Two Blondes & Two Brits Walk Into A Baatar: Ukrazey

Leaving Kiev was a lot like saying goodbye to your childhood home. We make a base pretty damn quickly, and in the few hours that we'd been in the city we'd become incredibly comfortable within the Ukraine capital. The food was good. The toilets clean. The hostel brilliant. In my mind I was all ready to go to the Ukraine's equivalent of Ikea and purchase some table lamps.

We'd also discovered that the people of Ukraine are just about the nicest people in the world. They just help. We would realise as the days would go on that this wasn't limited to the country's population, but to nearly everyone we would meet on the road.

As we pulled out of the city and left the urban sprawl we crossed over the state line of Oklahoma. I checked the map. Twice. We were still in Ukraine. But something was wrong. Everywhere I looked the Midwest stared back at me. The horizons stretched on and on, miles and miles of it surrounded us on all sides. The houses too looked Kansas like. The people Nebraskan. And the weather was near enough identical...

I feel like the Storm Chaser of the trip. Whenever I seem to get into the drivers seat it begins to rain. Then the lightening begins. And then it fucking pours.

Swapping out with Sii a couple of hours later the clouds part, the sun pops out and the weather looks beautiful again. Si's got something going on with the big guy upstairs that I want a part of. To be fair though, I'd trade in any belief in any religion for some pain relief. I've got toothache like you won't believe and the pain is spreading vicariously through my skull. At one point I honestly thought I had a tooth infection in my throat. Some hardcore self medicating is taking place. Mouthwash. Max painkillers (thank you Lviv). Salt Water. It's hard to eat, I can barely open my mouth, and it's quite painful to talk. This is providing a small mercy to the other three however.

We pass over an Ambo team. All toots and shouts but no joy. We learn later that their team's engine has exploded. Their going to be a grand lighter and a week later after the work needed... Not fun.

And we learn this because we're having dinner with the lovely Richard and Georgia Harris, a husband and wife team apparently 'crammed' into a Nissan Micra. As they quickly realise that they are talking to a three door, four seater, four person team in a Ford Ka their complaints somewhat diminish.

It was great to sit down with strangers in the middle of nowhere and instantly feel at ease. To be able to join their dinner, laugh at length and already exchange stories would be surreal if it wasn't so special. Megs said she felt like joined a fraternity after the Czech Out Party and she's totally right. Wherever we go we know that we can saddle up alongside a Mongol Rally car and talk into the night with it's contents. Steve wasn't MR (Mongol Rally) but he was defo part of the frat. In Kiev we passed over an empty ambo. Leaving a message on the dash I received an email the same night from an Irish duo from Dublin. Being on the road you open yourself up to the process of what can only be called 'instant friendships'.

Bellies content, social levels incredibly boosted, we hit the road. We'd made a Ka-pact that we'd try to get into cities before it got dark. The whole trip thus far has been in the getting into cities after midnight. Skipping dinner and crashing as soon as our heads hit the pillow. Our firm pact was completely shattered the first day it was set stone by having dinner with the Harris'. Arriving into Khrakviv it was already midnight...

There's not many ways I can describe the city. Seedy is the only thing that comes to mind that goes any way to describe it. First off, we couldn't find our pre-arranged and pre-booked hostel. Looking at it from the roadside it looked very much like a prison.. Then we realised it wasn't really a hostel. Then we found that the city was in fact a massive brothel. And then we realised we shouldn't be there.

You can imagine border towns to be strange places. Very transitory. A mix of cheap motels, violent bars, corrupt cops and inflated currency exchanges. You imagine it isn't hard to find a pair of open legs on the cheap.

This is all very true of Khrakiv. It's a border town. Apart from one small detail. The city is a good 45kms from the border

It is now very late. Probably 2am. We decide to head for the border and find a hotel on the way up. Nothing could be as bad as a prison...

Stopping at a gas station close to the border we asked for directions to the nearest hotel in our nonexistent Ukranian. Since Slovenia we have been talking in sign language and in drawing pictures to the people we meet. There is little than can't be explained in Charades in trying to get what you need. We try to speak in the Universal language that is common to everyone. Asking for pain killers in Lviv I pointed at my head and said ow. Asking for a hotel involves putting your hands together like your praying and putting them next to your head and snoring.

We were somewhat overjoyed when we were told there was such an establishment just up the road. Our instant delight turned incredibly sour when we were told be the innkeeper that there was no room in the inn. We weren't the first people he had to tell the news to, nor we were the last. But as we looked at our options and honestly discussed crossing over to Russia at three in the morning, Si, Kass and Megs went back inside to ask the innkeeper if we could pitch tent in their garden. Kass put both hands on her stomach and feigned pregnancy. Yet as soon as they had rounded the corner to plead with him, he came outside to talk to me instead. Using my crude, retarded four year old drawings I explained what we were proposing to do. We needed to put a tent up in his garden. And the man agreed.

Pitching our tent we settled down to a surreal sleep. We'd be awake six hours later to tackle the border. We were staying in someone's garden. When we woke in the morning we did so to two Hell's Angel's motorcycles from Moscow testing their bikes. One was a taller Sarah Connor lookalike who sported, no joke, a beaver tale from her jeans. Her boyfriend (or 'family friend' we weren't sure) wore more leather than I've seen at some dungeons. They both rode out to their own theme tune blasting from some hidden speaker system within their bikes. It was something else.

Sitting down at the hotel's breakfast we were asked to sit outside and wait fifteen minutes. We weren't sure if this was because we'd slept in the garden. Or because we smelt like it. We decided to leave.

Instead we sat down at a restaurant cross the street. The place looked great and smelled fantastic. As the carnivore of the group I was stoked to see grilled meat already being BBQ-ed. But the real surprise came when our Ukrainian waiter gave us our menu's, looked us up and down and started speaking to us in amazing English. He couldn't fathom why anyone from the West would want to come through his town. An ex-cruise ship worker, Sergei spent the rest of the morning generally ignoring or getting annoyed with the other customers so he could lavish us with attention, recommodations and top ups.

Right now, I hate my mouth, but that morning provided the highest point of pain intensity within my brain. I wasn't really with it. The whole world felt quite strange. Maybe it was because we'd slept in someone's garden. Maybe becaise I was sitting in front of a guy who's English was better than mine on the Ukranian / Russian border.

I asked Sergei for water and salt, excused myself and went into the restaurant's back yard to wash my face out with sea water.

Ukraine has a lot of stay dogs. They are all incredibly friendly and interested in being played with. As I see alot of myself in stray dogs (unclean, unloved (middle child syndrome), able to shit anywhere) I get attached to strays quickly. However, even I was quite preturbed when after swallowing half a gulp of really really salty water, I vomited on the floor only to watch the stray puppy eat what had been a partially digested roast beef (I think it was beef - it was described as a meat sandwich...). The last 12 hours had been pretty grim.

The rest of the day would involve crossing a border. And I do mean the rest of the day. Four and half of hours of it.

Written by Matt