Ukrainian soldiers on holiday in Barcelona: "We come from hell and here we are in paradise"

BarcelonaOn the facade of the Nativity of the peaceful Sagrada Família, a scene is depicted that is the prelude to all wars: a demon offers a bomb to a worker. It is man's temptation by violence. The worker looks at the Virgin Mary for protection and to avoid throwing it. The world has found itself insistently facing this gaze. This gaze is especially relevant today. What makes the worker often end up throwing the bomb? This gaze is especially relevant today. What makes the worker often end up throwing the bomb?

I observe this scene accompanied by five Ukrainian soldiers who have come to Barcelona on vacation. One of them, soldier Leonid, arrives directly from the front in Kúpiansk, one of Ukraine's hells. When their vacation ends, in a week, he will also return directly to the trenches. As I spend time with him, I will insistently wonder how his brain can process such a great contrast. There is an even more difficult question: how does one mentally manage a forced return to the battlefield after spending ten days sightseeing in Barcelona?

We enter the Sagrada Família and, inside the basilica, I ask soldier Leonid if there is anything here that reminds him of war. The request confuses him.

—No, of course not. Is there anything here that reminds you of it?

—Well, on the facade there are figures of soldiers, the red stained glass windows look like fire...

—All this is beauty. There is no beauty in war.

—What does the Sagrada Família convey to you?

—Peace, tranquility. This is glory.

—And what have you found in war?

Soldier Leonid breaks down and does not answer.

The five Ukrainian soldiers arrived in Barcelona a few days ago. They are visiting, on vacation. It is therapeutic vacation. Four of them will not fight again because they were wounded and are no longer fit for the battlefield: soldier Volodymyr lost his left leg to a mine; soldier Rinat almost lost his right to a drone; soldier Igor has brain contusions, and the other soldier Igor has a damaged back. Soldier Leonid will return. His is a particular case: after many months in position, he got permission from his superiors to leave Ukraine for a few days. Few soldiers get theok to cross the border. Normally, it is given to profiles that collapse emotionally.

They briefly explain their military resume to me. All five have been in decisive and, therefore, very dark places of the war in Ukraine: the battle of Bakhmut, the Chasiv Yar front, the reconquest of Kherson, the defense of Pokrovsk… But almost five years of war later, it has journalistically lost its meaning to ask where a soldier has fought: all those who remain have lived, in one way or another, with demons.“Gaudí must have been crazy. I mean, all geniuses are crazy. How can one person have had the imagination, the fantasy, to design all this?” asks one of the soldiers out loud, gazing in amazement at the interior of the basilica. “I had read that the columns symbolize trees, nature,” says another. They all hold their mobile phones in their hands, photographing everything, recording everything, like the thousands of tourists who visit the Sagrada Família every day. The soldier Volodymyr, who has an amputated leg and wears a prosthesis, pursues the fans scattered inside the temple. The August heat makes it horrible for them. The soldier Igor asks about the safety of the church.

—Would these columns withstand an earthquake?

—There are no earthquakes here, but the church survived a war —I reply.

—May God deliver you from war, please —the military man replies.

Days before, I had contacted them to ask what they wanted to visit in Barcelona, that ARA would accompany them. They hesitated until the end between the Sagrada Família and Camp Nou. Fortunately, the most famous church in the world won. Their look it would not have been appropriate to visit the blaugrana temple. They are dressed entirely in white: shorts, cool t-shirts, and caps. I joke and tell them that coming to the Catalan capital in Real Madrid white is a lack of respect. “We are sorry, but it's because of the heat.”

Seen like this, no one would suspect they are soldiers. This last is an absurd statement. How is one supposed to be a soldier? These five men, like so many Ukrainian military personnel, eren civils i tenien vides normals abans que Vladímir Putin decidís envair Ucraïna per terra, mar i aire. 

“We have all been to hell. We have all known hell. That's why we feel that here [in Barcelona] we are in paradise,” says soldier Igor. The soldiers continue to take photos and videos. They say it is exciting to be at the Sagrada Familia, that they had seen it many times online, that they had seen images of the Pope's recent visit. One of the soldiers is talking on the phone with his mother. I ask them if they are also in contact with the comrades who have stayed fighting at their positions. 

—Of course. We are always in contact. We always keep them in our thoughts. 

—Will you send them photos of Barcelona?

—No, it would be disrespectful, it could hurt them. Where they are, there is nothing good. 

The soldiers are hot and we go down to the Sagrada Familia museum, where there is air conditioning. We leave the central basilica through the facade on Sardenya street, the one of the Passion. Gaudí dedicated it to representing the last breaths of Jesus Christ's life, the crucifixion. They are images of pain, suffering, sacrifice, death. The soldiers prefer not to talk about the images of pain they have seen on the battlefield. "The war is already inside us forever", says soldier Volodymyr. They talk about the difficulty of returning to civilian life after having lived for so long underground, amidst death. "When I was at the front, I often asked myself: 'How can I return home, to my family, after having lived all this?'", explains soldier Igor. They make an interesting reflection: that civilian life, emotionally, is more complicated, deeper.

—Why?

—You have more mood swings, more thoughts. Civilian life has more nuances. When you are at war, life is simpler: you know clearly who your enemy and your friend are, and in the end it's just about surviving.

The soldiers stop at a vending machine to buy cold drinks.

One of them, the soldier Rinat, chooses a can of tea with lemon. When the can falls and hits the tray from which he can pick it up, makes an aggressive, dry, metallic sound. Soldier Leonid, the one who comes directly from the Kupyansk front, is with his back turned and, when he hears the noise, he gets disproportionately scared. Soldier Rinat jokes with him: “Calm down, it’s not a drone… it’s just a can.” Soldier Leonid thought it was an explosion. It's the war in inertia mode. It's the bombs inside him.

A European war

In February, it will be five years since the war unleashed by the brutal Russian invasion of Ukraine began. Kyiv's army continues to have staffing problems in its ranks. It is estimated that around 100,000 Ukrainian uniformed personnel have died on the battlefield, figures from World War II in the age of artificial intelligence. The number of Russian corpses on the other side of the trenches is higher. The most accepted estimates speak of 300,000 men dead.

In this context of death it is difficult for military personnel obtain permission to leave the country for the period they are granted for rest. The risk of desertion, of never returning, is high. A few achieve it. Spain is one of the favorite destinations for Kyiv's uniformed personnel, with Barcelona at the forefront. Also other places with beaches and good climate such as Italy, Greece, Bulgaria or, further away, Thailand or Mexico.

I tell the soldiers that the last time I met other Ukrainian soldiers in Barcelona was because they were deserters. Who had fled from Ukraine through the mountains, taking advantage of a permit, who I found them wandering around the city dressed in military uniform, who are now rebuilding their lives somewhere in Europe.

—What do you think of the deserters?

—We cannot judge them. We are no one to judge them. War is very hard and not everyone can bear it. The human instinct seeks to live.

I ask the soldier Leonid if he is thinking about his return to the front, next week.

—I think so, yes. But there's nothing to think about either: I have to go back and that's it.

—Have you thought about not going back? About escaping?

—No. I must return with my brothers in arms. Ukraine is my homeland, my place.

The soldiers wanted to take a souvenir from the Sagrada Família, but they were frightened by the prices of the official store's products. On the way out, two of them ended up buying a souvenir from a street vendor: a Barcelona magnet and a multi-tool nail clipper, also from Barcelona. Soldier Leonid, a huge Barça fan, goes to the club's store, near the basilica. He buys a cotton t-shirt for himself, and a training jacket for his son. At the beginning of the war, the boy used to go to kindergarten. Now he is in fourth grade. Soldier Leonid says he only sees him a couple of times a year and that this is the greatest sorrow of his life.

We take a taxi to go down to Barceloneta and have a paella by the sea. When getting into the vehicle, the driver warns us that we have to put on our seatbelts. The soldiers are not used to it. In war zones, it is not advisable to use it: it can be an impediment in case of escaping a bombing. We discuss it as we go down Carrer Marina. The taxi driver, Catalan, listens to the conversation with surprise. And he wonders who we are. “They, soldiers from Ukraine,” I answer. He doesn't quite believe it and soldier Rinat shows him, on his phone, a photo of himself at the front. It shows him, dressed as a soldier, holding a rifle and driving a toy motorcycle. The soldier laughs. Humor is a defense mechanism in the trenches. “Holy God. I'm scared,” replies the taxi driver. Before getting out of the car, he asks one last question: “How is it over there?”. Over there is the war in Ukraine.

The war in Ukraine is a European war, but in Europe, it continues to be a distant war.

Toast “to victory”

At the front, when soldiers spend days mobilized in battle positions, the diet is mainly based on canned food. It is the drones, the flying robots that have turned war into televised butchery, that often transport the cans to the soldiers on the front line.

Grilled mussels and Andalusian-style squid as starters and black rice, seafood paella, and duck rice as main courses. "With this, you'll do well, they look like they'll eat heartily," the waitress says about the soldiers. They ask for cold beer and plenty of water. The waiters bring the dishes. It's a lunch-interview. The soldiers eat while answering some questions. At times, they ask to rest. Lunch progresses, and it surprises me that they eat very little. They've asked for small portions and almost no one will ask for seconds. They say it's delicious, but they're not that hungry. It's the heat, but it's also the war. They explain that since they became soldiers, they've had to get used to eating little, not overeating. "When you're in positions, it's better to do it this way, because you never know how much water you'll have or how many hours it will take you to be able to go to the bathroom”. A toast is made during lunch. I ask why we are toasting. The answer is automatic: “To victory”.

On the promenade, people come and go from the beach. It's a scene of August in Barcelona: packed with people, packed with tourists. “I like seeing people. It's very different here from the war: there you always feel the danger, you are alone, you even feel wild… here you see that people live, they relax,” says soldier Leonid.

During these holidays, the soldiers will not do much. They want to go up the Montjuïc cable car, the Port Vell Ferris wheel, they would like to go to Camp Nou and they have a visit to the historic center scheduled. What they want most is the beach. They go there every day from eight in the morning until twelve noon and then, for a while longer in the afternoon, when the heat eases again. “They told us, however, that we have to be careful not to have our phone or backpack stolen,” says soldier Rinat. When they go, they take turns and one of them stays by the towels watching while the others bathe. They have already witnessed an arrest for theft.

The next morning, at eight, they arrive punctually at Barceloneta. They came by bus and set up right in front of the nightclubs next to the Mapfre towers. The promenade is still full of remnants from the night of partying. On the sand, some tourists are sleeping, having come directly from the nightclub. The soldiers ignore them, spread out their towels, take out sodas and some beers from their backpacks and go for a swim. All except one, who is keeping watch. I ask them if they don't want to go to a nightclub one night. The answer is curt.

—While there is war, we don't dance.

—What?

—Before joining the army, holidays were different: we went to nightclubs, concerts… Now we just want peace and quiet. To be without noise [of explosions] so we can sleep a little.

—And are you sleeping well?

—We wake up every day soaked in sweat, but we sleep in peace.

I leave and let them bathe in the Mediterranean water. Soldier Igor is the one now watching the backpacks on the sand. He waves goodbye. When this article is published, the five soldiers will already be back in Ukraine, immersed in a war of cities that is increasingly deadly for civilians too.Then, soldier Leonid, who is now swimming towards the bottom of the sea, will have been in position for three days, on the Kúpiansk front. He will have to keep the Barça jacket he bought for his son safe. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to bring it to him, but maybe, if we’re lucky, my wife can come see me and then I’ll give it to her”. The jacket seemed expensive to him. “But I don’t regret spending so much money. It will be a very special gift for him”.