Where are Ron and Ellen?
Summer 2002
28 July 2002
Afton, Virginia, USA
Dear family and friends,
Here is Ron's latest report telling about his circle trip in the Carpathian Mountains. As I write this, I am sitting at our dining room table, looking out at the sunflowers blooming in our garden. And I can quite honestly say that, even though the humidity here is very high and temperature is in the mid-90s F (~35C), I am very glad to be at home in Virginia instead of accompanying Ron on this particular part of his trip!
Hello Ellen,
After bicycling in Denmark with the extensive bicycle accommodations including raised lanes between the road and sidewalk, special bicycle stop lights, extensive blue paint on the road showing the bike path through major intersections and traffic circles, and a national system of signed bike routes, bicycling in Ukraine is a very different experience.
The roads have generally been wide, perhaps to accommodate the horse carts and old ladies on bicycles, as well as the frequently broken-down cars being worked on beside or on the road. Sometimes there are two lanes in each direction with the outside lane being very wide and blending into what could be imagined as paved shoulders. The surface has been very variable from smooth to covered with pot holes. The most challenging surface has been where the heat has softened the pavement and the big trucks have pushed the soft pavement to the right where is undulates in a rolling irregular surface. With a little speed on the bicycle it is like riding a roller coaster or a bucking bronco. So the outside tends to roll. Moving to the left of the rolling edge, more into the road, there are more pot holes.
Having now experienced the surface under various weather conditions between hot and cold, and dry and wet, the most interesting difference is the smell. In the heat the road actually stinks, a sort of prevailing odor of tar and oil.
Traffic is light, perhaps because car ownership is low. While they have posted speed limits, I don't think there is any enforcement, and people just push their vehicles to the maximum, but given the age and type of many of the cars this is not as bad as it would seem. While I may be listening to classical music in one ear, the other can hear the vehicles approaching from quite a ways back, and then drowning out the music as they make their final approach and pass. All in all I have still not experienced a road as dangerous as Virginia 151/6 which passes my driveway at home.
My worst fear is being splashed by the passing cars, trucks and busses. Don't laugh. I am talking about the hot tar that has melted and formed into small pools or is running downhill in a little stream. So I take a position on the road that forces the passing vehicles to move over past the puddles and streams. As I bicycle through the bubbles and wet tar spots I imagine getting retreads on my bicycle tires. The little stones stick to my tire just like they stick to the road in their process of gluing rocks to the surface.
I have experienced in other places in eastern Europe and Asia development patterns that have helped me understand the growth of transportation systems. In my opinion, the owners of cars are from the more elite of the population and have little regard for the poor villagers living in rural areas. The scene can be very peaceful, people walking their cows home from the fields, horse carts carrying the produce, children and old folks riding their bicycles, others walking on the road to their various destinations. The road is often the only way between places for people and animals.....then along comes a noisy terrorist pushing his vehicle as fast as it can go down the middle of the highway, expecting everyone to get out of the way, not caring who gets splashed. The worst kind of arrogance. As then as the vehicle-owning population grows, there is no place left for the original users of the road, and the village has been divided by a noisy dangerous stream of traffic.
Eventually a by-pass is built and accommodations for walkers and bicyclists are added (maybe) and the village sort of regains some of its peaceful environment.
When the cities grow they start blocking vehicles from parts of the center, making walking streets and vehicle-free plazas. Then it returns to what it used to be like. Here in Ukraine, many of the cities I have visited have already reclaimed their centers with areas blocked to traffic.
Before coming to Ukraine I read Donald's report of his bicycle trip through the Carpathian Mountains. I don't have his web url with me, but a google search would probably pull it up. I have followed part of his route and will add some detail to help the next cyclist who passes this way.
I took the overnight train from Uzhorod to Ivano-Frankivs'k arriving very early in the morning. I met a group on the main plaza and talked for a while. Olga Malahouv could speak English, and she explained that she was doing a TV program but was off for summer holidays. She gave me her number and asked me to call. At sunrise they left and I found a hotel listed in the Lonely Planet Guide. It had no running water, so after waking up around noon, I checked out the other high rise hotel on the main plaza. With some negotiating they finally agreed to let me have a room at the Ukrainian price of $12, so I moved, paying for both hotels for the first day.
I called Olga a couple of times, thinking maybe I would see another Ukrainian home, but each time there was some reason to delay, and eventually I gave up. She was an interesting person and suggested that I should go east, saying it gets more interesting in the east. Another group of young people helped me find an Internet Cafe. Galina, 19, reminded me of Dana in Romanian: bright, very upbeat, attractive, her father was a police detective. She also wanted to invite me to her home to meet her family, but when we met later she explained that her parents were going to visit family outside of town and the idea wouldn't work.
Walking around some of the very old churches I found myself in front of a sort of market where ladies were working with flowers making various arrangements. We had an extended conversation, very animated, with the whole group of old ladies gathered around me. They spoke no English and I spoke no Ukrainian, but that didn't stop the conversation, which included a lot of laughter and several people speaking at once.
I bicycled from Ivano-Frankivs'k to Kolomija about 70K southeast. Finding where to stay is still one of my challenges each time I arrive in a new town. A kind gentleman walked me up the main walking street to the best hotel in town. After some discussion there finally was agreement to reduce the price from the $24 for foreigners to $18 for Ukrainians, but there was also some discussion of a second hotel. So I went to check out the second since I sort of expected to find a decent room for around $10. At the second hotel, which turned out to be a major sports (boxing) center, including a large inside auditorium/arena, I couldn't find anyone to inquire about a room, and the office was on the second floor. Now I know that this is often the case, and it presents a challenge on what to do with the bicycle and backpack while I leave it to climb to the second or third floor to inquire about a room. I gave up and someone else was walking me down the street to another hotel when they met the owner of the sports center walking with his wife and grandchild. The owner, Peter, sort of adopted me, took me back to the sports center, had room number one prepared for me, which included a hot water shower, for $10. He called his son on his mobile phone, and his son, Arthur. who studied in London and spoke excellent English, joined us at the hotel.
Peter was asking about why I had come to Kolomija, and I explained that a friend had given me the name of someone to see here. He wanted to know who, so I showed him the name and address of Inna's college friend. Arthur immediately called her on the mobile phone, and after a bit of explanation about who I was, that I knew Inna and Ivan, I was informed by Arthur that they would be here in a few minutes, and shortly thereafter, a car pulled up to take me to their house. I explained that I would love to visit, but had already checked into the hotel. They hustled me into the car with a young boy Stephan, 11, who could speak excellent English and his Grandfather Anton who couldn't speak a word. They took me to their house and provided an excellent dinner as well as introductions to the extended family and tour of their garden and house. In less than an hour of arriving in town I found myself in someone's home. Things had moved so fast that I was out of control, still had on my lycra bike shorts and t-shirt, unshaved and sweaty from the ride. Svitlana married Anton's son, who is working at Livermore, a scientific lab in California, and Svitlana and Stephan, and his sister Solomiya, 9, had come home for the summer, and still having trouble getting visas to return in the fall. It was a wonderful evening and they were very kind to me and were very insistent that I stay at their house when I return.
I left my day pack, with about half of the weight of the stuff I am carrying, with them as I went on my bicycle adventure in the Carpathian Mountains.
On July 22 I bicycled from Kolomija to Kosiv and asked a group of kids where I could find a restaurant. I had already learned if I need help or directions I should ask kids because they study English in school and would try to help me. In this case the group was four 16 year old girls, who walked me through the construction in the town center to a very nice restaurant. On the second floor there were little booths with a curtain which allowed people to dine in privacy. The table was set very fancy with all the appropriate silverware and glasses for various beverages. I asked them if they would join me for a soda while I ate, and they accepted. Donna, a bright attractive young lady, led most of the conversation. While I had planned on going to the next town, it was threatening to rain, and they convinced me to stay at their hotel instead of going on. Donna and her friend walked me out of town and up the hill to the large tourist hotel complex, and then they left in the rain to get back home. The hotel was full, and the second one they pointed me to was also full. And by now the rain is pouring down. There was a lot of conversation that I could not understand and someone left to return with an older man who could speak no English. He kept shaking his head "no" and the conversation kept on going until he finally agreed to something, whatever it was -- it was a mystery to me. He indicated the rain and that we should wait. I thought he was going to take me to another hotel, but instead took me to his home. There was another family also staying there for their week's vacation, so it is like a boarding house. However there was no shower. Later he showed me the boiler room up at the hotel complex, which he must have been in charge of, that supplied all the hot water to all the complex. There was a room in the back with some shower stalls.
While waiting in the hotel lobby for the rain to stop some students from Kiev wanted to talk to me and asked me to return afterwards, which I did. They explained that they were all children of Chernobyl born after the explosion, in the next few months of the next couple of years. They ranged from 13 to 16. Their English was pretty good and I enjoyed talking to them for a couple of hours. The building was called a Sanitarium, where people come to rest. There was a building across from my hotel in Uzhorod which was also a Sanitarium, and I had also met a couple of young girls walking down the street who had told me they were "resting" there and that they were also children of Chernobyl. I think it is something between a hotel and a summer camp, where kids go on summer holiday. The rooms appear to be bunk rooms for up to 5 or 6 students each. The complex has sports facilities, restaurant (mess hall), and bars (dancing).
On July 23 I biked to Kuti where I found a sidewalk cafe/restaurant in the center and decided to have lunch after my 20K morning ride. I had intended to cross the river and find the hotel others had mentioned in the next town. But they said there was a hotel right up the block. So after lunch I decided to check it out and take it easy that day. However the owner of the hotel was out, and they said to wait. After waiting and waiting, which was ok reading my book and drinking tea at the cafe, it turned out that the hotel was under renovation and was not open. But there was a place for me in one of the high rise concrete buildings. Turns out to be the waitress' house. I thought it was the cook's, and am still sort of confused about who lived where, since they were all in the same building. However, the building had no running water! Before I left I knew the owner (very beautiful face) and her younger husband and her daughter from her previous marriage, as well as the cook, her daughter, and the waitress' daughter.
On July 24 I started what I thought would be a hard day's ride to Verhovina (Bepxobnha), about 60 K. [I am going to begin putting the Russian spelling of places in parentheses, but since I don't have access to the Russian characters, I can only get as close as my keyboard will allow. Perhaps later I can find the names on a Russian map and cut-and-paste them into the text].
Leaving Kuti there is a fork at the edge of town, the left road drops down and curves left, the right fork goes up and curves behind a building (which if I remember correctly is a church). Take the right fork uphill.
Shortly there is an intersection. If you take the left fork, you take the bridge over the river. If you take the right fork, you follow the river. Donald said to keep the river on your left, so I took the right fork. Mistake! After about 15K of mud puddles and rough unpaved muddy road I came to a pedestrian bridge over the river, hanging from steel cables. However, the left cable was lower than the right so the surface of the hanging bridge, wooden planks, were at an angle, and the angle increased towards the middle of the bridge, more than 45 degrees. A man I had met earlier came along as I was taking a picture of this hanging bridge. After a long difficult conversation, I understood that the road on the other side was paved and that further down the paved road there was another bridge where I wanted to turn towards Verhovina. However I was reluctant to cross what I thought was a very dangerous-looking bridge. He offered to help and finally convinced me to do it. He walked behind holding the rear of the bike while I walked on the right of the bike working the brake with my left hand and holding onto the cable with my right. At one point the bike slid and was leaning over and wanting to slide off the bridge but we managed to get it upright again and continued to inch across the bridge. There were some gaps between the planks wide enough for the wheel to slip into. It was a great relief to get off the other side.
Further down, where I needed to turn right towards Verhovina, there was a major intersection with bridges over two rivers, signs to Bepxobnha, and a busy market on the left. It was much more pleasant using the paved road on the other side of the river and I made much better time. After the turn, it was dirt for a while and then turned to pavement again.
Ellen, I know you will never forgive me for leading you up that road along the river in the Blue Ridge Mountains, saying it couldn't be steep because it ran along the river. We ended up walking our bicycles and meeting a bear. Well, this time it really was a very gradual climb up the first river, and then after the turn, following the second river. [Note from Ellen: That road was so steep it was even hard to push our bikes! It is now a joke between us when we look at a map -- "That road can't be steep -- it goes along a river!"]
But it also was raining off and on.
Donald described this trip as "other worldly" so I played Holst and music from Star Wars for this part of the trip. It seemed very appropriate.
The large Hotel Complex was full (another sanitarium?) but I found another hotel in the center, on the north side. When I checked in, the Chief of the Police was called and he came to meet me in the office of the hotel. Looked at my passport and I guess approved of my stay, and in any case, after he indicated to the receptionist that it was OK she booked me into a room. Another case of a hotel with no shower. There was a toilet in my room, but no running water. She said the water would come on at midnight. Maybe it did, but it was not running the next morning either.
My room was at the end of hall overlooking the main street. And outside of my room there were about a dozen gypsies, all women, from young teenager to very old. Of course they could speak no English, but each time I went by, we sort of all greeted each other in a friendly way.
This night I had my first frightening experience, and could really feel the fear. I had gone up to a group of people across from the hotel and asked them if they could tell me where I could find a restaurant. One guy kept asking me if I spoke English, and I kept saying yes, but then I could not understand what he kept saying afterwards. The conversation kept circling back, then he asked me something about dollars, and started touching my shirt. I felt he was trying to identify what I had where. I tried to say I didn't have any dollars, but he got pushier and pushier, and more aggressive. I tried excusing my self and politely walking away while the others just sort of watched all this. They had indicated that the restaurant was on the end of my hotel. So I crossed the street and went into the restaurant. There was a room on the left which was like a store, and I went in to ask about the restaurant. In the middle of the conversation, the guy from across the road appeared and started poking me again and saying things I could not understand. As I moved to the right to get by him to leave, he blocked my path, when I moved left, he did the same. Then he started touching me again and trying to hold me. I was pushing back and trying to get by him to get out. Everyone was watching. Some others were speaking. Somehow I pushed him to the side and quickly got by him and left. I went back into the hotel, looking for the young policeman I had met on my way out of the hotel a few minutes before. I found him, along with an older policeman, neither of which could understand English, but they could understand that someone was giving me a problem, and they followed me until I saw the guy across the road again, where I had originally met him. They confronted him, and had to hold him back as he made several lunges towards me. He twisted his foot on the ground and pointed at me as if saying he would squash me like a bug. The young cop just grinned, so I didn't feel that they were going to protect me, so I left to find another restaurant.
Returning to my hotel, I had an unfinished container of grape juice, which I gave to one of the young gypsies camped in the hall outside my room. There was some conversation that led me to believe that they knew about the guy that threatened me in the store (I think one of the young gypsy kids had been in the store at the time and seen the incident and told the others). They were very excited and I tried to understand what they were saying. It seemed like the guy had hit one of the cops and they had handcuffed him and taken him to jail. But I was not too sure of my interpretation of what they were saying. I went back out and in front of the hotel I found some young kids (about 16 again). The girls could speak English, and I asked them if they had seen what happened with the cops on the other side of the road. They had seen nothing, but while we were talking the young cop walked up and sat down beside me. With the girls help, I questioned him, and indeed they had locked the guy up. I think he was a really loose marble. He promised to keep the guy in jail until I left the next day. He was concerned and wanted to know if my bicycle was safe and I explained I had a dozen gypsies guarding my room, but I don't think he understood the humor, but the girls laughed.
On Thursday I bicycled to Vorochta (Bopoxta) about 40K. I continued with the Holst and music from Star Wars. It was uphill for about half the way, but the rain would start and stop. The first storm really got me, and I was taken into a house by a young boy. His mother seemed to just take it in stride. I showed my pictures as my introduction. The next storm I waited out on the front porch, probably not the right word, of one of their churches, and then in a bus stop next to a store, and finally at a shelter right outside the national park. So it was a slow climb. Coming down the other side in the rain I missed the turn to the left to go to the base of the tallest mountain and just coasted to town in the intermittent rain.
The park was a beautiful site with the dense tall evergreens.
Outside of town I found a large complex of log cabins being built for a future resort. In town I had that same problem of finding a place to sleep.
Coming into town I passed an old wooden church dating I think from the 1700s and a newer one, that looked quite old also. From both churches there was a wonderful view looking across the valley and river, and the railroad track crossing beautiful arches across the valley. I felt immediately that this was a magical place and destined to become a backpacker haven before becoming a major tourist place in the future. Old houses, picturesque villages on the hillsides, vistas, wonderful architecture.
All the hotels were full, and before leaving town I stopped at the sports center, where I was looking at the plastic covered ski jumps (about 4, varying in difficulty), when I noticed a guy on skis in the air. A guy visiting the center understood my questions to the hotel staff and told me that there were rooms where he was staying over the post office. And that is where I stayed. Turned out to be run by the post office for its employees. But it had no shower. The toilet serving the entire floor was a raised squat one with water trickling slowly into in. The price was $1.60 per night for a room. The manager explained in English that there was a Polish group having dinner in the restaurant across the street and that a local music group was performing for them at 7 and invited me to join them for dinner and the show, which I did. The Polish group turned out to be a group from all over Poland who had roots to a village outside of town. The music group was very interesting.
After dinner I met some other young Ukrainian tourists who took me to the bar in the big hotel to meet the Canadians staying there. Turned out to be a group of 40 Canadians and Americans that were running a group of summer camps for orphans, including a large group of handicapped kids. There were 400 kids staying in various hotels and outside camps on top of the mountain nearby. I met Mark Keller who was in charge of all the arrangements. And Ranada explained most of this to me. The next night I went to their entertainment where many of the kids performed.
I thought about staying and helping with the computer lab they were going to set up, but then realized that I wouldn't be of much help with the language barrier. When I get on the computers here, I need help to understand the messages.
My second day there I started listening to Harry Potter on my CD player. Wonderful. I am now addicted and want more.
So I left on Sat thinking I would find a hotel with a shower somewhere in the next couple of towns, but instead, found that the first 44 K were downhill, and found no hotel in any of them. I did find a wonderful camp for kids, and I asked the young guard if I could take a tour. After a wait, and going through a few layers, a young guy appeared who could speak English and was in charge of security. He took me on a tour, and introduced me to the camp director who, being older and in a position of authority, could speak no English. But I think he must have told the young guy to feed me, because I was taken into the cafeteria and given the meal of the day along with all the kids that shortly followed me. Mashed potatoes, meatloaf, tomato and cucumber salad with mayo, bread and pear juice.
Then from the intersection with the road to Ivano-Frankivs'k I turned and took the road to Kolomija. There was a long uphill and then down the other side, and then sort of level all the way back. So I made my longest bicycle ride of this trip with my small wheels: 86K. Listened to Harry Potter all the way. I felt I could have gone on for considerably more, but was relieved to check into that really good hotel that I declined the first time here.
I apologize for such a long report. But finding Internet Cafes in these little towns is impossible and the sequence of events just seem to call for telling. I miss you all and look forward to returning, but before I do, I think I will continue heading southeast, maybe tomorrow.
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Last updated: 27 August 2002