And that desire never goes away—not even after trips to the seaside or visits to the tourist hotspots of Ukraine and Europe.
You try to suppress it with responsibilities—family, work, the daily grind. But it breaks through with a clear “I want to” in response to someone’s Instagram story or post.
That’s what happened with the Camino Podolico route, which runs through the Vinnytsia and Khmelnytskyi regions.
“I want to, but I’m scared to go alone”—that thought kept spinning in my head. While reading about the route, I stumbled upon the Kuluar website.
A hike with an experienced team leader, sleeping in tents—that’s it, exactly what I was looking for. Quick feedback from Kuluar, and I’m already making a list of what to pack for the hike.
I booked my train tickets and packed a bag with warm clothes, since they’re forecasting frost at night. Yes, just a bag, because I don’t have a big hiking backpack.
But that’s no problem: my luggage is traveling in the support vehicle, and I’m carrying only a small backpack for a water bottle, a raincoat, some snacks, and a first-aid kit.
Vinnytsia, the train station, a transfer to the meeting point. A little sleepy, a little tired—but everyone is excited about the trip. The group gathers, gets to know each other, and sizes each other up.
Our group leader, Vira—a cheerful, delicate young woman—quickly gets everyone riled up, and we set off as a crowd.
The first day, contrary to the forecast, brings incredible weather. The Southern Bug River serves as our guide: we walk along the shore, in the shade of the forest, and the incredible landscapes wash away all our worries.
The air is thick with oxygen, open space, and life. Breath by breath—and something shifts inside; spiritual fatigue recedes, the gray routine of everyday life fades into the distance, and in its place comes something new, pleasant, and alive.
In the evening, tired yet happy from having conquered the first stretch of the journey, we collapse, “legless,” onto our sleeping pads.
Cold nights, miles of road, and blisters still lie ahead, but my inner child has already put on her shoes and is pulling me to keep going. Further along the route and deeper—into my own sense of life.
The morning sun breaks through the thick fabric of the tent, trying to wake me up.
But you haven’t been asleep for a long time—you’re lying there listening to a concert of forest birds, which you stumbled upon by chance, uninvited. I want to listen more and more… But the road is waiting. And it doesn’t ask if you’re ready.
The saving grace is that you’re heading west—at least in the morning, the sun isn’t beating down on your face, but gently pushing you forward. The steppe wind dries your damp T-shirt.
Dust from the dirt roads settles on your shoes—a silent reminder of the kilometers traveled.
Your sore feet beg for a break, but you persuade them to go just a little further—to that tree, to the top of the hill… and there, you’ll find a place to spend the night.
The green meadow where a roe deer roamed this morning now awaits the weary travelers. Nearby, a blue expanse of water offers a refreshing coolness.
Tents. Dinner. A campfire. The day’s fatigue and aches burn away in the flames of the evening fire. The cool evening asks us to share the warmth accumulated during the day.
Distant stars overhead, the crackling of firewood—and yet another concert, this one in the evening, from the pond’s inhabitants.
And right here, between the stars and the silence, you realize: what seemed difficult—was necessary.
Every kilometer, every climb, every blistered heel—none of this is an obstacle, but part of the journey.
This route isn’t just about a walk. It’s about testing yourself—against the miles, the midday sun, and the evening chill. It’s about getting to know yourself more deeply, about discovering what you’re capable of.
It’s about savoring sunrises and sunsets, the singing of birds and the croaking of frogs; it’s about the warm glow of a campfire and the cold radiance of the stars.
It’s about strangers who share their warmth and experiences. It’s about the joy of small achievements. It’s about the energy and inspiration that arise from connecting with nature and people.
A huge thank you to team leader Vira Voloshina, who instilled confidence, offered support, never left me alone with my problems, and always found a way out of any situation.
She enlivened the trip with fascinating stories about the sights we encountered along the way and the rural communities we passed through.
Thank you for your attention and for the cheerful atmosphere she created, as well as for the delicious food—I especially enjoyed the borscht and the pasta with tuna, olives, and cheese.
