Somewhere between Ljubljana and the Carpathians

I have been summoned.

Bohdan from Kosiv has called, and that alone tells me enough. He’s not the kind of man who reaches out without a reason, and certainly not in that tone, calm but just a little too quick, like he’s already decided I should be on the road. He simply said I should come and see, and that was enough for me to start packing without asking questions.

Kosiv, for the uninitiated, is a small town tucked into the Carpathian Mountains in western Ukraine. Beautiful place. Forests that feel older than memory, mist that lingers like it has opinions, and hills that look calm until you try to walk them.

It’s also famous for its ceramics — very distinctive, hand-painted pieces with green, yellow, and brown patterns. Plates, jugs, tiles… all looking like they could either decorate your kitchen or summon something mildly inconvenient if arranged incorrectly.

Bohdan, however, is not a ceramic artist.

Bohdan makes gorylka and keeps a large number of animals on his farm, more than I’ve ever managed to count properly. 

Now, I will say this carefully: Bohdan’s gorylka is excellent. I will also say this honestly: the morning after it has a way of making you reconsider every decision that led you there.

As for food, the region is dangerous in a completely different way. You have banosh — creamy cornmeal with bryndza cheese and cracklings. Comfort food that makes you question your life choices after the third bowl. Then hutsul bryndza, a sheep cheese with enough personality to start arguments at the table. And of course deruny — potato pancakes that arrive innocent and leave you incapable of movement.

If Bohdan says “just a small meal,” it means I will not be operational for at least two hours afterward.

Anyway, he said, and I quote: “Come see for yourself.”

I dislike this sentence.

It is never followed by something normal like “the fence is broken.” It is never followed by something simple or easily explained.

I am currently in Ljubljana, still recovering from what I will politely call the Sarmi Research Incident. Do not ask. The cabbage was not the problem.

The drive to Kosiv is about 13 hours. It’s long, but manageable — assuming reality behaves itself, which it rarely does when I have plans.

Before leaving, I made a brief detour through the Emporium, off-world, and stopped at the Infinite Cheesery. I picked up a small piece of what they call “Energy Cheese.”

It looks harmless. Slightly glowing, but in a reassuring way.

Tastes like a mix between aged alpine cheese and… clarity. Hard to explain.

Effect: keeps you alert, focused, and very mildly convinced you can solve problems before they happen. Not jittery like coffee, not unnatural. Just… steady wakefulness. Like your brain decided to cooperate for once.

Perfect for long drives.

Also perfect for making you forget you’ve been driving for six hours, which is how I once ended up in a place that does not officially exist on any map.

So I’ll use it carefully.

I should reach Kosiv by morning. If Bohdan is smiling when I arrive, something is off. If there’s food on the table, it’s more serious than he let on. And if I’m welcomed with both, then I’ve probably taken too long getting there.

More soon.

— Marco