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

BarcelonaAt the Roser gate of the cloister 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 to seek protection and not throw it. The world has insistently found itself before 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 is an obligatory return to the battlefield mentally managed after spending ten days of tourism 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 injured and are no longer fit for the battlefield: soldier Volodímir lost his left leg to a mine; soldier Rinat had his right leg almost ripped off by a drone; soldier Igor has a brain contusion, and the other soldier Igor has a damaged back. Soldier Leonid will return. His is a particular case: after many months in positions, he obtained permission from his superiors to leave Ukraine for a few days. Few soldiers get the ok to cross the border. Normally, it is given to profiles that collapse emotionally.

They briefly explain their military résumés to me. All five have been in decisive and, therefore, very dark places of the war in Ukraine: the battle of Bakhmut, the front of Chasiv Yar, 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 could one person have the imagination, the fantasy, to design all this?”, one of the soldiers asks aloud, staring wide-eyed at the interior of the basilica. “I had read that the columns symbolize trees, nature”, says another. They all hold their 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 answer.

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

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 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, they were civilians and had normal lives before Vladimir Putin decided to invade Ukraine by land, sea, and air.

“We have all been to hell. We have all known hell. That is 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 in 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 heated and we go down to the Sagrada Familia museum, which has air conditioning. We leave the central basilica through the facade on Sardenya street, the Passion facade. 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 speak of the difficulty of returning to civilian life after living so long underground, among death. “When I was at the front, I often asked myself: ‘How do 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, more profound.

—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 is, and in the end it’s all about survival.

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

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

makes an aggressive, dry, metallic sound. Soldier Leonid, who comes directly from the front in Kúpiansk, is with his back turned and, when he hears the noise, he gets disproportionately scared. Soldier Rinat jokes with him: “Relax, it’s not a drone… it’s just a can.” Soldier Leonid thought it was an explosion. It is war in inertia mode. It is the bombs inside them.

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 personnel problems in its ranks. It is estimated that around 100,000 Ukrainian uniformed personnel have died on the battlefield, figures from the Second World War 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 that the soldiers obtain permission to leave the country for the time they are granted for rest. The risk of desertion, of never returning, is high. A few achieve it. Spain is one of the preferred destinations for uniformed personnel from Kyiv, with Barcelona at the forefront. Also other places with beaches and good climate like 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, whom I found wandering through 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. Human instinct seeks to live.

I ask 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 some souvenir from the Sagrada Familia, but they are scared by the prices of the official store products. At the exit, two of them end up buying a souvenir from a street vendor: a Barcelona magnet and a multi-tool nail clipper, also from Barcelona. Soldier Leonid, a big Barça fan, goes to the club shop, 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 went to kindergarten. Now he is in fourth grade. Soldier Leonid says he sees him only 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 in front of 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 in surprise. And he wonders who we are. “They, soldiers from Ukraine,” I reply. He doesn't quite believe it and the 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 hell. 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 one 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 squid à la Andalusian as starters and black rice, seafood paella, and duck rice as main courses. “With this you will do well, they look like eaters,” says the waitress about the soldiers. They ask for cold beer and lots of water. The waiters bring the dishes. It is a lunch-interview. The soldiers eat while answering some questions. At times, they ask to rest. Lunch progresses and I am surprised that they eat very little. They have ordered small portions and almost no one will repeat. They say it is delicious, but they are not that hungry. It is the heat, but it is also the war. They explain that since they became soldiers they have had to get used to eating little, to not overeat. “When you are in position, it is better to do it this way, because you never know how much water you will have or how many hours it will take you to go to the toilet.” There is a toast during lunch. I ask what we are toasting to. The answer is automatic: “To victory.”

because you never know how much water you will have or how many hours it will take you to go to the toilet.” A toast is made during lunch. I ask what we are toasting to. The answer is automatic: “To victory.”

On the promenade, people come and go from the beach. It is a scene of August in Barcelona: packed with people, packed with tourists. “I like to see people. Here it is very different 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 days of vacation, the soldiers will not do much. They want to go up the Montjuïc cable car, the Ferris wheel in Port Vell, 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 every day from eight in the morning until twelve noon and then, for a while longer in the afternoon, when the heat subsides again. “We were told, however, that we have to be careful not to have our phones or backpacks stolen,” says soldier Rinat. When they go, they take turns and one of them stays by the towels watching while the others swim. 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 discos next to the Mapfre towers. The promenade is still full of remnants of the night of partying. On the sand, some tourists sleep, having come directly from the disco. The soldiers ignore them, spread out their towels, take out soft drinks and some beer from their backpacks, and go for a swim. All except one, who keeps watch. I ask them if they don't want to go to a disco 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 discos, to 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 drenched in sweat, but we sleep in peace.

I leave and let them bathe in the Mediterranean Sea. Soldier Igor is 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 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 well. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to give it to him, but maybe, if we’re lucky, my wife can come to 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”.