In transition

We sit on the balcony, look out over the large cargo ships passing by and enjoy our breakfast. We enjoy the last few minutes of the luxury hotel that we would never have believed existed in this unassuming little town of 25,000 selenium. Since we have been traveling in the east, we have noticed that the accommodation is often either completely run down or of a surprisingly high standard. A lot is changing in these countries. The old residential buildings, factories and hotels, indeed the entire building structure is on the verge of collapse. As we have often described, we ask ourselves how people here can survive at all with the broken material of everything that exists. However, there are suddenly buildings and a few factories that are being renovated or rebuilt. When we come across such accommodation by chance, we find it refreshing for our eyes and soul.

We would never have believed that we could like anything at all about the former communist countries, but it is the hospitable and often helpful people who make such a trip worthwhile. Here in Ukraine, too, we are being helped at every turn. Although the Germans often did horrific things to the civilian population during the Second World War, we are surprised that the population does not hold a grudge against us. On the contrary, it looks to me as if the dark part of our past has been overcome. Many of the people we meet think our bike trip is fantastic. They are amazed, shake their heads in disbelief and wish us a good journey, happiness and health. Again and again, drivers wave, honk their horns and shout a few good wishes out of their open windows.

As soon as we arrive at the hotel to load our bikes, Sergei greets us. Sergei is a captain and works for a shipping company in Odessa. The day before yesterday he pulled up next to our bikes in his brand new BMW sedan and asked if he could help us. He gave us a few tips and showed us this accommodation. “So Tanja and Denis, you have my business card, if you have any problems don’t hesitate to call me. I’ll do everything in my power to help you,” he says with a laugh as we get on our bikes to set off for another day. “Thank you very much Sergei. I hope we don’t need your help. But if we have any problems, we’ll give you a call,” I promise him. “Good, and don’t forget. Don’t show anyone what you’ve got with you. People have been killed in Ukraine for less than ten euros,” he calls after us in warning. “We’ll take care,” we reply.

After twelve kilometers we have to follow the E58 towards the town of Mykolaiv. We are forced to use the main traffic artery because of the kilometers-long tongues of sea that eat into the land in various places. The traffic is worrying again. Large trucks thunder past us. Mostly with a large safety distance, but there are one or two truck drivers who let the huge tires of their gigantic heap of metal rumble past us. Even if there is a hard shoulder next to us, we can’t avoid it because of the sometimes steep edge of the asphalt. Sometimes it’s a good 30 centimeters. It’s at moments like these that I start to sweat. The more often one of the heavy goods trains roars past us, the more nervous I get. No doubt a matter of nerves. “Over!” Tanja yells because she has spotted a semi-trailer truck in her rear-view mirror that is obviously making no attempt to swerve. Without thinking twice, I pull my riese und müller off the road and into the gravel. It shakes and rattles. I don’t lose my balance. Then it’s back on the road. “How does Tanja feel at times like this?” I keep thinking. She also masters her buck with aplomb. After three hours, my good mood is in the cellar. My forehead is covered in cold sweat. Today Tanja once again has the better nerves. “Don’t let yourself be boxed in. Just think of your golden egg. Think that you’re safe in it and nothing will happen to you,” she reminds me. Although it is hard to believe, this technique has obvious benefits. Because when you feel safe, you don’t start wiggling the handlebars nervously. You don’t look around unnecessarily, you don’t get anxiety attacks, or ride so close to the hard shoulder with so much excitement that you’re just busy balancing the bike. This is exactly what can cause the slightest breeze from a passing metal monster to pull a cyclist under its wheels. “Okay!” I reply and try to breathe normally again. I actually feel better and, lo and behold, the trucks are circling us again. Probably a coincidence. Or not? No matter. It works and that’s what matters.

We stop at one of the colorful tents on the side of the road. “Essen fkusno”, (food good), a man offers his wife’s cooking skills. We settle down on the simple chairs in the shade of the tent and enjoy the delicious bortsch (vegetable soup). Then there is white bread and a salad. For dessert, the landlord gives us fresh grapes. Once our bellies have been supplied with enough fuel for our muscles, we join the heavy traffic heading towards our next destination, the Crimean peninsula.

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