Lviv - Ukraine

Traffic jams and border-crossing troubles are solved with the aid of the sole English speaking border official. Machine-gun toting heavies, bunkers and honey vodka. It can only be Ukraine!

Steve Dew-Jones: Yesterday was a slog. It took us twelve hours to make it 300km as an endless traffic jam ensued between Krakow and the Ukrainian border. Averaging no more than about 30km/hr, we arrived at the border at 5.30pm, but wouldn’t leave again until three hours later.

At one stage we wondered if we would ever get through it at all. Having queued, had our passports checked, queued some more, and had our passports checked once again, there was a small bit of bother with our vehicle registration document that required the officer in question to say (repeatedly) that we had better return to Poland.

Having slogged it out for so long just to reach the border and then sat and waited for streams of others to gain their own passage, there was to be no casual turning back.

And so we played the waiting game. Sophie and I weren’t short of experience in situations involving reluctant border officials and we had only one recorded failure between us - my own, at the hands of the Burmese in Christmas of 2008. So soul-destroying are such experiences that we were hardly going to roll over and return to Krakow without a significant fight. Our visas for the forthcoming countries were enough to ensure that: fixed dates for Russia between the 5th to the 10th May weren’t to be toyed around with.

In all we must have dealt with five separate unmoved border officials before we came to the first with any understanding of the English language. Still, this large chap was singing the same song: to the tune of us not possessing the correct Interpol “autopassport” and this deeming us unworthy of entry to Ukraine. Having only officially been handed ownership of the Isuzu a week before, this wasn’t a great surprise to us, and our temporary document did little to impress. The rules matter in this part of the world and there are certain standards which must be maintained.

“You pay between six to eight thousand Euros or go back Poland,” our English-speaking friend told us.

Not as suspect as it may first appeared. Apparently the Ukrainians have a system whereby a vehicle owner must pay a substantial deposit to ensure that the vehicle isn’t brought into the county and simply sold-off for profit. Yet, none of us possessing such sums, this wasn’t to be our way out.

Instead, we fell back upon the tried and tested method of documents involving all of the right words and not a smidgen of local authority. Pulling out our travel insurance documents (for general survival rather than anything involving a vehicle), we pointed out the start and finish dates, our names, and a policy number, and they’d had enough.

“Oh all right,” they seemed to say, gave us advice for future Ukrainian border crossings and we were once again on our way.


A further two hours later – enough time for us to wind ourselves over potholed, single-laned tracks in what was then the pitch black, and we arrived in Lviv. Here we were kindly shown the exact location of our hostel by a friendly chap called Sergey, who found us as we scrutinized the first Cyrillic road names we had thus far encountered.

A small incident involving a midnight run-in with a machine-gun-wielding woman, four complementary shots of honey vodka, a password, and an underground bunker, and we headed for bed.

Jo Dew-Jones:

“In the middle of things”

It’s been a long day, this one, and it ain’t over yet.
Didn’t quite see sunrise, but here’s the sunset.
We’re slap bang on the border, and for the time being will be
In a similar motion – fast stationary.

The issue’s with paperwork, not recognised here
Though we’re in the right, to them it’s not clear.
It’s frustrating for us – the journey’s been long
And it’s not obvious how from here we’ll get on.

Soph, Bryn and Steve are out fighting the cause
I’m sheltering in-car for a poetry pause.
Soph’s just given an update – they want a fine
Which we’ll get back again on the UA-Russki line…

That’s how things are; we’re in need of some supper
But the problem’s still here, and so stays the car.
I just hope we can go – turning round’s such a pain;
Though I did like Poland, we’re so close to Ukraine!

We’ve entered the Ukraine at a time that the Lonely Planet describes as ‘when the country more or less grinds to a halt with a series of holidays, which can be both enjoyable and frustrating for tourists’… Igor warned us we’d find nowhere to stay tonight at this notice, and was right, but has offered us inflatable mattresses tonight for half price. That’ll do! Tomorrow the Hyatt awaits…