Ukraine

Finding myself in Romania, in a small border town with Ukraine, I wanted to try to cross the border on foot, not wanting to risk using the rental car, so I looked for a good car park, gathered in my backpack what I might need for the day and set off towards the first border point just before the bridge and the river that in this area forms the natural border. It was a Saturday morning and so the border point was busier than usual, many corpulent ladies with jute bags, several cars with powerful boots loaded with goods and several gentlemen moving with ease, lording it over the crowd with a determined manner. Later I would understand that the Gentlemen collected the passports of many people to have them stamped together and thus reduce waiting times (a job like any other, especially in certain realities).

I understand that there are problems and for the moment the border is closed, it would seem it may depend on the soldiers on this side and the other taking autonomous decisions. The peculiar situation, the uncertainty of managing to cross the border typical in other times of eastern countries makes me tolerate the wait until among the people the frenzy grows, people try to crowd towards the customs officer's booth but the window is still lowered. Those Gentlemen begin to get agitated while they take more passports here and there, I manage to slip among the corpulent ladies and gain positions especially when a young soldier forces us to line up in order, I have gained a few more positions. Another soldier arrives who, together with his colleague, identifies the queue-jumping Gentlemen and confiscates some bundles of passports, today the owners of those passports will be late at customs.

The window opens and dozens of arms stretch out the passports to the dismay of the young soldier who shouts and rails against those present, giving me confirmation that in these parts the uniform is still feared and respected. The soldier notices my passport, different from the others, and recognises me as a European, I tell him I am Italian and, chuckling, he says “you see, this is the Romania you wanted in Europe”, he slips the passport from my hand and I don't know whether to worry, he hands it to his colleague who stamps it and a moment later I am already far from the crowd.

The first part of my exodus is done, I begin to cross the bridge over the river and almost furtively take a few photographs, on the other side things move quickly and I officially enter Ukrainian soil even though I don't know where I will go and what I will see, so instinct tells me to follow the people who head off with a determined step.

If so many people are willing to endure stressful waits at the border there must be something interesting and that is where I too will go, we go along the main road of a small village where practically no one stops, we reach the outskirts and begin travelling along a dirt road in the middle of the countryside, among abandoned buildings and uneven ground, looking around I understand that in times gone by it was an abandoned mining area.

After a few kilometres we reach a large open-air market where you can find every good thing of God, from clothing to farm animals, bicycles and mopeds, prams and household appliances, car parts and military remnants, all well organised by means of perfectly aligned shaded stalls, in the central part divided by type of sale, completed by the adjacent covered market where meat is butchered and sold (refrigerated cells or refrigerated counters not even a trace). In one part of the building there is also the only place that serves as a bar, trattoria, restaurant, public toilet and meeting point.

I walk around curiously among the stalls, lingering at the more curious ones and taking few photographs because not everyone is inclined to authorise me, my stomach reminds me that one can also eat and I go to investigate the area of the market where the fruit and vegetable and various food stalls are concentrated.

I try to see whether it might be more interesting to eat in the multi-purpose place and, on the pretext of needing to use the toilet, I peek into the dining room which turns out to be occupied by groups of people, I would probably have difficulty sitting at some little table, ordering a dish in a language I don't know, provided there is a free table for me, so I give up and resume my search besides the fact that I will have to change some money into local currency.

to be completed.....