It was a warm autumn evening. I was sitting on the bench at the embankment in Uzhhorod and suddenly I realized that I had never been to the Lychakiv cemetery in Lviv. I quickly packed my stuff, put my camera and a film there, and in two hours I took a train to Lviv.
Lychakiv is the city of the dead. Granite gravestones, memorial complexes covered with grass. And people behind the fence cooking breakfasts in their blocks.
I can’t describe my feeling from visiting this place. However, I understood that visiting the city of the dead would help me understand the alive better.