This blog entry is a travel letter, so dedicated haškologs
may want to skip it. It is the story of how a "famous Norwegian švejkolog" got infamously stuck in the
Pripyat marshes, swatting insects, and chasing shadows.
Being a geo-nerd
|
Sarny voksal |
On a steaming hot July morning in 2010 I found my way to
Київ-Пасажирський, the mother of all Ukrainian railway
stations. Not only is it huge but also extremely ornate, no doubt a legacy of the Soviet Union and possibly even
the tsar. My train was heading west, to an obscure town called
Sarny in north western Ukraine, near the border with
Belarus.
The reason for going there was that I had perceived that
Jaroslav Hašek spent some time in
Sarny in 1916.
Radko Pytlik mentions the place, and
Cecil Parrott also indicates some connection. Parrott's "The Bad Bohemian"
even states that Hašek had been to a place called
Berezno in Belarus, located nearby (the information was
first published by
Jaroslav Křížek in 1957). In Oslo, before I set off on the journey, I located the place.
Then I discovered that I needed a visa to go to that (presumably) marshy hole by the river
Horyn. I had
backed off: common sense had prevailed and trumped my geo-nerdish fundamentalist inclinations. Former
sovkhoz director Lukachenko and his loyal subjects in
Berezno must have me excused.
Sarny
|
Hotel Sluč |
Sarny and its railway station at first sight appeared forlorn. A helpful gentleman directed me to
Hotel Sluč, the only
hotel in town. Located not far from the station, it was extremely cheap and likewise uninviting. Still the Russian speaking staff
were quite welcoming, although their attention to documents and diligence in stamping them indicated that their
souls were still lingering in the Soviet Union. My Norwegian passport caused a great deal of concern - such
a document may not have been stamped too often this side of the river Pripyat. To call the room spartan may
perhaps be an insult to the ancient heroes of the
Peloponnese, and it was hot enough inside to be
appreciated by any Greek, be it ancient or modern.
|
Chernobyl: "to the dead, the living and those not yet born" |
The town itself appeared very small, but I was deceived by the location of the railway
station. It is at the very end of urban area, and Sarny appears smaller than it is because it is so narrow.
On the other hand it is very long. Still long, wide or narrow; the lasting impression was the drabness -
there is not even a sign of a landmark - probably the result of destruction in WW2. The masses of Soviet
style pre-fabricated buildings indicates post-war reconstruction. Another tragedy happened in 1986: the
Chernobyl disaster hit this region particularly hard.
On the streets Russian was heard a lot more than in Lviv. Sarny had been part of the Russian Empire but was in
the interwar period part of Poland. The Polish past is commemorated by a placard near the railway station and on a
few occasions I was even asked if I was a Pole. Nearby there is also a plaque commemorating the victims of
Chernobyl.
The elusive Regiment HQ
|
Approaching Polyany |
As mentioned at the start of this letter I had chosen to ignore Berezno, the HQ of the First Czechoslovak Rifle
Regiment at the time when Jaroslav Hašek was assigned to the unit. During the trip I came across an on-line version
of
Deník legionáře Josefa Holuba (The diary of legionnaire Josef Holub). I quickly browsed it, and the contents
filled the heart of this geo-nerd with joy and enthusiasm.
Berezno was NOT in Belarus,
Cecil Parrott was barking
up the wrong tree (no doubt he barked in a refined manner, befitting a former British diplomat).
I triumphantly concluded that
Berezno must be
Berezne (names often change around here), and it was located SOUTH of Sarny, within easy reach and without the need
to cross any borders. I had always regarded Parrott solid on geography; his translation of Švejk has very few
blips in this respect. But now Sir Cecil Parrott, the British diplomat and scholar, was lost in the
Pripyat marshes
and Jomar Hønsi; an unassuming, shy and shabbily dressed švejkolog of humble origins was on
terra firma.
Kafe Neptun
|
Between Polyany and Berezne |
In an upbeat mood I set off in the direction of Berezne. I took a maršrutka to Malynsk, walked 6 km to
Polyany
where I was suddenly overwhelmed by an incredible thirst. In
Kafe Neptun I sat down, ordered a cold
Lvivske pyvo,
and couldn't care less about the swarm of flies that took interest in my person. No wonder they did, as I was
dripping with sweat in the hot weather. At the table in front of
me sat an old man in dirty green wellingtons. He stared at me so intensely that I became self-concious;
checked that there was no drop under
my nose, and no bird-shit in my hair, and no horse-dung on my sandals. In the end it was only curiosity. He asked
where I was from, concluded that where I was from was very cold and then asked if we had
картопля and
капуста (potatoes and cabbage). I reassured him that we are very well off on both accounts. Then he told me about his
family, they were eight people living in his house. He also asked me how old my father was and if he was healthy.
Very well I said. Father is 88 and healthy and I was asked to pass on a greeting. He himself was only 78 and also
healthy. Small encounters like this are amongst the most rewarding aspects of travelling, but unfortunately
language barriers limit the possibilities.
|
Church near Berezne |
The old man left and I decided on another beer. Unfortunately a truck-load of goods had just arrived, and
the waitress prioritised counting melons and doing paperwork ahead of serving customers. I got mightily
irritated and cursed the communist notions of customer service (or lack of it), which in this case was
still apparent. I had visions before my eyes of grumpy employees of the "service sector" who demonstratively
tended their nails in front of the customer, and doing so with the most unfriendly expression on their faces.
This girl was not unfriendly though; it was just that it hadn't entered her head the customers come to
Kafe Neptun in Polyany for other reasons than watching her counting melons. After she had got the bloody melons
out of the way she even sat down for a chat, and presumably I told her in a friendly way that, yes: we don't
have melons in our country but are self-sufficient in cabbage and potatoes.
Confusion
|
A bus-stop on the road to Berezne |
I continued onwards
Berezne and it seemed to confirm that I was in the right place: there was a small
lake and a small mansion, just as
Josef Holub had said. Mission accomplished, I thought...
But: two years later I
discovered that it was ME who had been barking up the wrong tree, not
Cecil Parrott and
Jaroslav Křížek! His Berezno in Belarus was
indeed where the
1st Czechoslovak Rifle Regiment was located. To add to the confusion: they were also located
at
Berezna in 1917, but this was another place, near Zhitomir, and his was this place
Holub wrote about!
I admit I was totally off track, but I am not the only one. Haškologs in general are on thin ice;
even the reliable
Bibliografie Jaroslava Haška gets mixed up. The accounts given by Křížek, Pytlík and Parrott are suspiciously close to a description
Adam Kříž gave of Hašek and the regiment's stay in
Berezna in 1917, after the battle of Zborów. It seems to me that there were quite a few dogs around, and they were barking up awfully many trees (and I was the last to join their ranks).
Later I discovered the details of Hašek's connection
with Sarny. His regiment was stationed at
Remczyca (15 km to the north) in May 1917, and this is the place
where he appeared before a court of honour because of his infamous
Czech Pickwick Klub. I was blissfully
unaware of this connection and could easily have visited Remczyca (now Remchytsi).
That is: if I had known about it! Amen!
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