Lviv smells like stories whispered in old stairwells, like candle smoke in quiet churches, like coffee simmering on hot sand. I arrived in this city not just as a visitor, but as someone listening—to cobblestones underfoot, to the way a bakery smells when it rains, to the perfume of lilacs drifting over rooftops shaped by centuries of change.
This city once belonged to the Kingdom of Galicia–Volhynia, then to Poland, then to the Austro-Hungarian Empire. It’s called Lwów in Polish, Lemberg in German, Leopolis in Latin. Each layer left its trace: in architecture, language and scent.
There’s a particular kind of fragrance here that blends the sacred and the sensual. In the morning, it’s fresh bread and sun-warmed stone. By afternoon, it becomes beeswax, tobacco, ink, roasted apples. The churches exhale frankincense and dust; the cafés—cinnamon and chocolate.
Lviv’s coffee culture began under the Habsburgs. In fact, the city claims one of the first coffeehouses in Europe, founded by a Ukrainian soldier turned Ottoman captive, who returned from Constantinople with beans and boldness. I think of him when I sip the thick, tar-like brew in Virmenka, a bohemian hideaway since Soviet times.
In one hidden courtyard, I found an old apothecary still lined with amber bottles. Dried herbs hung from the beams—wormwood, chamomile, mint—and when I leaned close, I caught a scent that reminded me of my great-grandmother Asya’s cupboard. The same soft blend of lavender and cocoa powder. Asya spoke of Lviv as a city of roses and books, and finding echoes of her scents here made me feel at peace.
Sometimes I think cities wear perfume just like people do. Lviv’s scent still clings to my scarf. I remember walking into Saint Andrew’s Cathedral at dusk as mass began, the incense and Madonna lilies settling over me like a veil. Even now, far from the city, I can imagine all the nuances of that fragrance, as if it’s still floating around me.
In a time of war, beauty becomes a quiet kind of resistance. Lviv continues to enchant—not by ignoring reality, but by reminding us what’s worth holding onto.
Its scent is memory. And memory, too, is a form of survival.
Photography by Bois de Jasmin
Do you make scent associations with cities you visit?
9 Comments
Jacqueline J: This is so beautifully written, I felt like I was with you in that city, and could smell the aromas which you described. It made me feel, peaceful and nostalgic..
My fragrance of a city association is Laura Biagotti’s ‘Roma’ with (not Rome!) but Fuerteventura in Greece: Dusty and warm but with a cool comforting breeze. x April 11, 2025 at 9:24am
Victoria: Thank you!
I associate Roma with Bologna, because I first tried it there. 🙂 April 11, 2025 at 11:34am
Nina Gulka: Hello Victoria-I have already written to you about your beautiful writings but this morning as I started to read this post I started reading your words out loud to my husband (we are both part Ukrainian and part of my husband’s family are from a villagenear Lviv) and we felt like we were there with you. Isn’t it amazing that despite the devastation of war nothing can crush what our senses remember, and the wonderful scents, sights and sounds that are uniquely Ukrainian. Thank you for keeping our Spirit alive! April 11, 2025 at 12:02pm
Jacqueline J: 💖 April 12, 2025 at 5:03am
Alityke: My village smells of linden trees in late June & early July. It makes walking Mr Jarvis Cockapoo even more pleasurable.
El Medano in Tenerife smells of hot oil, garlic, seafood, dry winds, salty air & dune grass. Nearer the beach the wax used on windsurfers & tropical scented sun lotion.
London smells of diesel & humanity. Dirty, grubbiness & acrid dampness.
Sheffield used to smell of sulphur & hopelessness. April 11, 2025 at 4:33pm
Christine Nashat Kalleeny: Thank you Victoria for this gorgeous, heartfelt tribute to Lviv. It made me long for Egypt. Cairo and Alexandria, cities I call home, perfume my memories they each wear and waft layer upon layer of lived experience, a delicious mix of the sacred, the seductive and the unsavory. April 11, 2025 at 7:50pm
Aurora: Oh yes definitely, the smell of the Paris metro, waffles in Lille, the Linden trees in Central Park, Lviv looks beautiful, the fresco is striking, is it a saint being carried to his grave? April 12, 2025 at 12:42pm
Henry: I remember the aroma of incense in many of Kyiv’s Orthodox churches being different, cleaner, than what I remember from Latin churches. I’ve tried getting frankincense, musk, and rose incense sticks in an attempt to discover the exact fragrance, but I’m unable to activate that memory. However, when visiting an Orthodox church in Tallinn, I believe (I want to believe) I re-activated that memory. Still have no idea what the exact fragrance is. I suppose it doesn’t matter because at least I know where I can find it. Makes it more special. April 17, 2025 at 7:47pm
TV: Thank you for this beautiful writing. My family came from near Lviv in the late 1800s but memories like this are all lost in my line. April 29, 2025 at 11:22pm