A straight road until the horizon, dark clouds are gathering, we pedal breathing heavily against the strong headwind. On the way from Greece, across Bulgaria and Romania until Ukraine. As the first raindrops burst on the asphalt, we look for cover under a bridge.

Through the crackling rain we suddenly hear hooves wildly galloping. And there appears a donkey-drawn carriage. An old man stands wavering on the bend as he steers the shaky vehicle in slithering zigzags toward us. Right before he reaches us he tears the heavy reins, as it turns the startled donkeys head to the side. Across the street only a hand wide in front of the bridges wall the vehicle stands still. We are gobsmacked. The donkey breathes, the man turns to us, pointing to the breaks. In the back of the loading platform something moves. A shrivelled lady pushes her head out of the plastic coverage and looks, confused by our high-tech equipment. She shakes her head and with a smile offers us a piece of the faded plastic coverage. It's a gift to us. As cover, in case the rain comes back.