The city is also known as a transition hub and a temporary shelter for thousands of Ukrainians escaping the war.
Since the outbreak of the full-scale war in late February, nearly 200,000 Ukrainians, or 20 to 25 percent of the city's regular population, have come to live in Lviv.
Roughly the same number has temporarily left the city and moved to EU countries such as Poland, Hungary, Germany, and the Czech Republic.
People walk, chat, and listen to street musicians, sit in the cafes, and visit cultural centers.
At first glance, it may seem the war has not reached this place. Yet it can be felt everywhere, from street musicians collecting money for the army to shielded monuments, blocked glazed windows, basement windows stuffed with sand bags – all bracing for an attack.
Halyna Pastushuk reports from Lviv.
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The air raid sirens that once sent Lviv’s residents scrambling into basements no longer cause the same level of alarm as they did in February and March — though anxiety was heightened a couple of times when a barrage of missiles was unleashed from Belarusian airspace within striking distance of the city, as well as after the attacks on civilians in Kremenchuk and Vinnytsia.
Though remaining untouched by the war hostilities directly, my native city welcomes death on a daily basis. It is evident in the steady stream of fallen soldiers whose funerals are held here, sometimes several times in one day. The funerals overtake the daily rhythms of city life. Trams stop. Bus passengers wipe tears from their eyes. Pedestrians fall down on their knees to show their respect for the perished. When each funeral procedure moves from the Saints Paul and Peter Garrison Church in the city center to the Lychakiv cemetery, it passes by City Hall.
War has transformed Lviv's vibrant art life. “Art for victory,” reads the inscription in front of a street musician who sings in the central Rynok Square about the war in Ukraine, apparently his own songs.
Behind him is a statue of Amphitrite, which local activists wrapped against possible shelling in the early days of the large-scale war. Now the statue is behind the banner that reads “We’ll admire the original after the victory."
Preparing for the possible Russian air bombardment, people in Lviv try to preserve the most valuable sculptures, stained glass, and other sites that belong to the UNESCO heritage area. Some are wrapped, some are removed, like the unique and recently renovated wooden statue of Jesus Christ the Savior. It has been evacuated from Lviv Armenian Cathedral courtyard and taken to a bunker.
The Saints Peter and Paul Cathedral is currently hosting a photo exhibition with children who lost their fathers in the course of hostilities at the frontlines.
Lviv residents, like many other Ukrainians, are concerned about the unclear future ahead of them. The Ukrainian currency value against US dollar dropped down by 35 percent, prices go high, the perspectives of the forthcoming heating season are rather gloomy.
Schools are still hesitating between so much wanted off-line mode and perhaps the only possible remaining online one.
While the shooting range with Putin’s images became a new form of entertainment for the townspeople, the Lviv Opera House opened after a long break caused by the war and is inviting visitors to its performances.