Over the course of three short days I shot more than 500 snaps; fleeting, charming, beautiful scenes that are meaningless to others, but make me smile when I see them. A few moments were best experienced rather than captured on film, though. Like the Babushka who shooed Jack away when I was trying to measure table linens and proceeded to assist me, but nodded approvingly when he reached for the wrapped parcel. And the gentleman sitting at the adjacent table in the French bistro, clearly boring his escort to tears but amusing us greatly as we enjoyed our dinner.
All in all, 96 villages were evacuated in the days and weeks following the disaster at the power plant. The villages had been largely intact until the end of the Cold War; in the difficult economic period for all of the former Soviet states that followed, looters stole any and everything of value from most of the villages, sadly. We toured two villages within the 30km exclusion zone, both appearing like movie sets of abandoned cities. (This is a former grocery market.)
The second village we visited was occupied by a lone resident, an 87-year old woman who was among the first “resettlers” following the accident. A spinster teacher at the time, she demanded to return to the house her family had built and where her parents were buried, and to live and farm as before. (Tony knew about her, as well!) There are a few hundred “resettlers” scattered across the zone; the government allowed their return if they signed a waiver to never sue the government for health problems. Their families are allowed to visit, with special permission.
Rather camera shy, she did however make a big fuss over preparing a bag of apples for our group to snack. For the last 29 years she has lived without running water or electricity, and has turned the farm into her home. She is also writing a book that she hopes will be published posthumously.
Our next destination was the village of Chernobyl itself, inside the 10km exclusion zone and requiring a second ID and first radiation check. Approximately 5.000 people live and work in Chernobyl in 15 day shifts (to manage radiation dosages), undertaking various clean-up and security procedures involved with building the sarcophagus that will entomb Reactor #4 by 2017.
In the village square there is a memorial path listing the 96 villages that were evacuated.
At the firehouse from where the first responders (or, “liquidators,” a rather disturbing term) departed there is a memorial that the Soviet government to this day refuses to acknowledge. None of the first responders survived more than a couple of weeks.
Transportation around the village is both antiquated and modern, if a 1970’s bus can be considered modern.
We stopped at a small “memorial” park to the robotic devices employed during the accident to measure radiation levels in areas where personnel simply could not venture.
Some of the fish are over two-meters in length, having no predators and a daily supply of bread from workers and the tour groups. Did you know carp can live up to 80 years?
After Chernobyl we drove to the nearby town of Pripyat, constructed to house and serve the families of the men working at the plant. The average age of its citizens was 26; the town boasted top-rate housing and facilities, and the employees at the plant earned wages more than triple the average Ukrainian. Life was good.
This is the former Lenin Avenue leading into Pripyat’s main square.
Lingering bits of the “Social Times” awkwardly pose above empty buildings.
Pripyat was a young, and still developing town, when authorities set celebrations on 1 May 1986 (May Day) as the perfect setting to launch the city’s new amusement park.
Communist propaganda kiosks tilt awkwardly throughout the town.
A cold war leftover, the stockpile of gas masks for the elementary school children in Pripyat.
Roughly 25km to the north, just beyond the body of water, lies Belarus. The largest radiation cloud following the accident floated across that border toward Minsk, to where thousands of evacuees were being relocated.
The day was long and mentally exhausting, but before we returned to Kiev we were treated to dinner at the Chernobyl Canteen. All of the food prepared is brought in from outside the exclusion zone.
But there was one final and unexpected treat. Between the 10km and 30km checkpoints a small herd of Przewalski’s horses bounded along the road. I recognized them from the many, many, many horse books that have graced our home, though it was Anna Grace who told me that this breed is believed to be the very first horses ever to walk the Earth. Nature has a way of healing itself.
This is Besarabsky Market, the grande dame of farmer’s markets in Kiev once upon a time. We dropped by in the afternoon, after some of the vendors had gone home, though our experience was still rather old world. In the months after the accident at the Chernobyl nuclear power plant, vendors were provided Geiger counters in order that customers be able to check the radiation levels of incoming produce. Imagine.
Bones for soup stock, perhaps?
How about braised rabbit?
Or, maybe just chicken?
Kiosks throughout the city are beautiful, whether the offer is a gourmet hot dog or a smoke.
“Puzata Hata,” Ukraine’s version of McDonald’s, sort of. One passes through a cafeteria line offering all the Ukrainian comfort foods that can be imagined, served by smiling staff. We dropped in, and for just €10 in total we lunched on a stack of potato pancakes, a plate of varencyky, a bowl of pickles, sausages, and two beverages. Epicurean satisfaction for hours.
Varencyky and Pivo to start. Soft, billowy dumplings filled with minced meat and topped with fried bacon crumbles. That’s all there is to write.
Sausage and horseradish up next. The mild sausage and the tongue-eviscerating heat of the horseradish made me want to order two more plates.
Smoked salmon with mushrooms and tomatoes in cream sauce for me; braised rabbit stew for Jack. We were pleased with our translations.
The small cheese plate to start.
Canard Confit with stewed fruits and sour cherry sauce for me; an Alsatian pork chop (that seemed larger than his head!) for Jack. Kiev does French bistro food extremely well.
Finally, it goes without saying that we loved Kiev for a number of reasons. Ice cubes and civilized store hours are just two of them.
Saint Michael’s Monastery.
Saint Sophia Cathedral complex is believed to be where the Kievan Rus’ was first established, the loose tribal units from which all Ukrainian, Belorussian, and Russian peoples can trace their cultural lineage, more than 1.000 years ago. The mosaics and painted walls on the interior defy description.
Saint Volodomyr Cathedral, an active house of worship, was the only church to permit interior photos.
Perchersk Lavra is a Kievan monastery that stretches over a series of hills to the south of Kiev proper. Like Saint Sophia, it was established over a millennia and is the seat of the Eastern Orthodox Church for Eastern Europe. And entire day could be devoted to exploring the myriad of churches and the extensive cave system (where important Kievan Orthodox priests are entombed) that comprise the complex. We walked the grounds, in awe of the beauty.
We visited Pechersk Lavra on a Sunday afternoon, the park and lanes filled with worshipers moving between churches and families picnicking on the grounds. Hard to believe this country is at war with Russia.