Raid in Ukraine

Arrived in Ukraine by train from the border with Romania at Vadu Siret. At Vadu Siret I am forced off by the border police because I have to pay for the train leg in Ukrainian territory in local currency, which I do not have, since these banknotes can only be exchanged in the country that issues them. Unfortunately this place has nothing but the small station, where the customs office, the police post and the exchange office are located, but the latter is closed and will not open until the next day. And to think I had obtained my visa in Italy, yet it is not enough to enter without trouble.

The policeman who takes charge of me makes me understand that I will have to go back on the first train, then that I can spend the night sitting in the station waiting room until the exchange office opens the next morning, and finally he and a colleague offer to take me to Chernivtsi, the nearest city, where I can solve my problem — obviously for a payment of 20 euros. In short, all this fuss for 20 euros, which here is probably a month's wages, though they could have told me beforehand and saved me the fear of having to turn back. The policeman's car is old and obsolete; still, crossing the semi-deserted countryside on a concrete road, I reach the city. I strike up a bit of a rapport with the policeman, just to make him a little less hostile, and I succeed, since once we reach Chernivtsi station he helps me buy the ticket and walks me onto the train, entrusting me to the conductor.

The station, like the whole city we cross, is poorly lit, but the train is comfortable too, especially since I took a berth where I will sleep alone, and there is an attendant who provides me with blankets and a pillow. The next day around midday I arrive in Kiev, where the atmosphere changes: the functional station heralds a fairly modern capital with broad avenues, parks and elegantly dressed people. It is strange how in a country with miserable wages people can dress so well, they are probably surrogates of the originals made by national producers. In Kiev I visit the Orthodox Cathedral of Saint Sophia, topped by several green onion domes. Together with its annexes it houses the Museum of Christianity. From here I take a tram to the Monastery of the Caves, a complex of religious buildings set on a hill overlooking the city and the river that runs through it.

It is so called because, before it was built, some ascetics lived in natural cavities. I return by public transport to the station and take the first train to Crimea. The stretch I will travel again in a berth will be rather long but very cheap; for us Westerners, life in Ukraine costs nothing, I changed 50 euros but I won't manage to spend it all. The next morning I enter Crimea, at the time part of Ukraine's territory (see the Crimea itinerary). We re-enter present-day Ukrainian territory by train. This time it is full and the woman in charge of the compartment is not too kind. Luckily, in the middle of the night, I get off at Kherson, where I have to change for Odessa. While waiting for the train I observe the large, rather modern station; there are still some pieces of furniture to be unwrapped.

On the train to Odessa I again have a berth, though this time in the company of other people. Once in the city I buy a guided excursion right in front of the station. The tour is by bus, where I meet an Italian with his Ukrainian wife. Driving along the city's avenues, a portly lady tells us a bit of history and shows us aristocratic palaces, imposing theatres and film studios, because Odessa was the Soviet Hollywood. In front of the Opera House we get off to continue on foot along the pedestrian promenade to the famous Potemkin Stairs. What a disappointment! in the film, when you see the pram plunging down, it looks like an enormous staircase, whereas in reality it is quite small. Back at the station, which is itself a fine monument with a neat flag flying on the facade, I wait for the train to Vinnytsia.

During the journey, by dint of gesturing, I understand that to reach Chernivtsi I can also get off at the nearer Vinnytsia, and so I do. In Vinnytsia I see another Ukraine, far poorer than the one I have seen so far. The large waiting room of the station looks like a cinema, with many rows of chairs side by side and in front a miserable bar counter in place of the screen. We are in a rural city; the people here are not elegant, they are dressed in peasant clothes, the women have a headscarf and a raffia bag, just like mine, full of goods. The hall is poorly lit and the smoky atmosphere makes it almost surreal. I try to go outside, where there are a few kiosks selling drinks and sandwiches, but I don't trust them and go back in. At last the train to Chernivtsi arrives, where I take a berth.

In the middle of the night I am woken by the border police, who ask me to get up and show my passport. I can't explain why there is a border between one city and another in the same country; then I learn that we will enter, twice, for a short stretch, the extreme north of the Republic of Moldova. The railway line the train travels was built by the Soviet Union without taking account of the borders between its republics, and so since the empire crumbled the tracks wind from one state into another. I look out of the train window and see that outside, despite it being October, there is plenty of snow. The next morning I arrive in Chernivtsi, the city I had been taken to by the policeman only a few days earlier. Chernivtsi seems sad, with gloomy buildings and a biting cold. From here, on a minibus heading for Romania, I leave Ukraine for the Vadu Siret border crossing.

They say Ukraine is dangerous, but I travel with a raffia bag picked up in Romania and I look like one of them. Besides, I avoid speaking, also because their language is incomprehensible, and it is even hard to make out the Cyrillic writing. I returned to Ukraine on other occasions, also because in the meantime at Sighetu Marmatiei in Romania they opened the bridge over the Tisa river (Tibisco in Italian) and the related border crossing, once impassable. The first time I went to Rakhiv, where in the main square, overlooked by an Orthodox church, I went into a shop out of curiosity. I was with my wife and my sister-in-law and, being in an Italian car, the police stopped us without however making any report. On another occasion I limited myself to staying in the customs area with a friend whose passport I wanted to have stamped.

In October 2015 I was a guest of an Association in Solotvyno, a town where a large Romanian community lives just beyond the border. Once, when it belonged to Romania, it was a hamlet of Sighetu Marmatiei. I was received, together with two Romanian friends, in the small hall of the Town Council, then they showed me a children's art school and took me to a spot defined as the centre of Europe. Here, during the Austro-Hungarian Empire, the Vienna government had a marker stone erected. Now it is a tourist area with a souvenir market and a restaurant that keeps some old farming tools. The whole area is in Carpathian style and built with wood from the local forests. We return to Solotvyno, which the Romanians call Slatina, and visit the salt ponds used for summer recreational and thermal tourism. We visit a tourist facility owned by the cousin of the President of the Association hosting me.

The thermal facilities are several but rather outdated. In the centre we stop at a small restaurant where they offer me polenta with smoked lard and cheese. We then return to Romania. I returned to Solotvyno during the Christmas holidays of 2016 for the press conference of an exhibition. Having crossed the border with Romania on foot, I was received by the local authorities first at the Town Hall and then at the Art School. I was then invited to lunch in a restaurant. Then I crossed the nearby border on foot to return to Romania.