By Steve Richards

This trip to Ukraine has been unlike any of the others I’ve taken in the three years since my first, back in March 2022.

After taking the Kyiv Express and spending a couple of days in Bucha to check on friends I headed to Odesa. I’ve been here for the better part of a week.

But this time, I didn’t stay in a hotel. Instead, I was a guest of Viktoriia and Sasha at their relatively safe summer house outside the city, far from Odesa’s frequent targets. Now thirteen, Sasha’s no longer a tween and is a huge soccer fan.

Here at the summer house, Viktoriia and Sasha tend daily to the flowers and vegetables, making sure everything is watered and maintained. They even had me picking cherries from their trees—loaded with fruit! My favorite time of day? Morning walks through the garden, which bursts not just with roses (my favorite) and a rainbow of vegetables, but also with butterflies and pollinators of all kinds. Ukraine’s legendary soil is clearly doing its work here—as it does in fields all across the country.

Highlights of the trip?

The two screenings of Beyond Bucha are certainly near the top of the list.

But perhaps even more memorable is the chance to experience life here in such an intimate way. Viktoriia and Sasha have made me feel like family. It’s remarkable to think how this all began—with a conversation with John Andrews of the Jamestown Ukrainian Relief Project, who had seen my last film Back to Bucha on the recommendation of Alex Kuzma of the Ukrainian Catholic University in Lviv. I met Viktoriia and Sasha at a charity polo match in Newport, invited by Linda Gaitonde of the Newport Ukrainian Relief Project. And the rest, as they say, is history.

There was a beautiful borscht dinner (complete with vodka shots) after they picked me up at the bus station, ending my six-hour ride from Kyiv last Friday. There have been endless cherries from the garden—and even a delicious rabbit dinner (my first), all prepared by Viktoriia.

Holly, their brilliant and incredibly lovable dog keeps an eye on me, carefully navigating the house and stairs a step ahead. She even roams the streets of Odesa without a leash—like so many other dogs here.

​My much-needed and long-delayed haircut was another high point—especially for the price: six bucks, ten with a generous (and unexpected) tip.

I also visited their apartment in the city. I wanted to see the site where Sasha experienced the shockwave from two ballistic missiles that caused the concussion he still suffers from. His condition is a constant concern for everyone who knows him, including friends from the Jamestown/Newport area. His father attended the Naval War College when Sasha was in kindergarten, and the family left a lasting impression. Now redeployed to the front, “the man of the house” is never far from anyone’s thoughts.

We stay updated on the news—including rising tensions with Iran—though of course Ukrainian news dominates. Everyone here lives braced for the next attack. Explosions and anti-aircraft fire are part of daily life.

Remarkably, power and internet have remained rock solid. A real testament to the country’s resilience.

I also conducted an interview for a future film with a doctor from a rehabilitation clinic here. A medic in Mariupol and a former Russian captive, his stories are harrowing. I was even interviewed for The Ukrainian Review.

​There was even time for a bit of sightseeing, including a two-hour tour of Odesa’s vast catacombs. Most were dug out of limestone in the 19th century for Odesa’s construction. During the Cold War, they were repurposed as bomb shelters against nuclear attack. The irony is never lost on me: America and the USSR—of which Ukraine was once a part—each had ICBMs pointed at the other. Ukraine gave up its nuclear weapons under the 1994 Budapest Memorandum in exchange for security guarantees from Russia, the UK, and the USA. Sadly, America’s assurances have proven unreliable. And Russia’s? Always laughable.

Today I head to Moldova for a flight back to the U.S. tomorrow—my first time returning home without passing through Warsaw. Since Moldova is much closer to Odesa, I’m glad to avoid the long train or bus ride.

It’s been an unforgettable trip. While I hate leaving my friends to face the daily realities of life here, I have to admit—I’m a bit envious of the summer house life they’ve created.

Maybe I’ll be back when the tomatoes are ripe.

This weekend we screened Beyond Bucha at the Cossack Museum and the Cathedral of the Nativity Orthodox Church in Odesa to packed audiences.

I arrived in Odesa on Friday and am staying at the summer home of Viktoriia and Sasha, just outside the city—away from the all-too-frequent sirens and explosions of Russian drones and missiles. Here, in a house surrounded by an extensive garden, life feels tranquil and worlds away from the war.

Viktoriia organized the weekend’s events, beginning with Saturday’s screening at the Ukrainian Cossacks Development History Museum—a small museum recently damaged in a drone strike. A hole in the roof and several shattered windows remain as reminders that this museum, like Ukraine itself, has been built and rebuilt after repeated destruction.

Korovai Presentation at the Ukrainian Cossacks Development History Museum

The festivities began with the presentation of a Korovai—a traditional Ukrainian celebratory bread—by singers in traditional Ukrainian garb. They sang their hearts out in a joyful performance that moved me to tears. I could only wish that my Ukrainian-American friends and supporters could have witnessed the passion with which they performed several Ukrainian folk songs accompanied by guitar. I will never forget the love and appreciation I felt from this group for making the journey and for making the film.

Next came a performance by the award-winning Sunrise Flute Ensemble, which is featured in the film. These talented young performers played several pieces, including Moon River by Henry Mancini—bringing more tears to my eyes. Considering the hell these children endure on a daily basis, their resilience—and that of their teachers and parents—is nothing short of extraordinary. That they continue to focus on school and extra-curriculars like this, and made it to an early afternoon performance on a Saturday, is a testament to their strength and community.

Beyond Bucha Odesa Premiere - Moon River and The Nightfall by the Sunrise Ensemble of Odesa

The film screening was met with an engaged and thoughtful audience, many of whom stayed afterward for a Q&A session—and to share the Korovai. Most were intrigued by the views of Ukrainian cities that few get to see, and by the evangelical faith practices, which were unfamiliar to them. As Orthodox believers of the Ukrainian tradition, they were already well aware of the Transfiguration Cathedral and its Moscow Patriarchate ties. Some questioned why it was included in the film—until I explained how it became well known in the U.S. after being struck by a missile in 2023.

The day continued with a tour of the museum and a fun moment where they dressed me in authentic Cossack attire. It was truly an unforgettable day.

Today, we held a second screening—this time at the Cathedral of the Nativity, a Ukrainian Orthodox church featured in the film, which was also struck by a Russian drone in November 2024.

Much of the Orthodox congregation squeezed into the parish hall following the Sunday service (which lasts several hours). Once again, they were immersed in the film’s journey through evangelical churches and cities—from Bucha to Kharkiv to Zaporizhzhia—and remained engaged as the story unfolded. The Ukrainian subtitles did their job; I was relieved and happy to see that everyone seemed to follow along.

I wasn’t entirely sure how an Orthodox audience would respond, but I needn’t have worried. Fr. Orobets, who was interviewed in the film, had already seen it and was the one who invited us to screen it here. He was glad not only to see churches and believers from across Ukraine but also to give his parishioners a glimpse of life outside Odesa.

In the end, the reception couldn’t have been warmer.

​My deep thanks to Viktoriia, who organized both events, and also to 13-year-old Sasha, who not only translated Fr. Orobets' interview in the film but also served as my interpreter at both events. It would have been next to impossible to be here without them—and without their husband and father, who has been redeployed to the front lines. He remains constantly on all of our minds.

When traveling to Kyiv, there is only one way to go: the long way.

​With no airports open in Ukraine for international flights since the full-scale invasion in 2022, I usually fly into Warsaw and then catch the Kyiv Express—a sleeper train that departs in the late afternoon and arrives the next morning, just in time for lunch. A two-day trip, at best.

The express is not fancy by any means. The railcars are Soviet-era, and service is limited to a morning cup of tea or coffee—if you have cash. Ukrainian hryvnia is your safest bet, though this time the attendant accepted Polish zloty, which I had managed to withdraw from an ATM at the Warsaw train station. Once inside, the sleeper cars are comfortable enough, with decent bedding and warm blankets. The only real excitement comes at midnight: the double passport check at the border. First, the Polish border guards do their part in Chełm, and then the Ukrainian guards take over after the border is crossed. You definitely know when you’ve entered Ukraine.

​This particular trip, however, was very different for me. My compartment companion was on his way to join the International Legion For the Defence of Ukraine. An ex-British soldier who had served three tours in Iraq and one in Afghanistan, Michael felt called to do his part in defending Ukraine. He was hoping to be trained and sent to the front.

What struck me most was how his primary concern wasn’t the danger ahead but simply finding the rendezvous point the next morning. The details provided to him had been sketchy at best. His only contact with the unit had been via someone on Telegram, and he was anxious he might miss them entirely. I was personally glad to have someone in the compartment who spoke English and liked to chat. We hit it off.

When we arrived in Kyiv, I introduced him to the Hotel Ukraine, where I was scheduled to have lunch with Fr. Roman Nebozhuk, a Ukrainian Catholic priest I had met through my mentor, Fr. Yaroslav Nalysnyk, in Boston. I invited Michael to join us, knowing that if anyone could help him find his contact the next morning, it was Fr. Roman.

Sure enough, Fr. Roman recognized the building in the picture from the Telegram chat and provided the details Michael needed to find his unit.

I heard from Michael this afternoon via WhatsApp. Not only had he found the International Legion, but he had also been accepted and was already in training.

I’m not entirely sure I helped him, since there is no greater danger than going to the frontlines as an infantry soldier. But Michael has tremendous experience and was excited to go. It seems to be a shared calling among those of us who come to Ukraine from the West. After lunch, Fr. Roman called us both brave and offered a prayer for us—but honestly, when I think of Michael, and especially the Ukrainian people who face daily attacks and sleepless nights under Russian drones and missiles, I feel like my own efforts pale in comparison.