Our train creaked and sighed as we approached Rakhiv station. We appreciated the sluggish pace as we bundled our belongings together. It had been a spectacular journey from Ivano-Frankivsk – one which we were reluctant to see come to an end. We completed our packing and glued ourselves once more to the window.
For the last 3 hours, the train had rumbled through steep-sided valleys, following the meandering path of rivers and streams. Above us were thick forests, home to an abundance of exciting wildlife, from marauding wolves to the Eurasian brown bear.
Autumn in the Carpathians mountains had arrived in a melee of vibrant colours. With a low sun carpeting the landscape in gentle golden light, it felt like we were gazing out at a painting. The forests were awash with rich reds and oranges, the leaves creating a patchwork of tones that contrasted brilliantly against the deep blue sky.
On occasion, the landscape would open up in front of us. We would invariably catch glimpses of distant villages, unassuming collections of low-rise houses scattered across a rolling hillside. The sense of space in these remote settlements was a stark contrast to the hundreds of drab, grey apartment blocks which crowd the outskirts of cities.
We watched as the huge engine decoupled from the compartments and trundled down the lines. A steady stream of passengers left the station. Most continued their journey on foot, disappearing gradually into the network of dusty streets which branched out into Rakhiv – a small town of just over 15,000 inhabitants.
We politely declined the half-hearted approaches of the handful of taxi drivers and began our own wander into the town.
A Comedy of Errors at the Accommodation
Accommodation choices were limited when we visited Rakhiv. Although the Carpathians are a popular destination for both local and international travellers, many visitors will choose to base themselves in the more remote villages and resorts nestled deep in the wilderness. Rakhiv, despite sitting at 400 metres and claiming to be the highest town in Ukraine, has a relatively small pool of places to stay. Moreover, quite a few of these were closed when we visited – a combination of the pandemic and arriving during off-season.
We opted for one of the few viable hotels. Set slightly back from the main street, it was just a short walk from the train station. It was one of the cheapest stays of the whole trip – and it didn’t take long for us to find out why.
From the moment we arrived, everything was slightly bizarre. The friendly receptionist led us through a maze of dark hotel corridors, illuminated only by a sliver of natural light trying to squeeze through a grubby window.
She showed us into our room, a spacious square with three single beds and a small wooden terrace. Lucy decided she would treat herself to a quick handwash after our long journey. This turned out to be too much to ask. With a desperate gurgle, the sink tap loudly spat out a few globules of ice-cold water before falling silent. The bath tap met a similar fate.
Water, it appeared, was not an option. A quick inspection of the bath showed that this made little difference. Both the showerhead and the plug were missing. Even if water was available, we lacked the means to take a shower or a bath.
We mentioned the absence of water to the receptionist, who assured us that the whole town’s supply was off. We were off to a great start.
Looking for viewpoints in Rakhiv
The big draw of stopping in Rakhiv was the chance to stay amongst the forested peaks of the Ukrainian Carpathians. A lengthy expedition was out of the question, but we were keen to find a vantage point from which we could admire a view across the valley.
After a few minutes studying a map of the area, we spotted a trail leading up past the town’s cemetery and into the hills. It didn’t take us long to find the route. A steep, muddy path led us to a small clearing among thick bushes.
It had not taken us long to reach. Nonetheless, we needed a few moments to catch our breath before admiring the view. The whole valley lay beneath us. On the peaks opposite us, we could see how the town of Rakhiv was expanding ever higher. Houses clung to the sides of the hills, accessible only by poorly maintained tracks. Every few minutes, the roar of a motorcycle echoed around the valley – this was by far the most efficient way to reach these distant dwellings.
A small layer of grey haze lay at the bottom of the valley. The air was perfectly still, and – despite custom dictating that it is courteous to wait until nightfall to light bonfires – thick, woody smoke was already billowing from several gardens.
From our vantage point, the path continued higher into the thick forest. We decided there was little point in pressing on any further and carefully made our way back down the trail. Descending the muddy, damp track was considerably more challenging than our hike up. We slipped and slid towards the town, passing a handful of bemused children making their way back from school. Reaching the safety of the tarmacked streets without falling flat on our backs was, we agreed, a big win.
The Big Rakhiv Walkaround
We spent the rest of our afternoon in Rakhiv exploring the town centre. Our meandering route took us along the river, across bridges, and along any side street which looked remotely promising. This isn’t a big town, and we were never too far from the bright lights of the main road.
Highlights of our wander included watching a handful of local fishermen standing ankle-deep in the gently flowing waters of the river, waiting patiently for a catch. Viewed against a backdrop of the forested hills and chimney factories, the fishermen provided a brief snapshot into life in this quiet corner of Ukraine.
The back streets of the town also revealed some hidden curiosities. A handful of Soviet-era war memorials are scattered throughout Rakhiv, their stone subjects frozen in stoic poses typical of the style. Outside the fire station, a plaque commemorates the locals who played their part in fighting the catastrophic blaze at the Chernobyl nuclear power plant.
At the central square, the golden domes of the local church stand opposite a giant easter egg. This giant Pysanka – a traditional decorated egg – was probably Lucy’s favourite spot in the town. The practice of painting Easter eggs dates back centuries, and the skill involved in producing these intricate works of art is not to be underestimated.
It was surely no coincidence that whilst gazing upon the larger-than-life egg, we felt the first rumbles of hunger. The sun was racing towards the horizon, and our thoughts turned to an evening meal. The streets of Rakhiv were quiet, and many eateries appeared to be closed. This, we thought, could be a challenge…
The Quest for a Decent Dinner
We’ve had some appalling dinners over the years. The worst of these invariably occur when there’s no restaurant open nearby. Unfortunately, Rakhiv was not blessed with a wealth of establishments. The handful we found were either closed – the dangers of travelling during off-season – or looked questionable. We nearly took the plunge on one quiet shack which stood just off the main street, finding ourselves poised to walk through the door until we watched a couple of stray dogs emerge proudly from the kitchen and trot off into the cool evening air.
Before too long, we conceded defeat. It was time for the dreaded room picnic. With no microwave or kettle to speak of, our options were reduced to whatever combination of bread, cheese, salad, and cooked meat we could find in the local supermarket.
The end result was – and I don’t use this word lightly – wretched. We brought our foraged goods back to the room and sat at our pre-stained, chipped, clinically white Ikea table, wondering how best to tuck in.
Lucy laid out a greasy pizza box that had carried our train snacks from Ivano-Frankivsk. This box was our chopping board, placemat, and plate – a three-in-one combination of the most miserable variety.
Crumbs fell over the floor as we unwrapped our carbs: half a loaf of brown bread—thick, dense, and unsliced.
Sticky red liquid dripped from the packet of pepperoni slices when we peeled it open. This was our protein.
A few sweaty slices of long-life cheddar cheese provided a delightfully flavourless garnish.
Our side dish was a packet of bruschetta chips – arguably the highlight of the whole affair.
In the hunt for a saving grace, we realised that, mercifully, the water supply had returned. We could at least wash the greasy, crumb-ridden detritus off our hands at the end.
Star of the Show: Coffee Jazz
Every so often, you stumble across a cafe or restaurant which saves the day. “Coffee Jazz” fell firmly into this category. With a dearth of eateries in the area, this gem of a cafe stood out straight away when we walked past.
It was busy, for a start. A lot of work had gone into decking the place out – with its dozen of house plants and sleek wooden interior, the cafe would not have looked out of place in a fashionable London borough. The smell of coffee beans and the indie music playlist enticed us in.
We felt immediately at home as we admired the mouthwatering selection of cakes. Hot chocolate seemed to be the popular choice as we looked around the room – giant mugs filled to the brim with cream and marshmallows. We didn’t need too much persuading to decide to indulge.
The staff, too, were happy to chat with us and find out about our trip, and generously indulged our attempts to speak Ukrainian. So impressed were we with Coffee Jazz that we visited three times during our one-night stay in Rakhiv.
Breakfast on the day we departed was excellent. Cottage cheese pancakes, heaps of granola, and freshly ground coffee was the perfect way to sign off our time in the town and send us on our way to the next stop, and the next country. It was time to enter Romania!
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