Volgograd, former Stalingrad

Because we are really setting off today, Vala is a little pressed for time. She has been cooking for hours in her kitchen, which is located in a shed outside the house. Breakfast is opulent again and we enjoy every bite. Then she would like to give us preserved jam, homemade sweetened coffee milk, preserved vegetables, tomatoes, ten boiled eggs, bacon, radishes, cucumbers, potatoes, soup cabbage, etc. “Thank you so much Vala, but Denis can’t possibly pack all this into his trailer. It’s just too heavy,” explains Tanja. Vala looks a little disappointed. Then she makes a second attempt and talks to me. As far as possible, we fill up my trailer again. Vala is not really satisfied. If she had her way, we would have to fill even more holes and slots in the trailer with her gifts. “It’s a good wind for you,” promises Jurii, pointing to the bending trees. Today it blows from the southeast. In fact, it will help us rather than slow us down. Last night’s rain has warmed the temperatures again. The thermometer shows 15 degrees, promising a not too cold day. We say goodbye to our lovely hosts. We give each other a hug and a heartfelt hug. Jurii’s eyes get moist. “We write,” we promise. Since the granddaughter speaks some German, we can assume that our letter can also be deciphered. Then it starts. The small group of people behind us looks sad as they wave after us for a long time. Until the bend in the village road draws us away from their gaze, we raise our hands to the sky and wave. Then we are back on the dark asphalt strip heading towards the big city. The wind blows lightly at our backs. We are making good progress without too much effort. On the lonely road, Tanja and I are separated from each other and ponder our thoughts. What a stay. What friendly, unselfish and generous people we were able to meet again. People who simply took us strangers in and entertained us like princes. People they will very probably never see again. And yet they gave us their love and warmth. Without expecting anything in return. Will such good-natured, honest and warm-hearted beings ensure balance on our planet? To ensure that good and evil remain in balance? There is no doubt that we have experienced fantastic and soon unbelievable things on our previous trips in this direction. So much good. Decidedly more good than bad. The proportion of positive experiences is 99 percent. That gives us hope. This promises us a chance that our planet, especially its human inhabitants, will survive. That we humans will still manage not to destroy our habitat. That we come to our senses. Pause and reflect. In any case, such experiences give us the feeling that it makes sense to carry on. To continue talking about what a wonderful planet we live on and that it is worth protecting. Continue to plant trees. To let our green vein grow as a small compensation for the fatal and disastrous deforestation.

After just a few kilometers, we are stopped by a driver on the open road. “Where are you coming from and where are you going?” the driver wants to know. “Do you want some grapes?” “Grapes?” I repeat hesitantly, thinking of my full trailer. “Yes, grapes. Come on, wife, unpack a few,” he tells his wife, who jumps out of the car, opens the trunk and hands us two kilos of delicious grapes. “Have a safe and pleasant journey,” the two wish us and speed off. With a little patience and energy, I find a gap in the trailer and let the sweet grapes disappear into it. Then we drive on.

After almost 60 kilometers we take a break. We have lunch on the roadside on our blue plastic tarpaulin in the open air and don’t freeze. Who would have thought that in Russia in mid-October? It should only be 40 kilometers to Stalingrad. A dark stormy sky prompts us to drive on. We reach the outskirts of the metropolis. A city which, as a strategically important industrial center, was a particular target of the German armed forces during the Second World War. After heavy air raids, the German army launched a ground attack on the city on August 20, 1942. On November 19, 1942 and February 2, 1943, the Soviet troops undertook a successful counteroffensive, whereupon the German 6th Army surrendered, ending the German advance into the Soviet Union.

Volgograd was founded in 1589 as the Tsaritsyn fortress on the south-eastern border of Russia and, like many cities, was conquered before the Second World War. For example, by Cossack rebels: Stenka Razin in 1670 and Yemelyan Pugachev in 1774. With the expansion of the Russian Empire in the 19th century, Tsaritsyn became an important port for the trade of goods downstream. At the beginning of the Russian Revolution in 1917, the city was taken by the Bolsheviks and during the subsequent civil war it was occupied by Belarusian forces for three months in 1919.

When we finally reach the city, there is nothing left to see of the complete destruction of the Second World War. From what I have read, the Russians began their reconstruction immediately after the end of the war. With strange feelings, we cycle through the metropolis, which stretches for 80 kilometers along the Volga. “Another 30 kilometers to the center,” a couple of young people tell us as our speedometer already shows 80 kilometers for the day. We groan. This is now the third day in a row that we have covered over a hundred kilometers. Although the Serbian, Romanian, Ukrainian and Russian flags, as well as the German flag fluttering large on my trailer in the wind, the welcome from the local people is overwhelming. “Hello, have a good trip! Good luck! Good strength! Fantastic!”, the Russians shout at us enthusiastically from their cars. Some of them stick their fists out of the window with their palms facing forward and laugh at us. “Where from? Where to? Unbelievable!”, they shout again and again so that you would think a local TV station had reported on us and portrayed us as heroes. Although we are tired after a long day, this amazing friendliness motivates us. Not to forget that we Germans simply invaded these people during the Second World War and brought them endless suffering.

During my research I came across the following text written by Herbert F. Ziegler Professor of History at the University of Hawaii at Manoa. Here is a short excerpt: According to statistics, 25 million Russians alone fell victim to the Second World War. The scale of this global conflict puts all previous wars in the shade. The Second World War was the greatest conflict in human history. Around 1.7 billion people, almost a third of the world’s population from 61 nations, were involved in the fighting that raged on land, at sea and in the air in Europe, East Asia, Southeast Asia, North Africa and the Pacific islands. 110 million people were under arms, over half of them in the service of the Soviet Union, Germany and the USA

The Second World War left behind a trail of destruction and devastation the likes of which had never been seen before in human history. It is estimated that around 60 million people died worldwide, including six million Jews. He destroyed countless possessions. For a whole generation of men and women all over the world, the Second World War was “the war?

Although I should be concentrating on the rush-hour traffic, I am thinking about the professor’s contribution. Think about the horror and nightmare that this city, like many other cities, experienced during the Second World War. How terribly unjust it is when politicians obsessed with power plunge innocent people into misery and ruin. The multi-lane main road suddenly rises up. Stretches up a hill, only to descend again afterwards. To the left and right, the lights go on in the countless multi-storey and ugly apartment blocks. My thoughts about the former war fade away. Our strength is once again stretched to the limit. Pedaling, pedaling, always letting the wheel rim circle beneath us as we ride into the twilight. Light rain sets in. The road becomes slippery. Cars switch on their lights. Exhaust fumes are drawn into our lungs. “Where is the Gastiniza?” we ask our usual, soon to be daily, question about a place to stay. A place to stay that gives us shelter from the rain, the wet, the cold and the night and is existentially important to us every time. We drive through a large dark underpass and are spat out onto a wide boulevard and suddenly find ourselves in the center of the city on the Volga. A large hotel rises up in front of us. Hotel Volgograd. “And this is supposed to be the Gastiniza?” I ask Tanja, somewhat incredulously. Soon we are in awe of the proud building and lean our bikes against one of its thick walls. A hotel porter in a splendid uniform and large peaked cap looks at us somewhat disparagingly. I stand there a little embarrassed and don’t quite know what to do. “Why don’t you go in? Maybe it’s not as expensive as it looks?” Tanja motivates me. “Do you think so? I don’t know? Could be a waste of energy,” I reply. Giving myself a jolt, I walk towards the entrance with my leg muscles pumped up. The important-looking king of the gate completely ignores me. Sure, what’s a person in parrot-colored cycling gear looking for here? I open the heavy door myself and ask my way through to reception. The eyes of some of the guests follow me. “Uh, do you have a room available?” I ask. “For how long?” replies the pretty young woman in perfect English. “Two nights, but maybe three,” I reply. “The twin rooms are fully booked but you can have a triple room. You only have to pay for the third bed.” “How much does it cost?” I want to know and am actually about to leave. “1,500 (? 43.-) roubles for the cheapest category”, I am downright amazed, because we were told that the neighboring hotel charges 4,500 (? 120.-) roubles for the cheapest room. “For two people?” “Yes, but without breakfast,” I hear, whereupon I take the room immediately. When I step outside into the cold darkness and tell Tanja the good news, she is delighted. Once again, we have found affordable and good accommodation right in the center of this city. After 111 kilometers a special gift that we appreciate.

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