Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
At the Chernobylinterinform administrative building, in the town of Chernobyl—nearly
ten miles distant from the reactor itself—we met Dennis, my escort. Standing at the top of
the steps to the low, yellow building, Dennis matched the quasi-military vibe of the zone.
He was in his mid-twenties, with an early baldness made irrelevant by a crew cut, and wore
combat boots and a camouflage jacket and pants. The look was completed—and the mar-
tial spell broken—by a black sleeveless T-shirt printed with the image of a football helmet,
around which swirled a cloud of English words. A pair of wraparound sunglasses hid his
eyes.
“First is the briefing,” he said coolly. “This is upstairs.” And with that he walked back
into the building.
The briefing room was a long, airy space, its walls hung with photographs and maps.
A wooden table surrounded by a dozen chairs dominated the center of the room. The floor
was covered with an undulating adhesive liner printed to look like wood paneling. Must
make for easy cleanup, I thought, in case anyone tracks in a little cesium.
Dennis and I were alone. The summer season hadn't picked up yet. He retrieved a gi-
gantic wooden pointer from the corner, and we approached a large topographic map on the
front wall. He began diagramming our itinerary using his tree limb of a pointer, though the
map was mere inches in front of us.
“We are here. Chernobyl,” he said, and tapped on the map. “We will drive to Kolachi.
Buried village.” He tapped again. “Then to Red Forest. This is most radioactive point
today.” He looked at me for emphasis. He was still wearing his sunglasses.
Turning back to the map, he continued. “From here we will go to Pripyat. This is deser-
ted city. Then we can approach reactor to one hundred and fifty meters.”
It was the standard itinerary, allowing visitors to inhabit their preconceptions of
Chernobyl as a scene of disaster and fear—but without actually straying off the beaten path
or risking contamination. This was, after all, what most people wanted. But I hadn't come
all this way only to wallow in post-nuclear paranoia. I was here to enjoy the place, and this
was the moment to make it happen.
“Is there any way…” How to put it? “Is there any way we could go canoeing?”
Dennis regarded me blankly from behind his shades. In their silvery lenses, I could see
the reflection of someone who looked like me, with an expression on his face that said,
Yes.
I am an idiot.
“This is not possible,” said Dennis.
“Well, if there's any way to get on the water, or maybe visit the local fishing hole, I'm
happy to sacrifice part of our planned itinerary.”
