As you approach Kiev’s Independence Square from the foggy tree-fringed banks of the Dneiper, the first sign that everything isn’t quite alright is the barricade across Hrushevskoho Street. It’s built from paving-stones torn up from the streets, meticulously lined up in a series of walls around shoulder height — fortifications laid out as carefully and decoratively as a medieval castle.

There are parapets, crenellations, defensive areas between layers of the walls. A Ukrainian flag flies from one of the more prominent battlements; there are candles and posters and small icons showing the people that died on this street in January and February of this year; as they pass by, a few people stop to cross themselves.

The most arresting thing about the Hrushevskoho Street barricade, though, is the fact that it doesn’t form an unbroken line across the street: instead, it’s been taken down at two points to allow road traffic to pass through unimpeded. The constant stream of taxis and trucks and swish German cars barely even slows down. Mistakenly taking the barricade as a natural crossing-point, several pedestrians get stuck in the central section, staring out at the road as the cars swoosh past.