We left on Monday, July 21st, at about 18.00, arriving in Ramsgate at 21.45. The ferries were running late and so we managed to catch an earlier 'fastcat' service to Ostend, which we reached at about 04.00 (Belgian time).

We had planned to drive to Berlin where Christoph had friends and in whose 'house' we could stay the night. We realised we had plenty of time and decided to visit his parents who generously gave 300 DM's and a tank of diesel, plus lunch and a place to sleep for a while. Onwards to Klosterdorf which we reached in good time and spent the night in a community house outside of Berlin. A good sleep and a fine breakfast saw us in excellent spirits as we pulled away to the 'flood' stricken German/Polish border.

We bought some fruit in a small village which we thought would be nice to give to the people in the Ukraine and headed for the border. We sailed through the border, but as we approached the 'exit' road we found that there was a car coming towards us and thought it must be a dual-carriageway and that we needed to enter the next exit road - a mistake! We now found ourselves in the queue for the 'terminal' building and four hours of forms and explanations. I left this to Christoph as he spoke German and everyone understood what was happening.

After this we were in Poland and could see the way the rain had affected the area and the swollen rivers. Our destination was Chelm, down near the Ukraine border, where we could fill up the van with diesel and sleep the night. We arrived after an uneventful journey at about 22.30 and got ready to leave at 05.45 for Dorohusk, the Polish town on the border.

The Polish side was no problem but when we entered the Ukrainian side and presented our passports we found we were waiting. After two hours the 'shifts' changed and a new person came out to inspect us. After another two hours, it was now 10.30, another person came out and said "Good Morning" and disappeared. At about 11.30 we were summoned to a little office in the passport building and asked to sit on a settee. Lots of phone calls were being made and a man came up to Christoph and asked, "Is this you?", pointing to a name on a list. Christoph confirmed it was and I was a bit disappointed that my name wasn't on the list as well. I figured that it was a list of people who had been issued with visas.

Some more time passed and we were still in this office and I asked the guy who seemed to be in charge if there was a problem. "Not for you", he replied, looking directly at me. A rather stunned silence followed.

Shortly after that a woman entered and she was to be the interpreter. The conversation went along the lines of, "Have you ever been in trouble with the police? Have you ever been involved in terrorist activities?" Christoph explained that in the seventies he had been accused of being a left-wing sympathiser, but no charges were ever brought against him for any crime and he travels to Germany freely. The interview over, with me doing my bit with regard to why we were there, the lady left with a "Good luck".

We returned to the van when suddenly two guys appeared and told us to unload. We had about two tonnes of stuff on the back and it had been carefully arranged for load distribution and space. But when a soldier with a gun on his belt tells you to do something, you tend to do it without too much argument.

To begin with we took the back few things off and showed them the teddy bears and vitamins in the tubs. More had to come off, the official tapped his holstered gun and asked whether we had any on board!

The young conscripts who were in general charge were finding this quite amusing as they had realised there was nothing more serious on the van than toys and vitamins. When the van was about 75% empty, it was now 13.30, some customs officials arrived to check things out and one of them spoke English. We explained what we were carrying and why we were there and that it was ridiculous.

At this point I got angry. The beautiful Ukrainian day was starting to cloud over and there was a threat of rain. A few spots started to fall and then a few more. I said, "that's it" and ran to the back of the van and started to put things back on. The official followed and watched and then said O.K. He opened a few small packages and as the rain got heavier and heavier, he disappeared into the dryness of his building.

We were struggling to get everything out of the rain and then we were treated to hailstones which measured about 2cm. We had to get in from the power of the stones and we watched as some things started to get sodden. We waited until the hail finished and then loaded the remaining things on to the van. Once that was done I headed for customs who, instead of asking for the forms we needed to fill in, asked for $50 as 'duty' (we received a receipt) and stamped our little form. We weren't waiting around. We left, with only a minor hassle on the exit gate. We were in the Ukraine and it was now 15.15.

Little to talk about with regard to the journey except that the Ukraine is beautiful and 'peasants', forgive the term but it is accurate in this case, line the roadside selling mushrooms and berries which they have picked from the forest which lines the main road to Kiev. Past villages where they may also sell potatoes or tomatoes or apples.

We got to Kiev in really good time, about 21.45, but then got hopelessly lost but, with Grace, we managed to find a road and get to Chernigov at about 00.30. The wrong side of Chernigov maybe, but we were there.

We found a petrol station and they made a call to the right people and within an hour we had the van stored and we were in an apartment, dozily eating a late night snack. We had to be ready by 09.00 to meet customs and unload the van.

We arrived, after too short a sleep, to find that we should really have had a customs document which the customs man required. However, he was on our side and set about sorting out a procedure which would still enable us to get the relevant form stamped for the return journey.

The first box to be unloaded was a large box of bananas which we bought in Germany. I reached down and picked it up, only it was much heavier than I thought and I lifted it awkwardly, and immediately knew that I had damaged my back. I threw it down on the floor and started hopping about. People were very concerned and said they would arrange for me to visit a 'healer' later that day.

With the help of several soldiers, who had been detailed to assist, the van was unloaded while I went upstairs to write a letter to satisfy the needs of the customs man as I discovered that I had left the customs compound at the border without the necessary form. The customs man was a gem and did his best to help us and he assured us that everything would be O.K.

Once the van was unloaded I was taken, along with Christoph, Anya and driver Uren, to a small village about one hour outside of Chernigov. The extremely bumpy road did nothing for my back, which was very painful and it was with some relief when we reached our destination. As we entered the small house there stood a diminutive woman looking every inch the Russian peasant you see in story books, built like a barn with hand like tree trunks.

We explained the problem, or at least Anya did, and Baba Galla, as she was called, told me to lie face down on a bed and started manipulating my back. After a while she asked me stand up and move about and then I had to lie down again. This procedure went on for about forty minutes during which time she told us that she was replacing a disc in my spine which had been 'out' for some time and how she became a healer, living with an old woman who had been the local healer for five years before branching our into her own practice! Apparently once she was on her own she did not progress quickly enough and was visited in a dream by an old man with a white beard who told her to get on with it.

She is now visited by numerous people with a range of ailments.

Having finished working on my back she told me that I would feel a great deal of discomfort for a few days and then it would be O.K. I didn't feel much better, to be honest, and was not all that convinced of her ability at all. We left and made our way back to Chernigov, food and a very hard floor where I was to spend the next several hours.

That evening passed slowly and the pain didn't recede and during the night the only way I could turn over was to actually wake up and move my body inch by inch until I was in the next position to sleep in. I didn't move into too many positions that night I can assure you.

The next day, Saturday, was our day off as we had planned to return via Berlin leaving on the Sunday. Anya arrived and after inquiring about my health informed us that we were going sight-seeing in Chernigov which, to be honest, needn't take too long at all as it isn't what you might call a magnet for tourism. However, in the centre of the city we were taken to a very grassy area which had a very beautiful energy to it and into a church which had been reclaimed from its previous life as a museum. From there into another religious building and then onto the former school and a small exhibition of icons from the 17/18th century. There was nothing particularly outstanding in the exhibition except two quite beautiful pieces depicting Jesus and His Mother, respectively.

It has to be said that the people are very lovely and Anya and her mother, Natasha, who showed us around were quite delightful. Natasha had been 'allowed' to visit India about ten years previously and as both Christoph and I had visited India on different occasions. We walked and chatted, sat to shelter from a shower on this hot day and had the cannons of Peter the Great pointed out to us. From there we went to the Cathedral, which was closed, and a stroll along the Avenue of the Heroes of the Republic and some very fine examples of sculptures in the Soviet Socialist Realism style.

We thanked Natasha for her time and friendship and were invited to dinner. We returned to the apartment just in time for an afternoon meal, which included meat stock so my insides told me later!, and a welcome rest on the floor. Oh, how I was beginning to love that floor.

We left that evening for another meal at Natasha's, was this the third or fourth meal we were to have?, together with Shura, the Matriarch, her friend and Shura's son. As we arrived so did Victor, Anya's father who had taken his mother and younger daughter to their home village.

We had an excellent meal at which we were encouraged to eat too much and drink vodka, neither of which I like to do, but Christoph managed to bat bravely for the visitors. It is an interesting thing about Christoph but when we first met he told me he was really pleased that I didn't drink or smoke. On the ferry over he had a beer and succumbed to a vodka or two in the Ukraine, and smoked several cigarettes at different times. He told me he smoked about one cigarette a month - by my reckoning he is up to about March, 2005!

At the end of the meal, by which time my back longed for that hard floor in the apartment, Natasha was telling me about her favourite music which comprised Engelbert Humperdinck and the Beatles. No sooner had she told me this than she started to recite words from one of Engelbert's song and then, at the end of this, both she and Anya burst into song. Singing so sweetly, with not a hint of embarrassment, mother and daughter serenaded us.

We left with sweet music echoing in our ears.

During the day Christoph had been expressing a wish to stay and leave with the charity as they took the next bunch of children to Odessa. The problem here was my back. Would I be able to make it driving on my own?

The next day dawned lovely and we went to collect the van. During my injury I had lost contact with a Nikon camera I had been given to take photographs with and I was very worried that in the ensuing confusion (mine) it had become liberated in the cause of the new Ukraine. However, as I started to look for some more film in the bag in which it was originally carried, within its leather case, was the missing Nikon. Neither Christoph or I recalled putting it back in its bag and so we can only assume it was a Divine Leela.

We left about 11.00 and headed towards Kiev on our return journey. We managed to find our way onto the correct road past Kiev, a feat indeed, and drove across the Ukraine once more. Christoph was deep in thought about whether he should return to Chernigov by train and join them on the trip south and I found I was doing much of the driving. We passed the same peasants that we had seen on our outward journey and found ourselves caught in summer showers. We reached the border and Christoph decided he would catch the train back to Kiev. Unfortunately, because of a communication problem he needed to go back 65 kilometres to pick up the right connection. A taxi waited, we hugged and he left.

The Ukraine border, what fond memories. I passed the many kilometres of waiting trucks until I reached the border crossing itself and went through customs with no problem and on to passport control. In my passport it showed that I had come through with another person, no problem normally, but that other person was a terrorist! "Where is he?" they demanded. I explained he had joined a group travelling to Odessa and after no more than a thirty minute, and several phone calls, delay, I was through. I smiled at the passport control guard offered my hand and said "Dosvedanya". He grasped my hand and I hoped it meant something for the next person carrying aid through the Ukraine.

The Polish side was no trouble at all, I drove to Chelm, filled the van with diesel and off I went. It was now about 8.00 pm. I drove until I was exhausted, found a garage to stop in and fell asleep in the back of the van. It was 10.00 pm. I awoke at 3.00 am and started driving. reaching Warsaw by about 5.00 am managing, somehow as I looked for the world service on the radio, to pick up Radio Five and the news that England were just about to lose the fourth test.

A minor hiccup around Warsaw as I headed for the right road but a friendly garage man put me on the right road for Poznan, and a similar hiccup at Poznan as I missed the turning for Schweibo, the Polish side of the border with Germany, which I reached and cleared customs by 11.45 pm.

I was relieved to get to Germany. I drove for about an hour, stopped at a 'service station' and eat, slept and tried to straighten my back a little. At about 2.30 pm I was awake and ready to continue my journey only this time with two young hitchhikers from Berlin on their way to Amsterdam.

The journey sped by, leaving my two young charges on the right 'station' for their next lift I ignored the lure of my favourite city in Europe, and headed for Holland. Through Holland and into Belgium where, as the beckoning lights of another 'service station' loomed in the distance, I stopped and slept. It was 10.00 pm. I awoke at 4.00 am and headed for Ostend which I reached by 5.30 am, in time for the ferry at 7.00 am. I was almost home.

I reached Bath by about 11.30 that morning, Tuesday, and collapsed in a heap.

So what did the trip show me?

The Ukraine is like a half full reservoir and we arrived with a bucket of water. As a friend said "...about the man who crossed the desert following an arduous journey carrying water to people who lived there and, after delivering his load his hosts said, 'Why don't you go back through this door?', which opened on to a river."

The border crossing was a very good lesson for me as for seven and a half hours I remained patient and then my anger rose up like a volcano ready to explode, but there was no need. They were doing their job and my indignity at being treated this way when I was carrying aid for their children was a useful lesson as to who does what and why. The men at the border were just another obstacle for me to overcome through love and understanding.

My back being hurt gave me a great opportunity to see another side, an even more rural side, of the Ukraine. To have a very wonderful healer do something very fundamental to my back, something that had been wrong for a very long time. Her touch was of a person closely linked to nature in a way we have lost the ability to understand. To see the geese, ducks, chickens, cows, goats running about across the road, in front of most of the village houses, while people worked in their plot of land, growing food which they needed in order to survive. Watching everybody be involved in pickling and preserving the bounty of the summer's gifts, jams, vegetables etc., from land worker to office worker.

To see the hospitality to us of the people involved in "Semya", Surya and her husband Ivan, and their children, Uren, Ivan and Natasha. To share the friendship of Anya, our interpreter, her mother Natasha and father Victor, to experienced their beautiful and naive singing. To watch as we saw the other side of Ukrainian custom's officialdom as they bent over backwards to help us with the right stamps on the right forms in order to ensure we left the country without any further problems.

To drive and stay for a short time in a country which is so much like England in the fifties. Hardly any cars, and what you see are usually always inhabited by at least three people - not with a single driver, small shops catering for the local people, offering the basic necessities not the enormously wide and perhaps disgustingly large choice we have, and the way locally grown goods are sold to passing motorists, plucked from a natural environment.

To experience in some way the repression these people have suffered for so long, and I mean centuries, which has left them very restrained and afraid. To hear stories such as how Natasha and Victor's mother, who was about ten years old when Stalin forced the Ukraine into starvation in 1932/3 when an estimated 6 million people died, believes that if there is no bread in the house, regardless of whatever else is in the cupboard, they will die of starvation themselves. To be told how they couldn't be sure who they could trust and so they spoke to no-one of their true feelings. Here is a country which, in many respects, is poorer than India, which I visited many times. Perhaps it has more, but it has lost its traditions, its culture which the Indians have to fall back on in times of great suffering.

So bad are things in the Ukraine that people who run orphanages have not been paid for a year, so they sell what they can in order to feed themselves and the children in their care. It is estimated that a huge percentage of children in Chernigov are ill, as a direct result of the Chernobyl disaster. Doctors who treat these children are frequently not paid for months on end as the Government have no money. Most people go weeks, if not months, receiving no money for the work they do, and this includes private companies as well as Government ones.

I have felt privileged to visit the Ukraine and experience some of these things. I know it has changed my life fundamentally, although I cannot pinpoint how, and understand a little more of the suffering of this potentially rich country.

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