25/07/08
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L'viv to Rivne
Still raining this morning, but only about 130 miles to Rivne, my intended destination - a third of the way to Kiev. Rivne's only attraction, according to Lonely Planet, is some lakes 20 miles south of it, so I'm looking forward to a town of proper, authentic ex-Soviet ugliness. The weather is still nasty but all my kit is now dry. I don't bother taping up the zips again, for all the good it did the other day. To minimise the distance over wet cobblestones and steel tramlines, I've planned my exit route from the city carefully and memorised every turning. It all goes OK, and within 15 minutes I'm rewarded with a great stretch of new tarmac. I exchange waves with another 'adventure biker' going the other way, but can't place his numberplate with just a quick rearward glance. The thick diesel fumes in the morning traffic make my eyes water, and I become aware of the 'Kamaz' trucks that I'll be seeing constantly for the next few weeks.
The new tarmac lasts as far as Brody, then it's back to potholes. At Dubno, I stop for fuel and notice a fighter jet (subsequently identified as a MiG 19) angled out of the road on a steel pylon. I also got a bag of fabulous cakes, which briefly took my mind off being cold and wet again!
I don't have a street map of Rivne, but LP mentions that the 'Hotel Turist' was somewhere on the main road through the town, and close to the bus station. I stumble upon it quickly and get my first full-on Soviet hotel experience. At reception, you get a card, which you then take up to your floor and give to your floor lady. You follow her to your room and pay close attention while she shows you how to unlock it (this one actually involved 2 keys and a special spring-loaded knob that cracked open and shut like an air-rifle). You then repeat the process under her watchful gaze. After passing that test, you're allowed into your room. Further demonstrations of the television, desk fan and toilet flush follow, to which the only appropriate responses I can think of are 'ah's' of understanding and enlightenment.
I get warm and dry and fall asleep to something Russian on the telly. Then a wander up and down the road and a bite to eat on the balcony of a restaurant - some borscht and a ham joint. There's a noisy party of big ladies at the next table. Whenever I glance up, one of them seems to be sizing me up as a potential tasty snack (or as something dragged in by a stray dog). Whichever it is, I don't stay around long enough to find out!
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