Sputnik Adventures

Sputniki, I’ve never seen security in Russia stricter in a dozen years of travel here. Buses and trains routinely stop at control points on the rail line or the main road, but I am now (usually the sole foreigner on board) always yanked from the bus, conducted to a military truck and asked several questions before my documents are registered and the bus is allowed to proceed (on the train they compelte the process in my cabin). My friends say this is part of the heightened security associated with the 1000-year anniversary celebrations in Kazan, and that Russians themselves are experiencing more visible security measures. Putin and a host of foreign dignitaries are in town, so it’s perhaps understandable, but still can feel a little unnerving. If a few extra stamps in my visa page is the worst part of my trip, who could possibly complain?

I really need to tell you more about Crimea, now well over a week ago. The peninsula is rugged highlands, burning hot in summer, but absolutely beautiful along the coastline’s cliffs, and serene inland. I left the city stuff in my apartment in Sevastopol and took a couple of days hiking inland to the abandoned cave cities of Manhup Kale. Natural caves in the cliff faces were expanded to provide remote protection against invasion in the 15-16th centuries. I learned just how remote with every step along the steep trail leading to the top of two mesa-like outcroppings. Several hours of arduous climbing made me curse every superflous ounce I had packed (not very many, really, but I felt each and every one keenly).

But what a reward at the top. First, a cool, fresh-water spring was the finest drink anyone could ever want. Although there were other campers about, I could pitch camp in a secluded spot and revel in the long sunset over the granite cliffs. Dinner of kolbasa, bread, fruit and cheese was like manna from heaven (no fires for cooking or anything else, it was exceedingly dry). And finally, mornings that came early and had to be exploited fully before the full heat of day. Remnants of roads, churches, homes, and fortifications carved into rock centuries earlier gave me pause–walking in those same steps is a moving experience. Everyone, go out and find the most ancient place within reach, and see how it speaks to you.

As one of the BnA geezers, I have to put in a commercial word for trekking poles. They saved me great stress on the joints going up and down the trail. BnA pups should also make the investment in a decent pair of poles–a bargain at twice the price. Don’t ever feel that stamina should stop you from getting out to the cool places–at every level of age, fitness and ability, you can always get farther than you thought.

Contrast the heightened security in Russia with my experience in Ukraine. Back in Sevastopol, I got views that intelligence types would have literally killed for during the Cold War. Sevastopol remains a major port for Ukraine and Russian naval fleets, and the neighboring town of Balaclava was a major submarine development center and harbor. Incredibly, I walked down narrow streets until I was mere meters away from dozens of warships. I stepped casually over a knee-high chain at a gate, and ambled unchecked among sailors and dock workers as they went about their business. No pictures–I didn’t want to push my luck, and I kept going until instructed that I could go no further, without any fuss.

At Balaclava, a magnificent harbor was a top-secret location for submarines, and a tunnel carved into the mountainside at water level could be seen across the harbor from the clutch of tourist watering holes and hotels. For a better view of the harbor, I climbed along the wall of a Genoese fortress that had been built some 600 years earlier (hardly the oldest part of town, as Balaclava had recently celebrated its 2500th anniversary of its founding). Hidden from view during the climb, the top yielded a sudden, breathtaking view of the Black Sea. Fortress ruins and more recent excavations were in harmony with cliffs spilling to the sea. Pix to come, promise.

When I left Crimea for Russia, I went by bus eastward to a narrow strait where the Black Sea and the Sea of Azov converge; the Russian city of Anapa was reached by ferry in 30 minutes. Aside from my glimpse of the Sea of Azov, this was where I could exercisea favorite pastime of mine, centering myself on the planet. As the ferry slipped along the the calm surface, I faced north and placed myself on a large map superimposed on the earth, thus knowing exactly my location on the world. This can be done anywhere, but it’s a lot more fun doing it at a dramatic place on earth like Gibralter–or here. Try it–no matter where you go, there you are. Cheers

Sputnik Lee

Hey Sputniki, getting some more of the backlog pruned back. I can start by recalling my arrival at Kyiv’s Borispol airport, the first stop in Ukraine. I was minus one checked bag per usual. I had only decided that I would proceed directly to Sevastopol, on the Crimean Peninsula’s Black Sea coast, not where I was actually staying. So, I took the airline’s phone number and my claim information with me onto the next plane. It was another two-hour flight piggy-piled on my jetlagged frame, but by that time who’s counting.

It was 9 pm local time, dark but pea-soup warm outside when we arrived at Simferopol, Crimea’s hub, 90 minutes from the coast. I threaded the gauntlet of insistent taxi drivers until I was finally worn down by one who would take me to the train station, for who knows how long a wait until the next train to Sevastopol. I sweated the price out of him just before he got my bags in the trunk–100 hryvnia (about $20)–too much, in my opinion. Another taxi driver hovering nearby was quick to pounce. He had already gathered my final destination was Sevastopol–for three times what the other guy would charge me to the train station, this one would go the whole distance. We bartered a bit but struck a deal, and off we went.

In Sevastopol, the hotels were all booked in peak season, so my taxi driver sold me on renting a friend’s apartment. It was too late to argue. We proceeded apace to his friend Luba’s apartment–comfortable, clean, and $20 a night. As an added bonus, the apartment door had been salvaged from the cruise liner United States, which I had often seen as a boy, moored on New York’s west side. I showered and crashed.

The next morning I took in the deal I had struck. The apartment was a converted garage next to a clean stucco home built into the hill overlooking town. the yard was a terraced profusion of flowers, herbs, and vegetables, studded with benches and a veranda to take in the view. Breakfast was waiting, and the Crimea was mine. Tell you all about it in a bit. Cheers

Sputnik Lee

PS Sorry to be bouncing around like this. Anyone who thinks travel is a linear experience has another thing coming. S-L

A little late off the mark getting this first post up, but hello all. I'm Lee Tarricone and glad you can join me as a sputnik ('co-traveler') for this trip. I'm way behind so must as usual start at the ... [Continue reading this entry]