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TNCH #4 — Nothing much Sinister about Transnistria

Country #4 of the North Cape Hypothesis and #17 on a bicycle — which country is it though? — my passport now has an exit stamp from Ukraine, but no entry stamp — what does any of that even mean?

Transnistria might have been the first place i’ve ever visited just a couple of weeks after first hearing about it.

When i was still in Bucharest, preparing to leave on my bicycle towards Odessa and beginning to think about my route back to Ukraine through Moldova afterward, my host Paul warned me, pointing to a map on their wall, “there has been some tension around this area.” A couple of days later, in Galați, i learned from my host Dan, who had been to Transnistria about ten years before, that the issues i might face had a somewhat different nature — i was not so much to expect the danger from an ongoing civil war as the unwritten rules of a breakaway state in an administrative limbo. It was another couple of days until my next host Yuriy, in Izmail sent even those concerns largely away — “What, Transnistria? No problem! — I have some friends there and visit often myself.”

In Odessa, i then met Nastasia — “where are you from?” — “Tiraspol” — “Transnistria!?” — “oh, you know about it!” — “i’m going there in a couple of days!!” My initial reservation about what and how much to ask her wound up being totally uncalled for — she was delighted to share her experience growing up in Transnistria, and i was fascinated by her astute observations.

Still a bit apprehensive, but as prepared for what may develop as one could possibly be (and now also rightfully excited) i left Odessa loving my life like few times before.

Very first impressions

On the border, they first offered me only a 10-hour transit visa, as expected. But then i told them that i would like to stay longer — “do you have a hotel reservation?” — “i’m going to stay with a friend” — i gave them the address of my host in Tiraspol, and i now had a 24-hour visa, which i thought would be more than enough for me to figure out what to do next. The customs officer was friendly and polite, and it went just like it does most of the time, with all the standard questions about my overarching objective and what they might find in my luggage — “personal items and camping gear” — “OK, safe travels.”

The first thing i noticed upon entering Transnistria were the roads, which were impeccable — quite a blessing after about a month in Romania and Ukraine, where road quality oscillates between bad and worse. It was the first place where i noticed the three-lane system, which i thought to be a rather clever concept — drivers in either direction use their respective right lanes, and the middle one is just for overtaking.

Traffic was very mild throughout the whole of Transnistria in general and Tiraspol in particular, which certainly helps a lot to keep the roads in good condition. Either way, i was grateful for the blessing — Tiraspol was by far the most pleasant city arrival of my entire cycle touring career to date — it felt much like arriving in a typical countryside village, except perhaps for the buildings and underlying infrastructure.

My host was in the other end of town, and it was close to dawn, so i slowed down but didn’t stop — we’ll do more sightseeing before leaving tomorrow. Two guys in a car paired up with me, slowing me further down — it gets harder and harder to keep my balance while talking to them, so we eventually all stop. It takes a little while until another car stops behind them and becomes impatient enough to start honking their horn. They start moving again and pull into a small lot further down the road. I don’t remember whether or not it was clear that they did so with the expectation that i would stop also and resume our conversation, but so i did — i needed help contacting my host anyways, and hadn’t yet been able to find an open Wi-Fi connection. They lent me their phone, then offered to lead the way to my host’s place, and i agreed to follow.

A rather warm welcome so far — diligent border officers, good roads, and friendly locals!

The most interesting boring place on Earth

My host Vitaly in Tiraspol was a rather chilled guy, and we seemed to have quite a lot in common despite our diametrically opposed political leanings. I believe the best way to summarize it is that we seem to share a strong desire for the most uneventful possible existence — if i understand it correctly, he grew up in the capital of his home country (like me), was educated in the US (like me), set up a reasonable source of passive income and retirement security (working on that), then wound up in Tiraspol, where he figured he would be able to live a good enough life without too much of a hassle (precisely what i believe i found in L’viv). We parted ways on his apparent nostalgic feelings for Soviet times — though i’ll acknowledge our conversations have at least made me revisit some questions for which i had thought i already had the best answers — what is/should be the role of government in our self-actualization? — to what extent do conducive circumstances for that hinge upon the underlying political context? — might Western democracies have simply created the illusion of freedom for their citizens at the expense of the reality of limitation for those outside their borders? — it doesn’t seem like many people under even the best-functioning representative democracies around the world have fully bought into such illusion anyways.

Vitaly helped me register so i could stay longer in Tiraspol, an opportunity i gladly welcomed. The procedure takes a bit of time from you and your host, but it’s otherwise quite straightforward — there were no lines, and i don’t believe the clerk ever even looked at me — she just seemed a bit irked from having to fill out (by hand) yet another handful of forms with the relevant pieces of information from our respective passports. They didn’t seem to care about how long i stayed, so long as that amounted to a number of days smaller than or equal to 45 — i asked for three days, they gave me a week — word has it that one could in principle keep re-registering for rows of 45 days indefinitely, and the only institution that could potentially have a problem with that is the government of Moldova — i heard in turn they rarely make a big deal out of it anymore.

That was a great opportunity to experience more of the place — meet more chilled, friendly people, and engage with them in innocent activities ranging from having a weekday picnic in the park to attending a screening of Latvian cartoons,

venturing (by bicycle) out of Tiraspol, sampling the first layer of villages away from the city, only to experience the same flavor of countryside hospitality as anywhere else i’d been, and also across the Dniester River and into the nearby city of Bendery,

play with my recently acquired action camera,

and drink a fair amount of kvas, to which i got hopelessly hooked, and hoped i’d be able to continue finding throughout the former Soviet world.

They have their own money (Transnistrian Rubles), which at present can only be bought and sold in Transnistria. It has some of the most interesting features of any currency i’d ever seen — this includes but is not limited to plastic coins (in different geometric shapes, not just the round one shown in the picture), and an actual photograph (not a drawing) of a random denizen on the back of their 5 Transnistrian Rubles bill!

I’m surprised nobody has found the person on the photo and made them a celebrity-for-15-minutes yet.

No red flags at all?

Sure — you’ll find notable symbols of Soviet pride in Transnistria, such as well kept statues of Lenin and Gagarin.

In hindsight, i honestly have no idea what to make out of that.

A friend of mine reacted, seemingly upset, that they still use the hammer and sickle on their flag when i shared a photo of my arrival in Tiraspol on my FB wall — it turns out she’s from Denmark, which is ironically one of the many countries to still have a cross on their flag!

Apparently, symbols can be quite robust. Ideologies, on the other hand, i’m not so sure anymore — while the church in Denmark has gradually become a cultural relic, with their buildings hosting an ever increasing proportion of avant-garde jazz recitals over religious services, Transnistria seemed to be, for better or worse, a free market society where it would not be difficult for a foreigner to come in and start their own business, as my host in Tiraspol had just done.

I don’t travel to discuss politics.

Very first expressions

Incidentally, Tiraspol was where i started feeling an urge to stay longer than just a few days at the same place. Was it their quiet that i needed? Perhaps that urge was a reaction to the initial institutional restriction on how long i could stay? Or did the restriction simply draw my attention to something that in practice had already been the case all along?

I travel following and relying largely on the hospitality of locals. So, at least practically, my stay just about anywhere has also been constrained to the few nights my hosts have agreed to have me in their home — with a few notable exceptions, longer stays usually come with the expectation that you’ll work for them in return — may we call that a working visa? There’s no free will in this Universe — just manifolds of conservation laws — we’re all stuck in a metaphorical elevator.

Walking down the street with my host Vitaly and his friend Ol’a, i noticed a language center — what if i found a place to teach English for a few months somewhere in the world? I figured walking in to ask wouldn’t hurt, and was encouraged by their openness to having someone from outside teaching English there — they heard my English, found my story interesting, and it seems like it would have been mostly a matter of working out the underlying paperwork — to my surprise, the possibility of just doing it as a visitor and getting paid under the table was never implied.

It was the cordial Natal’ja, from the Tourist Information Center in Tiraspol, who connected me with the folks at the language center.

I don’t remember whether i understood them to be connected with each other, or if i simply first walked into the tourist information center by mistake. I told Natal’ja that i’d stop by when i came back for my appointment at the language center, and we ended up talking for quite a while. I was impressed with their resourcefulness, especially after hearing that they had only opened one week before. There was a variety of pamphlets and brochures describing suggested activities in and outside of Tiraspol, about most of which Natal’ja was prepared to talk at length. Their postcards and fridge magnets were simple and tasteful. They clearly want people from outside to visit.

Go for it!

The gist of this is that my time in Tiraspol was about as uneventful as it could have possibly been — whether or not you consider that to be a good thing, nothing much happened there. To be sure, i have not tried dancing naked in front of the statue of Suvorov, or else tested the boundaries of Transnistrian authorities’ agreability in any other stupid way — i minded my own, sincere business, and they minded theirs — whatever it may be.

In contrast, just before the beginning of this cycle tour, i was briefly stopped and interviewed by the police right in front of the house where i’d lived for the previous two years in Copenhagen, Denmark — presumably for walking back from the train station at a leisurely pace while checking my phone? This goes to show that authorities may feel threatened and react accordingly just about anywhere in the world.

So, are you nearby and considering whether or not to visit Transnistria? My only regret is not staying longer and exploring more of their countryside — next time!


Read the previous article in the series: But Would That still Work in Ukraine?
Start from the first article: The North Cape Hypothesis


The North Cape Hypothesis: cycle touring, solo travel; Eastern Europe, Transnistria

Trelograms #7 — Road Magic or Life Magic?

I’m not a superstitious person — but it seems like being on the road has put me in closer contact with how often amazing coincidences actually happen in our everyday lives.

Here’s one that happened to me when i was cycle touring in the Odessa Region.

As i’m pulling out of the worse dirt road ever back into the main road — and worse asphalt (?) road ever — a red van driving by stops, while the driver steps out of it shouting, “Brazilia!”

What the fuck? — could he see the tiny Brazilian flag sown to my handlebar bag from all the way out there? — probably not — and he seems too jolly to be the secret police — it must be Yuriy’s friend!!

I was supposed to spend the night before camping in Gennadiy’s backyard, as arranged by our common friend Yuriy, from Izmail — but the heat, energizing encounters along the way and sincerely bad roads slowed me down and i couldn’t make it. I planned to swing by the day after anyways just to say hi, but it seems like life magic once again took care of that for me!

Do you notice such coincidences in your life? I would be delighted to hear one! Please share it in the comments below.

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Featured photo: Gennadiy and his red van (Ukraine, May ’17)


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Trelograms’ is a wordplay between ‘telegram’ and ‘trélos’ (Greek for ‘mad’)

Trelograms: inspiration; cycle touring; Ukraine

Trelograms #6 — What Does It Mean to Be Alive?

My host Sasha invited me to go fishing — was that excitement or discomfort?

One way or another, i was certainly curious.

From what i understood, they leave traps permanently set up along the canal, and go every evening check if anything got caught in them — there was one this time, whom i found to be surprisingly settled, not sure if because already tired from trying to escape from the net the whole day, or resignation to its fate.

It was not quite my first time ever fishing, but it was the first time i remember paying attention to what was happening. It was also the first time i ate an animal i watched being killed. In particular, i had never seen a fish being cleaned before — the reflexes were still there several minutes after that — so, when did it die? — was it when its brain was removed? — or was it when the cat ate it? — what is ‘it,’ anyways? — has it ever been alive — what does any of that even mean?

Sasha doesn’t eat fish.

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Featured photo: fishing with Sasha ( Ukraine, May ’17 )


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Trelograms’ is a wordplay between ‘telegram’ and ‘trélos’ (Greek for ‘mad’)

Trelograms: inspiration; cycle touring; Ukraine

TNCH #3 — Would That Still Work in Ukraine?

Unless you want to count the fifteen minutes or so i spent in Moldova crossing from Galați (Romania) to Reni (Рені, Ukraine) through the Giurgiulești checkpoint, Ukraine was the third country i visited during the North Cape Hypothesis. There were no direct crossings between Romania and the Odessa Region along the Danube Delta.

I spent nine days riding along the Ukrainian side of the Danube River and the Black Sea until reaching Odessa, then northwest towards Tiraspol.

When i first entered Ukraine, i had already spent a total of 100+ largely heartwarming and energizing cycle touring days throughout much of the European Union (both inside and outside Schengen), Serbia and Turkey. But i had somehow put the former Soviet world in a whole different compartment. My excitement about the coming few months in Ukraine, Transnistria, Moldova, Belarus, and Russia was mixed with a fair amount of apprehension about how different it might be from the world i knew so far — would what i’d been doing still work there?

This is the third in a series of articles on how my prejudices and expectations about each country i visited during the North Cape Hypothesis were challenged by my actual experience in them. It is especially difficult to write clearly about my first prejudices and expectations about Ukraine, the country where i’m now living (in L’viv) and falling in love with. But let’s try a few words: corruption? suspicion? reservedness? melancholy?

Difficult omissions

Once again, i won’t say much about the unbelievable support and friendship i got through hospitality networks, particularly in cities.

I’ll have to write at greater length about that aspect of the cycle touring experience and logistics on another occasion. As with the previous articles in this series, this one is concerned with the question of what Ukraine might look and feel like where you’re not quite expecting to meet each other.

Entering Ukraine

There are a few joint checkpoints between Moldova and Ukraine, and Giurgiulești/Reni is one of them. You still need to deal separately with authorities from each country. They just share the same building and hang out together.

When the Moldovan authorities were about to send me over to the Ukrainian officials, they asked me a question that prompted me to divulge the existence of a pepper spray bottle in my luggage — “oh, you might want to surrender it to us — the Ukrainian side is not going to like it if they find it.” Following their direct instructions, i moved my rig behind the Moldovan checkpoint booth, retrieved the pepper spray from it, and handed it over to the officer.

The maneuver caused the Ukrainian officer who was waiting to deal with me further down the assembly line to teleport from his position to the scene — “what’s going on here!?” — “everything is OK,” said the measured and polite Moldovan officer — “what did he just give you?” — “he doesn’t have it anymore” — “are you done with him?” — “yes” — “come with me, kid.”

Shiiit . . .

He guided me inside the customs room, where my bags would then be thoroughly searched.

“What did you just give them?” — “i don’t have it anymore” — “but what was it?” Trying as best as i could to keep my calm and choosing very carefully words that  were true but nevertheless revealed as little information as possible, i replied — “what are you looking for?” — “was it something like this,” he asked pointing to the pepper spray bottle attached to his Batman belt? — “i’m not carrying pepper spray” — “but did you have it before, is that what you gave them?” — “i have traveled with pepper spray in the past” — “where?” — “in Serbia, Bulgaria, Turkey” — “how about Moldova?” — tricky question, i wonder whether it counts if i’ve only been in the country for fifteen minutes — “hm . . ., i guess” — “will i find pepper spray in your bags?” — that one is easy — “no” — “what else do you have in your bags that might be like that?” While beginning to worry about whether the transnational repertoire of over-the-counter medicine and supplements i’ve gathered along my travels might be yet another potential source of trouble, i tried to remain focused on his question and the only issue he seemed concerned about — “i have two knives, that i use as tools for cooking and repairs” — “show them to me” — that’s yet another difficult one — is answering to such a request from an immigration officer legitimate grounds for holding a knife at an international border crossing customs room? — i parsimoniously retrieved them from my luggage and placed them on the table, hoping not to sneeze or have any other involuntary spasms along the way — “anything else?” — nothing else that could potentially be used as a weapon, if that’s what he meant — “no” —  and then the search began — “please place all your bags on the table, and open them for me.”

Traveling is still a privilege

By that time there was a typically entitled American hitchhiker being thoroughly searched as well, and i’ve been looking for a good opportunity to judge that guy ever since. Although being searched like that was certainly unpleasant, i was grateful the officer didn’t do anything beyond his duty — once he realized the problem he was worried about didn’t exist, he let me through without looking any further. This guy, on the other hand, seemed almost insulted about the extent to which he was being searched — “i’ve never been searched like that!” I felt like saying, “well, i guess you’ve never tried to hitchhike into the US with a Ukrainian passport” — or simply entering the country by plane with a Brazilian one, for that matter — i lived in the US for six years on a student visa, and had my bags thoroughly searched like that every second or third time on the border, a couple of times all the way through Granny’s cheese rolls.

But i digress.

I’m in Ukraine now. So far, so and so — hopefully i’ll only need to deal with ordinary civilians from now on, at least until i leave.

More countryside hospitality

My Couchsurfing host Yuriy in Izmail had found me a backyard to camp the night after at his friend Gennadiy’s pension. That was my goal for the day i left Izmail.

The sun, encounters and sincerely bad roads slowed me down considerably. If i were to reach Gennadiy’s before dark, i’d have to bypass Vylkove, which i had been told would be a pity — “it’s our Venice!”

This brought me to Sasha, Rita, and their adorable kids Elia and David.

Between Kilija and Vylkove, the Danube bank seemed quite difficult to access, and it was otherwise endless farm fields ahead and before me — where am i going to pitch my tent? — oh, wait, here comes a small village — let’s ask them how to get closer to the river!

A small girl played on a swing while what looked like her dad fixed a wheelbarrow. She saw me far before her dad noticed me, even though i’d been standing there for what must have been at least a couple of minutes already. I was convinced he’d just shamelessly ignored me when he finally turned around and greeted me with one of the sweetest smiles in the whole spectrum — “hi, how may i help you”?

Sasha told me i could pitch my tent anywhere in the premises, and then continued making incrementally better suggestions — there were a couple of houses under construction further in the back, and he offered me space in either of them — it was quite dusty inside though, so i asked him if i could borrow a broom — he responded by taking me back to what looked like a guest room/house, probably for seasonal workers.

Sasha and Rita were a bit shy in the beginning, compared to what i’d gotten used to from countless other such invitations. They slowly warmed up to me though, and by the time i left next morning, Rita was proudly showing me some of her sketches, one of which she gave me. We exchanged a warm goodbye hug, and i was invited to return.

Road magic or life magic?

I had no phone or Internet that night and was, therefore, unable to tell Yuriy or Gennadiy that i was doing very well despite not having reached his pension. In hindsight, i realize i could have likely asked Sasha and Rita to borrow their phone — i guess i figured that next day i’d just swing by Gennadiy’s along my way and say hi.

The road magic once again took care of that for me — as i’m pulling out of a secondary dirt road back into the main road, a red van driving by stops, while the driver steps out of it shouting, “Brazilia, Brazilia!” — what the fuck? — could he see the tiny flag sown to my handlebar bag from all the way out there? — probably not — it was Gennadiy!!

That’s just how much fun cycle touring can be!

And what if i wanted to sleep in my tent?

Between Romania and Ukraine, it’s now been 17 nights in a row in someone’s home, and i really feel like having a night by myself, alone inside my tent. Apparently, the Universe felt otherwise — as i’m making my way out of a village towards the suggestion from the gentleman who had just filled up my water bottles, i get a roadside call from Goge.

At first he just wanted to share a shot of whatever that was — “i’d love to, but it’s not a good idea for me to drink right now, it’s getting dark and i need to keep riding to find a place to pitch my tent” — that’s roughly what i typed into my translator and showed him — “oh, you’re looking for a place to spend the night! — follow me” — he asked me if their guest room would work — “should i pour you that shot now?” — “i guess so!”

Another joyful evening eating, looking at pictures and overcoming language limitations with Goge, Luda, and their daughter Ira — another invitation to return.

Institutional hospitality

It’s now been 18 evenings in a row in someone’s hospitable home.

Anticipating other inevitable several nights like that between Odessa, Tiraspol, and Chișinău starting the next day upon my arrival in Odessa, i was desperately looking for that quiet time alone in my tent — preferably with a skinny dip in the Black Sea.

What seemed like the perfect opportunity presented itself when i was between Mykolaivka and Kurortne. I pulled into an auto service shop to ask for water and the locals’ blessing to pitch my tent on the shore and take a bath — “well, sure, you can do that — it’s a 20m high drop to the water though” — i don’t care — let’s just go check what that really looks like before anyone invites us to stay in their home!

Are those fisherman? — what are those guys doing?

It might be too late for me to just turn around now — one of them started walking towards me while the other two continued posing for pictures with their guns — it was the Ukraininian military.

“Excuse me, hi, hm, i’m looking for a place to pitch my tent, and i’m wondering whether i could do that somewhere around here.” His answer was terse — “passport” — i don’t think he even said “please.”

Relax, Mika — it doesn’t feel like you’re in trouble yet — there was a small boat in the water a couple of hundred meters away from the shore, towards which they’d occasionally point their binoculars — i guessed there was some sort of military exercise going on in the area, and i assumed they just wanted to establish that my grounds for being there were legitimate, and not in conflict with Ukrainian national interests.

A quick flashback

I’d met and interacted with a soldier before in my cycle touring career.

Goran and i became friends when i passed through his home village in Croatian countryside, some 1,400 km up the Danube. That happened in my Copenhagen–Istanbul tour in Fall ’16. He was off duty having dinner with his girlfriend when i walked into the village bar asking for help with a place to pitch my tent. He mediated my becoming a guest of the village for the night, much of which Goran and i spent talking about the commonalities and differences between cycle touring and military service.

When i was leaving next day in the morning, he asked me that, if i ever write about my time with them, that i acknowledge the help from the Croatian Army — i suppose this is a good opportunity to do that?

Although i remain a much bigger fan of diplomats, i learned that night that, so long as nation states exist, protecting their visitors is at least in principle part of the duty of their military — whether or not Ukraine was a place where that duty might be taken as seriously, we were about to experience.

Back in Ukraine

I gave the Ukrainian soldier my passport and pointed to the stamp showing i’d entered the country a few days before through Reni. He made a phone call, presumably to his superior or whatever, presumably explaining the circumstances, and then finally replied, “можна.” Does that mean, “yes”? — “OK, dobre?” — “можна.”

How about we assume this does mean yes then ask about the skinny dip — despite his disengaged interest demeanor, it was clear that they didn’t want me to leave, at least not immediately — “можна.”

Great. We’ve now established that i can either both camp there and take a skinny dip, or do neither. I thanked him and started very slowly moving towards what looked like a good place to camp, like a child slowly walking towards something they’re not supposed to touch to test how close to it they can get before their parent’s intervention.

He went back to his post while i used all my attention and cognitive apparatus to spell that noise in Ukrainian Cyrillic before it dissipated — thank goodness it’s a phonetic alphabet, much of which is the same as Serbian Cyrillic, with which i had become vaguely familiar — “one can,” returned my phone.

A little later they came by to take a selfie with me, and also show me how to get to the water without committing suicide.

Habemus skinny dip!

Cycle touring camaraderie

Perhaps unsurprisingly, this stretch of the Danube Delta and the Black Sea shore on the Ukrainian side turned out to be a rather popular week-long cycle touring route along which i bumped into several other travelers.

Most of those travelers were, unfortunately, riding in the opposite direction, so our encounters were quite brief — they were nevertheless eager to share information about the roads, where to sleep and what to see further along my way. A large group from Kyiv even gave me the suitably annotated paper map they would soon no longer need!

I did meet one person going in the same direction as me though — riding the remaining 60Km from Zatoka to Odessa with Zhenya was rejuvenating — there’s no other way i could have kept up with his 25Km/h average speed, even with the tail winds we’d been blessed that day. The fact that he spoke no more English than i spoke Ukrainian or Russian was not a problem at all.

In summary

Adding all of that up, the Odessa Region was not just fine — it was amazing!

I was surprised not to meet anybody from outside Ukraine riding along the gorgeous Ukrainian side of the Danube Delta and the Black Sea shore. Granted, the Odessa region is not particularly easy to reach from outside Ukraine, and that’s a great pity — this part of Eastern Europe unfortunately remains a largely underrated cycle touring destination.

I won’t hide that some roads in Ukraine can be catastrophically bad. That might be the only bad impression about the country that has endured my tenure in it.

Besides the fact that it’s not always the case, the only thing bad roads will do is slow you down a bit — and why would you want to rush on a cycle tour in Ukraine anyways?


Read the next article in the series: Nothing much Sinister about Transnistria
Previous article: But Won’t the Gypsies Steal My Clothes?
First article: The North Cape Hypothesis


The North Cape Hypothesis: cycle touring, solo travel; Eastern Europe, Ukraine

Trelograms #5 — Leaving Doesn’t Get Easier

This picture shows Tania, Natasha, and Valia from Mahazyn Kashtan in Kiliya, Ukraine. The town comes up along the stretch of the Danube River between Izmail and Odessa — a popular week-long cycle touring route during Spring/Summer.

Mahazyn Kashtan was where one of my shortest and most intense cycle touring encounters to date took place. I walked in just to get some bread but, as it’s nearly always the case, that’s never the whole story — they seemed especially glad to see me, perhaps because i came from so far (Brazil) — i believe that can be seen in their smiles on the photo.

Despite their contagious joy, this encounter was also a tough reminder that we’re constantly departing on a cycle tour — perhaps in life in general?

This was one of the countless occasions in which i broke into tears upon leaving them behind — am i ever going to see them again!?

This will likely not quite apply to the vast majority of my readers — but on the off chance that you’re doing the Izmail–Odessa ride, please swing by Mahazyn Kashtan (it’s somewhere around here) on your way through Kiliya — do you food shopping there, and tell the ladies that Mika, cycle touring guy from Brazil, says a warm hi 😉

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Featured photo: Tania, Natasha, and Valia (May ’17)


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Trelograms’ is a wordplay between ‘telegram’ and ‘trélos’ (Greek for ‘mad’)

Trelograms: inspiration; cycle touring; Ukraine