This happened on the 27th of July, 2024. We paddled away from Galați to Isaccea on the Romanian side of the Danube. The Danube here flows past Giurgiulești in Moldova, followed by Reni and Orlivka in Ukraine’s Odesa Oblast. As russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine rages on and this is an EU outer border, we stuck to the Romanian side and did not cross

Leaving Galați for Isaccea

Waking up at 5:35, I immediately noticed my throat hurt. We turned off the aircon – which might have been the cause of the painful throat – and prepared to kayak to Isaccea (pronunciation: EE-sak-cha) today. We left the apartment in Galați at 6:45 and walked to the river. Our launch spot was already full of early morning anglers, smoking and chatting.

It didn’t take long to set up Zucchini. Our ever-adjusting program had the new addition of not needing to inflate Jonas’ kayak seat. Since the inflatable back support air compartment is leaky, we solved this issue by using our two hydration bladders filled with air as replacement cushions. We also carry an inflatable head pillow for camping that we can use as a spare back support.

There was a black cat waiting for the fishing folk to catch fish too small for human consumption. Though she seemed interested in pets at first and came closer, she stopped. A man walked by our boat and stood right next to Zucchini, 10 centimeters away, and stared at her with a burning cigarette in his far-away hand. I hoped Jonas would see it and manage this situation, since I cannot keep my cool. But he eventually walked on. Thank fuck.

To launch, we put our luggage on the edge of the embankment and carried Zucchini down the steep stairs. Jonas wanted to launch from the muddy spot at the floating restaurant in the middle, between two elder fishermen. The mud looked dry, but it wasn’t. Our feet sank down. Jonas bravely went up to grab the luggage while I held the boat in place. We strapped everything in and left Galați at 7:13.

The Port of Galați

Paddling beneath the floating restaurant, we managed not to hit anything or get entangled in the low-hanging ropes, nor did we paddle over someone’s fishing line.

Beyond the restaurant, we looked left, we looked right. No ships coming our way. So we immediately began crossing the river from the city-side of Galați to the forested embankment on the right. We only had to cross about halfway to be outside of the shipping lane, because behind us is a river island that shoves all the traffic to the left side of the Danube.

I snapped some pictures of Galați. It has some nice riverfront buildings, such as the former river station, which is now simply the port administration building. A bargeless pusher boat was moored there to do its administrative things. Ahead of us were anchored barges and ships we had to dodge. Flags from countries we haven’t even paddled in this year fly from their sterns. Slovakia, Austria…

Across the river on the left side were ships under construction or under maintenance. One of them looked like a kind of putin superyacht. A real douchy boat. And the shipping lane was now full of activity. It’s a good thing we crossed immediately.

What bothered me a lot was that the OSMand+ nautical map of the Danube stops counting down the kilometers with us. The green line that has been (mostly) present on all maps is the shipping lane. The map features a kilometer dot in the middle of the green line that matches the real world kilometer signs on the shores. It has counted down with us to 150 kilometers to the Black Sea at our launch spot today. But since our launch spot, there’s a long silent gap on the OSM map, followed by one last dot that says “80 (nautical_miles)” and then nothingness. I just can’t believe we’re going in blind these last kilometers on the Danube.

The river slowly bent right and the wind that had come slightly from the front now came from the side and then the back. Once we were one hour into today’s journey to Isaccea, we were basically out of Galați. The left shore also became green with trees.

The stretch towards the village of Grindu was pleasant. Jonas even said out loud that it would have been great to have a kayak sail. Thinking about my broken green kayak sail always breaks my heart. I’ve thought of just trying the same trick but with a cheap umbrella, but they have less surface and any cheap one will flip inside out with any serious wind.

Anyway, I enjoyed the paddling without a kayak sail too. It’s just that the sharp turn at Grindu has me worried about the headwind. As long as we keep at it like we did on the way from Mohács to Apatin or from Belgrade to Grocka na Dunavu, I think we can make it through that ~6km area of headwind.

We paddled past some anchored ships. One of them flew a flag of something Dutch-sounding… “Bunkerstation Heijmen“. I looked it up, and they basically operate three ship refueling stations on the Lower Rhine/Rhine Delta in the Netherlands. But this ship didn’t have a Dutch flag and there’s no mention of operations on the Lower Danube on their website.

Headwind at Grindu

At 9:00, we were close to Grindu and about to make the turn. If we still want to quit, this is our last chance; there are no Romanian settlements between Grindu and Isaccea.

Since the shipping lane was all the way on the outside and we don’t want to be on the inside of the turn because of the upcoming international border region, we had to take the long route for this one. Looking against the sun, identifying the buoy colors was tricky.

We prepared ourselves for the worst and looked in front and behind us a couple more times to see if we have to also deal with ships. The coast was clear. We paddled into the turn and there it was, that bitchin’ headwind. Oh man, it sucked.

We tried to aim straight into the wind and held our course for quite a while. When the waves got too bad, we agreed on a course adjustment closer to shore. But when Jonas got a cramp, he decided to head to shore without talking to me. All my hard work…

Even if we truly needed to land, it would have been a bad idea because of the shepherd with his million sheep and guaranteed one mean dog. So we aborted the landing and kept paddling. There were people driving on the embankment, slowing down and looking at us. It’s truly inefficient, but I kept an eye on the shore. We are making progress.

Sharp turns often have good currents, so once we were outside of the dead zone, we got some extra help. There were anchored sea-going ships on the opposite shore that were luckily stationary. But there were at least three speedboats that passed us at high speed. Though they were far away, their waves were not welcome.

At 9:49, we were through the worst of it, but still not at the counter turn that makes the Danube flow eastwards. There were loads of fishermen on the shores here. They love a good twisty area of the river. Unfortunately, that means we have to paddle further away from the shore.

River Borders: Moldova’s Giurgiulești + Ukrainian-Romanian Danube

We kept paddling against the wind, which had gotten weaker and more manageable, but still wasn’t fun. In front of us was the Romanian island called Insula Cailor. It’s possible for big ships to pass it on the left or the right, but almost no one passes it on the left. As expected, this island blocks the vista of the Port of Giurgiulești in Moldova. We visited Giurgiulești on a half-day trip two days ago, which cost me €500 to convince Jonas to come. All we could see were some antennas and houses on the hills. Those disappeared as well as we got closer.

At 10:33 in the right turn, parallel to Insula Cailor, we paddled past an anchored inland ship called Willy, flying a Dutch flag. I feel like I’ve seen this boat before.

Behind us, Insula Cailor had ended and the Prut River had joined the Danube silently. The tippy end of Insula Cailor also marks the end of the Romanian left bank of the Danube before the Danube Delta, where things split up once again. From now on, the left shore is Ukraine all the way to the Black Sea.

The river turned right and we could see the line of trucks waiting to enter Moldova to get to Romania on the Ukrainian side of the border on the high bluff. Terrible thing, really.

I just read a few days earlier that Ukraine gifted this bit along the Danube to Moldova, so that country could engage in global trade as well. This was supposed to be in exchange for a bit of land on the southeastern tip of Moldova; Ukraine would have liked to receive the road portion that connects the Budjzhak region with the rest of Ukraine’s Odesa Oblast at the lower Dniester River (the one of Transnistrian fame). In the end, Moldova reneged on that deal and gave Ukraine diddly-squat in exchange. So yes, people driving from one place in Ukraine to another are bothered with a checkpoint on that route. Back in 2013, I took this border crossing at Palanca to enter Moldova from Odesa.

And Moldova has the audacity to hold up trucks that just want to cross the 2.4 kilometers of Moldova to travel between Ukraine and Romania? Adding insult to injury, they charge Ukrainian vehicle drivers between €13 and €33 for a vignette to drive this short distance as well. And if they don’t buy it, they get a penalty of €50 or more. They gifted you the land to be a little less landlocked and participate in global trade. I find it unbelievable. Shame. I’d even say Ukraine and Romania can raise the funds to build a bridge to bypass Moldova.

Rant over.

Once we were almost through, the big Black Sea ships appeared. There were a bunch of them, all anchored, which meant that we could chill. They would all have big red letters on the accommodations of the ship. Saying something like:

NO          SMOKING
SAFETY          FIRST

Besides looking funny if you’re reading it in an unserious way, I think merchant mariners are… often really into tobacco? I later found a useful video explaining the NO SMOKING part of the sign when it comes to fuel tankers.

Sometimes the wind felt like it was coming from behind, but sometimes it would switch. One of us paddled while the other ate their protein bar. I had an Italian one with goji berries, which was just OK. I was feeling quite nauseous. Not sure if that’s from the wavy waters or from something else. I noticed my hurt throat again.

The first big ship we paddled past here had the name AK Bright and flies the flag of Panama. They’re truly imposing vessels, especially juxtaposed to the small Danube Star from Slovakia. When I sat down to write this piece almost a week later, it was north of Cyprus and close to its destination of Tripoli in Lebanon. When it’s loaded, it has an insane draught of 6.2 meters. For comparison, the Willy only has 2.2 meters.

A pilot boat appeared out of nowhere and zigzagged between the ships. We first thought it might be water police of one of the countries here, but no, it’s a pilot boat for the big guys who aren’t used to the limited space on a river. The wake of the pilot boat was quite nasty.

Another ship that interested me was the Nur, which was flying a flag from a Pacific Island country. I had to think about it a little bit. Once we were behind it, I could read its stern: Nur, Port Vila. That flag is from Vanuatu! But yes, it doesn’t per se mean anything. Where we intercepted it, the Nur had a scheduled journey from Sulina in Romania to Souda, nearby Chania in Crete, Greece.

The amount of flags of convenience is definitely something new, as all the inland shipping ships on the Danube thus far have flown flags of countries with a reasonable link with the area. Inland shipping is a national/closed registry, apparently.

We decided to land somewhere. There was an okay-landing spot on the Romanian side without fishermen. We had a 10-minute break there till 11:20, when we continued paddling past Lhotse C flying the flag of Comoros on its way from Giurgiulești to Istanbul. We’re about to see Reni, Ukraine’s second-largest port on the Danube, from the far side. But first, we paddled past a parade of interesting sea-going vessels, with the reflection of a golden-domed Ukrainian Orthodox church in the backdrop.

Unfortunately, my rough re-entry into Zucchini caused the back support of my kayak seat to deflate. So I was paddling in discomfort till our next landing, as this isn’t something I can fix from inside the boat. At least, I haven’t tried.

Paddling Past Reni, Ukraine: Fuck russia

The cranes of the Port of Reni dominated the horizon across the river. We don’t want to cause confusion to neither the Romanian nor the Ukrainian river police, so we’re sticking to Romania.

Soon, the wind will hopefully turn with us as we’re going south and will give us that much-needed push to Isaccea. I don’t feel like we anticipated how much of an energy-draining experience that headwind was.

The AK Bright had apparently finished its piloting procedures, and had turned around and was now coming downstream with us, but at an incredibly high speed. It’s apparently going to the Black Sea with us. Its wake was undetectable. I wonder if it’s taking the Sulina Branch or the Kiliya Branch.

During our first few minutes paddling past Reni and Odesa Oblast’s Budzhak Region, we didn’t see any evidence of the war. We approached the port of Reni. Things kept looking familiar. Just a normal Danube port.

But then we paddled past some grain silos, which were all standing tall and shiny, except one with a big dent in it (next picture, silo grouping on the right). As we tried to make progress, we saw more and more russian war crimes damage on the port infrastructure. I’m aware of at least two bombings that russia did on Reni and Izmail in 2023. They shot at grain silos in Reni to destroy food and cause starvation elsewhere in the world and jacking up global prices. Usually, Ukraine exports its grain via the ports of Odesa and Chornomsork on the Black Sea. The (currently safer) Danube alternative is in itself a bottleneck to exporting grain. What a terrorist thing to do. The people of Galați also heard and felt the bombing.

Due to russia’s relentless violence to Ukrainans, occupation of Ukrainian territories on the Black Sea coast, and piracy on the Black Sea proper, Ukraine has increased its use of these ports to feed the world. Reni and Izmail being just 200 meters away from NATO member Romania theoretically provides some protection. Instead of using the fully-Romanian Sulina Branch, use of the Ukrainian-Romanian Kiliya Branch (Bystroye mouth) has been much easier since the liberation of Snake Island.

We paddled further into the Reni bend. The port and its cranes stretched for many kilometers. The Măcin Mountains made another appearance on the horizon.

Towards the end, we paddled past an area of horizontal storage facilities, of which many were destroyed. That’s when we knew for sure this is the effect of the war that started a year after my first visit to Ukraine and escalated a few months after my second visit to Ukraine. russian war crimes to mess with the world’s food supply. It sent chills down my spine.

Fuck russia.

A Nap on the Romanian Danube Shores

At 12:30, we’d paddled past the last basin port of Reni. We were going southeast. The expected push from a tailwind didn’t make itself known, unfortunately. We made progress slower than hoped.

On top of that, there was very little to see. The river widened, the river narrowed. It was fairly straight. The only changes in scenery were a little man-made cove in Romania, which is either a water extraction point or some farmer’s private marina, and some random disconnected port infrastructure on the the Ukrainian side. Beyond the Ukrainian shores are massive fluvial lakes in the Danube Meadow, such as Ozero Kahul.

I tried to fight any potential sleepiness by talking about the 2024 Paris Olympics controversy of the Dutch beach volleyball player who raped a child in 2014 and served a prison sentence of 13 months. It wasn’t such a good topic of conversation after all. But the internet (selective) outrage is super interesting to me. Reading that terminally-online people (USians) call for him to receive the death penalty.

Meanwhile, the wind died down and we were heating up. I wasn’t feeling so well and had blurred vision at times, tuning out the Măcin Mountains in the distance. But we were well over halfway, so it was time for a sandwich. We entered another anchorage area where big ships were hanging out on the Ukrainian side of the river. One of us always kept paddling while we were chomping down on our sandwiches. I drank a lot of water to try to help my throat.

It took me forever to eat my sandwich. I started at 13:15, and I still wasn’t finished by 13:45. A cruise ship passed upstream. Something we haven’t seen in a long, long time. I couldn’t read its name as it was too far away, but it could have been an older model from the Viking fleet.

To our right were some nice-looking beaches with campers and anglers spread out. At 13:50, I couldn’t continue paddling anymore. We decided to land. I hadn’t finished my sandwich yet. We landed in a spot where the shadow from the trees reached the water.

To my surprise, this beach had good solid sand and not suctiony silt. The wake from the cruise ship arrived while we were trying to get out of the boat. This caused a lot of water to top over Zucchini’s slightly deflated left air chamber.

We put her a bit further on land. I grabbed my sarong, some more water, and finished my sandwich. We sat on a nice dry spot on land at first. We later moved a bit further up on a grassy spot. I laid out my sarong and we both took a nap there, using our life jackets as pillows. This was very necessary.

It’s funny that a bit further downstream, this spot was the camping spot of the TID in 2018 or 2019. Jonas found that out on his GPX track that he had downloaded back in 2019 and still has. Strange that they’re not going to Isaccea. But on the other hand, they skipped Galați and went to this campsite straight from Brăila. In 2024, their final destination on the Danube is Brăila.

The break lasted more than one hour. Once we were mentally and physically ready to continue to Isaccea, we first fixed some issues. Jonas adjusted his seat and got more water, while I took off my leggings and grabbed the camping head pillow from my dry bag. I reinflated the back support of my seat, but also used an empty water bottle as a pole to keep it upright. The head pillow was extra lumbar support. It looked good, but it didn’t exactly feel good for my poor back.

We continued paddling at 14:57 before the wake from a ship called Daytona arrived at our beach. A few days later, this crude oil tanker is in Rabigh in Saudi Arabia. It’s starting to become a pattern that all sea-going vessels on the Danube look kind of… empty?

Buoy Maintenance + Ferry Isaccea to Orlivka

After our nap, things were much better. We never overheated again. Less than 15 kilometers to go.

Through the left turn, we tried to shortcut a little bit. There was a vessel outside of the shipping lane in that slight turn. We thought it was stationary or going downstream, but it was moving erratically upon closer examination.

Our course was through the shipping lane on the left side of a red buoy, trying to shortcut just a little bit. But the ship, that I’d identified as a buoy maintenance ship early on, was also coming towards us. I wasn’t very amused by their mixed signals. And there’s no way they hadn’t seen us.

In the end, we passed maintenance vessel Semnal 4 on the left, while they approached the red buoy. It had a log stuck on it, as we’ve seen a hundred times this year. They were going to remove that log. It was an interesting operation, but I’m not happy with how much we got pushed into the shipping lane by their maneuvers. And now Jonas was a bit unhappy, as we were paddling on the thalweg, exactly on the border between Romania and Ukraine.

To convince Jonas to paddle this area, I had promised him we would stick to the Romanian side throughout. But so far, we haven’t felt unsafe in this border area at all. russia tends to bomb Ukraine at night. And right here in this area, there’s no “legitimate targets” for russia to bomb, like a maternity ward or a children’s hospital. There’s only fields and farms.

We’ve heard noises from cars and trucks from the Ukrainian side since Reni. That’s because a road connecting cities in Budzhak passes right along the Danube shore, but beyond the treeline. Jonas wanted to veer closer to the Romanian shore again, so we calmly made our way back to the right bank.

At 15:33, we were through the turn and could see the power lines crossing from Ukraine to Romania across the Danube. There were river ships mixed with sea ships, traveling upstream or downstream. Like the Turkish cargo ship Gülizar Ana, traveling from Romania to Yalova in the Sea of Marmara. And there was a speedboat. That means we’re getting close to Isaccea.

The tailwind picked up again and Jonas again lamented our lack of a kayak sail. This time I can’t hold back and say “You know I would have ordered a new one to Galați or Brăila, right?”

We could see the little river island called Insula Isaccea. We intended to pass it on the right. But first, we needed to make more distance. Slowly but surely, we got closer. One ship crossed the Danube from Romania to Ukraine. That must be the ferry between Isaccea and Orlivka.

Arriving in Isaccea

Passing the island on the right, we had some doubts. Our eyesight couldn’t determine if the grey object was a sunken barge blocking the way, a pontoon bridge to the island, or just the concrete embankment of the port of Isaccea. We checked satelite, which was useless. So we just guessed that it would go through.

When getting closer, the singular crane of the port of Isaccea appeared. It was a concrete embankment, not an obstacle to kayakers.

There was a small sailing boat moored in the shadow of the island, no people on board as far as I’m aware. The boat was named Lady Ana and they’re not on MarineTraffic as far as I’m aware. I looked at that small sailing vessel and it makes me dream of doing a sailing voyage with Jonas. I truly think that’s the next step for another Great Big Adventure. That’s how I’ve been referring to the Dutch Coastal Hike and the Kayak+Work Danube trips, in my head. Sailing is also intense, but in a very different way. More like fighting the demons in your head and the worst-case scenarios instead of physical endurance and repetition.

At 16:49, we were at the port of Isaccea. The ferry had just crossed back from Ukraine and had already unloaded. There were multiple ships, but only one active ferry called Vadul Oii (I think). We passed it quickly and were getting ready to finish today’s journey. I was quite beat and couldn’t wait to go for a swim.

To my surprise, no police boat came to us. I didn’t even see a police boat base. Of all areas of the Romanian Danube, the resources to bother little kayaks all goes out to the Serbian border area? Strange.

But the last three kilometers were much slower than hoped. We paddled through the anchorage area. One ship was actually moving. Sometimes, they catch us by surprise like that. That’s why we’ve been keeping our distance much more than earlier in the year.

The center of Isaccea is closer to the ferry, but our accommodation is right at the river a few kilometers downstream next to the ruins of the Roman naval base called Noviodunum, where some powerlines cross the Danube between Ukraine and Romania. There were many people fishing and a few people on boats. The sun had lost its heating power and the temperatures were pleasant.

Jonas found the slipway and we landed there at 17:23. This took much longer than anticipated. In fact, we never recovered our strength after paddling against that strong headwind.

We began stripping the boat and packing up a little. We dried Zucchini on the slipway, but Jonas didn’t trust that no one would come to the slipway with their boat on a trailer and big car. I really wanted to go for a little swim while Zucchini was drying, but he wanted to pack up, check in, and then go for a swim later.

Jonas got his wish, so we first went to Pensiune Souvenir, got our room key, petted some cats, and then walked to the river. Jonas was in first, and a little motorboat just arrived at the slipway and dropped off a family. Then the guy motored into the little secret fishing port of Isaccea next to the slipway.

The water is crazy warm for a natural body of water that flows. This was the best swim we’ve had in the Danube. The other Danube swim was in Hârșova in Romania as well. The sun was hanging low in the sky.

Usually, I have a good idea of how many kilometers are left in our journey to the Black Sea. However, I’m quite out of touch since I haven’t seen any kilometer or mile signs all day. My best guess is using my OSMand+ mapper tool to calculate how much is left to Sfântu Gheorghe.

Our Two-Night Stay in Isaccea: Feeling Under the Weather

This is how we spent our two nights and one day in Isaccea:

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