Borders and a nod from Transnistria

Despite the relentless phone and the heat, we spend a comfortable night. Valerie, the manager of this company, has his boss tell us that we are invited to breakfast. There is pasta with vegetables in a rich oil sauce, fried eggs and cappuccino. We drive on with heavy stomachs. Suddenly the eternal Moldavian pothole strip ends and leads into a brand new, absolutely smooth and beautiful asphalt strip. “Moldova apparently wants to say goodbye to us with a little present!” I cheer. For the first time since the start of this stage, we cycle the last 13 kilometers towards the Ukrainian border without any elevation. At the Moldovan border, our passports are stamped and the officials give us a very friendly farewell. Although we initially had a stomachache about traveling to this country at all, we had some of the best experiences of our travel life here. Once again, we discovered that there are also very nice people on the other side of the fence. If we had listened to some of the warnings, we would never have gotten to know this country. We would never have been guests at Luda’s or met the lovely people at the monastery. We were warned about the well-organized mafia, the merciless thefts and the criminals. It may be that it all exists. We cannot and do not want to deny this. One traveler has this experience and another has that. A bit of luck is certainly part of it. However, it is also a fact that people who allow themselves to be guided solely by fear close the door to new experiences from the outset. I also believe that fear deprives us of the opportunity to let the journey take place within ourselves. A journey that means much more and is much more valuable than a journey in the outside world.

About Ukraine

Many cars are parked at the Ukrainian border. As cyclists, we are not afraid to ride past the queue of cars. At a barrier, an official gives us two forms to fill in. As they are also in English, it’s quick. We can continue without delay. Then we are at the actual border. The atmosphere here is undoubtedly different to that in Moldova. It is noticeable but cannot be explained. We join the queue of cars and don’t have to wait long for another official to take our passports. Before we know it, they are stamped. As German citizens, we have not needed a visa since 2006 and are allowed to enter the country for three months. We change our last Moldovan lei into Ukrainian hryvnia at an ugly little stall. This way we are liquid for one or two days and, if necessary, have the opportunity to go shopping or pay for accommodation today. Just a few minutes later we find ourselves on Ukrainian soil. We can hardly believe it, but the dreaded border crossing went absolutely smoothly. Our road trains are now bumping along a terrible road. At least as bad as we are used to from Moldova. “I wonder if the traffic routes in this country are all like this?” it goes through my head.

According to what I have read, the road network in this country is very well developed with a total length of 169,679 kilometers. We can only hope that the state also has enough money to maintain its asphalt strips. We bump along at a snail’s pace on the road, which has been thrown up by the heat and the many trucks. My trailer rattles alarmingly loudly over the pitted ground. The thermometer soon reaches 50 degrees in the sun again. The tar fumes are particularly bad on this stretch and give us a slight feeling of dizziness. As the average summer temperature in Ukraine is between 17 and 25 degrees and the climate is said to be temperate continental, we are surprised to be greeted by such a heatwave. “I thought the big sweat was finally over!” exclaims Tanja, panting. “I thought so too. But better to sweat than freeze,” I reply, maneuvering my steed around the frayed holes. To our left and right are endless fields where tractors plow the soluble black earth soils. A few drivers of agricultural machinery raise their hands in greeting as we chug past. Due to the extremely fertile soil, the original vegetation of Ukraine today consists of agricultural land. This is the reason why wildlife was severely restricted and almost disappeared for the most part. Nevertheless, wolves, brown bears and lynxes still live in the Carpathian Mountains to the west of here. Predators such as the raccoon dog, wild cat, steppe iltis and tiger iltis can also still be encountered. As the mountainous region is long behind us, we can only hope to see the pearl gopher, blind mice, birch mice and dwarf hamsters, which are among the steppe rodents of this country. The forests of Ukraine are also home to wild boar, roe deer, fallow deer and red deer. Only the elk is one of the truly exotic species. The Black Sea is home to various species of herons, as well as sicklers and spoonbills. Vultures, sea eagles, short-toed eagles, golden eagles, imperial eagles, white storks and great bustards are also among them. Although we are out and about by bike, i.e. mostly in the great outdoors, we will have more contact with people than with animals. Our records show that the population of this large country is 72 percent Ukrainian and 22 percent Russian, plus Belarusians, Moldovans, Hungarians, Bulgarians, Poles and Crimean Tatars. The majority of the Tatars were deported to Central Asia in 1944 because they were accused of collaborating with the Germans.

Ukraine borders Belarus to the north, Russia to the north-east and east, the Black Sea and the Sea of Azov to the south, Romania and Moldova to the south-west and Hungary, Slovakia and Poland to the west. The country stretches from west to east for around 1300 kilometers, with the largest north-south extension being around 900 kilometers. The total area covers 603,700 square kilometers (Germany 356,970 square kilometers), making Ukraine the second largest country in Europe after Russia. Ukraine is therefore the largest country so far on our journey through the east. Its territory also includes the 25,993 square kilometer Autonomous Republic of Crimea, through the south of which a considerable mountain range stretches with an altitude of up to 1545 meters. For us, this means avoiding the south. We have managed to avoid any mountains on our journey so far. Also the Carpathian Mountains, whose highest Ukrainian mountain is an even 2061 meters high.

Around 48 million inhabitants live in this country and with 79 inhabitants per square kilometer, it is the most densely populated country in the former USSR after Russia. Although Germany is almost half the size, it has almost twice as many inhabitants at 82.43 million. In Germany, there are almost three times as many people per square kilometer, with 235 inhabitants.

We settle down for a short rest in the shade of a walnut tree, which looks like it was planted on the side of the road. We eat sheep’s cheese and tomatoes from the monastery. Suddenly, young field workers appear. They approach us shyly and greet us in Russian. They want to know where we come from and what our goal is. “Burma”, we explain, whereupon they nudge each other and make noises of absolute surprise. Then they hand us slices of melon and grapes, and before we know it, they leave us alone again. “The Ukrainians also seem to be very generous and hospitable people,” I say, pleased with our first and very nice encounter in this country.

A final nod from Transnistria

We reach a very busy main road, which is comparable to a German highway. The last time we encountered such traffic was on the route from Bucharest to Constanta in Romania. Heavy goods traffic thunders past us with deafening noise. The cars shoot across the now better tarmac like launched rockets at hellish speed. We snail along the edge of the arterial road with an uncertain feeling. I am already longing to return to Moldova. There was no traffic there. Even on the few main transport routes there was a slumber compared to here. Another 60 kilometers to Odessa, a sign indicates our next destination. After a few kilometers we reach a road post. According to the map, we know that a piece of Moldova extends into Ukraine here. A guard gives us two tickets and we are allowed to cycle on. We now pedal our horses for seven kilometers along a road that is actually in Ukraine, but still belongs to Moldova or, more precisely, to Transnistria. Strange. Then comes a barrier. Another one of those barriers that I don’t like at all. A stern-looking transnist official raises his cane and waves me aside from the flow of traffic. I don’t react to his instruction in the slightest and continue to the stop sign. The policeman gives me a dirty look and points his ominous cane behind a little border house. As Tanja is a few hundred meters behind, it takes her a while to get here. In the meantime, I stand in front of the stop sign and show the unfriendly border policeman that I’m waiting for Tanja. While he regulates the flow of traffic and has every single driver show him their tickets, he hisses at me. It is quite clear to me that he has discovered a weak victim in me who can be quickly ripped off. But not with me this time. My insides begin to boil. “You’re not getting a penny,” I mumble, simply ignoring his instruction. I pretend I don’t understand him. Make a fool of yourself. As he is alone here, he cannot leave his post. The endless queue of cars demands all his attention. His colleague is probably in the toilet at the moment. When he comes back, they’ll have us in a tight spot, as they did in Transnistria. Then comes Tanja. He waves us into the corner again. Tanja laughs at him, hands him the tickets and doesn’t react either. Suddenly he is unsettled, takes a look at the tickets we got half an hour ago and waves us on. A Ukrainian official is standing at the next post. He gives us a friendly smile, takes our tickets and we are back in Ukraine. “Phew, just gone well,” I say.

First night in Ukraine turns out differently than planned

A steep bridge ascent soon saps our strength on this day. We reach the village of Maiaky after about 70 kilometers. “That’s our destination!” I shout with relief. Father Andrew has arranged a contact for us here too. A priest friend of his lives in this village. All we have to do is ask about the church and Father George. In a store, I pull together my fragmentary knowledge of Russian and ask about the church. The women look at me a little strangely at first. But then they explain the way to me. “So, do you know where the church is?” asks Tanja as I come out of the magazine. “Sure,” I laugh confidently. Just a hundred meters past some stalls, we turn right and stand in front of a large ruin. “That’s it,” I say, a little dismayed. “That’s supposed to be the church?” asks Tanja. “Yes. There’s only one church in Maiaky.” “But it’s still under construction.” “That’s right. And it looks like it’s been there for many years. Father George is probably having difficulties with the financing,” I suspect. We push our roadtrains further and discover a dilapidated, abandoned backyard. “That looks desolate,” I say, suspecting that the overnight stay at Father George’s is not going to happen. While Tanja looks after the bikes, I knock on the locked door. Nothing moves. Then I sneak around the building to the front entrance. There I meet a few people. I ask for Father George. A man takes me up to the second floor. Without understanding a word, I am bombarded with Russian. He fetches a woman from an office who also speaks Russian to me. I desperately try to explain that Father Andrew from Moldova has arranged a place for us to stay overnight. No one understands a word. Well, who’s surprised with my gibberish. Then we get a call. “Father George isn’t here,” I understand. “He’ll be back tomorrow. Come tomorrow and he’ll be here,” the man tells me. “We’ll leave tomorrow. We just need a place to stay for the night,” I explain. The man taps a number into his cell phone and hands it to me. “No, no, I don’t speak Russian,” I say. Nevertheless, he presses the phone to my ear. A voice answers. The only thing I understand is that the voice comes from a male. “Moldova… father Andrew… room… German… cyclist…”, I stammer nervously in Russian. The answer is a torrent of words. I hand the phone back. “Is there a hotel here?” I want to know. The man takes me by the arm, leads me out of the building and points in one direction. I don’t understand how I’m supposed to find the hotel this way. Then he accompanies Tanja and me to the main road and shows us where to turn off. We understand. There is no accommodation in Maiaky. We are told to drive twelve kilometers to the next village. Unfortunately, we would have to come back here tomorrow to continue our journey to Odessa. After 70 kilometers at almost 50 degrees in the sun, several border crossings and after a previous one-month break, this is too much for us. We are already running on fumes again on the second day. The man doesn’t understand. And waves us in the direction of Biliaivka, the place where there is somewhere to spend the night. “What if there’s no hotel there? What if they don’t want to take our bikes?” Or maybe they’re fully booked?” Tanja discourages me even more than I already am. As we are spending the first day in a country that is completely foreign to us, we don’t know whether it is reckless to pitch our tent somewhere in the middle of nowhere. It’s probably a very bad idea.

Tanja and I say goodbye to our helper and sit down on the window sill of a supermarket. “I’m really hungry,” I grumble in a bad mood. “Then buy something in the supermarket,” Tanja suggests, and I go to the store. After filling our stomachs with bread, tomatoes, yoghurt and water, we leave the village in the direction of the hotel. “Maybe we should ask at one of the houses if we can sleep in the garden?” Tanja interrupts my thoughts, which at that very moment are occupied with the same question. “Good idea,” I reply. We turn into an unpaved side street and ask at the first available opportunity. At first we are not understood, until a young man asks us to follow him. He leads us out of the village and down to a river. As we only want to spend the night in the shelter of a villager, we feel uncomfortable on the lonely road. Then, unexpectedly, a derelict power station appears. “Is anyone there overnight?” asks Tanja. “There, there,” replies the young man. He introduces us to a couple of workers who immediately point to a green lawn in the shade of some trees. “You can pitch your tent there,” they say kindly. Relieved, we set up camp. We are tired and exhausted from the day’s events. Tanja opens a bottle of the monastery red wine. Our mood quickly improves and our first day in Ukraine comes to a good end.

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