Visiting a Soviet Ghost Town Created by the World’s Worst Nuclear Disaster at the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant

First Impressions of Ukraine: From Transdniestria to Odessa

2008: I first set foot in Ukraine in November 2008, traveling with my friend Dan to the historic Black Sea port city of Odessa. We arrived via public transportation from Transdniestria, crossing from one unrecognized state into a country with its own complex history. After surviving the border shakedown, we finally made it to Odessa, where we spent a few days exploring its grand boulevards, crumbling yet elegant architecture, and vibrant street life.

It didn’t take long for me to realize that one trip wouldn’t be enough. Ukraine was too vast, too layered, and too fascinating to be reduced to a single visit. As I wandered its streets, I knew I’d be back—and probably more than once.

My friend Dan and I in a booth at the Odessa Opera house

Old Town, Odessa

Returning to Ukraine: Exploring Chernobyl and Life on the Edge of the Exclusion Zone

January 2015: My second visit to Ukraine was part of a larger Eastern Europe adventure with my friend Frank, and this time, the destination was even more surreal—Chernobyl. We had come to see the infamous nuclear power plant and the abandoned ghost town of Pripyat, frozen in time since the catastrophic meltdown of 1986, when the Soviet government was forced to evacuate an entire city, leaving behind homes, schools, and amusement parks to be slowly reclaimed by nature.

But our experience wasn’t limited to eerie, radioactive ruins. As part of the trip, we stayed with an elderly family in a rural village on the outskirts of the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone. Life here was simple—isolated but enduring, as they carried on their daily routines despite their proximity to one of the world’s most infamous disasters.

It was a haunting and fascinating journey, offering a glimpse into both Soviet-era tragedy and the resilience of the people who still called this land home.

About Chernobyl

Location of Chernobyl in Ukraine

Chernobyl: Entering the Exclusion Zone of the World’s Worst Nuclear Disaster

The Chernobyl nuclear power plant meltdown in 1986 remains the world’s worst nuclear disaster. When its reactor core exploded, at least 100 people died immediately, and in the years that followed, thousands more are estimated to have perished due to radiation exposure. The fallout contaminated a massive stretch of land across Ukraine and Belarus, rendering it uninhabitable for centuries. To this day, a vast exclusion zone surrounds the area, where human life has largely disappeared, but nature has begun to reclaim the ruins.

Entering the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone isn’t as simple as just showing up—a special permit is required, which must be arranged in advance. Our fixer handled the application process a week before our arrival, ensuring we would have access.

To reach Chernobyl, we first flew into Kyiv, Ukraine’s capital and the closest major city to the disaster site. From there, we would set off on a journey into one of the most haunting and infamous places on Earth—a landscape where time stood still in 1986.

Kiev and Ongoing Conflict in Eastern Ukraine

Arriving in Ukraine Amidst Political Upheaval

Day 1: Frank and I arrived in Ukraine during yet another period of turmoil—a tragic pattern that, unfortunately, has become all too common for the country. Just a year before our trip, President Viktor Yanukovych, widely believed to be a puppet of Vladimir Putin, had been overthrown in a bloody revolution. His presidency, tainted by accusations of fraud and corruption, ended in mass protests that erupted into violence, leaving a deep scar on the nation.

Evidence of the recent revolution was still visible in Kyiv’s Maidan Nezalezhnosti (Independence Square). The charred facades of buildings, torched during the uprising, stood as grim reminders of the struggle. Overlooking the square was the Kiev Hotel, a large, imposing Soviet-era structure, where we chose to stay—right in the heart of history.

Meanwhile, in Ukraine’s far east, the conflict had escalated into a full-fledged war in the Donbas region between Ukrainian forces and Russian-backed separatists. Though the fighting was far from Kyiv, the war cast a long shadow over the entire country. The uncertainty, the political tensions, and the economic hardships were palpable—Ukraine was once again fighting for its sovereignty, its future, and its survival.

Kiev Main Square with Martyr Memorials and Hotel Kiev in the Background

A Country in Mourning: Refugees, Inflation, and the Aftermath of Revolution

The war in Donbas had displaced thousands, and its impact was painfully visible in Kyiv. Refugees who had fled the conflict were everywhere—living on the streets, sleeping in the airport, and even taking shelter in the lobby of our hotel. Seeing so many families uprooted, with nowhere to go in the dead of winter, was heartbreaking.

War doesn’t just bring violence; it also brings economic ruin. Ukraine’s currency was in free fall, and while this meant extremely low prices for me, it was a devastating reality for the people of Ukraine, who watched their savings vanish overnight.

When I exchanged money at the airport, I was immediately swarmed by desperate Ukrainians, all struggling to buy stable US dollars—a far safer bet than their own collapsing hryvnia. As soon as my transaction was complete, a desperate scuffle broke out behind me, with people pushing and shoving, trying to be the first to trade their increasingly worthless money for something that still held value.

Kyiv’s Maidan Square: A City of Shrines and Silent Grief

From our hotel balcony, we overlooked Maidan Nezalezhnosti, the very heart of Ukraine’s revolution. The square was no longer just a public space—it had become a sacred ground, lined with shrines and makeshift memorials honoring the Ukrainians who had died in the fight to overthrow Yanukovych, as well as those still perishing in the ongoing war in the east.

Candlelight vigils flickered in the cold, while groups of mourners gathered to sing old Ukrainian folk songs. Anti-Putin murals and banners were everywhere, a defiant message that Ukraine would resist Russian influence at any cost.

There was a heavy, mournful air throughout the country, a sense that Ukraine was both grieving and bracing itself for an even greater fight ahead. The revolution had ended, but the war was far from over.

Monuments Adorned with Anti-Putin Signs in Main Square

Ukraine Martyr Memorial to War in Eastern Ukraine

Martyr Photos from Revolution

Conversations Over Dessert: A Personal Look at Ukraine’s Revolution

While in Kyiv, Frank used Tinder, a dating app, to meet a few Ukrainian girls, and we arranged to meet them at a dessert shop. They were college-aged, spoke good English, and, like much of the younger generation, were outspoken about their beliefs—particularly when it came to Russia’s meddling in Ukraine.

Over coffee and sweets, they shared their experiences of the Maidan Revolution, describing the fear, the chaos, and the uncertainty of those tense days. One of the girls had a friend who had been shot by a government sniper while protesting. Hearing their firsthand accounts made the revolution feel even more real—not just something we had read about or seen on the news, but a deeply personal, tragic, and transformative event that had altered the course of their lives.

It was clear that, for these young Ukrainians, the revolution wasn’t just about toppling Yanukovych—it was a fight for their country’s future, a battle for freedom from Russian influence, and a struggle to determine their own national identity.

Frank in our room in the old Soviet Hotel, Hotel Kiev

Kyiv’s Historic Charm: St. Michael’s Golden-Domed Monastery

Despite the lingering effects of the revolution, Kyiv was a delight to explore, filled with grand architecture, vibrant streets, and deep history. One of the highlights was St. Michael’s Golden-Domed Monastery, a stunning 18th-century Eastern Orthodox church. Its golden domes, intricate frescoes, and serene courtyards stood as a powerful symbol of Ukraine’s resilience, a reminder of the city’s ability to endure through centuries of turmoil.

St. Michaels Golden-Domed Cathedral

Young Boy Saying a Prayer at St. Michaels Eastern Orthodox Church

Day in the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone

Into the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone: A Frozen Soviet Past and a Post-Apocalyptic Future

Day 2: We set out early in the morning for Chernobyl, crammed into a small Russian jeep-bus with a guide and a handful of other tourists. With Chernobyl gaining traction as a dark tourism destination, more international visitors were making the journey, drawn by its eerie, post-apocalyptic atmosphere.

After hours of driving, we passed a military checkpoint, where soldiers inspected our permits. Entering the exclusion zone—a 1,000-square-mile radioactive wilderness—felt like stepping into both a Soviet time capsule and a dystopian future. Abandoned wooden houses, Soviet-era relics, and overgrown streets hinted at the past, while the resurgence of wolves, moose, and bears—once extinct in the area—revealed how quickly nature reclaims abandoned human spaces.

With our guide, we explored Pripyat, the infamous ghost town left behind when its residents were evacuated overnight. The blustery winter weather only intensified the zombie-invasion, end-of-the-world feel of the place—especially since we were the only group inside the zone that day.

We wandered through the ruins of a high school, an amusement park, a nursery, an elementary school, and even Soviet radar towers before reaching Chernobyl’s nuclear power plant itself. It was undergoing the installation of a new, more permanent sarcophagus, meant to contain its lingering radiation.

Though thousands of sites remain untouched within the exclusion zone, most are off-limits due to radiation risks or structural instability. Even so, what we saw was enough—a haunting mix of Soviet decay, human tragedy, and nature’s quiet resilience.

Me Posing in Front of the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant

Ghost Town of Pripyat

Pripyat Amusement Park

Nursery

Elementary School

Nursery

Radiation

Radiation Warning Sign

Radiation in Chernobyl: The Invisible Danger

Visiting Chernobyl inevitably means exposure to radiation—everything within the exclusion zone is contaminated to some degree. While some areas are far more dangerous than others, most places are considered safe for short-term visits. However, sticking with a guide is crucial, as they know where the real dangers lie.

Our guide carried a Geiger counter, constantly monitoring radiation levels as we moved through the zone. Occasionally, it would spike unexpectedly, indicating hot spots of lingering contamination, which we carefully avoided. As we neared the Chernobyl nuclear power plant, readings soared, reinforcing why we didn’t linger for long.

There are three types of radiation present in Chernobyl:

Alpha rays (harmful if inhaled or ingested)
Beta rays (can penetrate skin and cause burns)
Gamma rays (the most lethal, capable of passing through the human body and damaging DNA)

The closer you get to the reactor, the higher the likelihood of encountering gamma radiation, which is why we kept our time near the power plant to a minimum. Even decades after the disaster, Chernobyl remains one of the most radioactive places on Earth, a chilling reminder of the catastrophe’s long-lasting impact.

Measuring for Radiation

Apartment Bloc We Climbed

Dead dog in the apartment building. Citizens of Chernobyl were not allowed to take their pets when the town was evacuated, and most were euthanized, however some survived, and at night bands of the dogs take to the streets fighting for territory.

View from top of apartment building of Pripyat

Inside the apartment building

Gas masks and an old school book with Lenin on the cover

Apartment Bloc Interior

Pile of gas masks that someone emptied out on to the floor from storage boxes located in one of the Pripyat Buildings

Duga Radar Towers

Exploring the Duga Radar Towers: A Soviet-Era Secret

One of the highlights of our visit to Chernobyl was exploring the Duga Radar Towers, a site that had only recently been opened to tourists. Once top-secret, these massive Soviet-era radar installations were built to detect incoming nuclear missiles during the Cold War. Known as the “Russian Woodpecker” due to the distinct tapping sound it emitted over radio frequencies, the radar was a key part of the USSR’s missile defense system.

Now abandoned and rusting in the middle of the exclusion zone, the towering structure loomed over the forest like a relic of a forgotten war. We were free to wander beneath its massive steel framework and even climb as high as we dared, though the rickety, unstable condition of the structure made each step feel like a risk. Looking down from the upper sections, it was surreal to stand on something that once played a role in Cold War nuclear paranoia, now left to decay in the radioactive wilderness.

Radar Towers

Climbing the rickety towers

Soviet era Murals

Soviet Murals

Guard Booth

Gas Ganisters and Soviet Red Star

Cold War Echoes and Modern Tensions in the Exclusion Zone

During the Soviet era, all nuclear missiles stationed in Ukraine were aimed at Europe and the USA. Today, however, Ukraine’s defenses are pointed in a very different direction—toward Russia and Belarus, reflecting the new geopolitical reality.

While exploring the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone, I noticed military hardware positioned in a distant field. Curious, I asked our guide about it. He explained that it was a portable anti-aircraft battery, strategically placed near the Belarusian border in case of a Russian invasion from the north. It was a sobering reminder that, even in this abandoned wasteland, Ukraine was preparing for war.

The Final Radiation Check

Before leaving the exclusion zone, we had to pass through radiation detectors, which scanned our clothes and shoes for any contamination we might have accidentally picked up. Fortunately, we tested negative, avoiding any complications.

I didn’t ask what happens if you test positive for radiation, but I could only imagine it involved being scrubbed down, quarantined, or worse—leaving contaminated belongings behind. It was a final unsettling moment in a place where invisible dangers still lurked, decades after the disaster.

Anti-aircraft missile battery aimed at Belarus

Me exiting via the Radiation detector

Homestay in Village Outside Chernobyl

The First Homestay in Chernobyl’s Shadow

Day 3-4: When planning our trip, I wanted something truly unique—a homestay in the Chernobyl area. At first, when I suggested this to our Ukrainian fixer, she dismissed it outright, saying no such thing existed. But after some persistence, she asked around and managed to find an elderly couple in her village willing to host us for a night.

After leaving the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone, we were dropped off in a rural village, where our fixer met us and introduced us to our hosts. They were kind and welcoming, though they spoke no English. For the brief time our fixer was present, she translated for us, but afterward, we relied on sign language and a Russian translation book to communicate.

The husband, a quiet but expressive man, revealed that he had once worked as an electrician at the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant in his youth. Though he spoke few words, his gestures and facial expressions conveyed everything—deep sadness and a sense of loss over the catastrophe that changed his world forever.

Me with Our Hosts

The village we stayed in

Our Homestay Host

A Humble Home in Chernobyl’s Shadow

Our hosts lived in a modest village home, with a cozy detached outhouse serving as their bathroom. They were both retired, surviving on a meager government pension, yet they welcomed us warmly, treating us like honored guests despite their modest means.

They prepared a traditional meal, made entirely from local ingredients—vegetables from their garden, pickled in their kitchen; water manually hauled from the well; vodka distilled from homegrown potatoes; and meat sourced from village livestock. Their house was heated by firewood, which warmed water circulating through the home, making the temperature unbearably hot at night—a stark contrast to the freezing winter air outside.

Even with the language barrier, we found ways to communicate and enjoy each other’s company. The homemade vodka, served generously from a giant jar, certainly helped ease the process.

Before leaving in the morning, we quietly left some money for the couple, hoping to support them in some small way. Later, our Ukrainian fixer shared some unexpected news—inspired by our experience, she had begun organizing a homestay program for tourists in rural villages around Chernobyl, helping to boost the struggling local economy.

What had started as a personal adventure had turned into something bigger—a small way to help others benefit from tourism in this forgotten region.