – tells us to follow him. This proves to be the right decision. The man comes to a big and spacious hall with the moulding in the shape of sunflowers. It looks stylish, although it was made in the early 20^th century.

'Good afternoon, our dear Ukrainian family!' the man starts in a mellow voice. Then follows a speech about 'foreigners', 'traitors' and 'fighting'. Unfortunately, this stuff is largely out of touch with the actuality. I recall Daniel from Chernivtsi, who said that the local Germans are like the Germans from the past. The Ukrainians in Przemyśl also remind the Ukrainians from the past. Almost all the people who have come to the event speak Ukrainian, if with an accent. And almost all of them yearn to feel part of the community they cannot find in the streets of Przemyśl.

After the Second World War, Ukrainians lost the Ukrainian House, and only during the 'Thaw' (the late 1950s – early 1960s in the USSR) did they file a request to rent the first floor to hold cultural events there. Until 2011, the Ukrainian community had to rent their own building. Having paid a part of the building's price and having given another building to the Polish community in Lviv in exchange for this one in Przemyśl, the Ukrainians started to renovate the Ukrainian House, which was in dismal condition. The renovation works have been funded by grants and donations of some members of the community. It is planned that the Ukrainian House will become a free space where one can spend time, have coffee, and attend various events. Also, the Polish and English language courses will be organized here. For that purpose, the roof is also being repaired. All these facilities will be available not only for local Ukrainians, but also for the residents and guests of the city.

'The Ukrainian House will be a bridge at the border between Ukraine and Poland. For Ukrainians, it will also be a gateway to Europe, and for Poles – a gateway to Ukraine,' says Ihor Horkiv, the manager of the project.

'You've started a colossal construction here, that's great! But don't you get complaints from the neighbours?' we ask Mr. Horkiv during the tour of the Ukrainian House, which he agreed to guide.

'You know, there have been so many calls to the police, so many complaints from the neighbours as no other building in the town has ever caused.'

On the floor, still in want of repair, there are some proofs of Ukrainians' presence here a century ago: Ukrainian books, a flag, etc. Moreover, Mr. Horkiv has been lucky to find in the chimney some documents of the Ukrainian society Prosvita (Ukr. 'Enlightenment'), proving that it used to function in Przemyśl. Mr. Horkiv treats those documents with special care: 'Young Poles think that the Ukrainians in the streets are the descendants of those who were involved in the slaughters in Volhynia. We can be easily noticed and identified as an enemy. Today, in Przemyśl, the majority starts feeling hostile to the minority, who are not hiding. The city is declining economically, so someone has to get the blame. Who is to blame? The Ukrainians are.'

It is worth mentioning that we personally have not experienced any hostility towards Ukrainians. Perhaps, we have been just lucky. However, in the reality of today the link between Przemyśl and Ukraine is weak. On the other hand, it is obvious that the city's link with Europe is deteriorating, and Przemyśl risks to turn into a sleepy backwater town. Intercultural processes are dying; the safest option for the people here is to keep a low profile.

'Przemyśl is an aggressive city, which recently has been benefiting a lot from Ukraine and Ukrainians. Closing the border would be a hard blow to Przemyśl. But some people here live in fear that this used to be the territory of Ukraine. They apprehend that Ukrainians can claim it back. In Krakow, however, such sentiments are rare,' Yaroslav Hrytsak says.

We set out for the railway station – our next destination is Krakow.

'We need two tickets to Krakow,' we say in English. The lady at the ticket office looks lost.

'Нам потрібно два квитки у Краків,' we say it in Ukrainian.

'Och, dobrze! (Oh, well!)' Ukrainian is not a problem here.

We feel as if we had been here before. Actually, everyone who has spent a lot of time in Lviv feels this way – the two cities are very similar. Lviv still retains some evidence of having been a capital city once; and contemporary Krakow does not look provincial at all either. Its only difference from Lviv is in clean streets, good infrastructure, and a lot of drunken British tourists.

In Krakow, one can often hear that in trying to please tourists the city is losing its special aspect and identity. For example, Krakow has few coffee houses with the flavour of old Europe, while pubs and night-clubs are ubiquitous. It is quite seldom that you can hear Polish in the old town, while English is heard everywhere. But if you want to feel the real Galician atmosphere, go to Kazimerz – the old Jewish quarter, where you will find good old Krakow. In fact, Jews were among those who shaped the Galician identity.

In the 'Chimera' coffee house, which still feels like old Europe, we are talking to a Pole called Szymon. He seems interested in our project and tells us what he thinks about the whole idea:

'We, Poles, think nothing bad about modern Austria, but the time of Austria-Hungary was for us the time of occupation and the partition of Poland. Of course, the Austrian Empire was different in its methods from the Prussian or the Russian ones.'

'What was different?'

'Lots of things. But the first important difference was that the Austrian Empire allowed all cultures to develop freely.'

Szymon says that after 2014, he started learning Ukrainian, since at that time quite important events were unfolding in Ukraine. At the same time, Szymon began traveling to Lviv, and the likeness between the two cities amazed him.

'When I first came to Lviv, I felt like I did in Krakow 30 years ago, both in the good and the bad sense. But I didn't like that some souvenirs in Lviv bore the German name of the city, Lemberg, while there was none with its Polish name – Lwów. Why so?'

Shymon speaks of Lviv as if it were a Polish city which Poland has lost. The idea is rather popular among the Polish people. However, today one cannot but notice the Austrian appearance of both Krakow and Lviv.

In the Austro-Hungarian Empire, Krakow and Lviv were regarded as rival cities; today, however, Lviv as a tourist city is inferior to Krakow. One reason for that may be its worse transport communication with Western Europe. Today, to travel to Poland from Ukraine one either has to wait in the line at the border, or travel by train with multiple transfers. Unfortunately, there is no direct train service from Lviv to Krakow. A plane ticket costs 800 zloty, while a ticket for a flight from Krakow to Mexico costs only 70 zloty. This is sure to keep back people who would like to visit Ukraine, but they do not know how to do this without paying through the nose.

On the other hand, Lviv may benefit from its isolation, since today people mainly come to Lviv to attend various cultural events and get a sense of Europe. This is unlikely to impress tourists from Western countries; hence, they go to Krakow – to drink cheap alcohol. Krakow locals do not recommend to go out after 9 p. m., as there is a risk to bump into some merry Brits.

It is Sunday night; we are in the centre of Krakow, in the famous HardRockcafe. The people around us are speaking English. There is a smell of alcohol – the smell that comes from people's mouths, rather than from their glasses. There are no vacant tables, so we are advised to wait at the bar.

The first thing that strikes us is that everybody in the restaurant looks sad or tired. There are mostly couples here: women stressed by the travel, and rumpled men. They are literally rumpled. Almost everyone has a bruise on the face. It was Saturday yesterday, and some of them, apparently, had great fun.

The men must know each other, or, perhaps, they are trying to support each other:

'How are you, man?' A limping visitor comes to his fellow countrymen sitting at the bar.

John is talking about the election; he expresses his opinion of Donald Trump, and explains why he likes Europe so much. 'Here you can feel history in the air; you realize that a lot of things happened before our time. In the United States, such places are much fewer,' he says.

The guards start checking tickets about two hours after the departure. There will be two more checks like that: at the Czech border and at the Austrian border. The carriages will be uncoupled for different destinations: one will go to Prague, several others – to Budapest, and the last one – to Vienna. The border guards appear to be surprised to see someone in a coach at three in the morning.

The sun rises over the Danube River and lights up Vienna. It is the city that concentrates in itself the whole European history; it seems to be telling us that once upon a time everything started here. The cities that we have visited until now owe their existence to Vienna, and we realize this more and more clearly. The Austrian capital is open to all people of all religions and all nationalities today, just as it was a century ago. While Krakow and Lviv are mostly tourist cities, Vienna is a place to which people come to study and work also.

'In Vienna, I have a feeling that everything is well-planned. Everything happens as scheduled; everybody knows what they are doing. There is a measured rhythm and confidence everywhere. Even those who are on vacation accept this organized lifestyle,' says Vitaliy Bondar, who was born in Chernivtsi.

Vitaliy has been living in Vienna for the last 20 years. He cannot imagine returning to Ukraine. He first came to Vienna because he was studying German at the Chernivtsi University. But another reason why he moved here, Vitaliy says, were the stories about Austrian hussars his grandfather used to tell him.

'We knew that he might be exaggerating, but that was not very important. I imagined that streets in Vienna should be covered with gold, but when I came here I saw that the buildings looked like those in Chernivtsi. It was not the facades that were different. It was the people.'

'Why did you feel that you couldn't live in Ukraine anymore?'

'In Ukraine, many people want to do things illegally. In Vienna, it's different. Here you pay money and you get a quality service in return. And you can be confident about that. Meanwhile, in Ukraine people don't trust each other.'

Vitaliy says that it becomes increasingly difficult for him to get to Chernivtsi to visit his parents. There is no direct train service; nor are there any flights, since Chernivtsi has no airport. Bukovina is cut from the Western world, even though it was part of this world once. Some 150 years ago, it was a matter of honour for a Chernivtsi resident to visit Vienna, the historian Serhiy Osachuk says. Written records say that you could not walk around the capital of the Empire in the 19^th century without meeting someone from Chernivtsi.

Volodymyr Zalozetskiy is elegant and friendly; his excellent manners reveal his noble parentage. He offers us some coffee and says that he would like to visit Chernivtsi again. But it is difficult because of the inferior transport communication.

'When I visited Chernivtsi I saw that it reminds Vienna architecturally. But the economic situation was bad there. The infrastructure was imperfect, people were selling things right out in the streets, and everything looked poor. When I was a small kid, I heard stories about the Jewish, Polish, and German communities in Chernivtsi, but then, in the 1990s, that feeling was completely lost. The former multiculturalism could only be seen at the graveyard.

'But it is only in Ukraine that I don't have to spell out my name. Wherever I book a hotel, I have to spell my name out, as it is difficult to pronounce for native speakers of German. And only in Chernivtsi was I not asked to repeat my name – the hotel manager wrote it down correctly at once. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before. And at that moment, I felt at home.'

'Do you remember any other interesting stories told by your grandfather or father?'

'I remember I was told that in the 19^th century many people would travel from Chernivtsi to Vienna for shopping, or to visit the Opera. Those things must have been a customary practice in those times. My grandfather also said that Vienna was good for walks, while in Chernivtsi it was good to bathe your legs in hot water, put on some warm clothes, and go to bed.'

In Vienna, the Ukrainian 'trace' is more visible than in Przemyśl or Krakow. Historians explain this by the fact that the Austro-Hungarian authorities favoured Ukrainians over Poles. Yaroslav Hrytsak says that Vienna provided a different context for Ukrainians, so they could feel worthier. However, he cautions against idealizing those times. 'Under the Polish rule, Ukrainians suffered the inferiority complex. There was the Polish-Ukrainian conflict.

But in Vienna those things disappeared because the Poles were looked on with huge scepticism there. There was a stereotype in Austria that the Poles had 'two left hands'; the Poles were associated with the nobility who did not know how to do business. For example, 'the Polish bridge' was the metaphor of a bridge with a hole in it. Meanwhile, the Ukrainians travelled to Vienna to enjoy the comforts it offered,' Mr. Hrytsak says. He adds that many important events and phenomena in Lviv originated in Vienna.

One example is the Greek-Catholic Church. Ukrainians were regarded in Austria as a people without a state, to whom it was notoriously difficult to teach discipline and responsibility. At the same time, Austrians believed that Ukrainians were a people most loyal to the Empire, and they treated Ukrainians like children who needed to be taught how to live.

Today, in the streets of Vienna, one can also meet Ukrainians who come to Austria to enjoy its comforts: from guest workers to artists and students. For example, while we were interviewing someone, a woman came up to us, as she heard that we were speaking Ukrainian:

'Oh, are you Ukrainians?'

'Yes, we are.'

'Fantastic! I was walking down the street and suddenly heard my native tongue.'

The woman's name is Halyna. She says that she is a teacher of Ukrainian by education, while her husband is a chemist. They came from Chernivtsi, but before that they worked in Italy. The woman says that she feels at home in Vienna because of the architecture, to which she's got used very much in her native city.

Saint Barbara's Greek Catholic Church is the centre of the Ukrainian spiritual life in Vienna. We go inside to attend the Sunday service, and we are impressed by the sheer number of the Ukrainians who have come to pray here. They are of different age and gender, but they have come here with the single purpose to see their fellow countrymen. The priest starts the service, and then he says to the people: 'You have been forced to leave your home to earn money.' At that moment, some curious tourists are passing by the church: their attention is caught by the huge crowd as well as the foreign language of the church service, which can be heard outside.

Saint Barbara's Church in Vienna is not only a place of worship, but also a place to meet people. There are apartment rental ads on the church noticeboard, announcements of events for the Ukrainian community, etc. After the service, the Ukrainians do not go home – they stay to make acquaintances and share recent news.

Nonetheless, the Ukrainian community in Vienna appears to be more dispersed than the Polish one. But it is here that Ukrainians and Poles build bridges of understanding, and even celebrate various anniversaries together. For example, in 2015, the Polish community offered the Ukrainians to celebrate together the anniversary of the end of the Turkish siege of Vienna, says Olexandra Sayenko, the organizer of the Days of Ukrainian Culture in Vienna. Moreover, the Polish Embassy in Austria was a partner to the Days of Ukrainian Culture.

'Days of Polish Culture in Vienna are held more often, as there are ten times as many Poles in the city as Ukrainians, by my estimate. We are still little known here, and a lot remains to be done,' Olexandra says, adding that today it is necessary to create a positive image of Ukraine. We should speak less about the hardships and war, and more about the Ukraine that is changing and has great prospects. Olexandra believes that the best way for Austrians to learn more about Ukraine is through culture, traditions and art.

In response to our question why Austria is interested so much in Ukrainian projects, always trying to get engaged in them, the historian Serhiy Osadchuk answered:

'Every Austrian understands that supporting democracy, education, and culture in neighbouring countries makes the things that are happening today in Russia impossible in Europe.'

Railway made the 21^st century special; it has become a symbol of separation and unification of thousands and millions. Some say that without railway the Holocaust would have never happened. Others argue that it is hard to imagine technological progress without trains. One way or another, without railway our world would have been an entirely different place.