We were delighted to be back on the bikes. The journey from Suceava to the Ukrainian border was longer and more difficult than we had expected and so we arrived late afternoon/early evening. The crossing from the EU to the former soviet satellite wasn’t difficult but there seemed a noticeable change in temperature. The Romanian border guard was friendly and jocular. The two Ukrainians (one initially to make sure we filled in an immigration card, another behind a small window to process our passports, both unsmiling, both resisting our efforts to be friendly and both ignoring our smiling enthusiasm as we crossed yet another border) were not. But we passed through successfully and were on our way. We had read that camping in the wild in Ukraine was not only easy but actually legal and so we found it. It was too late in the day to make it to the nearest town and so we were almost immediately looking for somewhere to camp. It didn’t take us long. We saw some woods not far off the road and a track leading to them. Following the track it soon became clear that this was a well used area for camping and we found a spot tucked out of the way where we felt safe and were not only able to pitch the tent but felt we had enough privacy to use the pocket shower how it was designed to be used hanging from a tree. We cycled in the Ukraine for five or six days and camped wild every night. We only once struggled to find somewhere appropriate and only once were we nearly put off by a couple of inquisitive and rather unpleasant police men. As far as wild camping Ukraine was a complete success.
Wild camping in the woods in Ukraine
As far as the actual cycling wet Ukraine was a disappointment. The roads were very straight and undulating and lined either side by tall trees. The trees were very good at protecting you from the wind which was well appreciated considering just how windy it actually was but they also cut off any view to the side making you feel like you were in an extremely long tunnel. The distance between villages was huge and there was very rarely anything in between – no houses, very few petrol stations and never any signs to tell you how far you had to go. The road surfaces were poor and the traffic quite heavy considering it felt like you were in the middle of now where. The rolling hills were always tough to climb but rarely long enough on the down to give any satisfaction or make the up feel worth all the effort. It short it was case of turning the pedals and putting in the miles – sometimes against a strong head wind. And that is probably where we went wrong. Bridget mat have been cycling again a few days early but we should have at least taken it more steady, doing shorter days, resting longer and more often, making sure we protected her knee. Instead, in response to the nature of the landscape, the roads and the weather we cycled hard, taking comfort from the distance we managed to travel each day, happily cycling from early morning to late evening as there was so little else to do. In hindsight it is of no surprise then that Bridget’s knees failed here again. At least this time she realised they were troubling her before she damaged them further and suggested that we took a train to Kiev while she was still able to cycle to train station. We were only a day’s cycle away so it didn’t feel like we were cheating too much and we thought at the time discretion was the better part of valour.
There are a couple of other things worth mentioning about Ukraine. One good, the other at the time slighty scary. The good was how friendly and kind we found almost everyone we met. We again found that people were keen to give us things as though they wanted in at least some small way to help us on our way. Little things perhaps, fruit, water, chewing gum but always the gesture was far greater than the gift itself. These small but extremely appreciated acts of kindness were heart warming. They often made us think of what would have happened back in the UK if two cyclists who spoke not one word of English turned up in a village in the middle of Warwickshire and did nothing more than sit down to rest. Would anyone have tried to say hello? Would anyone have offered to give them water, fruit or something else to eat? Would those cyclists have left the village thinking that the English were some of the kindest people they have ever met? Why are the English so reserved (why am I so reserved?), why so unwilling to say hello to strangers, why so willing to share?
In one village in the middle of Ukraine we had the most delightful encounter. We were taking a rest by a memorial near a park. Our bikes were parked alongside and were sitting eating a snack. A villager comes past with his own cycle and does a double take at ours with all the panniers on and looking extremely heavy. The next thing we know two of his friends have joined us and we are doing our best to explain what exactly we were doing passing through their small village in the middle of relatively nowhere. Out comes the point to it picture book and soon we are almost having a reasonably decent conversation using sign language, the book and a lot of nodding and shaking of the head. Soon we are sitting on a park bench with them drinking champagne and eating dark chocolate. We explain where we are heading and the woman offers a bed at her place for the night. We say thanks but explain we need to continue cycling some more and she writes down her phone number for us and we think explains that we should call her if we need any help. How we would have been able to explain on the phone to her just what help we needed is a moot point – it was the generosity and the kindness and the genuine willingness to help that were special and probably never to be forgotten. It was a highlight which made the Ukraine special and more than made up for the other disappointing aspects of countryside.
Strangers can really make your day!
There was only one village we passed through which didn’t feel friendly. It in fact felt pretty hostile, people staring at us but not in a nice way. There was one bar in particular where a number of men were drinking who stared at us so keenly and with such venom we felt most unwelcome and keen to pass through as quickly as possible. It was in this village that we came across two policemen who gave us a bit of a scare. Initially they we passed them standing on a corner possibly with a speed gun. We waved and said hello (possibly not the brightest thing to do but no one had terrified us yet with tales of corruption and hostile eastern European policing and we treated them like everyone else we had come across in Ukraine thinking they would be as kind and as friendly) and carried on cycling not giving them further thought.
About 8 kms outside of the village we decided it was time to find a campsite. We were still twitchy, not because of the police but the reception we had received from the rest of the village and so when we found a suitable place I suggested Bridget check it out and leave her bike with me so that if anyone happened to pass by it would look like she was going to the loo. We never really expected anyone to stop or to bother but it was an easy precaution to take. How thankful we were for our over the top imagination because just as Bridget was climbing back up the grassy bank to the road a police car came storming up to us, stopping suddenly at an angle in front of where I was standing with the bikes. The two policemen we had passed in the village then got out of the car and walked back towards us. Now everything is open to interpretation and how we read their intent may have said more about our paranoia that about what was going through their minds. But even now looking back I am convinced they wanted money and were prepared to use menace to get it. Had we been in the process of putting up our tent I think we would have been forced to pay some sort of “fine”. As it happened we stuck to our story that Bridget had been taking a leak. They didn’t speak English, we had no Ukraine. They leaned over my bike and peered at the map. Where were we going? Where were we staying?
None of this sounds too unpleasant but it was. There was a real air of hostility, not helped by the fact that another car had pulled up and we weren’t sure why. The policemen continued to try to ask me questions. They even tried to suggest where we were on the map, a good few miles away from our actually location. No I said, pointing to where we really were, pointing to a village where we told them we planned to stay the night – easily reachable before it got dark. This pointless circular conversation if you can call it that when neither party speaks the other’s language went on for a few minutes before they finally became bored or decided the language barrier was proving too difficult to illicit the desired bribe. In the end they returned to their car, turned around and went back towards the village. The other car also drove off. A strange encounter and one that really spooked us. It felt as though they had coming looking for us specifically, especially when they turned around and left, showing that they hadn’t simply stopped as they passed by heading in the same direction. Why had this other car turned up? Was he the owner of the land and was he going to play his part in making us pay had we been caught camping in his field? It’s possible they were being kind, had a friend who owned a b and b and were offering to show us the way. It didn’t feel like that kind of encounter and it really shook us up. That night we must have cycled 2 or 3 kilometers off the road and put our tent up in an avenue of trees making is so well hidden that it couldn’t been seen for miles and still we worried they would be looking for us, that they might seek us out at the motel in the next village and not finding us there come looking for us, determined to get their bribe. Of course they probably just went home to their wives and their tea and forgot all about us.
Unbelievably, more interesting than the countryside!
Unbelievably, more interesting than the countryside!
