... tylko we Lwowie: Lviv part II

Rynek Główny, Lviv, shortly before seven in the morning:

Picture the scene: early-morning sunshine floods the cobbled market square. Barely a soul is in sight. The only sound is the swish-swish of elderly street-sweepers, clad in neon tabards and wielding I-kid-you-not actual broomsticks.

Chairs are stacked upside-down on top of tables on cafe terraces, and no bar or restaurant shows any sign of opening its doors before the clock strikes nine.

Two Polish guys and one British girl stand at one corner of the square, with rucksacks, staring up at the kamienice and blinking in the sunlight.

- Hej! Do you know why they only have three windows?

A slim, dark-haired man in a threadbare jumper, asks us conversationally, in Ukrainian. He has the weathered tan of someone who spends a more time than most people outdoors.

- Could you repeat please?
- Ah, you're Polish. Do you know why some of the buildings have only three windows and others six?
- No, but...

He picks up speed, gesturing extravagantly and peppering his speech with Ukrainian expressions which I am unable to understand.
... did you know there used to be a tax on windows and balconies, so the more windows you built, the more wealthy your family would appear... Come on, come on, this way!

Our Lwowian gentleman of leisure leads us off the main square down a side street. I hesitate, but one of the guys gestures to me to follow - it's ok.

On the left, we pass a bar, which I later learn is called Gas Lamp. Sticking out of the wall is a bronze statue of a man sitting beside a desk, with a spare chair.
- Look! Sit down, take pictures!

Before we can stop him, our new friend has crossed the street and is standing at one of the big wooden gates leading to a Lviv courtyard. He presses the code and a small door clicks open.
- Come in! Come in! Look!
He opens up a small hatch in the wall to reveal an old iron electricity box, dirt-encrusted and laced with cobwebs. The embossed letters read: 'Własność Miejskiej Elektrowni'.
- Polski! Look! Polish!

Obediently we take photos. Suddenly, a lady in overalls bursts out of the courtyard and shoos us angrily back out of the door. As we trip over the kerb, our guide points down. We peer at the gutter.
- Polish drains! Look! Take pictures!

Before we know it, he's urging us down the street again, further into the cobbled heart of Lviv's town centre, to a small crossroads, where he stops and points up at the tall town house on the opposite corner.
- Look, 'rudy kot', czerwony kot: see the Masonic signs.
We squint up at the building and note pentacles on the wrought-iron balcony. I am sure there are more Masonic signs to be picked out, because our friend expands at great length, but I am unable to understand the wild swerves of his fast Polish, which careens in and out of the Ukrainian language.

Eventually he pauses for breath and looks back at us, shyly, a strange canny look in his eye:
- I don't suppose Państwo would find it in themselves to make a small contribution to a mere humble...

We slip him a couple of notes.

Just for the entertainment value, he was worth it.

to be continued. Even more...