Fortunately, I had a sidekick who would accompany me. I met him at a bar in downtown Kiev. By chance, our conversation had focused on Chernobyl and I told him about my plan to go there.
Oleksandr was a former guide who had decided to quit his job. Vagabonding in the Zone no longer interested him, not that it left him totally indifferent, but he had other plans, other more conventional aspirations and notably dictated by his new family obligations. He had nevertheless agreed to take me and to recompose his role as a guide one last time. Together, we would illegally enter the Zone to cross Pripyat. I had commissioned him for a brief ride, a few hours at most.
A few days after our meeting he gave me an appointment not far from Maidan Square. I got into his archaic van and headed northwest to reach the exclusion zone. As our project aimed to avoid military checkpoints, we had to drive through numerous fields, taking small paths as old as they were charming.
Oleksandr seemed more and more nervous as we progressed. He knew what was in store for me. The path ended on a modest meadow where we left the vehicle to continue on foot. My companion knew a flaw in the fence, he just had to find it. The breach was delicate, but practicable. As soon as we crossed it, we walked several kilometres. Oleksandr briefed me quickly on the Zone. Various information, figures, anecdotes… He handed me a bright yellow Geiger counter with a fairly modern appearance. “Keep it with you at all times. Above all, never separate yourself from it. This thing can save your life. Without him you died in the Zone.” I nodded a little fearfully.
We were arriving near an abandoned hunter’s cabin. Oleksandr indicated to me to stop any further movement. He still had some contacts on the spot. One of his former colleagues came behind the wheel of an old battered Jeep. She asked us to go up in the back and make us promise to forget about it after dropping us off. We drove for a few minutes, stimulating my impatience even more. While she was driving, I tried to stalk through the trees. The light was veiled and made observation laborious. Gigantic spruces followed one another at a dizzying pace. Their spiky trunks intimidated the most reckless of men. They seemed to jealously guard a precious commodity. Already, I felt the mischief of doubt in me. It was necessary to be brave and defy the summons.
The jeep stopped abruptly. We had succeeded: Pripyat stood in front of us. Majestic and sinister, it challenged our senses. I was looking out, attentive to this vegetal and dilapidated environment. Rust was spreading everywhere. Corrosion progressed like a virus, it extended to all elements of scrap metal and blended very gracefully with the foam that also flourished. The ravages of time were omnipresent. Faced with this vision, the heart falters, the mind doubts and reason is tormented. I was looking at a scenery that was both anterior and futuristic, optimistic and dystopian. Was it the victory of Nature or the failure of Man?
Oleksandr knew Pripyat very well, he had spent the last twenty years of his life guiding visitors on behalf of one of the best agencies that offered this type of excursion. However, he seemed to feel a certain detachment about the place, contrasting with my amazement, my emotion. For him it was just a huge urban dump, a Soviet ruin synonymous with fresh money where all kinds of young people came in search of thrills.
Oleksandr was born in Kiev, grew up and lived in Poland, and then moved back to Kiev to care for his ageing parents. He had not lived in Pripyat, he could not understand this exaltation that was rising in me as we progressed through the city. He remained indifferent, his arms hanging out, the indifferent face. I even had the impression that he hated Pripyat. Maybe he had gone through it too much. For my part, I had a very special feeling. The place was familiar to me without being identifiable, as if I had been walking through it with dreams for hours, without really ever having seen it. I concentrated on imagining it as my memories allowed. Only flashes came to me, images, scenes of urban life full of activity. I visualised the yellow colour of the buses during the evacuation, the cyclists at the stop, the queues, the then frightened but naive approach of the inhabitants.
Vegetation had proliferated uncontrollably everywhere, blocking space and masking my field-of-view. The calm of the alleys was a decoy. A powerful symphony seemed ready to sound at any moment. It would spring from buildings and trees. Both macabre and triumphant, it would take everything in its path. I fully understood that the post-apocalyptic nature of this environment had been a source of inspiration. The Zone had happily inspired popular culture through many films, series, music and video games, most of which were very well made. The iconic symbols or places of the Zone were taken up and dramatised or even derided.
The evocation of Chernobyl affected any human being. No one remained indifferent. For many, this accident was the ultimate proof of the danger of nuclear power. It was a kind of warning that would have been renewed in 2011 with the Fukushima incident. Chernobyl had become the unstoppable argument of the anti-nuclear activists. It does not matter if nuclear energy had saved millions of lives as a result of its substitution for coal. The radioactive pictogram and the associated imaginary had penetrated the minds and never came out again. Thus, it was easy to fear that all reactors in the world could face a similar fate to that of Chernobyl Reactor No. 4. Hundreds of potentially cataclysmic global threats could occur at any time. It was necessary to live with constant fear and prevent the perpetual danger of a new accident. And yet, I found myself there, wandering between the remains of this abandoned city.
Silence overwhelmed me with questions, thoughts that swirled around.
Oleksandr wandered casually, hands in his pockets, gum in his mouth. I was starting the conversation to find out more.
—How many people worked at the plant on that April 26, 1986?
—I already answered you in the car, officially 600 employees were present on site on the day of the accident.
—I guess they all died instantly?
—Not at all. A handful of them immediately died in the explosion. Just over 100 people were diagnosed with acute radiation syndrome and nearly 30 died in the following months. The others are unharmed. On the other hand, many liquidators have developed cataracts while thousands of children have suffered from thyroid disorders. Even today many people are still medically assisted and studied, especially in Belarus.
—What are we risking in practice?
—Nothing at all. Don’t worry, not much will happen to you during those few hours here with me. Avoid dangerous places and behaviours. I know the Zone better than anyone. Do you have a place you want to see first?
—Where is the sports complex? I asked.
He pointed to a building.
Although I had passed it dozens of times, I would never have recognised it. It seemed new to me.
—I’m waiting for you there, don’t hang around too much, it’s very busy around here.
Unable to know whether his sentence was ironic or not, I was heading for the Azure Pool. This famous swimming pool. Now idolised by gamers all over the world, it was once a commonplace of relaxation, where the youth of Pripyat could enjoy swimming and other aquatic pleasures. Our parents took us there as often as possible, to rest and let us unwind on weekends. The exercise was important under the Soviet Union, as was the greatness of communist ideology, of which Fizkultura was conceived as a driving force. The bourgeoisie had to be evacuated with fathoms and acrobatic dives. You had to become champions, have a sense of effort and be among the best to represent your country in major international competitions.