Marcus Ray is a law student who also works for a Conservative MP in Parliament.
Another shot of some strong local vodka is another shot too many. But when the bride’s father – a bull-necked, buoyant Ukrainian man with bear paws for hands – is insisting you drink it, how can you refuse?
Ukraine is not your conventional wedding destination. It is where, however, I find myself recently, too many shots too deep, celebrating the nuptials of two good friends whom I studied with in the States.
The bride is a poly-lingual Ukrainian with family who cannot leave their country. The groom is a worldly American with an array of degrees in Eastern European studies. The story writes itself, and an intrepid flock of family and friends from around the world who have gathered to play their part.
It is a surreal week, one that is both isolated from developments on the frontline and yet inextricably linked to Russia’s ongoing invasion. It underscores how crucial it is that Kemi Badenoch as leader of the Conservative Party – who may well be the next prime minister – recognises the stakes of the conflict and strengthens Britain’s commitment to Ukraine.
The wedding begins with a challenging journey. Sleeplessness dominates my passage from eastern Poland to western Ukraine on the overnight bus. Navigating the border crossing is an interminable affair, and entering a nation at war is hardly a soothing exercise. Watching the steady stream of blacked-out minivans zip across the border proves a welcome distraction.
Eventually I arrive in Lviv, the city of lions, where West meets East in architectural and cultural splendour. Much to my family’s relief, it is far away from the raging frontlines. Leopolitans are not harried by the daily airstrikes that beleaguer their compatriots further east.
At the train station, however, men in military fatigues wave goodbye to their wives and mothers. The anguish is a conspicuous – and sobering – a reminder of the reality confronting this nation and its people.
Life otherwise is remarkably unremarkable.
The city’s inhabitants go about their day as others do in most major cities in Europe. They work, they shop, they drink and dance on the central square. Electric scooters whizz around me as I walk on cobbled streets. An Uber takes me to a local market.
The wedding festivities themselves take place at a resort outside Lviv. Over several days, Ukrainians and foreigners alike, adorned in traditional vyshyvankas, celebrate a special union.
A beautiful ceremony is followed by a Ukrainian feast and a series of local traditions. The bride’s mother is carted around in a wheelbarrow. Her feet are lathered in vodka. The poor Americans compete shot-for-shot with their liver-hardened rivals; the result is a great blow to American hubris.
I gorge on copious quantities of borscht and boiled dumplings, and we dance to music that alternates between traditional folk and Ukrainian Eurovision hits. This could be a wedding much like anywhere else in the world, albeit with a healthy dose of Slavic flair.
These festivities, however, are punctuated by occasional reminders of the invasion. Missile alert warnings – bizarrely narrated by Mark Hamill – blare on my phone at night as projectiles are launched from deep within Russia. The discordant screeches of a three-wheeled motorcycle scare fellow attendees in the morning. BBC alerts update us on Ukraine’s advance in Kursk, inside Russia, heightening angst over Moscow’s possible response. Only several weeks after we leave, a missile attack on Lviv kills seven people.
None of this perturbs the Ukrainians. For them, life goes on and the party does too, an unmistakable sign of their resilience. But it is also a sombre reflection of their acclimation to the volatility and vagaries of life in a conflict zone. They have endured far greater challenges for over two years. I am always conscious that my time here is instead transitory, that most Ukrainians cannot escape this reality on a bus back to Krakow.
Despite this, every Ukrainian I meet is unbelievably generous, none more so than the bride’s father. Hospitality is abundant throughout the week, as is good conversation with these newfound friends.
Their English is marginally better than my Ukrainian, which consists of monosyllabic grunts. But universal gestures, vodka, and Google Translate guide us to mutual intelligibility, and we have surprisingly sincere discussions. Some central themes emerge.
Their lives have forever changed since the invasion’s onset. They have made untold sacrifices, but they neither brood over nor languish in their plight. There is an implacable optimism and a pride in their nation that pervades their outlook.
They are also unendingly grateful for all the support allies have provided, particularly from Britain. They do not take it for granted. One man cries when a friend from London tells him how he helped bring aid to the border. Another exalts the Conservative Party and its successive leaders for their trenchant support since the conflict’s very onset even as commitments from other countries have wavered.
What, then, do I take away from this surreal week in Ukraine? Nothing profoundly life-altering, but perhaps that is the point. Even in the face of devastation and destruction, the normalities of life can prevail. The wedding itself illuminates this. It is something I did not expect to observe to this extent.
Even then, the toll of the war is perceptible in the Ukrainians themselves in their furrowed brows, from their painful reflections, and from their memories of missing loved ones. This has not, however, dampened their spirit, and it is a testament to Ukrainian generosity that they are willing to welcome dozens of foreigners with unmatched warmth.
What is most clear is that Kemi Badenoch must do all she can to ensure Britain continues at full throttle in its support. She and her team must hold Labour to account to maintain unwavering assistance for Kyiv and to extend it where necessary. This may seem a trite message, but it is not for Ukraine’s remarkable, defiant people.
Their future rests on tenterhooks above a chasm of persistent threats and uncertainties. But the wedding – and the weighty promises it confers – is a reminder that their future is worth fighting for.
