At the gate of Donbass
We went to our first point of the “crossing”, the glorious city of Rostov-on-Don, in an unusually gloomy and overcast May morning. We drove into complete obscurity. We did not agree with anyone, did not look for protection, did not represent anyone and carried with us, apart from the standard “business trip” set, a bottle of “Abrau” as a gift to relatives, St. George’s ribbon and a block of bad habit. True, we did it consciously. If Donbass is the Russian world, it seemed to us the most logical decision, because the servants were warned about the visit, the brothers were not warned about the visit.
We didn’t want to look into the keyhole and, moreover, categorically didn’t want to tickle the still unatrophied nerves of the public, which a priori know how to take a hill, attack the coast or seize Slavyansk. My ears are too tired from the military and economic strategies of "big" businessmen from the subspecies of small speculators.
The road stretched a chore, and the overcast weather erased the time completely - the day was, whether it was evening. At the same time, while my intense willingness grew, my friend, on the contrary, became more cheerful as Rostov approached. Here is the first subtlety of Donbass life. After all, Rostov for Donbass at some metaphysical level is perceived as “his”, as one of the capitals of Donbass. Now it will seem surprising, but before the war (and this is exactly the war, not the ATO, not an amorphous conflict), the Rostovites traveled to Donetsk to ill with the Shakhtar football club with whole buses. During the Champions League, it was a massive sports festival. But the war began, “Miner” fled to Lviv, and Donbass-Arena was covered with shells, fairly ruffling the stadium, which had not even knocked off ten years of age.
However, the authorities of the Rostov region are still the most favorable attitude towards migrants from the territory of Ukraine. Even after the temporary recognition of the passports of the DPR and the LPR, it is quite difficult to stop the entire car of procedural casuistry, because inertia of thinking leaves Rostov with an enclave of tolerance from the governing structures. However, it has its negative sides. So, until now (at the time of our arrival in Rostov, now Kiev schizophrenia makes another round), despite all the rant about the walls, visa regimes and other things from Rostov to go to Kiev, Lviv, Ternopil on an ordinary bus is not difficult. And if you do not find direct flights, nothing will prevent you from buying a ticket to Chisinau, the route on which does not lie through Honduras. So, it is quite simple to meet “quiet workers in reedition” in the western regions with their own specific worldview in Rostov.
These ads are full of all the newspapers of Donbass.
Upon arrival in Rostov, the mood of my friend finally blossomed, it was felt that he was like a fish in water. I have often had to make sure how Rostovites and Donbas people are alike. Ironically, this compatriot relatedness even has geological roots. Rostov mines feed on the same coal seams as the Donbass, even the ash content of coal (a common quality indicator familiar in Donbass even to children) is almost the same. True, any donbassovets will always insist that their coal is better. This very clearly characterizes their special relationship to mining work.
Our next destination was Sverdlovsk, which the Kiev authorities, in a fit of schizophrenic patriotism and “decommunization,” which had grown into degradation, had already been renamed Dovzhansk.
To Sverdlovsk, however, like Lugansk and Donetsk, buses departed every two hours. But in view of the specifics of crossing the border, we desperately searched for a “private trader”, risking falling under curfew and having the pleasure of explaining to the local security forces that you were a camel. Given the hostilities and the acute phase of the sabotage war, which took the life of such legends as Arseny Pavlov and Mikhail Tolstoy, this does not cause any particular contradictions among adequate people.
Finally, a “private trader” was found, and we headed strictly towards the North in the direction of the Dolzhansky checkpoint, the main gate of Donbass from the Rostov region. However, before we got directly to the LC checkpoint, we had to bypass the checkpoint (multilateral automobile checkpoint) Novoshakhtinsky. And here my friend also became sad.
Before MAPP, there was a huge line of buses and cars. Like ghosts from the 90's closet, people with shuttle bags jumped out of the cars, customs officials fussed and, like in any self-respecting line, a hysterical child was screaming somewhere. In this case, the queue of cars stretched on both sides. Imagination already vividly painted to us what kind of idiots we would look like when, when communicating with the people's militia, we begin to mumble that we were caught in a traffic jam.
MAPP itself resembled a small village with a substation, storage facilities and other things. A glance even unwittingly searched for a silo tower. In the meantime, the line did move. And finally, having gone through the “frame” and having secured our small baggage in the eyes of customs, we drove to the Dolzhansky checkpoint. From our last arrival, the charred arches, finally, were cut down, since the skeleton, which was burnt after the shelling, and even in the neighborhood of the broken customs building, was pretty shocked. The only thing that reminded of the arches was the parts of the supporting structures sticking up at the curb, resembling gnawed smoked fish bones.
Customs control is very peculiar. Tightly-armed armed guys vigilantly inspect every car, after this, only seemingly meaningless, procedure, they collect a stack of passports from each group of passengers individually and are removed. In their hands, like in an absurd card deck, the Russian double-headed eagle and the Ukrainian trident fork, the Lugansk star framed by ears of ears and again the double-headed eagle, however, already Donetsk, were side by side. Some trident passports were already dressed by their masters in covers with Donetsk and Lugansk coats of arms.
Passports were studied carefully, which is why we waited exclusively private traders. To wait until a few dozen other people's passports are examined, besides your passport, is to lose time. In addition, in any bus there is one or the other "muddy" guy, arrogant joker or proud major, slowing the sending of the entire bus.
The poor quality of the pictures is due to the fact that they were filming in secret, the PPC photos are strictly forbidden, although the ruins have long been a secret ...
Finally, and our pile of passports was carefully checked, cars and bags, also did not pass this procedure. The way the “customs officers” worked busily and accurately, it was best said that the guys were not here for the sake of pro forma. They came for a single day, and their republic is not an intermediate joke in geopolitical games. And, if the “big uncles” who litter the television box with their physiognomies, can be persuaded, then it will be much more difficult to negotiate with these harsh guys.
The check was quite lively, but still it was felt that the guys did not have enough computer resources, and the lack of customs infrastructure affected, and a couple of trailers that served as the building of customs, you can not fix it.
- Previously, we came here in whole companies, there was a duty free shop, - my friend said sadly, waving his hand to the ruins scatteredly: - Perfume and drinks from around the world: martini, tequila, rum, whiskey ... We walked on Fridays until the morning, we met dawn climbing the heaps.
In appearance, this sudden hedonistic nostalgia is extremely indicative of Donbass people, for whom this “border” did not carry any other content. It was not the line of the homeland, not protection from external dangers, but simply a point, the only meaning of which is in the presence of a duty free store.
As soon as the passports were solemnly returned to us, and the views of the fighters were directed towards another client, we exhaled. The fact is that any modern war accumulates around itself a lot of rogues and adventurers with Napoleonic and "Chevarov" complexes. Unrealized "rambo" are dangerous not only for themselves, but also for others - and this is only a small part of what can penetrate the border. Because of all these subtleties, the author even had to give up the usual camouflage pants - insanely comfortable. Since the first thought of the fighters on the border: "The guy is already in the image." With all the consequences.
The road flew further without any dramatic change in the landscape, but the roadbed itself has changed beyond recognition. Fools, roads and ... Maidan. Auto banged as if we were trying to slide down a hill of broken brick while sitting on a winter ice-house. And it was not connected with the war. There was a persistent feeling that during the entire existence of this Frankenstein stitched together on the knee by the name of Ukraine, no one believed in the project’s viability. Therefore, there was no point in investing in infrastructure, as in the modernization of what was left after the Union. And this situation, according to the local population, is even more characteristic of central and western Ukraine, where, moreover, in three years of Maidan, asphalt is more likely to be painted in national colors than repaired.
Sverdlovsk, Sverdlovka lights flashed on the horizon, as the native inhabitants called this city akin ...
We didn’t want to look into the keyhole and, moreover, categorically didn’t want to tickle the still unatrophied nerves of the public, which a priori know how to take a hill, attack the coast or seize Slavyansk. My ears are too tired from the military and economic strategies of "big" businessmen from the subspecies of small speculators.
The road stretched a chore, and the overcast weather erased the time completely - the day was, whether it was evening. At the same time, while my intense willingness grew, my friend, on the contrary, became more cheerful as Rostov approached. Here is the first subtlety of Donbass life. After all, Rostov for Donbass at some metaphysical level is perceived as “his”, as one of the capitals of Donbass. Now it will seem surprising, but before the war (and this is exactly the war, not the ATO, not an amorphous conflict), the Rostovites traveled to Donetsk to ill with the Shakhtar football club with whole buses. During the Champions League, it was a massive sports festival. But the war began, “Miner” fled to Lviv, and Donbass-Arena was covered with shells, fairly ruffling the stadium, which had not even knocked off ten years of age.
However, the authorities of the Rostov region are still the most favorable attitude towards migrants from the territory of Ukraine. Even after the temporary recognition of the passports of the DPR and the LPR, it is quite difficult to stop the entire car of procedural casuistry, because inertia of thinking leaves Rostov with an enclave of tolerance from the governing structures. However, it has its negative sides. So, until now (at the time of our arrival in Rostov, now Kiev schizophrenia makes another round), despite all the rant about the walls, visa regimes and other things from Rostov to go to Kiev, Lviv, Ternopil on an ordinary bus is not difficult. And if you do not find direct flights, nothing will prevent you from buying a ticket to Chisinau, the route on which does not lie through Honduras. So, it is quite simple to meet “quiet workers in reedition” in the western regions with their own specific worldview in Rostov.
These ads are full of all the newspapers of Donbass.
Upon arrival in Rostov, the mood of my friend finally blossomed, it was felt that he was like a fish in water. I have often had to make sure how Rostovites and Donbas people are alike. Ironically, this compatriot relatedness even has geological roots. Rostov mines feed on the same coal seams as the Donbass, even the ash content of coal (a common quality indicator familiar in Donbass even to children) is almost the same. True, any donbassovets will always insist that their coal is better. This very clearly characterizes their special relationship to mining work.
Our next destination was Sverdlovsk, which the Kiev authorities, in a fit of schizophrenic patriotism and “decommunization,” which had grown into degradation, had already been renamed Dovzhansk.
To Sverdlovsk, however, like Lugansk and Donetsk, buses departed every two hours. But in view of the specifics of crossing the border, we desperately searched for a “private trader”, risking falling under curfew and having the pleasure of explaining to the local security forces that you were a camel. Given the hostilities and the acute phase of the sabotage war, which took the life of such legends as Arseny Pavlov and Mikhail Tolstoy, this does not cause any particular contradictions among adequate people.
Finally, a “private trader” was found, and we headed strictly towards the North in the direction of the Dolzhansky checkpoint, the main gate of Donbass from the Rostov region. However, before we got directly to the LC checkpoint, we had to bypass the checkpoint (multilateral automobile checkpoint) Novoshakhtinsky. And here my friend also became sad.
Before MAPP, there was a huge line of buses and cars. Like ghosts from the 90's closet, people with shuttle bags jumped out of the cars, customs officials fussed and, like in any self-respecting line, a hysterical child was screaming somewhere. In this case, the queue of cars stretched on both sides. Imagination already vividly painted to us what kind of idiots we would look like when, when communicating with the people's militia, we begin to mumble that we were caught in a traffic jam.
MAPP itself resembled a small village with a substation, storage facilities and other things. A glance even unwittingly searched for a silo tower. In the meantime, the line did move. And finally, having gone through the “frame” and having secured our small baggage in the eyes of customs, we drove to the Dolzhansky checkpoint. From our last arrival, the charred arches, finally, were cut down, since the skeleton, which was burnt after the shelling, and even in the neighborhood of the broken customs building, was pretty shocked. The only thing that reminded of the arches was the parts of the supporting structures sticking up at the curb, resembling gnawed smoked fish bones.
Customs control is very peculiar. Tightly-armed armed guys vigilantly inspect every car, after this, only seemingly meaningless, procedure, they collect a stack of passports from each group of passengers individually and are removed. In their hands, like in an absurd card deck, the Russian double-headed eagle and the Ukrainian trident fork, the Lugansk star framed by ears of ears and again the double-headed eagle, however, already Donetsk, were side by side. Some trident passports were already dressed by their masters in covers with Donetsk and Lugansk coats of arms.
Passports were studied carefully, which is why we waited exclusively private traders. To wait until a few dozen other people's passports are examined, besides your passport, is to lose time. In addition, in any bus there is one or the other "muddy" guy, arrogant joker or proud major, slowing the sending of the entire bus.
The poor quality of the pictures is due to the fact that they were filming in secret, the PPC photos are strictly forbidden, although the ruins have long been a secret ...
Finally, and our pile of passports was carefully checked, cars and bags, also did not pass this procedure. The way the “customs officers” worked busily and accurately, it was best said that the guys were not here for the sake of pro forma. They came for a single day, and their republic is not an intermediate joke in geopolitical games. And, if the “big uncles” who litter the television box with their physiognomies, can be persuaded, then it will be much more difficult to negotiate with these harsh guys.
The check was quite lively, but still it was felt that the guys did not have enough computer resources, and the lack of customs infrastructure affected, and a couple of trailers that served as the building of customs, you can not fix it.
- Previously, we came here in whole companies, there was a duty free shop, - my friend said sadly, waving his hand to the ruins scatteredly: - Perfume and drinks from around the world: martini, tequila, rum, whiskey ... We walked on Fridays until the morning, we met dawn climbing the heaps.
In appearance, this sudden hedonistic nostalgia is extremely indicative of Donbass people, for whom this “border” did not carry any other content. It was not the line of the homeland, not protection from external dangers, but simply a point, the only meaning of which is in the presence of a duty free store.
As soon as the passports were solemnly returned to us, and the views of the fighters were directed towards another client, we exhaled. The fact is that any modern war accumulates around itself a lot of rogues and adventurers with Napoleonic and "Chevarov" complexes. Unrealized "rambo" are dangerous not only for themselves, but also for others - and this is only a small part of what can penetrate the border. Because of all these subtleties, the author even had to give up the usual camouflage pants - insanely comfortable. Since the first thought of the fighters on the border: "The guy is already in the image." With all the consequences.
The road flew further without any dramatic change in the landscape, but the roadbed itself has changed beyond recognition. Fools, roads and ... Maidan. Auto banged as if we were trying to slide down a hill of broken brick while sitting on a winter ice-house. And it was not connected with the war. There was a persistent feeling that during the entire existence of this Frankenstein stitched together on the knee by the name of Ukraine, no one believed in the project’s viability. Therefore, there was no point in investing in infrastructure, as in the modernization of what was left after the Union. And this situation, according to the local population, is even more characteristic of central and western Ukraine, where, moreover, in three years of Maidan, asphalt is more likely to be painted in national colors than repaired.
Sverdlovsk, Sverdlovka lights flashed on the horizon, as the native inhabitants called this city akin ...
Information