Fri 31 Jul, Pip Ivan

Amazingly, we all got up in time for the lift. They had to show permits for the border zone, plus a (friendly) interrogation. The guard just noted my name from my passport. More western privilege. The mountain churches all have shiny, metallic roofs, usually gold or blue, with matching gazebos. I imagined one on my allotment, shading a shiny, metallic bistro set. At the trail head, they stocked up with picnic provisions. And beer. I bought a can, to be sociable, and a coffee; they refused to let me pay. The elderly shopkeeper had joined the 21st century with digital scales, but still totted up the bill on an abacus. My companions ran out of beer storage; I was delighted to be able to contribute, and carried a litre for them. I asked them whether they carried bear spray. They answered with a Ukrainian joke:

– What do you do if you see a bear?

– Just pick up the nearest shit and throw it at the bear. They run away.

– What if there’s no shit nearby?

– Trust me, there will be!

Hoverla, particularly the lower slopes, was indeed blooming with wet wipes, some still with their symbiotic bear repellent. I was infected with a Sound of Music earworm: Edelweiss – “Blossom of snow…”

Tough looking Alex the Elder strode off with Serhiy at literally twice my pace. Alex the Younger confirmed he could indeed keep it up all day. Half an hour later they stopped for their first fag/beer/shot break. We were going to have lunch at a halfway waterfall. I stopped for a piss then made my first joke in Ukrainian – mala vodospad (little waterfall). I had to explain it in English but they appreciated the effort. The fag/beer/shot breaks became increasingly frequent so I went on ahead, with Alex the Younger. At the summit, we heard thunder in the mountains five miles away. No time to waste. I legged it back down with a group of students. It passed us by, but infected me with a Toyah earworm. They made camp after a couple of miles; I strode on confidently, recognising the same trip hazards. I soon tripped and bent a pole. My SIM card had called it a day but I knew there was a hostel a mile or two from the trail head.

Exhausted and anxious, with no Plan B, I arrived at sunset – prepared to beg for floor space. Before I’d even got to the door, another guest offered me a tent if the hostel was full – Ukrainians are so fucking generous. But Mountain Hostel Smotrych had a bed. The hostel was modern, well equipped and spotless. It also had the only recycling bin I saw in the whole country! The manager was super friendly. I taught him the word ‘sheet’. He giggled like a 10yo and told me he’d “put the shit on your bed.” One family offered to share their borsch (stew); I thanked them and explained I was a vegan. The hostel had a rack of dehydrated packet meals (many vegan) hanging on the wall, on an honesty basis. I had a genuinely tasty mushroom soup followed by polenta with vegetables and the last of my Romanian tofu – washed down with the owner’s mum’s red wine. I slept like a log.