‘I braved forgotten buildings of Chernobyl – the rows of child cribs are haunting’
BROCARDE’S TERRIFYING TRAVELS: Brocarde recalls her trip to the infamous Chernobyl and was left ‘haunted’ by what remains there. She also chatted with some residents who dare to call it home still
In the world of dark tourism, few places are as instantly recognisable as Pripyat, Chernobyl. The brightly coloured Ferris wheel towering over this post-apocalyptic wonderland has drawn bus-loads of snap-happy tourists over the years.
Now closed to the public amid the ongoing war in Ukraine, I reflect on my past experiences of exploring Chernobyl and share what I discovered hidden inside the forgotten rooms of its hospitals and schools.
I was surprised to find that Chernobyl isn’t as abandoned as I had imagined. Marketed as a radioactive danger zone, I expected that nobody could, or would want to, live there.
In reality, dozens of people not only work in the area every day but many still call it home. The threat of radiation remains real and serious, but for a day visitor it’s said to be comparable to what you’d encounter on a transatlantic flight.
I was told that many long-term residents have reached old age without suffering illnesses linked to radiation exposure. Even so, every visitor must undergo a radiation scan when leaving the exclusion zone.
The fear of being found radioactive is genuine, I imagined a life of solitary confinement. But the reality might be even more unnerving: having to remove your clothes for decontamination. Luckily, I was safe from these two evils.
Geiger counter in hand, I ventured through the apocalyptic streets of Pripyat.
The famous Ferris wheel is the first thing you see, and it’s where most visitors gather. There’s something profoundly cinematic and moving about this huge, colourful structure standing against its grey, desolate backdrop.
The atmosphere in Chernobyl is unlike anywhere else – unnerving, haunting, unforgettable. The silence is deafening.
There are no birds, only the eerie creaking of Ferris wheel carriages swaying in the wind. There’s so little sound, yet you can almost hear a faint white noise, as if you’re a character in a real-life disaster film.
Eager to escape the usual tourist paths, my private guide led me off-grid, and I was stunned by what I found. Stepping into the abandoned hospital, I noticed a fireman’s helmet still resting on a desk.
My Geiger counter went wild, radiation levels spiking as the device neared the helmet. The hospital basement is said to contain hundreds of firefighters’ uniforms and pieces of equipment, making it the most radioactive area in the entire zone.
Out of curiosity, or perhaps sheer recklessness, I continued exploring the hospital. Time seemed to stand still as I wandered from room to room. What struck me most was how untouched everything felt, as if frozen in time.
I entered what had once been the maternity ward, rows of baby cribs still lined up neatly. A few doors down was the pharmacy, shelves still filled with medicine bottles and boxes scattered across the tables. If someone were so inclined, they could concoct an almighty elixir of trouble there.
I couldn’t believe how much remained, covered in dust but largely intact, with the glass bottles perfectly preserved.
Moving from building to building, I found a grand piano still standing in a school auditorium.
Desks, classrooms, even pens and pencils lay neatly in place, as though a lesson was about to begin – but it never would. Everything was frozen, a haunting reminder of the lives interrupted and lost in time.
I couldn’t help wondering how locals felt about their community being transformed into a dark tourism hotspot. Speaking to several residents, I sensed mixed emotions. Older generations, those who vividly remembered the disaster and the trauma it brought, carried a quiet resentment.
Yet many were also earning a living from the tourism boom, running restaurants and small hotels. Younger people seemed more accepting, believing it had put their community – and their country – back on the map.
I often wonder if I’ll ever see Chernobyl again after the war. I think about what remains and what may now be gone forever. I feel incredibly fortunate to have witnessed its sombre, otherworldly energy.
The haunting ambiance of Chernobyl will stay with me for life.
