The full human cost of the Chernobyl disaster is still unknown (Serial No.107-10)

Lately, everybody seems to be talking about the HBO series Chernobyl, which has increased attention to the 1986 nuclear meltdown. Honestly, it didn't really occur to me that visiting the disaster site would be a perk of living in Ukraine. But now, as I'm sure tourism will go up as a result of the series, I'm glad I got there before the rush. I wonder how the people of the town -- yes, people, mostly employees, currently live within the exclusion zone -- will feel about the influx (top). Many day-tour visitors eat lunch at a factory canteen situated right across the street from the Monument to the Third Angel, in memory of the victims (bottom left). Behind the angel is a pathway with signs listing all the villages that were wiped out by the tragedy (bottom right). 

 

It is the town that gave its name to the nuclear reactor, not the other way around. The name of the 12th-century city translates to wormwood, a poison that was historically abundant in the area. Now, of course, the region is dangerous due to radiation still being released from reactor number four (top left). A technologically sophisticated sarcophagus was built to prevent more radioactive particles from being released into the air as cleanup continues (top right). Of course, radiation levels still remain high in the exclusion zone, but as our guide kept emphasizing with the use of a Geiger counter, the danger lies mostly in the earth, not the air (bottom).

Because I know you're going to ask, our guide also told us that our daylong visit would expose us to no more radiation than a typical trans-Atlantic flight. Nonetheless, security measures are taken. Before entering the exclusion zone, we waited in line for radiation recording devices (top), which we turned in upon exiting. If any visitor has been exposed to higher-than expected levels of radiation, he or she is notified. We also had to pass through detectors that determined if we needed immediate decontamination (bottom left). I have doubts about whether these Soviet devices, which look like forerunners to TSA full-body scanners (bottom right), actually work, but that was a risk I was willing to take.

 

The highlight -- and certainly the most photographed part -- of the tour is Pripyat (top left). The gutted stores, with still-intact aisle signs in Russian (this one points to fresh vegetables), provide surreal still lifes (top right). I imagine thousands of people have selfied with one of the abandoned bumper cars (bottom left). And who can resist a shot of a Ferris wheel devoid of fun (bottom right)?

But within the ghost town, indications of nature's triumph abound. Chestnut trees bloom next to what look like bombed-out buildings (top left). Moss and other plants sprout amid and even on the detritus of urban decay (top right). Pre-meltdown proof of life is equally abundant. At a garage, it seems the mechanics might have shared some post-work drinks (bottom left). Lying close by were ledgers of auto service records (bottom right).

 

Outside the garage sit some cars that are well beyond repair (top). Surrounding that building and the adjacent fire station is a graveyard of vehicles, from military tanks to utility trucks (bottom left). A short bus ride away, at an operational train station, Soviet-era locomotives and transport wagons rust away all day (bottom right).

Surprisingly, many items better shielded from the elements are well-preserved, including a cosmos cartoon (of a boy astronaut named Jupiter?) propped up next to an oil-change pit (top). I particularly enjoyed the Soviet propaganda posters found stored in a huge warehouse (bottom left). Lenin telling his countrymen to "Study, study, study!" (bottom right) is certainly ironic, considering the disaster was the result of faulty reactor design.

 

Nowadays, you can find a different kind of propaganda, in the form of graffiti by "illegal tourists," some of whom come in temporarily to loot and/or deface property (top). Others are long-term visitors living for free on the land, although they are subject to fines if they get caught. Dogs, however, are definitely not considered interlopers and are accepted with great affection (bottom left). My tour company suggested bringing food for the strays, which I did, but the furry mascots are so well-fed that they are in no rush to scarf down kibble (bottom right).

Our tour ended at a clear example of intrusion: the Russian Woodpecker, built in a remote area disguised as a children's camp, was discovered when nearby residents heard radio interference similar to the bird's repetitive noise. The country has never admitted the mission of the radar structure, but many believe it was to detect missile attacks from the West. 

The revival of Belarusian language and culture (H.R. 854)

One of the featured exhibits in Minsk's Mini Museum is Belarusians' beloved Mir Castle, which almost looks like a 3D model in real life (top). In Russian, the name of the UNESCO World Heritage Site means peace, but the fortress is actually named after the city where it was built. And in fact, the 15th-century stronghold is more associated with war. The bastions were a safe place to fend off feudal attacks (bottom left). In the courtyard, costumed re-enactors demonstrate how they trained to defend the castle (bottom right). In more modern times, Nazis held Jewish prisoners there.

During an hour-long tour, we learned that the building was also part of a battle for power (top left). The original prince owner wanted a high position in the Holy Roman Empire, and to obtain it, he needed a stone castle (top right). The residential areas were added and embellished over the years by successive princes. Expensive imported materials cover the dining room (middle left) and music hall (middle right) from top to bottom. Not sure the gold adds to the acoustics, but the impromptu concert we were treated to sounded superb (bottom).

 

The surrounding city exhibits a starkly contrasting lack of luxury, although the brightly colored houses are more up my alley (top left). Like the royal family of Mir, we eventually moved to a different castle, surrounded by another average town, complete with a city hall and car garage (top right). Our first stop was Corpus Christi Church, which looked less than dazzling from the outside (bottom left). Inside, though, the painted ceilings were much better preserved, with not nearly so much peeling (bottom right).

Then we walked to the grounds of Niasvizh Castle, which felt more like a palace, even though it has protective earthworks and a moat (top). Right by the entrance is a monument honoring those lost in the modern World Wars (bottom left). But once you enter through the main gate to the UNESCO World Heritage Site, you are sent back to the 16th century (bottom right).

Again, we were led through the various rooms of the residential area by a guide, who told us about all the bigwigs in all the paintings (top). I pretty much tuned that out as I gawked at the extravagance, which began right at the main staircase entrance (middle left). The game room was literally filled with game, from all over the world (middle right). The men's (bottom left) and the women's sleeping quarters (bottom right) were equally ostentatious, although they had distinctly different decor.

The castle's ballroom and other large spaces frequently are used for events and performances (top). Unfortunately, the main theater was off-limits, but we got to look at a model and see some early machines used to create on-stage special effects, such as thunder-and-lighting sounds and simulated waves for ship scenes (bottom left). We watched a short sample of the kind of plays once presented there, but truthfully, I couldn't really understand the plot (bottom right). Because it was in Russian, and I had exhausted my foreign-language listening skills for the day.