There’s No Escaping War, Wherever You Are in Ukraine

Far away from the front line, Chris York reports from Western Ukraine where residents fear both the march of Vladimir Putin, nuclear war and winter

Nestled in the rolling and forested hills that mark the beginnings of the Carpathian mountains in western Ukraine, the spa resort town of Skhidnytsa and its 38 natural springs and 17 wells are about as far from the front lines as it’s possible to be without leaving the war-torn country.

Those signing up for the full healing water experience invite a strict schedule of which springs to drink from at which time. An almost infinite combination of prescriptions are said to be able to treat a range of maladies including low mood, hepatitis, anaemia and diabetes. Springs number 3 and 15 are even said to be able to rid the body of radiation.

It’s believed the waters only retain their healing properties for two hours after making their way out of the earth so timing is important. Long queues entertained by busking violinists follow each other by foot across the hillsides and through the forest paths to each of the springs. 

A red electric golf buggy ferries those who have paid enough to stay at one of the area’s most exclusive resorts, in stark contrast to the horse and buggies still used by the area’s less well-off residents. 

The mineral water-based health trade has been the main draw to Skhidnytsa for decades. Yuri Andropov, leader of the Soviet Union from 1982-84, was such a fan he would have the water flown in by helicopter to Moscow on a daily basis.

Yet despite the front lines of Russia’s invasion being hundreds of miles away, the war’s effects still ravage the people who live here. Factories owned by European companies dot the region and were a major source of employment for the area but since the outbreak of war, many remain closed.

“We have to sell things from our own homes,” says 67-year-old Alya. She stands next to a wooden table alongside the path to one of the springs from which she sells the handful of apples and berries taken from her garden, and a selection of cutlery she’s deemed she can do without.

“The factories and plants aren’t working anymore, everything is closed and there’s no industry at the moment.”

Her thoughts are echoed by 33-year-old Andrei who mans a more permanent store on the same path selling pickled fruits and vegetables and a range of traditional medical interventions including one that involves a suppository made with beaver urine.

“Of course, we’re worried about finances,” he says. “People won’t have as much work as before so they won’t have as much income.

He pauses and reaches for a positive in the situation: “But now people think more about life, health and people nearby and their families.”

While the financial toll is of great concern, there are effects of the war that weigh far heavier even out here, not least the vast numbers of mostly women and children who left Ukraine to flee Russia’s invasion. 

“My daughter had to leave for Canada,” says Alia. “She’s a doctor by education so she’s trying to get established over there.”

She pauses and looks down at the ground. A sad smile forms on her face, followed by a stream of tears: “It’s war. Of course it’s difficult but we have to cope with that.”

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