It’s 23:26 GMT 25th April 2012.
Which means in the Ukraine it’s 01:26 on 26th April. - This is the exact moment, 26 years ago when Reactor 4 exploded.
So I thought I’d do a bit of a ‘special’ report: I know this is pushing the definition of what ‘Urban Exploration’ is, but I think it’s worth sharing, I hope you enjoy it.
This is the written report to accompany the video “Meeting the resettlers“ (Dereliction Addiction 16)
[ame]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZnyYmF_7qfk[/ame]
I personally think the video is more poignant than the photos alone, so I beg of you to watch it first, but I understand that a lot of people will view this on a smartphone without decent 3G / Wifi, so here is my story of meeting Maria and Mikhail:
I have been asking the Ukrainian government to meet the resettlers for three years now, and so far for some reason or another it’s just never happened. But this year my guide simply said “Is not a problem!” we sped out of Chernobyl heading East and crossed the Pripyat river. We sped through the forest with the radiation levels reaching 10,000% what they were in Chernobyl, we passed through more checkpoints with more extremely bored looking guards. As the forest became more dense we left the tarmac road and began to follow a small track through the forest. We passed a small group of derelict huts, and my interpreter says “Welcome to Parishev” in her friendly Ukrainian accent.
After the disaster 140 people resettled here. Today there are only three survivors.
It isn’t long until we spot Maria.
She looks surprised by our presence, and I feel a bit awkward. “You should have let me know you were coming” she says through the interpreter. “I would have put more make up on!”
We are soon joined by her husband Mikhail who just appears from the forest. His hand is dripping with blood, and he shouts profanity at the axe he is holding in his other hand. Reluctantly he allows us to patch up his hand with a plaster from my camera bag.
The subject of conversation naturally turns to the evacuation. Maria was thinking about her cow when the soldiers arrived to evacuate the village. “I planned to take my cow and live in the basement” she says. But her entire village was relocated to a temporary refugee village outside Kiev “With strangers” as her and Mikhail put it.
They kindly offer to show me around the humble buildings, and clearing in the forest which they call home.
In Maria, and Mikhails lifetime they survived Joseph Stalins massive genocide “The Holodomodor” in the 1930’s, which he instigated to subjugate farmers like the Urupas into massive factories. 5 Million Ukrainians were killed. Including Marias father. She spoke of horrific stories of villagers resorting to cannibalism, slaughtering one child just to feed another.
I was surprised to hear her compare these stories to her own experience in Kiev in 1986. “There were bodies everywhere, we just had to get out”.
Three months later she was back in her house.
The one where she was born, in 1935.
The one that I’m sat in now, talking to her.
I mentally reminded myself that when Maria was 9, and Mikhail was 6, the Nazis raped and pillaged their way through the Ukraine. People forget that 10.5 million Ukrainians died in World War II.
I guess surviving atrocities such as this has hardened Maria. And she wasn’t going to be told to move for an enemy she couldn’t see, smell, or taste. Still today she maintains. “I’m scared of starving, not of Radiation”.
Which is good as today we have bought her and Mikhail seven loaves of bread, a big bar of chocolate, and a bottle of wine from the shop in Chernobyl. They were overjoyed with our gifts. Mikhail runs off saying he has something for me.
He returns seconds later, clutching a jar of dark red fluid, almost like it’s a new born baby. I immediately assume it’s a jar of blood - probably because blood is now starting to run down the outside of the jar from the wound on Mikhails hand. Either way, I obviously fail to hide my look of shock, and Mikhail reassures me (through Vita, translating) “Come, come, now we drink!” He goes onto explain that he makes one jar of wine a year from grapes he finds in the forest to get both of them through the winter. Today he would like to share it with us as an act of gratitude.
I think of how much effort I have gone to this week just to avoid getting any materials that could potentially contain alpha & beta radiation into my body: I’ve been resisting facial itches, scratching the inside of my nose or ears, and even avoiding sipping from my water in open air. Yet now he’s offering me wine made from grapes found in the red forest. Despite knowing that the wine is probably 14.5% vol… of Ceasium-139, there’s no way I can refuse the offer.
I look at the glass and it’s absolutely filthy. I play it calm, but Mikhail spotted the flick of my eyes and looks embarrassed. He immediately grabs the glass and wipes out the inside with his sleeve, clearing the debris of the previous drink, and leaving a smear of his blood on the inside of the glass. He hastily pours me a glass from the jar and hands it to me, watching me expectantly.
I put the glass to my lips and take a massive gulp, taking in about half the glass. Mikhail looks impressed, his blue eyes seem to brighten as he smiles with his whole face. The wine was absolutely gorgeous!
“I often collect berries and mushrooms from the forest” He says, mentioning the two most infamous carriers of radiation, “When I see the Police, I hide in the bushes until they’re gone”. I look down at the rest of my wine… but then I look back up at Mikhails beaming face, and raise the glass to him before finishing the drink.
We chat for a bit, there’s a thousand things I want to ask them, but can think of none.
Mikhail becomes fascinated with my lip piercing. He’s never seen anyone with any piercing before, and finds the concept completely alien. He tells me he has a friend he thinks I should meet, and starts leading me out the yard. I prepare myself to meet the third remaining villager of Parishev.
But then we make a sharp turn towards a fenced off paddock. He motions me towards the resident of the pen, a 20 stone, filthy, pot bellied pig “Boris!” he exclaims. Then I notice Boris has a lip ring identical to mine.
We all share a hearty laugh (including Boris) and I ask him why he chose the name Boris: “Boris Yeltsin…The Swine!” he exclaims, and we all laugh again.
Before I go I ask Mikhail if it would be OK to explore and photograph some of the abandoned houses in the village. He says it’s no problem.
I feel my eyes begin to well as we shake hands, and wish each other farewell.
It was such a mix of emotions. I expected today to be sombre, but it wasn’t. The resettlers were full of hope and joy. Reflecting on the lives that Maria and Mikhail had led, I set off on my own into the forest towards the shacks that were once peoples homes.
Outside long drop toilets (no running water in the villages)
Bed next to the warm chimney
Ski’s and a hat hung up from the harsh winter of 85/86
Thanks for reading.
Which means in the Ukraine it’s 01:26 on 26th April. - This is the exact moment, 26 years ago when Reactor 4 exploded.
So I thought I’d do a bit of a ‘special’ report: I know this is pushing the definition of what ‘Urban Exploration’ is, but I think it’s worth sharing, I hope you enjoy it.
This is the written report to accompany the video “Meeting the resettlers“ (Dereliction Addiction 16)
[ame]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZnyYmF_7qfk[/ame]
I personally think the video is more poignant than the photos alone, so I beg of you to watch it first, but I understand that a lot of people will view this on a smartphone without decent 3G / Wifi, so here is my story of meeting Maria and Mikhail:
I have been asking the Ukrainian government to meet the resettlers for three years now, and so far for some reason or another it’s just never happened. But this year my guide simply said “Is not a problem!” we sped out of Chernobyl heading East and crossed the Pripyat river. We sped through the forest with the radiation levels reaching 10,000% what they were in Chernobyl, we passed through more checkpoints with more extremely bored looking guards. As the forest became more dense we left the tarmac road and began to follow a small track through the forest. We passed a small group of derelict huts, and my interpreter says “Welcome to Parishev” in her friendly Ukrainian accent.
After the disaster 140 people resettled here. Today there are only three survivors.
It isn’t long until we spot Maria.
She looks surprised by our presence, and I feel a bit awkward. “You should have let me know you were coming” she says through the interpreter. “I would have put more make up on!”
We are soon joined by her husband Mikhail who just appears from the forest. His hand is dripping with blood, and he shouts profanity at the axe he is holding in his other hand. Reluctantly he allows us to patch up his hand with a plaster from my camera bag.
The subject of conversation naturally turns to the evacuation. Maria was thinking about her cow when the soldiers arrived to evacuate the village. “I planned to take my cow and live in the basement” she says. But her entire village was relocated to a temporary refugee village outside Kiev “With strangers” as her and Mikhail put it.
They kindly offer to show me around the humble buildings, and clearing in the forest which they call home.
In Maria, and Mikhails lifetime they survived Joseph Stalins massive genocide “The Holodomodor” in the 1930’s, which he instigated to subjugate farmers like the Urupas into massive factories. 5 Million Ukrainians were killed. Including Marias father. She spoke of horrific stories of villagers resorting to cannibalism, slaughtering one child just to feed another.
I was surprised to hear her compare these stories to her own experience in Kiev in 1986. “There were bodies everywhere, we just had to get out”.
Three months later she was back in her house.
The one where she was born, in 1935.
The one that I’m sat in now, talking to her.
I mentally reminded myself that when Maria was 9, and Mikhail was 6, the Nazis raped and pillaged their way through the Ukraine. People forget that 10.5 million Ukrainians died in World War II.
I guess surviving atrocities such as this has hardened Maria. And she wasn’t going to be told to move for an enemy she couldn’t see, smell, or taste. Still today she maintains. “I’m scared of starving, not of Radiation”.
Which is good as today we have bought her and Mikhail seven loaves of bread, a big bar of chocolate, and a bottle of wine from the shop in Chernobyl. They were overjoyed with our gifts. Mikhail runs off saying he has something for me.
He returns seconds later, clutching a jar of dark red fluid, almost like it’s a new born baby. I immediately assume it’s a jar of blood - probably because blood is now starting to run down the outside of the jar from the wound on Mikhails hand. Either way, I obviously fail to hide my look of shock, and Mikhail reassures me (through Vita, translating) “Come, come, now we drink!” He goes onto explain that he makes one jar of wine a year from grapes he finds in the forest to get both of them through the winter. Today he would like to share it with us as an act of gratitude.
I think of how much effort I have gone to this week just to avoid getting any materials that could potentially contain alpha & beta radiation into my body: I’ve been resisting facial itches, scratching the inside of my nose or ears, and even avoiding sipping from my water in open air. Yet now he’s offering me wine made from grapes found in the red forest. Despite knowing that the wine is probably 14.5% vol… of Ceasium-139, there’s no way I can refuse the offer.
I look at the glass and it’s absolutely filthy. I play it calm, but Mikhail spotted the flick of my eyes and looks embarrassed. He immediately grabs the glass and wipes out the inside with his sleeve, clearing the debris of the previous drink, and leaving a smear of his blood on the inside of the glass. He hastily pours me a glass from the jar and hands it to me, watching me expectantly.
I put the glass to my lips and take a massive gulp, taking in about half the glass. Mikhail looks impressed, his blue eyes seem to brighten as he smiles with his whole face. The wine was absolutely gorgeous!
“I often collect berries and mushrooms from the forest” He says, mentioning the two most infamous carriers of radiation, “When I see the Police, I hide in the bushes until they’re gone”. I look down at the rest of my wine… but then I look back up at Mikhails beaming face, and raise the glass to him before finishing the drink.
We chat for a bit, there’s a thousand things I want to ask them, but can think of none.
Mikhail becomes fascinated with my lip piercing. He’s never seen anyone with any piercing before, and finds the concept completely alien. He tells me he has a friend he thinks I should meet, and starts leading me out the yard. I prepare myself to meet the third remaining villager of Parishev.
But then we make a sharp turn towards a fenced off paddock. He motions me towards the resident of the pen, a 20 stone, filthy, pot bellied pig “Boris!” he exclaims. Then I notice Boris has a lip ring identical to mine.
We all share a hearty laugh (including Boris) and I ask him why he chose the name Boris: “Boris Yeltsin…The Swine!” he exclaims, and we all laugh again.
Before I go I ask Mikhail if it would be OK to explore and photograph some of the abandoned houses in the village. He says it’s no problem.
I feel my eyes begin to well as we shake hands, and wish each other farewell.
It was such a mix of emotions. I expected today to be sombre, but it wasn’t. The resettlers were full of hope and joy. Reflecting on the lives that Maria and Mikhail had led, I set off on my own into the forest towards the shacks that were once peoples homes.
Outside long drop toilets (no running water in the villages)
Bed next to the warm chimney
Ski’s and a hat hung up from the harsh winter of 85/86
Thanks for reading.
