Back with Luda

At 8:30 a.m., the sun is already beating down its tormenting rays on us poor creatures. Still tired from yesterday’s exertions, we load our bikes and leave the expensive accommodation behind us. As soon as I sit in the saddle, my bottom starts to complain. “We certainly don’t have to go far. From what we’ve been told, everything here is full of accommodation,” Tanja comforts me. “I hope so,” I reply quietly. We cycle along the coastal road. We buy water at the market in Fontanka. Although it won’t be far today, I load an extra bottle into the trailer. You never know. Then we ask for a place to stay. “You have to go back five kilometers,” we hear. “No, no. We’ve just come here. Is there no other accommodation in this direction?” we want to know. But the answers are sobering. We cycle on. There is no sign of the sea as it is still hidden behind a strip of land overgrown with greenery. It doesn’t take long before I start to get annoyed with myself again. I shouldn’t have listened to the Austrian’s advice yesterday.

At the side of the road there are again advertising signs that we can’t decipher or at least don’t understand. We pedal over a slight hill when suddenly the Black Sea spreads out in front of us. We let our steeds roll down the hill and discover a hotel halfway down. We immediately stop to ask for a room. A viciously barking dog prevents us from entering the facility. “The hotel is out of order,” a woman tells us. “Drive back up the mountain. There are vacation homes over there on the coastal side,” she recommends. Now humbled, we push our home on wheels up the hill. It takes us a while to find the narrow path that leads to the coast. Quite unexpectedly, simple wooden huts appear in front of us, which can be rented. We breathe out a sigh of relief. Even if the huts don’t look the safest and we can hardly leave our equipment alone there, we are glad to have found something for the time being. A woman comes towards us. “I’m sorry. We’re fully booked.” “Fully booked?” “There.” “Can we pitch our tent here in the garden until one of the cabins becomes available?” I ask. “Nope,” I am startled by the definite refusal. The woman points over the cliff to a crowded beach. “Down there,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. Tanja and I look at the beach. Hundreds of people have set up camp close together. Tents, cars, boats, umbrellas and mattresses pave the hot sand. Exclusive vacation in the anthill. Something different. Not in Rimini, no, in the Ukraine. According to the motto, survival training in the crowd without shadows.

We thank the woman for the tip and drive on. “If so many people spend their vacation here, there must be more accommodation. I’m sure that many of the signs point this out. We just can’t read them,” I complain. We roll into the valley, seething with heat. My butt yelps. The main road leads us past the beach. Garbage burns in some places. Plastic bottles have the upper hand here again. The pungent smell of feces emanates from a few small, run-down outhouses. We climb steeply up the mountain again. I stop in front of one of the signs. “That clearly means room,” I say. Suddenly we notice the hand-written signs with room advertising everywhere. “They didn’t exist before, did they?” doubts Tanja. “At least I didn’t notice them.” I immediately knock on the door of the first house and ask. Fully booked. Fully booked. Fully booked. Then I am offered a room that takes my breath away. Two ancient beds in a tiny little wooden hut. No room for a table or chair. No electricity. Only ten US dollars. The heat for free. I turn on my heel. The next place to stay is also more like a dark hole or a dog kennel. Cars are parked in the stuffy courtyards of the houses and Ukrainian tourists are cooking in the simple open-air kitchens. We give up and cycle on. By now it is already twelve o’clock. Someone told us that there should be nice accommodation in the next port town of Yuzhne, about 25 kilometers from here. Well, we actually only took this route to visit the famous city of Odessa and to be able to send our films safely. But now we are getting further away from Odessa by the minute. And why should there be hotels in the port city of Yuzhne if we can’t find places to stay in the suburbs of one of Ukraine’s largest and most important cities? It is indeed hair-raising. Rarely in our travel life has the search for a place to stay become such a challenge. We reach the village of Chornomors’ke. “Drive another two kilometers. There’s an aqua park and a nice hotel there,” a man tells us in broken German. Confident again, we let our cranks spin and reach the aqua park. Even though it is much smaller, the parking lot in front of the hotel reminds me of the one at Disney World in Orlando, Florida. We roll past buses and expensive luxury cars until we park our bikes, which look ridiculous in comparison, against a tree in front of the reception. Through the large iron fence, we look out over a well-kept park with fountains and beautiful houses. “Is this the right store for us?” I say, striding into the reception building in my cycling gear. “Uh, do you speak English.” “Of course,” a young woman’s voice surprises me. “Do you have a double room?” “There’s only one triple room left. But only for one night. We’ll be fully booked tomorrow,” I don’t really think I heard. “How much does the room cost?” “200 US dollars,” the answer almost blows my socks off. “Are there really so few hotels on this stretch of coast?” I ask. “Well, today is our public holiday and people are going on a short vacation for the next three days,” the woman behind the counter explains to me. “Public holiday?” I ask. “Yes. Independence Day from Russia,” she explains and the scales fall from my eyes. So that’s the reason for the fully booked hotels, cabins, rooms, even the odd hole and the terrible traffic. “Do you think there’s somewhere to stay overnight in the next harbor town?” I want to know. “Yes, but who’s to say that the houses there aren’t fully booked?” “That’s right. Can you call there for me?” I ask. I am indeed helped and the nice young woman dials the number of the hotel in Yuzhne. “I’m sorry. Nobody answers the phone there,” she apologizes a few minutes later. I say thank you and before I leave the luxury hotel, I take the opportunity to get some hryvnia at the hotel’s bureau de change. Unfortunately, the telephone line also broke down, so I can’t use my bank card. Now really dejected, I go back to Tanja. She wants to carry on, I’m in favor of turning back. We turn around and cycle back to the place where there were at least a few simple rooms. Even if some of them look more like a doghouse, that’s still better than nothing.

At a gas station we ask again if they know where we can get off. You never know. “Sorry, we don’t know anything either,” says the petrol station attendant. We drink water first and buy two spare bottles. You never know. A VW bus stops. “Are you from Germany?” the driver asks us in perfect German. It’s a filmmaker from Leipzig. We have a lively conversation. He likes Ukraine. I don’t need a hotel. I have a crate of beer and a sleeping bag in the back. We’ll stay where we want,” he laughs and pats his pretty girlfriend on the thigh. We say goodbye and drive back to Nova-Dofinovka. A drunk offers me his room. “No, thank you,” I kindly decline and cycle on. The drunk runs after us. “Why don’t you stay? Hey, stay!” he shouts. Then I ask where I already asked a few hours ago. But this time a little further on. A very pretty young woman speaks English. Thank God. She shows me one of her neighbor’s rooms. Another hole. It’s so bad that I refuse it despite our desperate situation. “Let her sleep in the house under the roof,” says the pretty girl’s mother. “It’s very hot there,” I hear. “Never mind, please show me the room,” I reply. Then I inspect the place. Compared to the other holes, it is acceptable. It hasn’t been cleaned for a long time and is very run-down, but if you ignore the completely worn-out mattresses on the beds and the 35 degree room temperature, it’s actually a palace for me at this moment.

Conversations with former Volga Germans

After stowing our bikes, we sit down in the shady courtyard. There is a lot of hustle and bustle. Luda and Helena, the two sisters and landladies of the vacation apartments, are of German descent. A few years ago, they wanted to emigrate to Germany. Unfortunately, the original papers were burnt during the Second World War, which is why the German authorities refused their entry. “How is it that you are of German descent?” I ask and daughter Valentina translates. “Well, our great-great-grandparents were Volga Germans. Empress Catherine the Second brought the Germans to the Volga between 1763 and 1767. Most of us came from Bavaria, Baden, Hesse, the Palatinate and the Rhineland. Our ancestors founded around 100 villages on the Volga.” Why did the Tsarina bring the Germans to the Volga back then?” I ask with interest, as I had heard about this in history lessons many years ago. “Well, the Germans were known as good workers and farmers. The Tsarina wanted to cultivate the steppe areas along the great river. We were given a special political status at the time. We had the right to retain our language and our self-government. Unfortunately, our rights to self-determination were restricted in the USSR. In 1918, after the Russian Revolution, our settlement area became autonomous and in 1924 the Autonomous Soviet Socialist Republic of the Volga Germans was created. After the Germans invaded Russia at the beginning of the Second World War, we were accused of collaborating with the Germans, which is why Stalin forcibly resettled us to Siberia and Central Asia.” “What? After 180 years of settlement history, you were now more Russian than German.” “Yes, but we almost all spoke German and had our own administration. That was a thorn in Stalin’s side. He forcibly dissolved our entire settlement area. Around 400,000 inhabitants lost their homes. Many were forced to do forced labor. Many died. That was the reason why our father had his passport changed and obtained Russian papers. That’s how we escaped forced labor. Some of our relatives still live in Siberia today. In Irkutsk. They visit us from time to time.” “I’ve heard that the Volga Germans were later rehabilitated?” “That’s right, that was in 1964 and that was also the reason why many of us went back to Germany.” “And then you also wanted to go back to the land of your fathers.” “Of course. We only applied five years ago. Unfortunately, as I mentioned, our parents’ original papers were burnt during the Second World War. They could no longer be found. So we couldn’t prove our ancestry to the German authorities. They saw us as Russians. No wonder, because our father had his papers rewritten.” “Hm, maybe it’s better this way. Who knows if you would have liked it in Germany. You were born here. You have relatives and friends here. Your roots are in what is now Ukraine. Maybe you would have been unhappy in hectic Germany,” I say thoughtfully. “Yes, yes, that could be. Luda and I have often talked about it. Now I also think it’s a good thing,” Helena finishes her story.

It is already dusk when Valentina shows us the facility. Like everything else here, the houses and huts make a very worn impression. What’s more, the garden looks like a desert due to the lack of rain in recent months. Then suddenly we are standing on the steep cliff overlooking the Black Sea. “Wow!” I say, amazed at the unexpected sight. “That’s fantastic,” says Tanja enthusiastically. “Absolutely. It was probably no coincidence that I ended up here. Even if it was very hard to find this place,” I say thoughtfully.

In the evening, when the sun has long since fallen asleep behind the horizon, we sit on the cliff with a glass of monastery wine in our hands and look out over the illuminated silhouette of the port city of Odessa. Because of the independence from Russia, various fireworks in all imaginable colors light up the night sky over the city. The sound of the sea, the balmy breeze, our tiredness and the knowledge that we have finally found a harbor for the coming nights makes us happy. We are glad to have survived the hellish road unscathed and enjoy ourselves and the beautiful evening.

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