We, explorers of abandoned places, are definitely a breed apart… Ibiza, New York, Hollywood, the Balearic Islands are all highly coveted travel destinations… but not by us. There is one place that makes us all dream and fantasize: Chernobyl! Sharing this desire with our friends and family usually earns us evasive glances and pure incomprehension. Do you have to be crazy to want to immerse yourself in this radioactive world? No. As a USSR and Cold War enthusiast, I have always been drawn to Chernobyl, long before my addiction to urbex. Discovering a landscape frozen in time and being able to travel back in time without having to rig up a DeLorean DMC-12 is a unique experience—a true open-air museum.

On December 27, 2016, like a slightly belated Christmas present, I received an email invitation to visit the Chernobyl zone—an absolute dream. To mark the launch of the tour operator Planet Chernobyl, I got the opportunity to travel to Ukraine. This is the first time in France that a travel agency has offered this specific destination. Until now, you had to go through Ukrainian intermediaries to set up this expedition, but here, it’s a complete package including the trip, the hotel, and the journey through Chernobyl.

Going to Chernobyl is a new experience for me, but so is exploring an abandoned place in a group. I’m used to doing urbex solely with Marie, so being here, on an authorized tour with other people, means I’ll have to do without the adrenaline and solitude I crave so much. I’ll just have to adapt for such a great opportunity.

The night before the big departure, a local guide briefed us on the safety measures to follow on-site. There’s no need for special equipment—you just need to wear long clothes and, ideally, have a pair of shoes you’re willing to sacrifice. That’s what I did, just in case I brought back radioactivity under my soles. The golden rule is to never touch or pick up anything, and obviously, to bring absolutely nothing back. You have to completely forget the crazy idea of taking home a souvenir.

Our group (yes, I’m with about thirty bloggers—so much for solitude) was warned that there are a lot of animals in the Chernobyl zone: dogs, foxes, lynxes, wolves, wild boars, horses, and even bears. Naturally, we are not allowed to touch them. For the bears, I don’t think I’ll have any trouble with that; but for the dogs, I’m really going to have to concentrate to stop myself from petting them. Out there, right in the middle of the contaminated zone, wildlife has found a peaceful haven, far from human threats, hunting, logging, agriculture, and so on. The animals peacefully coexist with the radioactivity. Without a doubt, it’s an environment that would make their counterparts locked up in zoos or circuses jealous. Sad, really.

A bit of history

It is 1:23 a.m. on April 26, 1986. The Lenin power plant explodes following a series of experiments intended to test a self-powering system that would allow for energy savings. The test involved an accumulation of risky maneuvers, such as deactivating the cooling system’s alarm and dropping the reactor’s power to a level that could no longer be controlled. After a whole series of failures, the power output of Reactor No. 4 surged a hundredfold, blowing off and launching the 1,200-ton concrete slab that covered the reactor into the air. The debris from the slab then crashed straight back down into the reactor core, fracturing it. A violent fire broke out as a result. Completely unaware of the sheer magnitude of the danger, and without any specific radiation gear, firefighters were dispatched to the scene to try and extinguish the various fires blazing across the plant.

The absolute priority was to seal off the reactor to prevent a nuclear catastrophe. For several days, men in helicopters struggled to drop tons of lead, sand, clay, and boron. From a height of 200 meters, they had to aim for a 10-meter opening without being able to hover in place for more than 8 seconds due to the radiation—chaotic conditions that unfortunately caused the majority of the drops to miss their mark. At the same time, to prevent the power plant’s foundations from collapsing, miners dug a tunnel to allow the injection of liquid nitrogen in order to cool the reactor core.

It took a full day for the authorities to grasp the terrible consequences of the disaster and order the evacuation of Pripyat, a city located just 3 kilometers from the plant. This significant delay severely impacted the population’s exposure to radiation. In the rush, they fled the area aboard 1,000 buses dispatched to the scene, taking only the bare minimum and their identity papers. Little did they know they were leaving for good, abandoning their entire lives as well as their pets. An impressive logistical operation was deployed to empty Pripyat of its 40,000 residents. And that’s not even counting the surrounding villages. Ultimately, an evacuation perimeter was established within a 30-kilometer radius, displacing a total of 200,000 people.

[VIDEO] In 1988, two years after the evacuation of Pripyat, a flyover of the city provides an aerial view of a dead city:

Adding to the heavy toll of these shattered lives is the sacrifice of thousands of men known as the liquidators, tasked with urgently building a sarcophagus over the reactor. They were completely unaware of the fatal consequences of their radiation exposure and the devastating impact it would have on their health. To this day, the exact death toll remains murky as various sources contradict one another, but the most widely circulated figure is that 25,000 out of the 600,000 liquidators died as a result of their exposure to radiation.

[VIDEO] The evacuation of Pripyat:

Dytyatky Checkpoint

To access the city of Pripyat, you have to pass through two checkpoints: one at the 30-kilometer mark and another at 10 kilometers. Passports are mandatory, and identity checks are systematic. Arriving at this first barrier, the Dytyatky checkpoint, I step off the bus and am greeted by a super cute dog. Oh well, I pet him. There you go, I lasted exactly 3 seconds respecting the rule not to touch stray animals. Now I might be contaminated, destined to wander the condemned zone for all eternity with my new four-legged friend in search of radioactive food. Come to think of it, I’d probably have a much more peaceful life if I just stayed and lived out there. Just in case, the guide runs the Geiger counter over my hands. Nothing to report—you really can’t be a hypochondriac around here.

We then pass through the village of Zalissya, which was also evacuated. We tend to forget it, but the Chernobyl disaster wasn’t just the evacuation of Pripyat; it included several surrounding villages as well. From the bus, we see abandoned houses stretching as far as the eye can see, swallowed by the snow for the occasion. But this is also where some people have returned to live. Indeed, there is a phenomenon here where elderly people, all over the age of 70, have come back to their old homes to live out the rest of their days. Unconcerned by the risks, they have absolutely no fear of the radioactivity; at that age, it’s simply no longer a factor to consider. You can actually spot small houses that are in relatively good condition—the contrast is staggering.

This bus ride is incredible—it’s like a movie set; we are in Silent Hill. At one point, we even catch sight of a ship graveyard in the distance. Seeing this old shipyard frozen in the icy lake is truly magnificent. Unfortunately, we were too far away, and I could only capture the port of Chernobyl from a distance.

A school in the village of Kopachi

A few minutes later, we stop at an old boarding school that we are allowed to enter. From that moment on, I already had to exercise both patience and speed to get my shots. As it turns out, there were 12 buses in the Exclusion Zone during my visit—an enormous number. I had to somehow capture the locations without getting people in the frame if I wanted to avoid spending all my nights on Photoshop. That’s when I truly realized the area had become a genuine tourist destination.

Inside, there are still plenty of objects left behind, some of them likely staged to make the place more photogenic—like these two dolls greeting us at the entrance. In the dormitory, among the toys, stuffed animals, and books, you just want to examine every little detail. However, our overly tight schedule doesn’t allow me to stay for more than five minutes, as we must press on with our journey toward the DUGA-3 radar, nicknamed the Russian Woodpecker.

DUGA-3 Radar

It is a monumental radar located in the Chernobyl-2 zone, resembling a giant scaffolding erected within this Soviet military base. Launched in 1976, its highly powerful radio signal was detected worldwide, causing clearly audible interference on radio frequencies and even bleeding into European airwaves. During the Cold War, the site was disguised by labeling it as a children’s summer camp on maps. They even went as far as building a fake bus stop decorated with children’s paintings at the junction leading to the base—a true decoy. Sooner or later, the plan is to demolish this radar to prevent it from collapsing on its own.

Cooling Tower

We hit the road again heading toward Chernobyl’s Reactor No. 4, the epicenter of the disaster—the place where it all began. Before getting there, we take a detour to explore a cooling tower that was never completed due to the evacuation of the area. Inside, the sheer scale of the structure is awe-inspiring; the silence is broken only by our Geiger counter going crazy. The place is highly contaminated, so we don’t linger.

We are getting closer to Reactor No. 4, spotting it in the distance. Recently, an immense sarcophagus was placed over it—an 18,000-ton metal framework that will eventually allow the reactor to be safely dismantled under cover. As surprising as it may seem, there are still many people working at the site, primarily for maintenance and monitoring. Life hasn’t completely stopped out there. We take a few photos to capture the reactor in front of a memorial statue, and then continue on our way toward Pripyat.

Reactor No. 4

The city of Pripyat, founded in 1970

Here we are in Pripyat, covered in snow for the occasion, which adds a poetic atmosphere to the place. We have to rush through the visit; in less than an hour, we already need to make it back to the first checkpoint before it closes. Our guide is really pushing us to hurry.

The city of Pripyat before the disaster:

The Palace of Culture

The Palace of Culture, located on Lenin Square. It once housed a cinema, a theater, a gymnasium, a large library, and a swimming pool.

Luna Park

Arriving at the amusement park, the Ferris wheel looms before me. With a group of visitors right on my heels, I literally start running to keep them out of my shots—pure stress! I fell completely under the spell of the place; as you’ll soon notice, I went overboard photographing the Ferris wheel and couldn’t even bring myself to filter the shots later. I captured it from almost every possible angle. For a bit of history: the Ferris wheel and the bumper cars were never actually used; they were set to be inaugurated on May 1, 1986. Finding those famous bumper cars buried under the snow created an exceptional visual. I was called back to order several times by the guide, who kept insisting I follow the group because we had to leave the zone. Honestly, I took all these photos under conditions that were anything but ideal.

The Polissya Hotel

The Polissya Hotel before the disaster:

The Swimming Pool

[VIDEO] The swimming pool before the disaster:

Reflections on this trip to the Chernobyl Zone

I’m not going to lie—this radioactive getaway left me with a fair amount of frustration. The very essence of an explorer is to sneak in everywhere, satisfy one’s curiosity, and cross the line into the forbidden. Within the framework of this tour, even if I suspected as much beforehand, I wasn’t able to do much. It is impossible to cover the entire zone in just a few hours; a full month would barely be enough, so you can imagine what I managed with my allotted time. The major advantage of exploring Pripyat in winter was being able to photograph the exteriors without any issues; otherwise, the city is so overgrown that you can’t even see most of the buildings anymore. That’s definitely something to keep in mind if you plan on going there.

It’s clear that I haven’t even explored 1% of the zone, given that I couldn’t even step foot inside the buildings. Our guide for the day was rigid and uncompromising; I didn’t even have the heart to try a comedy routine to bribe her. Especially since the ban on entering buildings dates back to October 2016—meaning iconic spots like the swimming pool are now off-limits. In fact, at the first checkpoint, you sign a waiver agreeing to the rules, and the guides follow these safety measures to the letter for fear of losing their jobs. It was obvious that, for our press trip, the guide wasn’t going to show any flexibility. Visiting the Chernobyl Zone under these conditions is clearly not Urbex. For the brave, there is still the option of following a ‘stalker’—trekking for hours through the forest and wild animals for a hit of authentic adrenaline. That requires rigorous organization, though; you can’t head out like that without preparation, as it’s not without risk. This brief immersion has left me wanting to return to the zone to discover more—and in a setting where I’m not part of a group.

That said, I’m not going to complain; I still had the chance to go there with Planet Chernobyl. They actually offer several packages depending on what you’re looking for—meaning you can explore the zone with a group or book a private guide just for yourself. That is exactly what I’m planning for our next excursion there. Honestly, if you are going to make the trip, you really need to go for at least two or three days. A single day is far too short, and you’ll end up like me: frustrated at having seen so little in the end.

This type of organized tour allows anyone of legal age to have a truly extraordinary experience. There is nothing else like it, and this site will remain a landmark of the Soviet era at a time when Ukraine continues its de-communization process. Initiated in 2015, this process involves tearing down Soviet monuments and renaming cities and public spaces, even going as far as banning the Communist Party—a symbolic effort to sever all ties with its Soviet history. This will certainly not be without consequences for the future; you don’t just erase history with a pickaxe. In the city of Odessa, a statue of Lenin was even replaced by… a representation of Darth Vader. That said, it is easy to mourn the demolition of cultural heritage when you haven’t lived under a totalitarian regime like the USSR was in its day.