My dear readers. It has been ages since my last post and for this I apologise. Traveling has become more intense, more challenging and has allowed less time for writing and philosophizing. In order to bring the blog up to date, I will do one long entry encompassing everything that has happened in about the last three weeks. There will be less detail but in the book I will write after this tour I will include all events I experienced.
Having left so early in the morning, by 800 I am at the port on the far side of the river from Galati in order to take the ferry across the Danube. Enjoy a coffee and watch the activity in the port. The sky is wonderful, I am feeling fine, full of energy and excited about crossing the border into the Ukraine. Galati proves to be nothing special – I did not expect it to be - and I am in and out quickly. In order enter the Ukraine I have to first enter the Republic of Moldova, ride about 5 kms in it and then cross into Ukraine. This meant a lot of border hassle. First to leave Romania, which was not too bad, then to enter Moldova, which I thought would be a big deal due to the reputation that Moldava enjoys. The border guards were however very professional and even friendly, laughing when I told them that I was going to ride to Odessa. They quickly stamped my passport and I was through. Moldova has always held a mysterious place in my mind and it was strange and exciting to be here. It makes me think of ex-Soviet bureaucracy, gangsters and gypsies. After a few kilometers there is a joint Ukraine-Moldovan customs-type check, though I am not really sure what it is. That was a bit more complicated and I had to wait in a room not knowing what to do. I was sure that I was going to be hit up for a ‘gift’ but that did not happen. It just took time. A few kilometers later I left Moldova and though had only been there for about 30 minutes had to go through the formalities again, and then both passport and customs to enter the Ukraine. In total there were 5 checks in the course of 5 kilometers, but it was nothing but bureaucracy, no necessary bribes and it was not bad.
Once in the Ukraine there are two routes to Odessa – the main route that re-enters Moldova, carries on for about 50 km and then re-enters Ukraine and means two more border controls – and one that swings way south but stays within the Ukraine. Having just gone through 5 controls I was not too keen on doing another two that day but the main route to Odessa was much shorter, so I chose to deal with the bureaucracy. Nonetheless, after just a few kilometers the main road changed from bad pavement to cobblestones. Cobblestones. This is the main route between Ukraine and Romania and during Soviet times surely was of significant importance but still, made of cobblestones. Such a surface on a bike is not a pleasure so I turned back and headed down the route that swings south along the Ukrainian side of the Danube delta. The route was piss-poor and the heat overbearing, but there was very little traffic and so it was ok. Hell, I was in the Ukraine, and on my way to Odessa, so feeling quite good about the adventure. The problem with riding in the Ukraine is that the towns are very far apart, the roads are bad and there is nothing to see except fields, fields and more fields. Every 30 kms or so one can see an old collective farm, but these are largely abandoned and so it is just fields and fields. Within days I was no longer looking left or right but riding along more than half zoned out and just staring at a point about 3 meters in front of the bike to watch for and avoid large holes. The riding was not pleasant.
As evening approached on the first day I was still far from the town of Izmail, which I had sort of selected as a target for that day. There was a collective on the horizon and I thought I might find a place there to pitch my tent. It was deserted however, but down the road I saw a sign for the town of Larschanka and rode toward it. In the town I stopped to talk to some townspeople about sleeping in their gardens but was not able to make myself understood or to convince them that I was not a threat. Whatever it was, I carried on through the small streets. At one point there was a house with a small market in front and many people milling about. I started to explain to them that I was looking for a place to sleep and suddenly a young woman appeared and talked to me in English. I told her what I was seeking, she communicated to the group and then all the people started talking amongst themselves about where I could go. It looked like a nice, friendly group and I hoped that I could stay near there and partake in the happenings of the street. Maria told me to wait a moment and then soon came out to tell me I could stay in her house with her parents and brother. They set about to put things in order and I sat on the bench across the street from their house and had a chat with Igor and Andrei. There is a lot to tell about my stay there, but for the moment I will just say that it was wonderful. Everyone made me feel completely at home, cooked great food, fired up the Russian sauna, had the neighbours around for a dinner and big talk and a lot of vodka. I had my own room and we talked a lot and on the first night I was invited to stay the next day to go fishing in the delta. The next day with vodka hangovers Nikolai (Kola) and I piled into the neighbour’s old Volga and drove down to the delta and in a filthy old wooden boat set out to fish for a few hours. Luckily we did not catch anything but did buy a load of fish from one Kola’s friends who is a professional fisherman. Later that day I was invited to the old Soviet shooting facility and fired some of the guns. The next night we had a huge pot of fish stew, a lot of homemade wine and more great talk. The whole stay with Kola, Mascha and Tanja deserves a chapter for itself and will get one in the book.
From there it was another three days of riding through fields and strong headwinds, the monotony being broken only by imposing soviet monuments. Nothing special about it but I was coming closer to the destination and counting the time in days and no longer in weeks or months. When I finally arrive at the Black Sea again just south of Odessa it is like a wave of joy to see something cool and inviting after days of fields. Here there are no long distance cyclists or other westerners with whom to stop and chat and break the routine. I am alone in the fields and although it is only for a few days, I am feeling worn down by the many thousands of kms, the headwinds, the monotony and probably also by all the drinking I am doing whenever there is occasion to do so. So when I arrive at the sea it is like a revelation and I feel renewed. I pass through small and simple beach towns and then arrive on a Friday afternoon in the Odessa beach mecca of Zatoka. It is the commencement of a three day weekend and there is a lot of action with massive amounts of holidaymakers arriving. I walk all up and down beach searching for a room for one night but because this is a holiday weekend no lodging wants to let a room for one night. I had basically resolved to hang out until late and then sleep on the beach but talking with two men on street who are advertising rooms for let, they ask me about my journey. Like almost all men here they have worked on ships and can speak some English. A group forms around us and all are talking about my bike and journey. One nice man hears that there is nowhere for me to stay and says “come with me”. I follow him to where he is staying and tells the administration “this guy rode here 50 days from Switzerland and can’t get a room, do something for him”. I am able to get a very simple wooden cabin, more like a shack, for 70 ghrivna. The family holidaying in a cabin nearby from Kiev sees my bike and he and his family come over to talk. He is also a cyclist and I am soon invited to them to sit on their porch and drink vodka and eat Russian food. In the evening I visit the holiday town. There is loads going on and I have a beer and walk on beach.
In the morning the stench of the communal loos has me out early looking for a coffee. I spend a few hours in the town, visiting the beach, writing, repairing flat tire, then head out to Odessa. The ride to Odessa is only 55 kms but is hard because there is a lot of traffic and hilly. Kola, from Larschanka, is going to be arriving in Odessa today as well in order to work there for a month. He will be staying with friends in the city and I have been invited as well. When I arrive I start to ask around for the address he has given me. I am expecting an industrial city but find a very quiet town with peaceful, wide streets and general quiet that makes me think of Vilnius. I talk to some Azeris who are very curious about my journey from Switzerland and why I am in Odessa.
