Rakhiv, Ukraine: Musings from the Road

”Musings from the Road” is any post where the content is not constrained by chronology. This gives me more freedom to write about whatever comes to my mind, though the content will almost always be influenced by the tour in some way.

The Plan

This one isn't so much a musing as a logistical update: I bought a plane ticket from Istanbul, Turkey to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia on November 2nd. Normally I'd just bike to Ethiopia... but if I did that, I wouldn't get there in time to meet up with Jacob, a cyclist who I meant to meet around November anyways, before both of our plans changed. This will also put me in Cape Town, South Africa, around next March, so I can fly back to Istanbul and continue my route through the Middle East. Going through the Middle East, especially the Pamir Mountains and the Himalayas, is inadvisable if not impossible in the winter, so “escaping” to Africa seems well due.

On the way to Istanbul I plan to visit Transylvania, including biking the Transfăgărășan, a stretch of highway running through the Carpathians, as windy and challenging a climb as it is beautiful. I'll also visit Greece – as much of it as I can see in the time I have.

PICK ME

Back in July when I decided not to go to Africa via Spain, I was relieved. I wasn't looking forward to doing Africa. Maybe the timing wasn't right, but my gut said “no.” Now, I can't wait. Especially after reading an article Jacob sent me on one of our possible routes, around Lake Turkana on the border of Kenya and Ethiopia.

The only downside is I'll likely need a new bike because Louisa will only take tires up to 35mm (1.37”) wide, and I'm guessing I'll need at least 1.5” if not 2” tires to make it through Africa without walking half the time. To be honest, Louisa is getting old anyways. It's sad but true: her drive-train and front wheel are due to be replaced, the brakes are difficult to adjust, and the shifters are getting feisty. It's my fault for putting together a bike with used parts. Though they are good touring parts meant to last thousands of miles – no doubt “forever” for the bike of someone living in one place – I've ridden well over 6,000 miles now and have at least 6,000 more to go. I suspect I can have all the work done for roughly the cost of a new bike in Istanbul anyways, so it seems a new bike would be well worth the cost. Louisa and I have some wonderful memories together and it will be sad to part, but it's been a good run.

Also I've started learning Swahili.


Privilege and Gratefulness

This tour has had me periodically thinking about how privileged I am. It's been dumped on me twice now:
- Once, after a host felt I was ungrateful towards them due to a terrible communication error on my behalf, they lamented how “easy” it must be to go from host to host, sleeping and eating “for free,” and that I should try working a day or two in my life. This isn't how I see my hosts, of course (an apology was most certainly in order), but it does highlight the privilege of being hosted: often, I do eat and sleep without paying money.

I do, happily and proudly, give my time, personality, and stories, and I think that's really the exchange most hosts are looking for. I did work hard (three years) to save up for this trip, but I am still privileged in that I got paid enough to have something to save – many people just get paid enough to afford the bare necessities, and never get to leave home, much less for months or a year at a time.

- I was talking to a host about my time in India, where I was “the white guy” working in a lower class bike shop under a subway station for free. One of my customers had complimented me on pursuing my passion (bicycle repair) despite the fact that many people in the US would never work under a subway in India and many Indians would strive to “advance beyond that.” But my host had a different perspective: what if he was thinking, “Look at this ungrateful idiot, who has so much he can afford to work here for free, and isn't taking advantage of it by living in a house on the beach?” In that instant, I became again grateful for having the ability to travel and do what I wanted without needing to do it for money.

But some of the privilege is a bit more subtle. The way some people look at me as I bike by them – the construction workers on the side of the road, the shepherds, the cashiers on a smoke break – is a desolate jealousness: look at thus guy, going where he wants. Most people are curious, but sometimes you can see in their faces a despondence: I will never have that. The eyes of one construction worker in particular spawned this realization, and I will never forget the way he looked at me.


”Cheap”

A lot of the time when I travel I quote costs and say “this country is cheap” or “this country is expensive.” While this is a valuable perspective to the traveler, I'm not sure it's a valuable perspective as an ethnologist. When I was nervously trying to figure out how to spend my time in Odessa I read an article along the lines of things to know before you go. I can't believe I didn't think of this before, but the article suggesting looking up the difference between what people make and what things cost. Because if a Snickers bar at $0.30 is cheap to me, someone from the US where the average income is about $55,000 a year, it might be expensive to someone from a country where the average income is only $8,000 per year. In fact, if I expect that Snickers bar to be $1 since that's what I'd pay in the US, that's 0.000018% of the average US income. At $0.30 on an $8k salary it's 0.000038%, so even though to me, $0.30 is cheap, it costs more than twice as much of the average income here (note: I pulled $8k/year out of the air, I have no idea what the average income is in Ukraine).

And to think, if something like a Snickers bar could be so important to someone that they'd spend x amount of their income, how hard it could be to get enough money to move from a poor country to a rich country? It might take two or three times as much work for someone here to make the money to move to the States than it would someone in the States. This hit me pretty hard – at a $55k salary, most people in the US can afford to fly from almost anywhere in the world to the US. But making a few cents a day, how long must to take to save the money?


Meaning, Culture, and Travel

There's no beating around the bush on this one: the US's number one export is culture. Sure, some products here are “designed in the US;” when in India in 2013, I saw apples imported from the US. But by far the greatest influence the US has is cultural. Las Vegas, LA, New York, and California t-shirts, inspirational quotes (in English), the American flag, and the desire to learn English (they sometimes have a “word of the day” on the news): all these things are prominent almost everywhere I go.

Unfortunately, it seems this drives a lot of consumerism. Marina and I talked about this a lot: people here want to be “cool” just as in the US. They buy what they see in the ads, and even if they don't speak English they wear English phrases and Western places on their shirts – much like some Americans wear Chinese characters on their clothing or have bags labeled with places they've never been to. I'm not judging but for me personally, I'd never buy something that costs more unless it's meaningful to me, and the words “Amsterdam” aren't super meaningful to me since I've never been there (yes, it's the bicycle capital of the world, and for that reason it's meaningful – but it could be I go there and it's not what I expect, and then suddenly, I don't really want that tattoo anymore...). I can't tell people what's meaningful to them and what isn't, but spending money to “be cool” to other people has never been my game (I acknowledge some people buy things with words they don't understand or places they've never been because it's meaningful to them – cool).

Consumerism also drives commercialism, which, in my opinion, ruins a lot of touring. I don't travel to buy things, I travel to experience things. This slapped me in the face when I saw some doves sitting in a line on a monument in Odessa. “Cool!” I thought, “this will make a nice shot.” I took out my camera and walked cautiously around them so not to scare them, looking for a good angle to take a picture. Just as I was kneeling down to take the photo, two guys walked over from a bench ten feet away, picked up the doves, and held them out to me. My heart sank and I felt a little betrayed – mostly, I admit, by my expectations. I knew immediately the doves were a tourist trap and these guys wanted money to take a photo.

I put away my camera and must have repeated the word “no” fifty times as they put a dove on my shoulder and my arm, outstretched to hold my jacket. “It's safe. See?” one said. That wasn't the problem – the problem was I didn't want to pay them. I assumed they wouldn't leave me alone because they thought they could trick me into giving them money, so I asked, “how much?” Quoted the price – 50 UAH, about $2 (a fair bit of money here) – I said “no” one last time, and finally, they took the doves and I was able to walk away, frustrated and upset. What I'd thought was a natural occurrence was just something staged for profit.

In retrospect, there's nothing wrong with that: you could argue any theater production is “staged for profit.” I think it hit me hard because it was unexpected. Doves on a fence are simple enough I was caught completely unawares by someone asking for money. I don't want to have to expect that everything I want to take a picture of will cost some amount of money.


To do

One thing I've been doing as I've been traveling is thinking about ways I want to live differently when I get back. Being so removed from both US culture and living in one place has afforded me a lot of clarity; it's also possibly afforded me a lot of naivety. We will see. In any case, here are some changes I'd like to make, maybe not permanently, but at least long enough to see if I enjoy the change. I'd like to make these changes as soon as I get back – from day one if possible – since putting off leads to more putting off. We'll see what happens. And, I'll likely update this list as the tour goes on, or at the least, when/if it ever ends.

Fewer video games: When I left the US I wasn't playing video games nearly as much as I did in my teens (sometimes 40 hours a week or more); in fact, sometimes I only “got on” once a week or less. I don't think video games are necessary bad, especially in moderation: I've made many good friends through video games, found them a great way to relieve stress, and depending on the game they can even have benefits to your mental health.

But, they eat time, and there are other things that I think would make be more meaningful, like reading, exercise, and being outside (all of which are on this list). I'm still undecided if I want to quit cold turkey. I have been daydreaming about two games in particular, both extremely difficult strategy games (Rome: Total War and X-Com: Enemy Unknown, for those wondering). But I'm worried if I “give in” to the urge when I get back, it will never end. Sometimes quitting things cold turkey is the best way to ensure you don't get addicted again. And honestly, while I miss them, I could certainly live without them. It would certainly help to use the time for other things, like all the ones I've listed below.

Rollerblading: This one actually came to me in a dream. I dreamt I was rollerblading down University Ave, a main street in Madison with a separated bike lane, while dancing and listening to music, wearing a custom, light-up vest that read: “Caution: Roller Dancing in Progress.” The more I think about it the closer I've come to the conclusion that rollerblading is the ideal sport for me: as much as I love bicycling, you can't really dance on a bike. Maybe there are skilled bicycle dancers out there, but I need the freedom to move my body without worrying about falling over or having such a (relatively) large turning radius.

I suspect this has been floating in my subconscious ever since a friend of mine, Sam W, showed me this awesome music video which is a one-cut video of three roller-dancers behind a car. A little research shows some of the other cool things you can do on rollerblades, though I think I'd want to pioneer roller-dancing a bit more (I've pitched partner roller-dancing to a friend who is in a dance troupe I'd like to join when I get back).

And of course (because I'm me) this will require appropriately colorful rollerblades and a helmet.

Exercising every day until I break a sweat: This is never something I've done before. I exercised often, sometimes many days in a row, but never for more than a few days or a week. This will likely require coming up with a mix of exercises, from bicycling, to rollerblading, to karate, to yoga (which I tried with my host in Philly and loved), and will get harder in the winter, but I think it will be worth it. It would be especially cool to live somewhere with wooden floors so I could dance every day (can be done on carpet, but not the same).

Eating more vegetables: Maybe I'll research salads until I find a bunch I like and eat a salad a day, maybe I'll cook more like we did on the Color Farm (steam squash every day), I don't know. My previous diet wasn't bad, but after having vegetables be the majority food in my diet at the Color Farm, I know how effective they can be at making me feel energetic and in a positive mood. The US (and indeed, many other cultures per my musing above) doesn't really prioritize vegetables, which is a shame, but I'm going to figure this one out anyways.

Writing more: As you're aware, I currently take time every week, or at least every few weeks, to write about everything that's happened in my life. This, of course, has surreptitiously labeled itself as “blogging.” And it's really incredibly therapeutic. Since getting to the Color Farm I also started writing privately a bit more (I had journaled some since starting the trip, but at my month on the Color Farm I easily doubled what I'd written in the past four months of touring). But blogging has sort of accidentally been my way of journaling, and I'm sure there's some research somewhere to indicate that's healthy for you. So somehow – maybe not publicly, but somehow – I'd like to continue journaling so thoroughly, reflectively, and deliberately on a regular basis.

More of the same: Objectively – disregarding my depression, that is – I had a great life in Madison. I was a little nonplussed about my job, but in my free time, I danced, took karate, spent time with people I loved, sewed, and... well, did many things (I'm a bit of a jack of all trades). I don't regret leaving it for the experiences I've gotten to have on the bike, but it would be silly to say I was going to completely change everything upon my return. I really hope some things are the same. I can't wait to spend a Saturday night at karaoke followed by dancing at Plan B followed by 2 AM burritos at Burrito Drive, or having Bad Movie Night, or putting all my friends in an assembly line to home-make tortellini for my birthday party, or pushing social bounds and breaking social folkways by asking uncommon questions or hugging people a bit too long or dancing or singing or climbing in public when I'm not supposed to. Yes... more of that, please.

Spending more time with people I love: This is really an “enough said.” This tour has solidified something I suspect I knew all along: relationships are the most important things in our lives. I want my actions and the way I spend my time to reflect that value. I've loved touring and meeting people from all over the world. But the things I'm looking forward to the most are choreographing a roller-dance with Mandy, talking about childrens' books with Jill, biking with Grace, eating at Sofia's with Dubby, drinking tea with Casey, dancing with Sam, going to karate with Adam, playing rolfball with Donovan, AJ, and Emma, hugging Andrew a bit too long... the list goes on.

Finding more people I love: The one thing this tour has changed most fundamentally about me so far is this: the knowledge that there are an inexhaustible number of incredible people out there in the world. I like to think I'm collecting them – that I can start a new country when I get back, Kyletopia, which has in it all the wonderful people I've met. At the least, maybe this country can temporarily exist during my wedding or my funeral (much like the scene in Big Fish when all the characters from his stories get together) – hopefully it won't take until my funeral.

My one wish at this point, the one thing I want to change the most, is my ability to meet and draw more incredible people into my life and keep them there. This is no doubt complicated by the competing priorities the US has between working hard, getting rich, and appearing “busy” and being “cool.” But those are complications I want to overcome. That, I think, will be my first priority upon return.

Chernivtsi to Odessa and back again: The Spirit Train

Hello from Rakhiv, a town in the Carpathians in Ukraine! I've left the color farm on my way back to Romania, and while I plan on providing an update about my plans for the future, I now find myself in the familiar position of trying to congeal the experiences past month or so of my life into words. This will be most difficult because (A) I think it's the longest I've gone without blogging since I left Minneapolis, and (B) the past however-long-it's-been has been, while "life-changing" might be an overstatement, certainly very impactful in the grand scheme of things (as one might expect of a month in a foreign county with a family like that of Maxym and Marina's). While I could no doubt continue to wax poetic about the labor itself for sometime, there is nothing quite like setting off on an adventure of this kind (the kind full of reminiscence of good things), so let us begin.

When we last left off I had finished building a bed and had been joined in the guest bedroom by another volunteer and vagabond, Olive from England. The five of us (Maxym, Marina, Misha, Olive, and I) were planning to embark on a vacation to Odessa, on the coast of the Black Sea in Ukraine. After a few days of preparation – namely, picking things and planting things (like vining strawberries – I had no idea that strawberries vined!) in case there was a frost while we were gone, and devouring in one front-porch-sitting one of the biggest and best watermelons any of us had ever seen ("Save the seeds!" instructed Marina, "So we can do this again next year!") – we walked a few kilometers to the bus stop, took the bus an hour into town, and then had some fun around town while waiting for the train.

This "fun around town" included, but wasn't limited to...
- Getting my blood tested. For as long as I can remember I've been tired 80% of the time, and Marina thought it was worth checking my B-12, and it cost only 130 UAH (about $5) to do so here. It's something I've sort of learned to live with, but if $5 can fix it, that's worth it to me (when I had insurance in the States I already tried various tests from thyroid problems to a sleep study to no avail).
- Getting food. Because in order to have the blood test done I had to fast for 12 hours, so I was ravenous. In addition to food, we also indulged ourselves in things not present on the farm, like coffee, and sugar in the form of baklava. But mostly we (namely I) ate a lot of perogis, because, as I discovered, I love perogis, and you can get them almost anywhere in Ukraine for dirt cheap.
- Visiting the market. Olive wanted halva, and with Marina's help we managed to differentiate between, as she put it, the "shit halva" and the "less shit halva" – both having things in them that were unnecessary, but the not-homemade halva, interestingly enough, having fewer things and thus being deemed the "less shit halva." Also, we got some type of fried bread that I'm pretty sure was langos (you might remember this from Hungary), but alas, I forgot to ask Marina what it was and where it came from. In any case, it was delicious, and a great way to sustain ourselves on the train ride to come.

- Visiting a cheese shop. Because I said in my last blog post that the first thing I was going to do upon leaving the farm was eating a whole block of cheese, and Olive read that and told Marina, and Marina knew of a good cheese shop in town... I didn't get the whole block, but I did try about 6 cheeses, and was pleasantly surprised with the quality. I would have liked to try a Ukranian cheese, but they only had cheese from Holland, and frankly, it had been so long since I'd had cheese I didn't care as long as it was good.

- Taking silly pictures. And dancing. And singing. Because for some reason or another – Marina would say it was not having had coffee or sugar for two weeks, fasting for 12 hours, then downing both coffee and sugar – I was exploding with energy. I kept dancing everywhere, and singing, and being my goofy self that doesn't make an appearance nearly often enough. Marina was plussed.

Eventually, the time came to board the train.

I don't have a super-lot-of-history with trains but I generally like them. They are cheaper, more spacious, more comfortable, and probably safer than planes, and well... I just like the feeling that you're going somewhere. Click-clack... click clack... The last time I rode a train was across Ireland, when I was super stressed about finding a place to sleep, so this was a nice change – an 18-hour train ride with three people I liked very much and nothing to do but, well, whatever we wanted. We played games – mostly new games taught to us by Marina or Maxym, which I'll be taking home as they were awesome – and we talked, and read, and journaled.

"Zookeeper," where everybody draws part of an animal without knowing what the other parts look like.

Bananas, bread, and "less shit halva."

The air in the train was stale and occasionally the smell of burning trash got in – all too common, sadly, in many poor countries. As a result, I spent a few hours that night feeling nauseous and sticking my head out the window to get fresh air (when it was fresh and not full of burning trash smell). The nausea precipitated an anxiety attack, which I managed to stifle by focusing on my breathing and doing multiplication in my head. Afterwards, though, Olive, Marina and I were talking frankly about anxiety, depression, anxiety attacks, etc. Marina had some advice to me which seems obvious enough now, but at the time it seemed almost revolutionary:

What if I... didn't try and control or stifle my anxiety? What was I afraid of?

Throwing up, I said.

"What's so bad about throwing up?" she asked. Usually when you feel you have to throw up, and you do, you feel better afterwards. Throwing up is your body's way of getting rid of something making it sick. What was I stifling that my body wanted to get rid of so bad that it felt the need to throw up? What if I embraced whatever that was?

So, I tried it. After the conversation died down I looked back at what was making me anxious. I accepted that this might make me anxious – though I didn't know it at the time, a technique called paradoxical intent. And I realized that I was only anxious because I was stifling other emotions. My anxiety was just a symptom of the stifling of other feelings. By stifling them, I became anxious, and by stifling my anxiety, I only made myself more anxious – to the point where my body needed to feel so bad that it wasn't afraid to make me throw up.

I didn't throw up. Quite the opposite, in fact – upon simply accepting whatever it was I was feeling, it felt as if something opened inside me. I imagined Marina and I standing on top of a tall cliff with a gargantuan bolder rolling down the side into the ocean. In this fiction, we high-fived. And whatever was under the bolder came bubbling up to make a giant fountain shooting miles into the sky, and we danced and celebrated. I felt free, liberated. In my journal I would write phrases like, "Secret room unlocked!" and "Level up!" Indeed, it felt there was a part of me that had been missing or hiding for years, and I had just discovered it and now got to go inside and discover the treasures within.

I spent the next eight hours writing in my journal and composing e-mails, unable to sleep until 5 AM the next morning. It felt as if there were hundreds, thousands of thoughts and feelings that had been bottled up somewhere and were finally free to come to the top. I wrote poetry and prose like I hadn't done in years. I wrote ideas for projects I didn't know I wanted to do. I wrote e-mails to friends and family saying things I didn't know I had to say. I was inspired and free and I didn't need sleep – I couldn't sleep. If I turned my phone off (of course I left my laptop at the farm) or closed my journal and then my eyes, it wouldn't be thirty seconds until another idea came to mind, and another thirty until the urge to write it was unpressable.

The next morning I would surmise to Marina that the fast and coffee probably had something to do with it (I'd had coffee #2 on the train), but she suspected it was the "anxiety lift" and that was my suspicion too.

After another coffee (being on only two hours of sleep, I figured I'd need another to make it through the day), the train finally came in to Odessa. This is how Olive felt about that:

We found a restuarant that had perogis and planned our next move. Olive would, sadly, leave us here, but I didn't have any qualms about another vagabonder being on the loose. The world needs more of us! Marina, Maxym, Misha and I had plans to get to the beach – before leaving the farm, Marina and Maxym had Google-Maps stalked the coast looking for places to stealth camp (these are my kind of people), and found one a four-hour bus ride away. That was reduced to a one-hour train ride and then a one-hour bus ride when we found a train going most of the way there. So we said goodbye to Olive and went on our way again.

When we got there, we didn't go swimming as the sun was almost down – but Misha couldn't resist trucking some sand around (Marina: "He's been talking about doing that for weeks"):

The next few days would consist of many things, including, but not limited to:
- Camping in the woods

- Swimming in the sea
- Getting stung by a jellyfish (it wasn't bad)
- Going for a jog on the beach as the sun rose

- Finding a clay submarine

- Gazing up at the stars
- Playing ukulele (I've started a composition)

- Cooking over an open fire

- Collecting firewood
- Meeting another cycle tourist, Walter from Germany. Marina was drawn to him in the way she is drawn to adventurous people, but mostly he and I geeked out about bicycle touring... and his rediculous, hydraulic rim brakes.

- Meeting another stealth camper (sadly I forgot to take a pictuer, but I did record the song he played us on my uke). He didn't speak English, but he was very kind, and Marina was kind enough to translate on occasion.
- Weaving coronets.

- Wearing coronets.

- Napping.

- Staring at the fire, sharing stories, singing songs, drinking tea, and losing track of time.

After a few days (four, I believe) of this beach lifestyle, the rain attacked. It came a day before it was supposed to, actually – we were planning on being in a hostel by the time it arrived. Alas, rain waits for no man and no vacation. At 1 AM on what was supposed to be a last, glorious day featuring a run on the beach, using all the firewood we had left (collected by yours truly) to make a giant bonfire, and not getting stung by jellyfish, it came.

I got out to put on my fly, got back in, and waited for it to be over. Around 9 AM though, Maxym's voice confronted me: "Kyle? We're going to get a hostel."

"Okay."

Beach vacation over. Time for phase II: city vacation!

We packed up in the rain and took a bus into the nearest town to wait for another bus to Odessa. As we couldn't make a fire to cook with, obviously, breakfast was ramen from a coffee shop heated by the hot water spigot used to make instant coffee. I played solitaire and tried to ignore the TV – I hadn't seen a TV in ages and I forgot how much I hated them. The news was all natural disasters and a too-smiley newscaster: the usual "the world is a scary terrible place" BS. The commercials were all fancy music and things falling in slow motion, snippets of happy, inspired people followed by a company logo: the usual "buy our product and you'll be fulfilled" BS. I could go on a tirade here about how TV melts your brain, but I won't. I was just thoroughly reminded of how it's basically my antithesis, is all.

After a four-hour bus ride we made it to Odessa, the rain stopped, and we had a half-hour walk to the hostel. I got the vibe from Marina and Maxym that they wanted to be alone for a while – we hadn't been glued at the hip or anything but there had only been one beach the past few days – so I would take the next few days to have my own adventures in the city. For the first day or two this terrified me: I thought myself bad at exploring new places.

"But isn't that all you do?" the reader may object. Well yes, I go through places, but then I am trusting mostly fate to put me where I should be. When you stay in one place though, it's up to you to venture fourth and discover what there is to be discovered... with four days and no need of any material things but food, what would my objectives be? How could I give meaning to these days without frivolously spending money? I had no idea.

Spoiler alert: by the end of the four days I felt at home and didn't want to leave. The first night there was a jazz festival which was playing mostly swing and blues type jazz, so I desperately wanted to dance... but there was no dance floor and being nobody spoke English I was too nervous to try and get someone to dance with me anyways. But I did enjoy the music and just walking around feeling the energy of the city.

Other adventures would come to include, but not be limited to:
- Going to market with Marina and Maxym (this was before the "can we be alone for a while" vibe had really set in)

- Wondering if an ATM I used had a skimmer (there was definitely some sort of metal thing in there, but the bank insisted it wasn't a skimmer)
- Discovering a hole-in-the-wall bakery that had some 8/10 spanikopita

- Wandering a maker market and buying a few souvenirs – here's a guy who carves wood:

I bought something from him which is a gift for a friend so it will remain a mystery for now. I also almost got a jewelry box for my mom, but upon closer inspection, didn't find them to be terribly well made – only glued, not formed at the joints; nails instead of screws attaching the hinges (and when I wiggled one of the hinges without a nail all the way in, he shrugged and mimed hammering it: an easy fix! I prefer however, to buy things that don't need fixing...); and when I picked one up a leg fell off.
- Watching some really good games of chess at this game spot in the park:

- Wondering if ads and products in English are geared towards the middle- or upper-class. Marina thought they were just English products, but I'm not so sure.

- Looking at overpriced bikes.

- Buying pizza by the slice.

I also got to know one of the other hostel-stayers fairly well, which was a treat. It began when I sat down for breakfast in the kitchen:

"Can I sit here?"

"Yes."

"You speak English?"

"How did you know?"

"Well... you understood me when I asked to sit here... and you replied in English."

Alex was quite the character. He's a freelance computer programmer, but goes to school on the side to avoid his military duty (in Ukraine, if you're between 18 and 27 and not going to school or don't have a degree, you can get drafted... and there's a war on with Russia, remember), and sometimes forgets about everything else and draws for 20 hours straight without sleeping or eating.

Entirely hand-drawn (yes, the circles too), there are four dinosaurs and each is named after a Linux operating system.

He lives in the hostel and spends most of his time on the computer, so naturally, when a friendly guy like me was all like, "Can I buy you dinner in exchange for you reading me the menu?" he was like, "Hellllll yea!"

Okay, that wasn't quite his response, but he was an enthusiastic friend. We hung out for most of two of my nights in Odessa, and he held good on his promise to read menus for me. More, though, he showed me all of his favorite places, including a macaroon place down a beautifully architected alley that I would never had otherwise discovered despite being on the same block of the hostel.

I also discovered an English bookstore, which had been overdue since like... leaving the UK. All the books were at UK prices, but they were also legible to me, so... worth it! I picked up The Hobbit and Fight Club, thus commencing my project of reading every book whose movie I've seen. I would finish them both before getting back to the farm in Chernivtsi.

I also discovered a hole-in-the-wall (or more correctly, in the basement) used bookstore, and upon running into Marina and Maxym there, Marina helped me find out that they had a book of vintage postcards for 2 UAH each (about $0.06). I had already scouted out some postcards in a touristy stationary shop for 30 RPH (more than $1 each), but not bought them because postcards should not cost $1 each... so when I found them fo $0.06 I was like, "Hellllll yea!" So if you're due a postcard about now, expect an awesome vintage one from Ukraine!

(Marina would later inform me that most of the postcards they had were "very Soviet," which seems to mean they are pictures of a single building. Something about showing strength?)

(Side note: in packing away my Odessa postcards for later sending I discovered I neglected to send my postcards from Budapest... so... sorry about that... those of you wondering where last month's postcard is will get it this month! And you'll get two if you're due one of the Odessa ones too!)

I left the hostel with the strange feeling that I was comfortable in Odessa: I'd found places I liked to visit, I'd made a friend, I felt safe there, and I knew my way around. It was unexpected, but pleasant. I did, however, have to leave. I met Marina and Maxym at a restuarant just outside the train station after getting some perogis, and we went on our way to the train (passing a building titled, per Marina's translation, "Perogi House").

A train ride (one where I actually slept) and a bus ride later, we were home. The whole eleven-day trip – round trip train ticket, one other one-way train ticket, about seven bus rides, the hostel, books, souvenirs, and food -- cost somewhere around 3000 UAH, or $120. Minus the UK-price books and it's about $90.

Place your money goes far: Ukraine.

We got back on Wednesday, September 27th, and I was already planning on leaving the farm that Saturday – spurred on by the subtle privacy-wanted vibe I was getting from Marina and Maxym. I didn't take this personally: it was their vacation, and in addition to the 11 days of vacation we had already spent about 8 together before then. I understood completely if they wanted space. But those last few days were bittersweet – whatever "vibe" I'd felt before was gone, replaced with a bit of bittersweet and a bit of longing for more. Marina and Maxym actually asked me to consider staying longer, and I wanted to, but...

but.

But it was already below freezing at night, so I needed to run south.

But I had already booked a hostel I knew had good internet for a few days to do all those things I said I'd do while I stayed there.

But... excuses?

Don't get me wrong, those are fine reasons. But as I biked away I would feel a longing I'd not felt for a while: the longing of leaving a place where I felt I belonged. The last few days at the Color Farm were fantastic. There is little I can compare it to: the bliss of being back home (a place that felt like home to me, anyways), eating fresh food again, working to earn my keep, and being able to live out the renewed goofiness and energy (AKA "the secret room") I discovered on the train ride to Odessa. Marina and Maxym and I joked more than ever and got more done than ever – though spurred on, perhaps sadly, by the impending morning frosts that would destroy anything left outside ("It's not fair," Marina waxed one morning, kneeling by a tomato plant. "One frost and they're just all... gone"). For my last few days there I truly felt like I belonged, like I had found again the home I left so many months ago.

It didn't help that Marina kept doing things I suspect were meant to make me want to stay – preparing fresh mushrooms (we found a species whose Latin name literally translates to "Delicious Mushroom"), making my favorite tea (Camomille), baking "brownies" (remember, no sugar or oil) of apple and oats and (unsweetened) cocoa, and finally watching The Princess Bride after three failed attempts (though "watching" meant me waiting for them while they ran around outside covering things up for the next morning's frost). But I'm probably flattering myself they were for me, and she would have done them regardless of my presence. And of course, there was Misha, running around helping me collect tomatoes and "thank you"-ing at the best times and practicing "goodbye" while I packed my pack, making it quite difficult not to cry.

I finished the gravel path I began on my first day, dusted off my bike and took it out of the barn, and, mistake or not, went on my way.

Marina had noticed a habit I picked up while taking karate in Madison – when sitting or standing or falling (basically, when doing anything physical), I sometimes keyai under my breath. This started as a tease ("Was that a Kyle noise I heard?") but in the end we ritualized it – for our final goodbye we clasped our right fists in our left hands, martial-arts style, keyai'd at each other, bowed, and hugged. And then she kissed me on the cheek.

I found something, or somethings, at the Color Farm I didn't know I was looking for. I'm still struggling to put it into words, but it's strange that just a month ago I was regularly anxious about whether they would ask me to leave, and the day before I left I felt I had a second home where I would have been welcome indefinitely. Marina showed me parts of myself I didn't know existed, and taught me more about my body and mind in a month than most of the doctors and psychologists I've seen have taught me in all the years I'd been seeing them. My stay with Marina, Maxym, and Misha was wonderful, enlivening, enlightening, and I suspect I'll look back on it fondly for many years to come. At the last, I know I'll never think the same about the smell of buckwheat in the morning. Or – let's be real – fresh pumpkin, or melon, or squash...

I'm going back the way I came to my Warmshowers host Soren in Satu Mare, Romania, but I've stopped in the Dream Hostel in Rakhiv (which actually was a really nice hostel) to use their internet for three days to Skype friends, plan my route to Istanbul, and buy a plan ticket to Africa.

Chernivsti, Ukraine: The Color Farm

This trip has landed me, for some time, for better or worse, in rural Ukraine.

I like it here, but at least a few people have asked: Why Ukraine? So, before I regale you with tales of the little life we live here, I will answer that question:

Why not?

I more or less looked at a map, picked somewhere I had never been to before that not a lot of other people had been to before either, and happened upon a family whose desciption of themselves I liked who also like my description of myself. People are kind everywhere. I picked Ukraine because I knew nothing about it, and I wanted to learn more.

Turns out, it's also well-positioned to be a staging point for my upcoming travels through the Middle East. While I'm trading labor for room and board, those are also cheap here, if I decide to take day or weekend trips (recall the day of biking before I arrived here: $17 for food, including a pizza, and a nice hostel with a shower, bed, and internet).

So, that's why.

I found this family using an organization called World Wide Organization for Organic Farms (WWOOF). WWOOF runs a website with a small fee ($15 when I paid) to make sure you're serious. Pay the fee, and for a year you can contact any farm on the site and arrange to stay with them. The conditions are room and board in exchange for labor.

I've landed myself on a farm affectionately known as the "Color Farm" with Maxym and Marina and their 3-year-old son Misha (short for Mishael). It's delightful here – secluded, fairly self-sustaining, and the landscape is as charming and beautiful as the family. They live in a two-room house: their room, which is also where we cook and eat, and the guest room. It's not a commune or anything; we have neighbors a field over, but for the most part they keep to themselves.

Marina speaks Russian (as she is from Russia), Maxym speaks Ukranian (as he is from Ukraine), Misha speaks both (at three years of age!), and they all know varying amounts of English. Which is good, because I know neither Russian nor Ukranian, and my efforts to learn so far have been utter failures.

Just to reiterate, Marina does not speak Ukranian and Maxym does not speak Russian – they both speak in their native tongues to each other, they both understand each other, and they both reply in their native tongues. Misha does speak both languages, but he sometimes gets confused when they use similar words: the word for "man" in Ukranian conflates the word for "human" in Russian, so he often says to his mom in Russian that he's a boy now, but when he grows up, he'll be human.

You'd think on a farm the "labor" I exchange would be something like bailing hay or driving cattle, but the "farm" is very small and young so I've actually been doing mostly carpentry. When I arrived, there were two beds: one for the three of them and one for me. I built them another bed, much larger than the one they had, and now there are three beds – just in time for another guest, Olive.

Olive is from England, but she left in 2013 and she's been vagabonding ever since. She's spent most of her time between Australia, India, South America, and Portugal, and only in the past year or so started traveling Europe. I often meet other cyclists, but rarely do I meet someone who has been so open-endedly vagabonding, so it's been fascinating to get to know her and hear her stories. "It's not travel, it's just my life," she says. After five months on the road, I have only just begun to feel that way.

In addition to building the bed, I've also picked, sorted, cut, and dried basil (for eating, as well as the soaps, creams, and lotions that Marina makes and sells); tied tomatoes up so they grow better; collected, sorted, and cut apples; cooked; done the dishes; made tea; and hunted for mushrooms in the forest. It's a delightful variety of labor.

Life here is simple. We get up when we get up, do work until breakfast is ready (usually pretty late as farm as I'm concerned, anywhere from 9-12), take a break while Misha takes a nap, then work again until dinner (anywhere from 4-7 – it's ready when it's ready). All the soap is handmade by Marina; except for the grains (usually buckwheat or millet, sometimes rice or oatmeal), the food comes from the garden (fresh pumpkin!); and, there is no sugar or fat in any of the food (it's vegan – no butter! Or cheese...). Marina doesn't cook with oil, since heating oil is a great way to make carcinogens. If you want oil in your food, you add it after – a bottle of olive oil is permanently on the dining room table. All water comes from the well, and the shower is outdoors and heated by the sun. Internet has to be dialed-up, but it comes in through an antenna, so it's... wireless dial-up? And there's no wifi, so there's one computer that can access internet very slowly between Marina, Maxym, Olive, and me.

The first thing I'm going to do when I leave is eat a block of cheese... and probably take a hot shower.

But, I like it here. Marina, Maxym, and Misha are endearing – in their compassion, generosity, and desire to learn English. Every now and then I'll use a phrase they don't recognize and they'll ask me to explain it. Once I taught them "kind of" and then asked if there was going to be dessert.

"Kind of," said Marina.

"Dessert" was cocoa powder mixed with honey and oatmeal. It was good, just not as sweet as something like brownies or cookies. It was... kind of dessert.

(I'm not a nutritionist but I don't think we need "added sugar" in our diets, so the only thing that's been suffering is my desire to eat sweets...)

Misha doesn't speak English so much as he picks a phrase or two a day and repeats them. It's adorable having your conversation periodically interrupted by a 3-year-old repeating what you say. When picking tomatoes Maxym asked me for the scissors and then said thanks, and I replied, "You're welcome." Misha asked Maxym what that meant. Later, I was washing some plums and Misha was standing beside me. He said something in Russian to Marina, who relayed to me in English that he wanted a plum. I gave him one.

He stood there for a few seconds with the plum, thinking intensely. Finally,

"Thank you," he said, then looked at me, waiting.

"You're welcome," I said.

He nodded satisfactorily and went back to Marina.

This may seem an odd observation, but they are strikingly human. I've biked more than a quarter of the way around the world and still the people are not that different. Yes, they speak different languages, they look a little different, but they still have families and homes, and we still talk about what makes us happy. We joke and tease and laugh, and every now and then just look at each other and smile. Maxym and Marina take turns reading to Misha at night; Misha is sometimes desperate for attention but more often than not able to entertain himself in the yard, in the kitchen, or on the trampoline. We share cultural obserations, whether it be about politics or movies (I recently discovered that Marina has a copy of The Princess Bride, which I haven't seen in ages...) or music. Most endearing, I sometimes get to listen to Marina sing Russian lullabies to Misha. I feel like I belong here not because we connect on every level or because we're bffs or because we stay up late sharing travel stories and hopes and dreams, but because the things they care about are the same things other people care about – the same things I care about. They are good, imperfect people, and that is exactly what the world needs more of.

Life here is, in many senses, dirty. We eat apples with bad spots. We leave our apple cores and uneaten parts of fruit on the table until putting them all into the compost, and wiping the table. We dump heaps of basil on the bed, bugs and all, to be sorted and cut. We leave the front door open all day so there's always fresh air in the house. Since we don't cook with oil, we rarely do the dishes with soap. It's very un-American. But it's also very simple and very easy to get used to once you let go of your preconceptions. Eating an apple with a bad spot hasn't given me the bubonic plague. Nor has just doing the dishes with water.

When Marina mixes lye for her soap, however, we evacuate. If you've seen Fight Club, lye is the stuff Tyler gets on his hand that burns all the way through to the bone. Apparently it will actually do that to you – that wasn't an exaggeration for the movie. Marina puts on her "space man uniform," as she calls in, including a very WWII-looking facemask with air filters, and dons gloves and boots and locks the door so Misha doesn't accidently get in.

I've hunted for mushrooms in the forest and had Marina tell me which are good to eat, and brought them home and cooked them with onions and beer and a bit of flour to make them creamy, and discovered that fresh mushrooms are infinitely better than all the grocery store mushrooms I've been eating all my life.

I finished their bed and then had them decide it should also function as a sitting area when the mattress is rolled up during the day, so then I finished it again... and then again... and then again. And still we have visions of tree branches "growing" out of it, turning the kitchen into a forest with their bed as a pagoda.

I've gotten excited about building a rocket stove, but it was to be built after redoing the path to the door... and then after tying the tomatoes... and then after finishing the bed. And now after our trip to Oddessa.

Yep, they are going to Oddessa for a ten-day vacation and I've been invited along. To the sea! On a train! It's all very romantic.

Then we'll come back and I'll build the rocket stove, and then I'll be off to Greece. And then Istanbul. And then, probably, Africa.

Ukraine is pretty great.

Chernivtsi, Ukraine: What's next?

The more astute reader, who has been around for a while, might notice that I've deviated significantly from my originally proposed route through Europe. This route would have put me in Africa for the low low cost of a boat from Gibralter to Morocco sometime around November. While I don't have any regrets about my deviation, I am now in a bit of a pickle... because... you see...

winter is coming.

While this is actually an ideal time to do some parts of the Middle East (the otherwise very hot parts), it's a less-than-ideal time to do some other parts (the very cold parts – yes, there are cold parts of the Middle East). As I'd like to be able to mix the two (in particular, I'm dying to do the Pamir Highway, which includes some mountain passes at 4,000+ meters – often impassible in the winter months), I need to figure out a way to (A) occupy myself until it starts getting warmer, not colder, and (B) end up about where I am now so I can continue on my way through the Middle East when the weather is right.

My thinking is... fly to Africa.

Which would make me regret, if only slightly, not sticking to my original plan. And only because flying to Africa would cost money.

BUT... can I say I biked around the world if I don't at least touch Africa?

This is a dangerous road. What's next? Can I say I biked around the world if I don't at least touch... Australia?

(A host of mine had this take on Australia: "You bike to the end of the world to see white people.")

Can I say I biked around the world if I don't at least touch... South America?

There is something alluring about Africa. I would rather say I biked across Africa than Australia. Also, another cyclist I've been meaning to meet up with is currently biking across Africa. So, I'd have company.

That's one option.

The cheapest, but arguably least exciting option, is to WWOOF around where I am. But four months of sitting on my butt? I think I'd go crazy (I do like my current WWOOF. It will get its own post shortly).

I could also bike to Turkey, fly over Syria (much as the people there are worth visiting, now is not the time), and... big as Saudi Arabia is, I think I could only kill a month there. I can't visit Israel until after visiting Iran, because you can't get into Iran if you have an Israel stamp in your passport.

I can't really come back to the US because I no longer have health insurance. Not to mention the flights would be even more expensive than flying to Africa and back.

So... I think I've pretty much stuck myself with:
(A) Stay in Europe, dance between countries to stick to visa-free time limits, and WWOOF. Travel a bit, but at some point I'd only be left with so many countries that aren't cold and that I still have free entry to. (B) Fly somewhere else. Like Africa.

Right now I'm thinking:
- Bike to Italy via Venice. Because... I want to see Italy.
- Bike down Italy and take a boat across the Adriatic.
- See Greece. Because I also want to see Greece (noting that I have only 35 days left in Schengen countries, which includes both Italy and Greece).
- Bike to Turkey.
- WWOOF until my flight.
- Fly to Nairobi (about $500), where my friend will be in early November.
- Bike to Cape Town. This should take until February or so. There is a path from Nairobi to Cape Town that doesn't require visas.
- Fly back to Turkey (about $500).
- Continue through the Middle East as planned.


I am, of course, open to other suggestions... preferably ones that don't cost any more than flying to Africa and back.

In the longer term, I've also been offered a job in India. I don't want to reveal too much about it, but suffice to say I've been to India before (in 2013) and some of the people I worked with want me back. So it's possible that when I get to India (hopefully mid-2018) I'll have a job waiting for me, which should help recoup the costs that haven't been made by selling postcards, and either become a permanent position (that is, I'd live in India indefinitely) or serve to fund the next part of the trip. I'd plan to work there for at least a year and see how I feel afterwards. It's possible I'll stop the tour in India; somewhere in India is halfway around the world from where I started in Minneapolis. I also still have a deferral to study psychology starting fall 2018, if I so desire. Options...

If the job in India does wok out, I'd probably learn Hindi. More than I know from my last trip, that is.

So, that's where things stand. I'm hoping someone will drop an awesome, free, totally-feasible winter plan on me, but I got myself into this mess by not following my original plan... how I get out of it is, almost certainly, up to my planning as well. Come to think of it, the ideal plan would be that someone donates the "Get any story anywhere in the world" option for a story in Africa. But I'm not betting on that.

Even if you don't have a solution, dear reader, your thoughts are always welcome.

Satu Mare, Romania to Chernivtsi, Ukraine: I'm in Ukraine!

Internet here can best be described as "wireless dial-up" so there won't be any photos until I take a day to bike to an internet cafe. Sorry!

After a much needed and well enjoyed rest day in Satu Mare with Soren and his wife – I had the privilege of choosing what to eat for lunch (a salad of my own creation, which they liked so much they said they'd be making it again) and dinner (pasta with cheese, because it had been too long) – I left for Ukraine. It was more than three months ago I committed to this WWOOF, so it had been a long time coming. Finally, I would enter Ukraine!

Just, y'know, some more busy narrow-margin roads and a border crossing to endure.

At a checkpoint before the border crossing I was stopped by a guard and told I couldn't bike across the border – it was motorized traffic only. I asked why and he said he didn't know, but that was the rule. Okay... annoying, but not his fault. He spoke very good English, so as we waited for someone willing to take me across we got to know each other a bit, and when another guard showed up with lunch he even offered me some. Despite the annoyance of having to find someone to take me across (which he would do for me) I felt very welcome there at the border.

In 30 minutes only three cars went through and only two were big enough to hold my bike. The second of these was willing to take me and was big enough we didn't even have to disassemble the bike or take anything off of it. At first he seemed very kind and unassuming, but 20 meters after leaving Romania (eg in no-man's-land) he pulled over and seemed very insistent that I bike the rest of the way. I tried to tell him that I couldn't, I needed him to drive me, but he was really, really insistent that I get out of his car. I'm not sure what the deal was (he spoke no English and I spoke no whatever-he-was-speaking, I assume Romanian), but not wanting to cause a ruckus, I got out of the car, got my bike, and pedaled on after him.

100 meters later, I was stopped at the actual border by a very buff woman with a machine gun who also didn't speak English. She was very kind, though – through about 5 minutes of gesturing and pointing it was established that I would wait by the side of the road while she found someone willing to take me the rest of the way. The first car that pulled up was willing, though as it was a sedan I had to take off all my baggage and lay my bike sticking out the back of the trunk. In any case, he took me through the Ukranian side, and seemed content to drive me home with him, but about 500 meters from the border I decided I'd rather not overstay my welcome and motioned I'd like to get out. He held my bike for me while I loaded it, we shook hands, and went on our ways.

Everyone I encountered seemed surprised that an American was coming through. It was no problem at all, it seemed, just not something that happens often. I'm not sure how many Americans come to Ukraine, but I'm sure most of them fly in (P.S. I am aware it's more accurate to say "US Citizen," but everybody here refers to me as an American, so I'm just going along with it...).

So, crossing the border took a little longer than expected, but... whatever. My first day in Ukraine was fairly uneventful, except some of the roads were terrible: my odometer disappeared at some point, and I'm almost certain it was bumped off by the road quality, not stolen.

None of the banks would exchange my Hungarian Florint, so I ended up withdrawing about $20 worth of Ukranian Hryvnia from an ATM, enough to get me by until I could find a currency exchange. Since getting to Eastern Europe I try and shop at supermarkets whenever possible because they seem to have more quality control than the mom-and-pop shops. I feel ambiguous about not shopping local, but I'd rather know what I'm eating. The only place I could find was in what appeared to be an old airplane hanger. A song from Greece was playing outside, and as I entered, it got all echoey and creepy in the large space, as if I was entering a grocery store in a horror film...

Food here is cheap, sometimes almost absurdly so. I paid 170 RAH, about $7, for what I usually pay $15 for. Cascada was playing when I left. I could have taken the main road all the way around town or a side road through it, so I took the side road, which ended up being dirt and, in some cases, mud.

Another few hours back on the main road and I stopped at what appeared to be an outdoor church of sorts to take dinner. After dinner I decided just to go to bed early and put my tent in a field out back.

Around 4 AM I started dreaming that it was raining, and then I woke up and it was raining. I cursed, jumped out of the tent and put on the fly, finishing just as the rain stopped. Life of a cyclist...

The next day I continued along the main road (there aren't any intercity side roads) which followed the Ukranian-Romanian border for some time. It's very common to see people selling food on the side of the road here -- even just a single basket of mushrooms or a few jars of fruit. I was good on food but at one point passed a jar of raspberries which I just could not pass up. It ended up being 30 RAH, just over $1, for about 2 pounds of raspberries. I ate a few handfuls then and there before realizing I should maybe find a picnic table...

I found one later, and while eating was approached by a soldier in full camoflauge with a machine gun over his shoulder. He put his fingers to his mouth, then said something in (presumably) Ukranian. "English?" I said. "Smoke?" he replied, putting his fingers to his lips again. I shook my head. He went off about 30 feet down the road to make a phone call. Then he returned and held out the phone. "It's for me?" I said. He just kept holding out the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hello," said a voice.

"What can I do for you?" I said.

"I need you to please speak very slowly and simply since I am just learning the English," said the voice.

"Okay," I said, slowly.

"Do you have your documents?"

"Yes."

"Can you get them?"

"Yes."

I got my passport and showed the guard the ID page and the page with my entry stamp to Ukraine – on page 47. Why they couldn't put it on page 2, I don't know.

After giving me a thumbs-up the guard disappeared. Where he came from, where he went, I have no idea. But, I would see many more soldiers along the border for the next few miles. Presumably they are keeping an eye out for illegal immigrants – though I'd later be told the problem is Ukranians that steal things from Romania and bring them back to Ukraine to sell.

After a while the road left the border and turned north into the mountains. I would pass a Museum of Mountain Ecology which sounded very interesting, but was, unfortunately, closed. Since I'd only spent $13 that day I decided to see how much a hostel was. I had it on good authority it would be less than $10. For giggles I picked one called "Dream Hostel," rated 9.5/10 and priced one dollar sign out of three. I was sure anything called "Dream Hostel" wouldn't be much of a dream, but actually, it was really nice. And only 100 RAH, $4.

My roommates that night were a couple backpacking the Carpathians from Kiev. They spoke very good English, but after pleasantries didn't seem too interested in talking. Later that night another couple would join us, but we were ships passing in the night. I spent the night applying for health insurance for when I leave the EU, got in a video chat with a friend from back home, and went to bed. That day I had food, a shower, internet, and a bed for $17. Not bad.

I awoke to the sound of heavy rain, but it would clear up by the time I left, making for a beautiful ride through the mountains. At the summit there was a market of sorts and a beautiful hand-carved pipe caught me eye, but the owner wasn't willing to bargain at all (or didn't understand that I wanted to), so I left empty-handed. Around 4 PM it started raining on and off; at first I played tag with it by hiding under bus stops and porches and covered alters; around 6, I decided I just needed to book it to the next city to find a hostel. It poured and poured and finally at 7 I rolled in to the 9-rated, one-dollar-sign hostel... well, I had to find it first.

I walked around in the drizzle looking for a sign or anything, but the building had only two entrances. I poked my head in one and found two guys hiding from the rain. "English?" I said. One of them did speak English and informed me that there were "other Americans" staying in "rooms for rent" upstairs. Okay, usually that means "rent" on a monthly basis, but I'll give it a shot... so I carried my bike up two flights of stairs to a door with some Ukranian, the words "Rooms for Rent," and two phone numbers. I tried knocking – no response. I opened the door to reveal a hallway with many doors – definitely a hostel, but nobody was home.

I went downstairs to try one of the numbers. A voice answered in (presumably) Ukranian. "Rooms for rent?" I said – surely they must understand the very phrase they put on the sign. "One minute," said the voice. Another voice said, "Hello?"

"You have the hostel upstairs?"

"Say again?"

"Rooms for rent?"

"One minute."

From a door behind me emerged two teenagers, one of them with the phone. "Hello," he said. These kids were in charge of the hostel for the night. One spoke limited English. Actually, the limited-English one was in charge of the cafe they had just come out of; fortunately, he appeared to be friends with the other, who was actually in charge of the hostel, but didn't speak any English.

This time it was 120 RAH – about $5. I was glad to be out of the rain. I got dinner from a pizza place next door, 58 RAH (just over $2) for an entire pizza and a drink.

The next day the rain was kind enough to hold off until I had to turn off the main road for my WWOOF. These side roads were bad – really bad. Potholes upon potholes. But, I made it to the village nearest my WWOOF and turned off onto a dirt road, whereupon the rain was kind enough to stop. Up a few very steeps hills, and there was Maxym and his son Misha (short for Mishael) waiting for me. They led me another 500 meters by foot through some woods and some fields, and finally, I'm at the WWOOF I said I'd be at. A bed of my own for more than a few days, a break for my behind (much needed after three days of crappy roads), warm food, and friends I get to keep for a while. And also figuring out what to do now that winter is coming. And how to get through the Middle East.

Welcome to Ukraine!