6. The ticket is made by the driver, a grizzled gentleman who has not laughed for some years. It costs 150 hryvnia, almost 5 €. The bus is German, former GDR. Barbed wire at a winter funeral would be more cheerful, but it has its charm. Above sit in silence eight babushka, old ladies with a handkerchief on their heads. There are also other younger women and four men. All without a handkerchief but with a head. The only headless I have to look like him. The question "What's this doing here?" lasts the time to look at me from above the cheekbones cut with the ax. In these parts they are more severe than curious.
From the sidewalk some greet, others are scored three times in the Orthodox way, they embrace each other, they are moved. It is the classic symptom of a peaceful journey. That is not the bus for the sea of the rest, you understand immediately.
At 6,54 we start. From Kramatorsk to Donetsk are 100 km. It would take an hour and a half but in reality there is a slight delay: about six hours. We must understand, however, because on the way there are three Ukrainian check-points and four of the self-proclaimed Republic of Donetsk.
Flat and gray steppe with patches of snow outstretched. The bus slows and rebounds. The road just a year ago was perfect and smooth. Now that pool is only the holes left ...
At the first check point there is a wardrobe in camouflage and black balaclava. He has a crossbow kalashnikov. He sees me and asks me for the documents. Check the pass, passport, press card and then say something in Ukrainian.
He could have said:
- as soon as I finish the shift, I put on my flip-flops and go to the beach
- this is a spy
- this is stupid
The fact that I return the passport credits the third hypothesis.
A fly does not fly on the bus. I avoid saying it because the word Moscow is risky. Let's go to Donetsk controlled by the pro-Russian, but here it is still Ukrainian territory.
The wardrobe goes down and the bus starts again vibrating. The average is 50 km / h but when we do crazy, we also get to 55.
The landscape is reminiscent of the Po valley in XXXL format. The sky is a rat's mustache.
The bus charges envelopes with food and food. The driver only shouts consonants and an iron cold comes in through the open door. Getting close to the draft is a smart move ...
The plain continues with tenements of typical Soviet solarity.
At the last Ukrainian checkpoint there are the underground BMP armored vehicles, machine guns and artillery. Gray and green are everywhere. I would like to take pictures but I only have three possibilities:
- be sent back
- make me kidnap the camera and be kicked
- both things
I do not know why but I decide not to photograph.
Plowed fields, coal factories and bombs. It's nobody's land. Beyond there are the pro-Russian; behind, the Ukrainian army.
At the first place of blockade of the Republic of Donetsk all the males have to go down.
Soldiers have a list to verify passports. The camouflages are Russian and the patches of the uniforms have the red and blue colors of the Donbass.
At the fourth check point the males still fall for the search of the bags. On the side there are two 72 T cars out of combat.
I'm followed by a very young soldier: he does not want heavy gun photos. He is kind and wants to explain to me that he was born in Donetsk and that there are no Russians at the front, but only local people. But I tell him I'm not a local, but it matters to a certain extent because no one dared to question him. I feel sympathy for these guys, shy, disciplined and friendly.
The driver is angry because I'm the only one on board. I explain that because of a photo once I lost the bus to go to the beach. He does not care much. Let's start once again.
Finally Donetsk. Already at 18 does not turn a soul and the rare cars go to 120 km / h.
At the bus station I take a taxi and start the tour of the hotels.
Those left open have crazy prices: the Central a year ago it cost 25 €, now asks 150 $ a night. C'est la guerre ...
Press and TV are at the Ramada. They talk about respite behind bulletproof vests and various amenities. Among them, the recommended proportion of balls swings between high and very high.
I will stay a month and a half in a downtown apartment. For 130 € there can be. At the sea from our parts at the bottom, it costs a lot more.
The wifi is in the opposite pizzeria. At the entrance a sign invites you not to enter with the Kalashnikov; on the other hand, you can smoke. Everyone protects health in his own way.
I throw myself on the bed, destroyed. At night there is a thousand thunders, but it does not rain. Maybe because it's snow time. Perhaps because they are not thunders, but artillery. It is difficult to distinguish whether it is Ukrainian or pro-Russian. When in doubt I think of both of them. The Minsk agreements are a strummed smile.
I sleep with a little apprehension. I'm not ashamed of it. Courage is to overcome it, not be immune to it.
(teacher)
Giampiero Venturi article
photo Giorgio Bianchi
