The cobblestones of Maidan Nezalezhnosti

I crossed the dark cobbles of Maidan Nezalezhnosti a year ago, beneath a low gray sky. The square in Kiev, a traditional place for political protests, was quiet, but the stones beneath my feet still carried the ring of the past. The dormant sounds of the 2004 Orange Revolution.

The cold but peaceful Maidan Nezalezhnosti, one year ago.

Back then, the square held promise. A place where voices rose, where people feared but also hoped. Today the same cobbles have been pried loose, literally ripped from their place in the street, and hurled by protesters and police alike. Since November there’s been an encampment in Maidan, yesterday the security forces moved in. At least eighteen people are dead.

I watch live streams from that very square now. Police gathering. Rumours of a second storming attempt. It’s chaotic. It may not lead to immediate change, but one thing is clear. Ukraine is split, dangerously so. And those wet cobbles I walked across? They’re no longer silent. They’re weapons. They’re testimony. They’re part of the story.

When you travel, you’re not just seeing places. You’re feeling their pulse, hearing their tension. Maidan has it in spades. The stones remember. Don’t forget them.