Back to USSR (I mean Ukraine)
Even though I had a bit of wary feelings, I felt it was time to cross into Ukraine. I tried finding a road map in Sighetu and to get some of their currency (Hryvnya), I failed in both of these, so just decided to cross and try to get these across the border. The border crossing was not really busy, but being the outmost border of the European Union, they were quite thorough, both the Romanians and the Ukrainians checked my passport and my belongings. After 20 minutes, I was in Ukraine (for the 3rd time in my life, the second time, as some of you might know, I crossed the border illegally and was in custody on a military base for a few hours - but that is another story).
I was mildly surprised to see a Hungarian town sign below the Ukrainian in the first town and the first person I met spoke some very broken Hungarian. I was still trying to get a map, but he explained everything was closed due to the Orthodox Whit Sunday. Yes, the town appeared really dead, there was a non-stop shop tightly locked up. A bit later, I did find another shop that was open – and while they did not speak any English, they spoke perfect Hungarian – still, they could not offer me a map. I decided to head eastwards, upstream next to the river Tisza (or Tisa). The first petrol station also did not have any maps; the stuff spoke to me again in my native tongue and did not hide their very low opinion of their own country.
The road was pretty much the same quality (not too good) as in Romania and after some rather boring landscape, it became ever nicer, becoming a romantic mountain road, going next to the Tisza, which was becoming smaller and smaller, it gradually turning from a major river to a mountain creek (well, I guess all rivers start as a creek). This was a beech forest, which just got under UNESCO protection (together with other forests in Slovakia and Germany); so I felt to have made the right decision to be there. I saw memories of the past, like a Soviet memorial place and also visited a small orthodox church, which was full with prayers clad in traditional village dresses.
It was then that I reached the Center of Europe. Let me explain: some geologists of the Austrian-Hungarian Monarchy decided in 1887 decided this spot to be at the very center of the European continent. I guess Europe as a such has no clear definitions, but it was still an interesting spot. Even more interesting that people would make a pilgrimage here, bow down and kiss the stone marking this center. This is quite a touristy attraction, I spent 15 minutes there and about 5 Ukrainian tourist buses stopped, one was a theater group with the actors clad in all sorts of different costumes, who all started dancing to some flute music. At one of the vendors speaking some Hungarian, I finally managed to buy a map the country, paying in Hungarian Forint. He was a funny guy, he bit the paper money I handed over to check if it was counterfeit.
Rakhov was the first major town I reached and from here on, the road had an easy, but steady incline. Next to me was still the Tisza, wildly roaring towards the Hungarian plains, being crossed by some hanging wooden bridges. The road became worse and worse and while I tried paying some attention, I hit some potholes. Next to the river were some restaurants offering grilled meat, so I was happy to have had Hryvnya and had a good meal, paying well under Eur 10. I felt quite good, knowing I had a full week ahead of me, I thought of riding on in Ukraine for the rest of the week. Then I heard a crack.
It is not a pleasant sound. It came from somewhere behind me, so I knew something had happened to my rear wheel. Oh, yes, a spoke was broken, which did not surprise me, it can happen; but that wouldn’t be that loud. Looking at my wheel more carefully, was a sight that freaked me out: the rim of my wheel was cracking on not less than three places; meaning it was a catastrophic failure, with no way that I could continue. I knew I had no other option but to get to a larger town with a bike shop – the next town eastwards was about 100 kilometers (and a mountain-pass) away. In addition, it was a public holiday. So the logical decision was to turn around and head back; I made some attempts at hitch-hiking, but no one would stop.
Downhill, frustrated, it got worse: yet another smaller crack, meaning yet another spoke had given up – and this continued. It was in front of a smaller grill restaurant that the fifth spoke cracked, when I decided not to ride any longer and to ease my situation with having some more grilled meat. My plan was to hitch-hike with a full belly. It wasn’t a bad plan, but it turned out to be a no-go: while the food was pretty good (and about Eur 5 including a large beer), still no one took pity on me; while there were not too many cars, they all but ignored me.
At around 9:30 pm, I thought to find some accommodation, and after a bit of searching, I found a decent place. The shower had a built-in radio, water-massage and some ambiance lights – not the kinds of luxuries you get when you pay Eur 10. Downstairs were some young people enjoying their Sunday evening and some of the girls invited me over to their table, us communicating in some broken English and doing something quite international: drinking vodka.