UPDATED October 25th, 2019 — this is a dispatch from my cycle tour of Ukraine and surroundings this past Summer with my partner Nastia, an open project on an Autumn/Winter hiatus — check out the project page more information, and sign up for my newsletter if you would like to be notified when it resumes 🙂
I finally found some time to edit, add a few more photos, and cross-post my tour de Ukraine dispatches to this website, where you may now find mildly edited versions of them:
Day #0 — my very first day back on the road, one day before than originally planned;
Polishing it up! — a quick update from our first few days on the road after getting Nastia’s bicycle;
If only this were just an extended vacation — a reflection on my travel process, particularly on how it depends to some extent on the kindness of people i meet along my way, and how i may want to change some of how i handle it going forward;
Some bus stops in the Chernivtsi Region — a document of bus stops along our route by bicycle through the Chernivtsi Region, with a few tentative notes/brewing thoughts on national borders and identity.
If you prefer sharing my writing more broadly in social media than by directly forwarding some of these emails to select people, i hope you’ll find the links above convenient — whatever you do to promote this newsletter will be much appreciated, so long as you sincerely endorse it <3
I’ve also started a page to collect photo galleries and articles from this tour, which i’m giving the working title In The Countrie — that’s a free (and intentionally misspelled) translation of у країні (u kraini), which in turn is a play on words with Україна (Ukraina), Ukrainian for Ukraine. If you don’t want me to make puns in your language, better not let me learn any of it! Anyway, Nastia likes it, and i hope the other seven of you who can speak both languages will also 😀
Speaking of Nastia and the other seven of you who can read Ukrainian, she also has a blog, where she’s been writing about her experience traveling by bicycle for the first time, as well as in the country she grew up but never saw much of. Machine translations work relatively well also.
Cool. That’s about it for today.
“I’ll be back in five minutes, please stir the jam every half-an-hour” — that came up at our dinner table with our hosts a few days ago as the kind of notice they’d give their children when going to the market, or to pick up something from the neighbor.
I thought it was hilarious — and it accurately described my own experience growing up with my grandmother! If i went out to look for her, i’d often find that she’d barely left home before getting stuck catching up with a neighbor. Upon seeing me, she’d sometimes react — “Oh, great, you’re here, can you please go to the market and get me an onion while i wrap up the conversation, so i can go finish cooking lunch?”
I love Grandma.
In that spirit, see you next week!
___ Featured photo: a still somewhat disoriented Nastia preparing our nevertheless delicious dinner at one of our wild camping sites (Ukraine ’19)
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UPDATED October 25th, 2019 — this is a dispatch from my cycle tour of Ukraine and surroundings this past Summer with my partner Nastia, an open project on an Autumn/Winter hiatus — check out the project page more information, and sign up for my newsletter if you would like to be notified when it resumes 🙂
After leaving the city of Chernivtsi about a week ago, we noticed that some bus stops in the villages were decorated with colorful mosaics. This prompted me to document bus stops along our way, and i stopped to photograph at least the ones on top of which the name of the village was shown.
I hope you’ll enjoy this collection and the notes/thoughts accompanying them. Click on the photos to see them enlarged, and with their respective descriptions — i wrote them linearly, and this post will make more sense if you read all the captions in order before moving on to the next paragraph 🙂
1980 Summer Olympics mosaics in Zelenyi Hai (Leușenii Tăutului in Romanian/Moldavian)
Marshyntsi (MarÈ™eniÈ›a) is where we first learned about the origins of the mosaics from the man selling the furniture — i forgot to ask how people feel about his using the bus stop to display his products though
Nastia thought that the photos would still look boring without her, even though the mosaics are all different (Tarasivtsi/Tărăsăuți)
in the historical region of Bucovina, most people’s mother tongue is Romanian/Moldavian, which is also how they often identify themselves rather than as Ukrainians — that is widely reflected in bilingual street signs, political campaign posters for the upcoming parliamentary elections, and the blue-yellow-red Romanian/Moldovan flag colors in public spaces (Kostichani/Costiceni)
the bus stop in Dranytsia was one of the few not to display the village’s Romanian/Moldavian name (Șendreni) — people riding their scooters without a helmet has been a prevalent feature of countryside Ukraine so far though
Mamaliha (Mămăligă) was the last 1980 Summer Olympics mosaic along our route — Mămăligă is also the name of a traditional Romanian/Moldovan dish, one of the many indicators of how national borders reflect (or not) local history and culture
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Locals old enough to remember told us that they were made for the 1980 Summer Olympics, held in Moscow (then in the Soviet Union) — the road between Chernivtsi and Mamaliha (along the Ukrainian-Romanian-Moldovan border) was part of the Olympic torch relay route from Athens to Moscow.
Newer bus stops don’t have the mosaics, but some of them are still decorated after the bule-yellow-red stripes of the Romanian/Moldovan national flags — all of them show sparing permutations of job postings, graffiti, and political campaign posters (often also in Romanian/Moldavian) for the upcoming Ukrainian parliamentary elections.
even newer bus stops, such as this one in Koshuliany (Coșuleni), might be adorned with the blue-yellow-red pattern from the Romanian/Moldovan flags
outside the 1980 Summer Olympics torch route, bus stops were mostly bare, except for some job notices, posters of candidates to Ukraine’s upcoming parliamentary elections, and the occasional grafitti (Nesvoia/Nesfoaia)
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Outside the Olympic torch path and away from the historical region of Bucovina, common features of the bus stops seemed related to the raion in which they’re located. In the Khotyn Raion, they have red caption banners.
some of the bus stops looked like they might not be used very often (Yarivka/Hajdeu de Sus)
others looked like a good enough place for a lunch break to cycle travelers unaware that it is also occasionally used as a toilet (Krutenky/Tulbureni)
at least one of them is someone’s temporary home (Dankivtsi/DăncăuÈ›i)
Kaplivka (Capilauca) was the last one i noticed in the Khotyn Raion, where they all had the red caption panels
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In the Sokyriany Raion, the banners are blue — and the furthest you are from the historical region of Bucovina, the more common it was to see them painted with the blue-yellow stripes of the Ukrainian national flag.
Krovka (Crovca) is in the Sokyriany Raion, where the caption panels changed to blue — this one also drew my attention for the symmetry
as you move further away from the historical region of Bucovina, Ukrainian gradually returns as the predominantly spoken language (at least judged by how people responded to our greetings), and the Romanian/Moldovan flag colors give way to the blue and yellow stripes of the Ukrainian flag
i don’t have that much more to say about these (Hrubna/Grubna)
Strumok (Strumoc)
this one in Romankivtsi (RomancăuÈ›i) also grabbed my attention mostly by the symmetry — i was also amused by the goat hanging out behind the bus stop, which you cannot see on the photo, so i’m writing about it
a design departure from all the bus stops i photographed in this exercise that must be very inconvenient under heavy rain, snow or wind (Lomachyntsi/LomacineÈ›i) — the lighting break on the symmetry was fun to play with though!
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I stopped documenting them upon arriving in Novodnistrovs’k, on the border between the Chernivtsi and Vinnytsia Regions.
UPDATED on August 21st, 2019: After i published this, a reader drew my attention to the work of photographer Christopher Herwig, who traveled tens of thousands of kilometers across the former Soviet territory documenting the fascinating peculiarities of some bus stops built during that period.
Note: I used this Wikipedia article for the Romanian/Moldovan spellings whenever they could not be locally ascertained.
This was an interesting exercise in a couple different ways.
It was a tremendous exercise in photography. After playing with a few different angles, i decided to keep it simple, and just take centralized shots from across the road — and i still managed to screw some of it up! I thought a smaller aperture with longer exposure times would capture more of the shaded parts, but this often resulted in blurred or noisy images, despite the overwhelming amount of light. Note to self: there’s no point in being lazy on a cycle tour — park the bike, take out the tripod (wherever it is and has to go back to), and savor the process! Note to the rest of you: if you have any experience with photography and any suggestions on how i could make photos like these look and feel better, i’ll be glad to read your feedback <3
I could have surely dug a lot deeper into this, but i was already satisfied (and occasionally overwhelmed) by how much more attention i paid to something i’d have otherwise mostly ignored. If i hadn’t pledged to photograph every single bus stop showing the name of the village where they’re located, i would have skipped many, if not all of them after the first one. It was almost never a good moment to stop for photos — one afternoon we were in a rush to escape from dark clouds approaching us from behind, another afternoon i was in a bad mood after a huge (and pointless) fight with Nastia, yet another afternoon we were anxious to find a roadside pension where we could spend a night or two free of mosquitoes or social obligations, just to have some rest and catch up with ourselves — simply parking the bicycle, getting the camera out, shooting the same photos, from the same angles, then putting the camera back is enough of a hassle.
It’s beneficial to have a practice to be committed to and build upon.
Having said that, i’m not convinced i can remain deeply interested in bus stops for the next three months. So, i decided to look for something different in each administrative region of Ukraine we will visit throughout the Summer — a meta-practice, if you will — what i did with bus stops in the Chernivtsi Region will ideally develop into a series of photo albums capturing, for each region we visit, something that drew my attention there, and the thorough documentation of which seems manageable in the context of my cycle tour.
We’re about to cross the Dnister River into Vinnytsia now — looking forward to finding out what that’s going to be, and then sharing it with you!
I hope that these will be easier for me to put together and for you to digest — but not so cheap that you wouldn’t spend more than a fraction of a second scrolling over it 😉 I also hope it will help keep the newsletter rolling without taking much away from my present experience, and while i look for the space to work on more challenging content.
___ Featured photo: Nastia conquering yet another sizeable hill on the foot of the Carpathians (Ukraine, Summer ’19)
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UPDATED October 25th, 2019 — this is a dispatch from my cycle tour of Ukraine and surroundings this past Summer with my partner Nastia, an open project on an Autumn/Winter hiatus — check out the project page more information, and sign up for my newsletter if you would like to be notified when it resumes 🙂
A practice?
Whatever it is, it is still a weekly newsletter with a monthly roundup — even if it’s a bit late 🙂 Whether or not that’s warranted is a different question — these are part of the process now, and i’m curious about where it may lead.
The tour so far
After a week of preparation and another week of what we could call a dress rehearsal, Nastia and i spent another week or so making a few final adjustments, saying goodbye to friends and family, and then sitting for the road.
I love this concept, by the way — to sit for the road — to take a moment before leaving to cool down from the rush of getting ready. I learned it from Nastia, who learned it from her grandmother on her mother’s side. We try to apply every morning when we’re preparing to resume our journey.
I’m enthusiastic about being finally moving away from our home turf. We are now headed to the Odesa region, which i visited on my 2017 tour. We’ll look for a few old friends from that tour along our way, but unlike what i did two years ago, we’ll travel through the Khmelnytskyi and Vinnytsia regions in Ukraine instead of crossing Moldova and Transnistria.
What to expect from these updates
On the one hand, i’d like to tell you about places like Rivne.
no German has lived in Rivne since their evacuation — but a few of their houses still remain, and former residents and descendants occasionally come to visit
I stumbled upon this peculiar pentagon-shaped village while devising our route from L’viv to Stryi, to avoid one of Ukraine’s most dangerous highways.
What i first thought could have been established as the (planned) living quarters of a sovkhoz (state farm) turned out to be modern-day Königsau, one of the many German settlements in the area. They came in the late 18th/early 19th Centuries to then Galicia, part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and were evacuated (to Germany) in 1939–40 after Hitler and Stalin split and annexed Poland as per the Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact. [1, 2, 3]
What piqued my interest the most about Rivne, rather than its geopolitically rich and eventually tragic history, is the distinct regular pentagon shape that it has retained for more than 200 years since its settlement. Neither the locals we talked to nor the Internet could account for that. An Austrian engineer by the name Burgaller is credited for the shape [4, 5], but i couldn’t find anything about this person, and the why will remain a mystery — i suspect it may have something to do with the golden ratio.
On the other hand . . .
Roadkill still makes me think about death — a dog eating another dog’s carcass makes me think, period.
i hope this is far enough for all of us (Ukrainian countryside, Summer ’19)
we couldn’t get a solid account of what happened from who we managed to talk to, except that the cyclist was taken to the hospital alive; poor driver — whatever happened, seeing it from his perspective and feeling responsible for it must be horrible — he didn’t accept Nastia’s comfort (Verkhnie Syniovydne, Ukraine, Summer ’19)
A lot of what is natural feels so weird. I’m not a dog specialist, but it seemed like the dog thought i might also be interested in the remains, or perhaps in the dog itself — in a way i wouldn’t know how to communicate (to the dog or to you), i was interested in both.
If you’re concerned that i display a morbid attraction to this topic, i hope you’ll be relieved to learn that it leads me to think a lot about life as well 😉
a mineral water spring, also in Verkhnie Syniovydne (Ukraine, Summer ’19)
i see hospitality as another major source of life, especially when it involves generously served food (Ukraine, Summer ’19)
As i alluded to in my last dispatch, i also feel absorbed by the basic cycle touring process. The novelty for Nastia is a challenge for both of us — it took us six hours to lift our first wild camp — when Nastia told me she felt lost, i finally understood that’s where i was myself! It only took us two and a half hours the second time, but in light of the underlying emergency (a thunderstorm that my trusted Norwegian Metereological Institue had failed to warn me about), i wouldn’t take that as a reference.
wild camping,
and in a bit of a mood (Summer ’19)
On my last cycle tour in 2017, i was sharing my experience daily on social media, and people still found it difficult to follow me — “What is this about?” — “Is this about the people you meet?” — “A spiritual journey?” — “What’s up with those deliberately misinterpreted signs, are you a comedian now?”
I’d say, it’s all of the above, and then some — and then none of it. The real-time experience is hard to conceptualize, especially after you’ve been on the road for a long while — “it’s not unlike that,” i once told a friend who was telling me about psychedelics — some things i didn’t notice before become fascinating, other things i used to think and worry about a lot become irrelevant; when the birds are chirping, it sounds like they’re inside my head — the present becomes increasingly vibrant and colorful, while memories from before the tour become increasingly distant, as if they’re memories from a movie i watched a long time ago.
Someday i may take the time to process all of this into a coherent narrative in a more timeless format. Meanwhile, if my questions and diffuse impressions as i pursue some of them are of interest to you, then you’re cordially invited to join me in this journey!
___ Featured photo: Nastia conquering yet another sizeable hill on the foot of the Carpathians (Ukraine, Summer ’19)
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UPDATED October 25th, 2019 — this is a dispatch from my cycle tour of Ukraine and surroundings this past Summer with my partner Nastia, an open project on an Autumn/Winter hiatus — check out the project page more information, and sign up for my newsletter if you would like to be notified when it resumes 🙂
It’s been a couple of weeks since i started my ongoing cycle tour of Ukraine and surroundings with my partner Nastia.
If i were to superficially acknowledge the kindness and generosity of just the people who helped Nastia and i find a place to spend the night so far, it would read something like this:
On-the-road hospitality, spontaneous or pre-arranged through friends or social networks such as Warmshowers and Couchsurfing, don’t just make my travels possible — they’re a large part of what has made them worth it. My encounters along my way have shattered my prejudices about people in places i knew little about and startled my expectations about how they might treat a complete stranger like me.
I have already shared a fair lot about that in reaction to my previous tours in 2016 and 17 — not the least about Ukraine, where the bulk of this one will take place. What else can i say about the topic?
Here are some of the thoughts that arise when i reflect on this question:
It was more convenient to express my gratitude for my hosts when i used to share my experience in real-time on social media. I reckon it was also more convenient for them to continue following my journey onward there. That’s not the headspace i currently inhabit though, and i’m not sure how to handle this on a (supposedly) weekly newsletter — definitely not with such run-on paragraphs at the beginning of every issue.
Although that was already a mouthful, it doesn’t do justice to how those encounters developed and felt like — it doesn’t convey my relief when Liubomyr answered positively to my request to spend the night at his place, or the encouragement when he rode the first 30km with me the morning after — it doesn’t track the progress from my initial hesitation to approach Vitaly, Vitaly, Ivan, Yura, and Vasyl’ (then nameless able-bodied, adult males expressing some apprehension themselves), to our assimilating each other’s peaceful motivations, to feeling comfortable following them into a swamp looking for crayfish.
Even that is just part of how i experienced our chance meetings, and might not duly reflect what my counterparts would have liked me to emphasize in sharing them forward.
Indeed, my perspective in writing about this so far has been the perspective of a relatively clueless observer — i knew little about the places i was visiting, and couldn’t speak more than a handful of words in their respective languages. I could read the energy underlying our encounters, which was overwhelmingly positive, but i’d be left wondering — is this guy always so jolly when he drinks? — how often does his wife reach an orgasm when they have sex? — how do these people feel in general? I was unequipped to approach even far more superficial questions.
I’m mindful not to take any of what i have for granted. I’m privileged to have so far gained access to just about everything i’ve ever felt i needed, and at the expense of comparatively little compromise.
I don’t believe any higher power watches over me — the boundaries between the people i meet and me are negotiated on a case-by-case basis. I find that hard to do even after two or three years of practice almost every day, sometimes several times a day. I nevertheless find my present circumstances more comfortable than the abundance that i left behind to live like this — at least so far.
I don’t expect things to be much different going forward either.
Thanks in no small way to the support from some of you, i’m not (or at least no longer feel) as strapped for cash as i did in earlier expeditions. So, i also expect to be less dependant on local generosity where it may not emerge.
What are people getting from helping me? Actually, what am i getting from being helped by them? I got my bath at the end of the day, and a safe place to sleep — but do i want to be drinking this much vodka this often? Have all expectations been set clearly enough, and are our mutual needs being met?
I’ll leave it at that for now — i’ve been dwelling on this for a couple of days already, and it’s time to let it out.
So, we’re in L’viv now.
our arrival in L’viv (Ukraine, Summer ’19)
Microdistricts, Khrushchyovkas, and old ladies carrying heavy backs in L’viv, Ukraine (Summer ’19)
Washing roadside berries in a ziplock bag (Poland, Summer ’19)
This is my third time arriving here on a bicycle — the first time was when Nastia and i met, the second one when i came back a few months later, and we moved in together. This time i arrived here with her.
I don’t have much to say about L’viv as a tourist. I lived here for a year, and my most active association is a common feature of the whole former Soviet Union and its sphere of influence — the microdistricts and Khrushchyovkas (panel buildings). They remind me of my hometown’s superquadras, and this yields a sense of familiarity i believe has something to do with why i like it here.
After tens of thousands of kilometers of overland travel adding up to hundreds of days across dozens of countries, i thought i had mastered the art of long-term travel in general and cycle touring in particular — i thought the underlying process was committed to my muscle memory and intuition — that i’d have plenty of space in this framework to pursue experiments beyond the practicalities of how to make it all happen on a budget.
That might have been the case if i’d continued cycle touring solo. But i decided to wait for Nastia, who had never traveled by bicycle before. This brought the master back to school — many of the solutions that had become second nature to my process don’t quite work for her, and some are even incomprehensible — even what does eventually work for her also is not always easily implemented.
I’d like to think we both find the disruption mostly welcome. She didn’t know she could climb a 100m-high hill on a loaded bicycle — i didn’t know those were edible berries. I push her to explore her limits — she draws my attention to things i’d filtered out before knowing they even existed.
There was no doubt plenty of drama, but these are the main ways in which i noticed we might add to each other’s process after a week together on the road, and i want to end this week’s note on a positive note: there’s potential — it might just require a tremendous amount of trust and patience from both of us.
___ Featured photo: “muda de roupa” (Poland, Summer ’19)
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UPDATED October 25th, 2019 — this is a dispatch from my cycle tour of Ukraine and surroundings this past Summer with my partner Nastia, an open project on an Autumn/Winter hiatus — check out the project page more information, and sign up for my newsletter if you would like to be notified when it resumes 🙂
This note will be a short one — i already feel some spiritual unease for having missed a Tuesday, so i’ll do my best to at least honor the week!
Perhaps for the better, Internet access has been a challenge on this tour.
I lost my smartphone in the mountains last month, and Nastia’s has been run over by a car — i wanted to make a video of her riding against the sunset over a bridge, it slipped off my hands, and the incoming car i was waiting to pass so i could pick it up went right over it — better than running right over us? This nevertheless ruled out the mobile Internet possibility we were already trying to avoid, so as not to be always connected.
If i were to believe the Universe has any purpose whatsoever, then it must be for me to stay offline on this tour :p
Anyway.
Nastia has a bicycle and panniers, the blur or which you can see on the featured photo, and we’re now on our way back to Ukraine — it’s officially on!
Aneta’s bare apartment was an invitation to play with the light (Rzseszów, Poland, Summer ’19)
Nastia helping our host Krzysztof with his tomatoes — “tying up the loose ends” would have been another appropriate pun for this one (Poland, Summer ’19)
___ Featured photo: an afternoon “at work” playing with the camera while Nastia sold some postcards in Rzeszów, Poland (Summer ’19)
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