I was caught in a Russian attack last night – this is Ukraine’s brutal reality as talks grind on
In the early hours of Tuesday morning I was at the receiving end of one of the deadly Russian mass drone attacks that regularly terrorise Ukrainian cities.
Much of my hotel near the centre of the Black Sea port city of Odesa was wrecked when Shahed drones hit close by, setting buildings opposite ablaze and blowing out walls, shattering windows and collapsing ceilings where I was staying.
I had slept through the sirens warning of an approaching attack and was wrenched out of my slumber by the first enormous explosion which blew out windows in my room in the Hotel Alarus at around 2.20am.
As I hurriedly pulled on clothes and boots, drones came diving in on their final approach, emitting a shrill, otherworldly scream like that of German Stuka dive bombers in WW2 movies.
Twice I hit the floor in the space between my bed and the bathroom wall – the furthest point in my room from the outside.
During these seconds that seemed like an age, I felt utterly helpless and mouthed: “F***, f***, f***. Just get it over with.”
As more drones kept coming, I got to the basement shelter and joined 11 staff and guests there in the dark.
People, some in nighties, some barefoot, mostly sat silently with a few faces dimly lit by screen light as they scanned smartphones for any news.
Locals had an app showing the approach of missiles or drones around Odesa. Some cried while others covered their ears or pulled friends close as tension mounted, waiting for an explosion.
Some of the explosions blew out the hotel’s glass front doors and seemed to search us out sending showers of broken glass down the basement stairs.
Nobody at the hotel was injured but early reports said at least 23 people, including some kids and a pregnant woman, were injured in the raid. At least one victim is very badly injured and rescue workers are searching for bodies under rubble.
This is the reality in Ukraine, as peace talks grind on interminably, with little sense of progress.
In everyday life in Odesa, delapidated generators thrum outside shops, restaurants, residential and office buildings fight a losing battle against power cuts and freezing temperatures on the snow and ice-covered streets.
Some sounds have disappeared completely from Odesa’s urban soundtrack – the building-shaking trundle of trams along the tracks that lace the city’s boulevards and the trolleybuses whose power-transmitting poles can cause magnificent showers of sparks where they connect to icy electric cables high above the streets, providing delight for kids.
