The Blue Vet Diary

 

The last bar had just closed and with the streets now deserted, I took a stroll through a world that had disappeared over a hundred years ago, in a place that was so charming and peaceful, that it provided the canvas for one of history’s most chilling narratives…..

I was in Sighisoara, one of a ring of seven fortified medieval towns in the lush hills of Transylvania, in the heart of Romania. Sighisoara and neighbouring towns like Sibiu and Braşov are unusual, because they were part of a network of German speaking settlements of Transylvanian Saxons, deep in the East of Europe, that were frequently attacked and often raided and from time to time ruled by Tartars or Ottoman invaders. As a consequence of centuries of geographic isolation, these communities developed their very own customs and traditions, which might have appeared to a visitor from the other side of the Continent as more quintessential German than Germany itself.

In addition to this, due to a combination of local autonomy and a lack of funding during the communist time, the local buildings and infrastructure enjoyed a period of fairytale sleep, where most of the historic Saxon dwellings were neglected, but remained untouched and were thankfully not replaced by the functional but characterless architecture of that time.

As a result of this, I found myself standing on a dimly lit cobblestone street in a German town, somewhere in the middle of the 19^th century….

On the street corners were German street names in Gothic script, the town was surrounded by medieval gate towers  that were assigned to individual guilds and an impressive clock tower with an elaborate pattern of roof tiles and fitted with multiple spires was next to a town square where every house was carrying a reference to a Saxon name.

This cocktail of German and Balkan trades and traditions, combined with the questionable heritage of being the birthplace of one of medieval’s most vile war lords – Vlad “The Impaler”, better known as Count Dracula – must have felt so utterly alien to an Irish novelist and to his readers living thousands of miles away on the other end of the continent at the outgoing 19^th century, that it became the opening scene of a narrative that, together with Mary Shelley’s “Frankenstein” and Victor Hugo’s  “Hunchback of Notre-Dame” enjoys a seemingly never ceasing popularity – even today.

Bram Stoker never visited Sighisoara, but the medieval streets, devoid of people in the middle of the night, the deserted covered staircase leading up to a gloomy church on a hill and to a graveyard filled with ancient Saxon tombstones, overgrown with moss and neglected for decades, with an evasive cat as the only living being in sight, would indeed have been an unsettling destination for a lonely visitor from London, not familiar with the language or with the local customs.

Stoker’s novel struck so many points of unease and preconception about this part of the world: languages no one understood or really couldn’t be bothered to learn, the mentalities of the Balkan that were so different from that of a privately educated Anglo-Irish university graduate of that time,  communities of people who lived isolated in a mountainous location, surrounded by forests that were the home of bears and wolfs, animals extinct on the British Isles for centuries and in addition to this the hidden threat of something unknown und unspeakable, that had the ability to strike a chord with the paranoia of the British soul like an epidemic of rabies.

For me, the flighty cat on the church yard remained my only encounter with a creature with prolonged canines that night, and returning to my car the next day, it became clear that these descendants of the infamous Count were even able to enjoy their well deserved rest in broad day light without vanishing into a cloud of smoke….

 

I realised that it had been a mistake to pass the last petrol station on the fertile plain near Sibiu, before starting the long ascend along the Transfăgărşan Road, which is crossing the Transylvanian mountain range from the North to the South. The forecasted 150 km of reach, the fuel gauge had indicated, had melted down to just 45 km, with the nearest petrol station on the other side of the pass still over 60 km away….

I had driven the whole day from a mountain camp in the North of the country near the border to Ukraine. The gathering  had been organised by Alex Bogdan Vitalaru and an enthusiastic group of Romanian veterinarians. For a whole weekend I had thoroughly enjoyed their company and particularly Alex’ guitar playing while sitting around a campfire. I was still humming to myself the melody of the song of Andrii Popa, Romania’s own version of Robin Hood, when suddenly a dark shadow appeared from the side of the road, trying to cross right in front of my car – a bear !

Not huge, but still probably 150 kg of fur and muscles, I certainly didn’t want to hit….

Thankfully, I had closed all the windows, and I considered myself lucky for not sitting on a motorbike or – even worse – on a bicycle.

The mountains of Transylvania have some of the highest density of brown bears and wolfs in the whole of Europe. Direct encounters with these large predators are becoming now more common and reports of even fatal attacks feature more frequently in the news.

After deciding that I, surrounded by a reassuringly thick layer of steel and glass, would be  “too much work” for a decent dinner, the bear crossed the road and disappeared back into the forest.

Only 40km of fuel left…..  

The road continued to climb and eventually I passed the tree-line. The vegetation was reduced to frost and wind resistant low growing shrubs and sharpe edged battle hardened grass, which only the toughest of ruminants were able to digest.

The temperature had dropped significantly and as the last daylight was fading, light rain was starting to fall.

Eventually I reached a poorly lit tunnel, just below the central ridge of the mountain, that was connecting the Northern to the Southern side of the massif.

Emerging from the other end of the tunnel, I finally parked the car and from here it was now just a short hike in total darkness to reach the small refuge.

Passing then the closer inspection of a guard dog, that was not much smaller than the bear I had just seen, I entered the battered cabin and found out that I was in luck after all: there was not only a spare bed for me in one of the dormitories,

there was even a cold beer and a hot soup waiting for me, before turning in for the night.

When I woke up the next morning, the clouds were hanging low over the mountains and it was still raining. While the hospitality at the hut had been great the previous night, it seemed to have run out of steam in the presence of early daylight. The fair this morning was some dry bread, an egg without salt and some plain cheese that had the texture of rubber, all washed down with some lukewarm instant coffee without milk. When I asked to get my thermos flask filled with some hot water and the manageress just took it to the kitchen sink turning on the warm water tap, I realised that it was time to leave….

Passing the now chained guard dog, which in day light looked much smaller than previous night, I ventured into the misty tundra landscape and found myself alone on a small path, while below me the road, filled with cars and motorbikes, meandered its way up the southern slope, with only individual rays of sunlight breaking through the thick cloud cover.

Being less than a mile away from the tunnel and the road, I was in complete peace and there was not a single sound around me. Next to the path I noticed beautiful blue aconites, that were frequented by industrious bees and more clumsily operating bumble bees.

I was just starting to enjoy the sensation of freedom and tranquillity, only the high mountains or the open Sea can give, when I noticed a movement next to a rock in front of me.

Rearing its head, completely covered in a thick coat of brown fur, moving the next moment at considerable speed straight towards me and coming to a halt just a few meters away, displaying a fine set of long and yellow front teeth…….was a…marmot…. that had clearly not been prepared for a visitor at this early hour…..

An earsplitting, high-pitched screech was to follow, before the large rodent disappeared into its nearby burrow.

Once I had rounded the side of the mountain, the path descended slightly into a small green valley, with a small stream running right through the middle of it. On the other side of the valley I first heard, then saw a large flog of sheep. The bleating of the livestock was occasionally augmented by the barking of a dog and I instantly knew that I had to give this seemingly peaceful setting a very wide berth.

The valley was eventually crossed without getting mauled, and then another mountainside had to be rounded before the final ascend was right ahead of me.

Now the path zick-zacked its way relentlessly up towards the ridge and to the only slightly higher summits of the Transylvanian mountain massif.

Finally I was standing next to a small lake – the sad remainder of another long disappeared glacier – and just a few meters away from it, was the destination of this solitary hike – the probably ugliest mountain shelters you will ever come across….

Something that resembled a crude hybrid of an oversized turquoise plastic dustpan and an illegally parked combine harvester with a large handle on it’s roof, had taken center stage on a small plateau.

One could only assume that numerous distinguished design prizes must have been won with this extraterrestrial looking object. 

Yet, the structure had an unlocked door and offered a place to rest after an eventful hike in Transylvania.     

 

Robert Popa was indignant when I entered his consulting room in Timisoara, in the most western corner of Romania, and the image I saw was just all too familiar to me:

Robert had just examined a one-year-old terrier with a non-weight bearing lameness that had for all of two weeks not responded to rest and oral pain killers.

Only reluctantly his owners had decided to seek a second opinion.

While already a limited clinical examination had been anything but encouraging, a set of radiographs had confirmed the diagnosis Robert had feared when his patient had limped through the door ….

Presenting a classic example of why it is important to take whenever possible two or more X-Rays of an area of concern, the first- cranio-caudal – film had implied a seemingly normal alignment of the bones, while the second film had unmistakably confirmed the presence of a distal diaphysial femur fracture.

Over the preceding two weeks, callus formation and muscle contracture had managed to immobilise the break somewhat, but one could just imagine, in how much pain this dog must have been.

What had frustrated Robert most was not only the time it had taken to get the condition diagnosed,  but the reluctance of the owners, who had arrived in a shiny new Bavarian SUV, to consent to the long overdue surgical management of this injury for the very reasonable fee of 400 Euros or the equivalent of a couple of tank fillings of their car….

“Ok, we will think about it…” was their – not very encouraging – reply, before leaving the clinic with their still half sedated canine companion……

While the cost of veterinary care is slowly catching up with other continental European countries, there are still many pet owners in Romania, that consider spending money on a dog or a cat as a superfluous expense.

Just an hour earlier I had arrived at the small airport of Timisoara, a city that had been completely off my radar, but a place I should have heard of, not at least because it was the first town in Europe that had a horse drawn tram (an excusable knowledge gap), the first place in continental Europe with electric street lights (less excusable…) and  the home of at least two Nobel laureates (inexcusable….) plus the birth place of Johnny Weismuller, the Olympic swimmer and world famous Tarzan actor (completely inexcusable….).

Here Oana and Robert Popa had designed and built their own functional and well-maintained veterinary clinic. Their team provided not only first opinion care, but the couple had also established a reputation as a referral center for more demanding cardiology, dermatology and orthopaedic cases.

While a standard consultation here had a comparably priced fee of 30 Euros, a cardiology referral appointment for 120 Euros appeared rather inexpensive to me.

Pet insurance cover and health plans remain virtually unheard of in Romania, and while telemedicine services are available, here in Timisoara, they did not seem to be used routinely by veterinary clients.

When a small dog with an acute onset of gastroenteritis entered as the next patient, I witnessed a familiar picture which  I had observed before in many other Eastern European countries: both the patient and the client were admitted to a dedicated room, where the owner had the opportunity or was expected to stay with their dog during the administration of i/v fluids. The introduction of the smart phone in combination with the availability of an excellent wifi connection had replaced in this situation the need to bring along a good book…..

The small and functional consulting rooms, equipped with foldable examination tables and the seamless, rounded connection of the flooring with the walls, were an indicator of how much thought had gone into the design of every little detail at this clinic.

While the vast majority of Romania’s veterinary practices – like Oana and Robert’s place in Timisoara – remain in private hands, the first national and international corporate groups have already started to take an interest into this fast-advancing, new veterinary market.  

The professional progress made in Romania can also be judged by the steadily increasing delegate numbers at the annual congress of AMVAC, the Romanian Small Animal Veterinary Association, which is held in the autumn in the city of Sinaia, in the center of the country. By now the congress has firmly established itself on the list of events of note on the international veterinary speakers’ circuit.

Looking at the clinic’s drug shelves, the in-house laboratory, the posters about the judicious use of antibiotics or at the screens of the fully computerised practice management system, that allowed a direct transfer of all digital imaging into the patient files, I could not see much difference to most UK veterinary clinics these days.

Somewhat unsettling I found a poster in one of the consulting rooms, displaying not less than nine different native species of snakes. However, following my comment on this, Robert assured me, that the poster had more to do with the interest of one of his colleagues in exotic animals and wildlife species, rather than with a heavy case load of snake bites, which in fact – at least in the region around Timisoara – he had not encountered in years.  

Once again it struck me, that Oana and Robert’s clinic in Timisoara were another testimony of the impact of the international exchange of knowledge and transfer of both clinical and management skills. Clearly a result of the important work of international veterinary organisations, exchange programmes and surely also of the uninhibited flow of information in a digital world.

While this stream of knowledge over the last decades has been running from the West to the East, it becomes progressively apparent, that the tide – not only in Timisoara – is rapidly turning.

 

“She’s got a smile that seems to me

Reminds me of childhood memories

Where everything was as fresh

As the bright blue sky

Now and then when I see her face

She takes me away to that special place

And if I stared too long,

I’d probably break down and cry….”

                                        (Sweet Child O’Mine, Guns N Roses)

 

It was 11 o’clock at night when Denis phoned and he was unapologetic:

“Listen man…. Laurent is coming and at the same weekend Guns N’ Roses are playing in Belgrade! So, no way that you can refuse that !…..”

He had a point …..

Denis Novak, one of the partners of the family owned Veterinary Clinic Novak – an institution not only in Serbia’s capital, but a place that over the years had been visited by all the Great and the Good in Companion Animal Veterinary Medicine, a disruptor and rethinker of veterinary continuing education on the Balkan and in many other Eastern European countries, a connoisseur of good rock music, addicted to dark fruit juices (preferably freshly squeezed blueberry juice) and authentic Italian pizzas (strictly limited to Margheritas), had – once again – an offer for me, that was impossible to resist.

Laurent Locquet, a fast rising star of veterinary cardiology, who, when not applying his trade at some of the UK’s finest veterinary referral clinics, can usually be found scanning the hearts of tigers, lions, chimpanzees and other more unusual creatures or designing smart phone applications to improve the cardiac care of both humans and animals, had – following some serious arm twisting by Denis – agreed to pass on some of his knowledge and skills of cardiac ultrasonography at Denis’ training facility near Belgrade. A free concert ticket had apparently been the ultimate argument….

Four weeks later, and I found myself together with Laurent and Denis right in the center of the crowd in-front of the stage at the Gun’s N Roses concert venue not far way from the Sava river…..

I have to admit, that I am not a great fan of large crowds, but once we had identified the place with the best acoustics, there wasn’t too much of a squeeze and fans who had travelled from around the world, were reassuringly polite and relaxed with each other.

Gun’s N Roses, like so many other groups that had come to fame and fortune at the end of the last century, were giving their career a final push this summer with another concert tour, possibly to show that they still “could do it !” and certainly to cash in ‘big time’ once again.

While some of these performances were of questionable merit and at some occasions provided extremely poor value for money, the same could not have been said for what Axl Rose and his band had install for us over the following three hours of non-stop performance…

40 years of repertoire were rolled out to an enthusiastic crowd, below a cloudless night sky. People of all ages were dancing to ‘Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door’, ‘Paradise City’, ‘Patience’ and ‘Sweet Child O’ Mine’ or to a few solo guitar performances by Slash or Duff McKagan.

This was rock music at its finest and some decades old T-shirts worn by die hard enthusiasts vouched for a lifelong love affair.

Axl Rose was drenched in sweat after the first hour. Slash’s guitars were exchanged faster than you could down a can of lager.

During the guitar intro of ‘Welcome to the Jungle’, the combined amplification of well beyond 100 000 watts appeared to make the loudspeakers glow red hot, putting a real strain on Belgrade’s electricity grid. As a result, the reverberation of the rhythm of the drums through the rib cages, the shredding on the guitars and the melodies of the lyrics massaged the thirsty ear drums of every lucky ticket holder in a thoroughly physical interaction with the music – something that only live performances are able to achieve.

What a night….

The next morning it was time for the performance of a veterinary ‘rock star’ supported by a happy band of Scottish Terriers.

Just outside of the capital, in a room equipped with padded examination tables and a number of ultrasound machines, Laurent took a group of veterinarians, that had arrived from all over Europe, on a ‘Tour de Force’ through the intricacies of cardiac ultrasonography.

While the dogs visibly enjoyed the stroking and the constant attention, every little details of their hearts were measured, the function of their valves was assessed, the ratio of the diameters and the volumes of different chambers were compared and the velocity and the direction of their blood circulation was displayed in vibrant colours on the adjacent monitors.

Once again the ears were tuned, this time to the rhythm of pulse waves that were entering and exiting canine hearts.

While Laurent didn’t need to break the same amount of sweat as Axl Rose the previous night, his performance left an equally lasting impression on his audience and in addition, one that is likely to benefit dogs with failing hearts for many years to come….

 

‘Cause nothin’ lasts forever

And we both know hearts can change

And it’s hard to hold a candle

In the cold November rain’

                        (November Rain, Guns N Roses)

 

Oleksandr Nazaryshyn was preparing his consulting room for a busy afternoon surgery. Outside his small practice on the ground floor of a multi storey building in Irpin, just a few miles west of Kyiv, pet owners already started to queue to have their animals seen.

Together with his colleague Alina Klechanovska, a native of the nearby town of Bucha, all veterinary care they provided in this small practice was free of charge and entirely funded through donations to the Four Paws animal welfare charity and to UVMF, the Ukrainian Veterinary Medical Foundation.

Their small clinic provided predominantly preventative care including vaccinations, anti-parasitic treatments, minor surgeries and neutering procedures. For the latter, Oleksandr still used and cherished the scalpel and the needle holder of his grandfather, who also used to be a veterinary surgeon.

The service Oleksandr and Alina provided, was much appreciated by the local residents, who were mostly refugees in their own country, with very limited means of income.

Standing outside the practice, which was conveniently located right next to an excellent coffee shop, it was hard to imagine, that this neighbourhood had seen some of the worst fighting at the beginning of the war. More than 70% of the buildings had been damaged or levelled to the ground and yet, due to a well working re-building programme and helped by international funding, I found myself surrounded by well attended modern apartment blocks with a number of playgrounds and a good variety of shops. While some of the buildings still showed some signs of damage caused by shrapnel and bullets, lagged this neighbourhood completely the familiar tristesse and ennui of traditional soviet style suburbias.

It makes sense, that physical and mental healing is progressing much better in a healthy environment and this was, what was provided here, both for humans as well as for their pets.

On our way back to Kyiv, I asked Nadia, a colleague from Zaporizhzhia who was driving, to stop at a sight, that had caught my eye just next to the road when we were entering the town.

A huge pile of mangled bodies of destroyed and often burned out cars and vans, all left to the elements and by now covered with a solid layer of rust, had been left in the middle of a parking place. This was Irpin’s ‘car cemetery’.

More than any man-made sculpture, each of these cars told its own story of fear, terror and tragedy. These cars were left behind by local families that had tried to escape the advancing Russian troops at the beginning of the invasion. Most of these cars were carrying women, children, elderly people and family pets and a few hastily grasped belongings.  

 

Some of the cars were left behind when no further progress could be made, as the only bridge connecting Irpin with Kyiv had to be destroyed by the defending Ukrainian army, forcing the civilians north of the bridge to flee on foot. These were the lucky ones….

There were numerous cars, that showed signs of bullet holes and nearby explosions and one could just imagine what horrors must have happened in these vehicles when they were overtaken by the advancing Russian forces….

Some artists had tried and failed to improve this place of carnage by painting sun flowers, the probably most iconic of all Ukrainian plants, on the outside of some of the destroyed vehicles, but while the buildings in towns like Bucha and Irpin could be restored, will this never be the case for the people and the animals who lost their lives or who had to witness what human beings can do to each other, not only in the dark days at the beginning of the invasion, but also in the still ongoing conflict…..  

 

We were just approaching the Maidan, the very heart of Kyiv, which by now was a Sea of blue and yellow flags that were commemorating fallen Ukrainian soldiers, when my phone exploded with the sounds of my first real air raid alarm.

Both drones as well as rockets were approaching the capital, and we had to take cover.

“I know just the right spot for us” said Andrij, my trusted companion. “Just follow me….”

While heading north-west in no great hurry towards the glass dome of the Globus shopping mall, Andrij explained that an air raid alarm in Kyiv usually leaves you 10-15 minutes time to retreat to a safe place. There was more time to react in Lviv and understandably far less in Kharkiv or in Kherson, which were much closer to the front line.

Right next to the dome we descended into the underground and found ourselves in-front of a door with an illuminated sign with Cyrillic letters I could not read.

We entered and after a few more steps we found ourselves in a dark room, with countless hands protruding out of a black wall.

This unusual barrier was guarded by a young girl who demanded a password from us to proceed…

Overcoming initial confusion and puzzlement by this unexpected demand and helped by a little nudge from the gate keeper, Andrij eventually recalled the quintessential passage of Taras Shevchenko’s poem “The Caucasus”, which was both a verbal attack against 19^th century Russian Imperialism as well as an elegy for his fallen friend Yakiv de Balmen, and he said:

“Boritesya – poborete!”  – Fight on and you will prevail!

yet without the following passage, which stated that “God is on your side”.

And sure enough…. the seemingly impenetrable black wall opened, and we were allowed to enter one of the most famous restaurants in Ukraine….

Ostannya Barykada, the “Last Barricade”, had for many years not only been a shelter for writers, poets, philosophers and for the politically persecuted, it was now providing us with a safe roof above our heads, while at the same time presenting us with the finest offerings of the Ukrainian cuisine!

Once we had settled as more or less the only guests, we were first treated to an unusual choice of exclusively Ukrainian cocktails.

The “Svitovan” – the “Traveller” – seemed a fitting choice for me and the careful blend of grapefruit vodka, lemon, sugar, egg white and orange juice certainly helped to steady any frayed nerves….

Waiting then for our food, it gave us some time to take a closer look at the interior of our “shelter”…..

Illuminated display cabinets that were hanging off the walls, contained various memorabilia of both Ukrainian as well as of foreign historic events and political struggles.

A scarf and tie worn at the ‘Orange Revolution’ protests twenty years ago, could be found next to a brick of the Berlin wall. A framed letter, sent from Minnesota in 1990, supported the “Revolution on Granite” which was followed by Ukrainian independence a year later.

A pair of gloves and a thermos flask gave an idea of the freezing conditions  during the Euromaidan and the Revolution of Dignity during the winter of 2013/14.

Throughout these struggles, the “Last Barricade” had been a place of shelter and sustenance for many protesters.

In an adjacent room, a “Mother Motherland” sculpture and a modern anti-drone gun reminded guests very vividly of the harsh reality of the ongoing conflict.

Large poppies on the wall near the entrance commemorated all the victims of revolutions and wars.

Eventually our food arrived and while enjoying the delights of a green and a red Borscht, the air raid App announced the end of any imminent threat.

While we were allowed to live another day and had probably one of the most enjoyable and educational experiences you might have in a bunker, we had to remind ourselves that many good people before and after this night hadn’t been or wouldn’t be so lucky….

 

Exiting Vystavkovyi Tsentre metro station, we first had to pass a considerable amount of tank barriers, which had been placed conveniently on the pavement next to Akademika Hushkova Ave, to be always at hand to set up an impromptu road block on this major trunk road leading into the centre of Kyiv and to the Dnieper river. It looked like an odd assembly of concrete blocks and pieces of rusting metal, that had been welded together in a hurry and were now discarded like the unwanted toys of a giant toddler.

The occasional portraits of some of the defenders on the boulders however confirmed that it had been ordinary people and not disgruntled giants who had used these items to defend their city.  

Walking through the gates of Ukraine’s Expo Center, Andrij and I found ourselves standing next to a full sized Tupolev TU-134A-3, which someone had decided to park here. While there were a number of impressive exhibition pavilions, including the spectacular “Grain and Oilseed” Pavilion, which featured a huge female statue on a central column, the aim of my first excursion in Kyiv was far more hidden in one of the minor and less eye-catching buildings at the other side of the central square.

Here the Patron Pet Center was – with the support of an army of local volunteers – looking after not less than 200 dogs and over 120 cats, some of them badly injured and traumatised and most of them rescued from the Kharkiv area.

What struck me, while standing in the brightly lid reception area of the building, was that I could hardly hear any barking or any other noise indicating that so many animals were kept here under one roof.  

The reason for this was explained to us by Iryna Podvoyska, who was both the head vet, the general manager and the main brain and engine behind this unusual shelter.

Helped by an industrial ventilation unit, all animals were kept in sound proofed and climate controlled small rooms, that had a large glass front door and could be cleaned easily. All of these units were placed in huge timber framed cubes, which filled out a large hall inside the building.

Some of these units had been adopted by individual artists, by local celebrities, by partner cities or by foreign animal welfare organisations.

There was a centralised food kitchen, a dedicated treatment room and an operating theatre to meet all the needs of the animals that were kept here.

While being located in the middle of a public park in Kyiv, the urban community was encouraged to visit the center and to take suitable dogs for a walk. The thus established human-animal bond proofed to be helpful for both the dogs as well as for the families that had been traumatised by the ongoing conflict. Unsurprisingly, a fair amount of the dogs were later adopted.

Cats had a separate home on the first floor with a dedicated room with individual care units, as well as some larger rooms, where groups of cats were housed together, depending on their individual immunological status.

The whole set up was already impressive, but Iryna had even bigger plans…..

A large feline play zone was in the process of being build and a café, right next to it and overlooking the park was due to follow soon.

Iryna carried the undeniable signs of chronic sleep deprivation, which I recognised so well from my own work in emergency clinics, but there was at the same time an iron will and determination, that I felt was on a different level than I had ever seen before.

While running this huge rescue centre, Iryna was already planning to return to Kharkiv and to the towns near the front to rescue even more animals. Relentless commitment fuelled by coffee and adrenaline….  

(If you like to learn more about Iryna’s work or like to support the Patron Pet Center, you should visit their website at https://patron.center or follow them on the usual social media channels)

 

It wasn’t exactly a journey I was looking forward to, but it had been too many times that I had found excuses for not visiting my colleagues in Ukraine at their annual vet congress despite their warmhearted invitations, that I would have felt too much of a fraught, if I wouldn’t have gone this time. In addition to this, there comes a time when you have to show your support, even if it seems to be not more than a grain of sand on a beach….

Admittedly, the timing wasn’t that great, with Kyiv experiencing some of the worst attacks since the beginning of the war. Leading up to this trip, I had downloaded an early warning air raid App and I had started to use it while I was still at home, but after a couple days I had to de-install it again, as it was going off too many times and it was starting to irritate the people around me….

The ever helpful Robert had dropped me off at Warsaw’s East station well in time before the train’s departure and while I was standing in front of the visibly dated carriages that were supposed to be my home for the next 17 hours, I found myself reconsidering his offer to spend a few more days with him and Magda in Poland instead.

But some things in life are just not that easy…..and so I found myself a few minutes later inside a cramped compartment with the train moving towards the East.

Once I had found some space for my minute suitcase – I was travelling light – and after accepting that my iPad had stayed behind in my room in Warsaw….I acquainted myself with my fellow travellers. There was a young Frenchman, who was supposed to work for the next three months at the French Embassy in Kyiv. From being very communicative at the beginning of the trip, he became progressively quiet the further we were heading into Ukraine, before stopping all conversation and starting to perspire when we drove into the capital. The other traveller was a Ukrainian businessman with an American passport. As his family had decided to remain in Ukraine, he had done this train journey many times. After enquiring why I was going and commenting that I was “a brave man”, with an ever so slight undertone that made the words “brave” and “stupid” easily interchangeable, he retreated into the top bunk and wasn’t seen again until we reached the outskirts of Kyiv.

I like train journeys and following an initial conversation with my French travel companion (while he was still talking), I watched the plain and contour-less landscape outside disappearing into the night.

I then immersed myself into the book I had thankfully not forgotten as well and enjoyed an occasional glass of tea, which was the only kind of hospitality to be had on the train.

After crossing the border, while everyone was trying to get some sleep, the whole train was moved into a giant workshop and was taken apart to adjust the wheel set from the 1435 mm European gauge to the slightly wider 1520 mm track, which used to be the standard in the Soviet Union.

I was tossing and turning in the bottom bunk, with sleep a distant dream, while a maelstrom of thoughts was crossing my mind….

While the wheels were being changed, I realised that we would be sitting ducks, and I wondered why the line – so far – had never been attacked….

“How were weapons moved from the west to the east? …

Were additional waggons packed with armoury attached to the train while we were asleep or was there an unofficial agreement not to do so?…

How was Kyiv going to be like?…

If drones would attack the train, was it better to be at the front or at the end carriage?…

How were other lecturers travelling to the conference?… Was this crazy?… Should I have stayed at home? …

What would Paul Theroux on his epic “Railway Bazaar” journeys have made of this situation?…

Was there only tea to drink?… And where were here the drunken hustlers playing cards throughout the night?…

What was I doing here?….Come on – go to sleep!….”

When eventually I woke up, the train was moving again and first day light appeared from behind a wall of trees. Looking out of the window, a landscape not much different from the pine forests in the South of Sweden appeared gradually. Without a restaurant compartment on the train, there was no need to get up early and while nibbling on the dry rye bread I had been clever enough to purchase just before leaving Warsaw, the GPS signal of my phone indicated that it was still a couple of hours until we would reach the capital.

The buildings along the railway line looked as run down and dilapidated as everywhere along busy train lines. Driving through smaller towns, I couldn’t see any signs of damage or military build up. In some way I was struck by the deceptive triviality of warfare in a big country – while towns and cities were razed to the ground in the east of Ukraine, people here were going about their seemingly normal lives as if nothing was happening. The streets were busy with morning traffic, shops were open and early morning joggers could be seen sharing the countryside lanes with the occasional dog walker next to the railway line.

The sky was grey, and light rain started to fall when we reached the outskirts of Kyiv and my first thought was, that this was a big place. May be not in the same league as London, but on par with Berlin or Vienna. This together with the absence of any visible conflict related signs of damage very much reduced my anxiety. Eventually we arrived in a railway station that wasn’t much different from that in any other European city, possibly with the slight difference of its dome like central building and the grand arrival hall, that with its marble interior and the huge chandelier, reminded me of some underground stations in Central Moscow.

Right at the platform I was greeted by Andrij, who was carrying a large sign with my name on it.

From here on he would rarely leave my side and would turn out to be my universal fixer, always providing help, advice and translations, so that in the end this journey felt far less daunting than expected.     

 There is no other river, that is so quintessentially Polish than the Vistula.

With its source in Barania Góra in the South West corner of the country, close to the border to the Czech Republic, this stream of water connects Krakow, Warsaw, Bydgoszcz and a number of other Polish cities, before its waters flow into the Baltic Sea at the Bay of Gdansk.

It had just gone past 6 o’clock in the morning, when I woke up and looking out of the window, I could follow Zajęcza Street all the way down to Swiętokrzyski Bridge, which like a double sided white harp span the width of the river.

You couldn’t stay more central in Warsaw then at this house, which was one of the few buildings that had survived the air raids and the destruction of the Second World War.

Once again I was enjoying the hospitality of Magdalena and Robert, who had made this place their home.

This time however, I was in for a real treat : taking a look at Magdalena’s new clinic !

Just around the corner from their flat, Robert had identified the former branch of a local bank as an ideal site for  a much needed veterinary clinic.

Once the lease had been agreed, work had resumed immediately and following a few months of hard labour, the new place had opened just over a month ago.

Unsurprisingly, it had been a flying start….due to Magda’s reputation as one of Europe’s leading veterinary nephrologists, the appointment book was full from day one and over a thousand appointments were recorded just in the first four weeks. Apparently there was already a two months waiting list for new clients….

Honestly, I wasn’t surprised….

Following an excellent breakfast at a local bakery just down the road, we entered the Vistula Vet Clinic just after 9 o’clock, while the team of fifteen vets and nurses were already looking after the first patients.

 Despite the fact that we were in the centre of a European Capital city, the whole place had the feel of a family run practice, where everyone greeted each other and Magdalena seemed to know every client and patient we came across as if they were old friends.

All the consulting rooms were functional and flooded with light due to floor to ceiling windows. The windowless rooms at the other side of the building were sensibly used for diagnostic imaging with a high-end ultrasound machine that was running all the time.

Following the stylish corridor, there were separate seating areas for canine and feline patients and in addition to this, purpose build shelves allowed the placement of cats in their carrier boxes in a more relaxed environment.

A lot of thought had been given here to every little detail and this went from the tasteful combination of the colourful spotted tiled floor, the indirectly illuminated, welcoming logo and the occasional wood panelling, which gave the place a more homely feel, to water bowls for thirsty canine visitors and even to a good selection of female sanitary items at the clients’ restroom.

Despite the central location in the city, there was ample space for inpatients and the clinical area featured a brand new and functional designed operating theatre.

While the treatment of patients was in full flow on the ground floor, a group of builders under the watchful eye of Robert was preparing further rooms, including a small lecturing room in the basement.

I have to say, that I was envious…not only to have a place like this to work at, but also for having a practice like this to bring my own pets to….

Magda’s Place – the new Vistula Vet Clinic – was certainly worth the journey and staying an extra night in Warsaw !

 

Back in Sarajevo, following a week of travelling and hiking, it was once again time to get some washing done, but this time I had decided to leave my dirty clothes in the gentle care of “Tito’s Iron Fist”, an institution no traveller to the city should miss, regardless of their need for a laundry…

While the walk to this laundrette was much shorter than in Mostar, it still meant that I had to cross the border between two entirely different worlds.

Stepping out of the front door of my accommodation, I found myself on Ferhadija, the busy High Street of the capital, which with its international brands of shops looked not very different from similar pedestrianised areas in Zagreb, in Vienna or in any other larger city in Continental Europe.

However, turning left and walking for not more than 100 meters, I crossed from an occidental world of multi-storey shops, churches, cafes and bars into a relict of Ottoman street life, where single story buildings with artisan workshops, shisha bars and mosques set the scene.

Cappuccinos were replaced by Bosnian coffees, Palatschinke by Baclava, Aperol Spritz by freshly squeezed pomegranate juice and Wiener Schnitzel by Börek of different varieties. Even the ice cream outlets had changed from Italian style Gelaterias to Turkish ice cream vendors, who you virtually had to fight to earn a cone with a single scoop of vanilla….

Resisting the urge to settle in one of the comfortably cushioned coffee houses, I carried on walking and crossed Baščaršija Square with its famous wooden fountain.

Just on the other side of the road, hidden in the bowels of an old building, I finally arrived at one of the most unusual laundries you can imagine.….

A room of not more than 16 square meters was filled with a couple of rows of washing machines and tumble dryers, most of them decorated with a large red, golden rimmed star. And yet, all of these machines were performing their useful work under the watchful eyes of Karl Marx, Lenin, Che Guevara and of course Marshall Tito.

That was, when the washing machines were working…

This morning however, road works outside of the building had damaged a water pipe and as a result the water supply to the whole building had been cut off. A problem that even the most advanced energy efficient and water saving washing machine technology couldn’t overcome.

While these were bad news for my fellow travellers, it gave me a chance to take a closer look at the place and to have a conversation with Kris, who could be described as half laundry owner and half history teacher.

Kris’ laundry featured not only a number of busts of the poster boys of communism, but also a pretty comprehensive library of the key works of marxism, communism, socialism as well as the odd handbook on guerrilla warfare.

When pushed on the subject of Tito and the former Yugoslavia, Kris missed no time to cover a vacant ironing board with a huge tourist map of this historic country and the  detailed narrative that followed, was illustrated with the help of a coffee table book featuring the Marshall with all world leaders of that time. Another of Kris’ treasures that came on display, was his private collection of old Yugoslav passports.

Arguably  “the best passport in the world at that time” , this document was apparently the only one that allowed visa-free travel to both East and West Germany, as well as to the United States, to the Soviet Union and to Cuba. Pretty handy, but I wondered if Finnish or Swedish passport holders would have agreed with this assessment.

While all the enthusiasm for this part of history didn’t result in clean clothes, a constant stream of loyal customers who had to be turned away, as well as a large number of favourable Google reviews confirmed, that “Tito’s Iron Fist” might be an unconventional laundry, but regardless of one’s political orientation, one that certainly gets the job done.

If there is water….

Well,…. may be next time ?!