22 July 2026
(PHOTO: Maria Galina)
With this post, Intent continues its series of reviews dedicated to contemporary Ukrainian publications. The reviews for Intent as part of this project are written by Maria Galina—a Ukrainian writer, poet, and literary critic, and winner of several literary awards.
Odessa is a city that has gathered an incredible number of myths around itself, starting with the myth of its creation out of nothing. We are already seeing how this plays out in the context of this war—the Russian army arrives, destroys everything that stands and flourishes, and begins to build something on the ruins. During the Russian Empire, this was, unfortunately, almost standard practice. But the Russian Empire and modern Russia are not quite the same thing, so what emerged from this “something” was Odessa after all, not the ORDLO.
One could spend a long time pondering what constitutes a city’s history and how many years to count if another city once stood on the same site—such as Lutetia where Paris now stands—or a fortress that had a different name and belonged to another state. But I’ll leave that to the historians, since I’m not a historian myself.
The myth of Odessa—or, more precisely, its image—was shaped by people who left the city, mostly in the 20th century. Part of this group was a powerful circle of writers and poets who were drawn precisely to Odessa’s “flavor,” its exoticism, and its vibrancy compared to the dull and formal Moscow. Partly, it was the emigrants who settled in the United States, and they largely preserved the image of Odessa as a lost paradise, because the golden age is always in the past. One way or another, as a result, we’ve ended up with certain elements of Odessa’s image—sincerity, hospitality, vibrancy, a penchant for humor, a reputation for crime, flamboyance, and so on… Have I forgotten anything?
And most importantly: “Odessa is something special.” In other words, both during the Russian Empire and the Soviet Empire, Odessa was perceived as a city with a special aura, a unique destiny, and its own worldview.
A myth is a myth, and it was built on nostalgia. Let’s add to this the accounts and memories of the so-called “visitors to Odessa”—people who came here mainly in the summer and mainly to the sea. That is precisely why it is important to understand what impression the city made on those who were not swayed by nostalgia: outsiders, foreigners, travelers, cartographers, and diplomats.
This is precisely the focus of the series “Odessa Through the Eyes of Outsiders,” launched in 2025 by publisher and co-creator Alexander Friedman (with Lyudmila Grinshpan listed as co-author of the concept). It should be noted here that Odessa’s characteristic patriotism is evident here as well, since what we have before us are only selected chapters from books—specifically those dedicated to Odessa. In other words, we have a vibrant (like everything in Odessa), patriotic (like everything in Odessa), and witty (like everything in Odessa) project.
On top of that, it’s visually appealing. Six books with the same design have been published so far, so if you’re a collector of book series (I am), here’s another one for you. By the way, you can buy or order the books at the iconic Bookstore-Café on Evropeiska Street.
Let’s start with the first book in this series (in chronological order). German traveler and writer Johann Georg Kohl (the book is titled *From Tiligul to Akkerman via Odessa and Lustdorf*, 2025; first published in 1841) describes his 1838 journey through Ukraine with considerable insight.
For example, in the preface, editor Svitlana Kucherenko quotes the author as saying: “There is no doubt: when the Russian empire falls apart, Ukraine will be among the parts that liberate themselves.” Incidentally, he calls the term “Novorossiya” a purely artificial construct—none of the people he spoke with referred to these lands by that name. In other words, it’s very much in the spirit of the times.
Not surprising. Kol, in general, seems to have been quite a character: for example, in his 1841 work *Transportation and Settlement of People Depending on the Topography of the Terrain*, he, according to Wikipedia, formulated a mathematical theory of urban development and described how these cities would eventually evolve through skyscrapers and underground shopping centers. He is also the author of a hierarchical transportation model.
What exactly is the text about? It’s about how estuaries are formed, how salt is mined (the analogy with gold suggests itself), what the Spanish consul and the Transdanubian Cossacks have to do with it, and who you might see on the Peresyp (ox-drawn carts, convoys, Tatar camels loaded with fruit and tobacco, and the traveling carriages of Polish nobles).
Who isn’t here? That’s right—Russians, although you do come across travelers heading to Moscow and St. Petersburg.
What else is there? Customs declarations? Yes, and upon entry you must declare foreign goods and keep the receipt— bureaucracy is immortal.
And then, of course, there’s Odessa. The author explains why this particular location was chosen for the construction of a key port (with auxiliary transportation hubs in Mykolaiv and Kherson). He analyzes the volume of foreign trade. Incidentally, he notes that the Greeks and the English are the boldest sailors—they set sail even in winter, in December—but the busiest trade here is with Italy.
And then everything follows the usual pattern: talk of dirt, of cobblestones... And of language, by the way. Yes, the author defines Russian as the “language of interethnic communication,” as the language of the market and the official language. But the language of trade and the stock exchange is Italian. And, of course, French—the language of the aristocracy. And then there’s Yiddish...
The merchant houses here are Greek, Italian, and German; the banks are Jewish... The barbershops are exclusively Georgian. Who isn’t here? Well, you get the idea. What did you expect? A letter to Constantinople takes 2–3 days; to St. Petersburg—8–10.
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PHOTO: Maria Galina
No, this is indeed a city within the Russian Empire, and the hotel where our traveler is staying is called the Hotel de Petersbourg, but here’s the thing: “The hotel… is a large building on a beautiful city boulevard overlooking the harbor… The building is located on the very spot where the small Turkish town of Hadzhibey once stood, and before that—the Roman Portus Istrorum, which were the predecessors of the present-day city...”
So how old is Odessa? And whose city is it, really? (Yes, and “PerEsyp” is actually “Peresyp,” an artificial dam).
Overall, it’s a very pleasant and thoughtful text, with an emphasis on the German Black Sea region and the daily lives of colonists and members of the diaspora—which is understandable. It is illustrated with engravings by Gennady Garmider.
Around the same time in Britain, a book by the English traveler, scholar, and professor of mineralogy Edward Clark, *Travel Notes Through Russia, Tartary, and Turkey*, was published, a short excerpt of which was published under the title *From Mykolaiv to Odesa and from Odesa to Ineada* (2026). The notes and commentary are by translator Serhii Shcherbakov, to whom we are deeply grateful.
Our author is a mineralogist, so a significant portion of the manuscript is devoted specifically to limestone: its geological history, its characteristics as a building material (we know, we know), and the theory of the existence of the Pontic-Caspian Basin (yes, yes). And so on, as always. Kherson wasn’t a very convenient location for building a seaport, but here—it’s just what’s needed.
It seems our author loved to eat: several pages are devoted to praising the local cuisine... Wait.
“There are hardly many cities that have risen from complete obscurity to their current grandeur with such staggering speed as Odessa. As far back as 1789, the unassuming Tatar settlement of Khadzhibey was nestled here. General Ribas seized it from the Turks.” Ribas, they say, didn’t build Odessa but recaptured it from the Turks—and that’s precisely why he became its first governor. However, even under Paul, the people of Odessa received no active assistance. On the contrary—the emperor granted them the funds for building a new pier only as part of a massive loan, which is why the original bold plan was never realized. It was then that Odessa’s fate hung in the balance, had it not been for General Vorontsov...
Everything was back to normal. A thriving city, revenue from customs duties—until the St. Petersburg court revoked the privileges, despite its promises.
And so on. What’s there? A lyceum. What’s missing? Water and fuel. There’s also a lack of intellectual life: just one newspaper and a single bookstore. Not that this surprises me...
The next book (they’re all more like pamphlets, but let’s not be too picky) is *From Odessa to the Ukrainian Bible* by Robert Pinkerton (2026). The original title, of course, is much longer and also includes the word “Russia.” It was published in London in 1833, but the description of Odessa is dated 1819—that is, significantly earlier than the two previous journeys. So what did this Englishman—a representative of the British and Foreign Bible Society who had, in effect, arrived on a mission—see?
Well, for one thing, Pinkerton (nice last name, huh?) is clearly a romantic. To him, the sun is red as blood, the sea roars, and every wave seems intent on destroying the ship. No wonder, since they’re heading to Odessa in November. But these are the English—remember what Kol wrote about them? And he’s such a romantic, an Englishman—that is, quite pragmatic when it comes to practical matters.
Having successfully reached Odessa, they immediately (even after being examined by a local doctor) head to the quarantine infirmary. The author himself notes—not surprisingly—that the plague is raging not only in Turkey, from where they are coming, but also nearby, in Bessarabia. According to Pinkerton’s description, the quarantine hospital could have ruined the health of those who were still well, but the traveler kept his spirits up by studying the Gospel, printed in Russian.
Pinkerton spent nearly 20 days in quarantine, and to his surprise, his belongings were stored in a warehouse alongside those of people who had arrived from plague-stricken cities (well, business as usual). He turned out to be someone who understood the mechanisms of disease transmission, so some of the quarantine procedures surprised him a bit. Later, he would complain about them—and also about the conditions in the prison cells he visited as a good Christian—to Count Langeron. Here’s an interesting question: did anything change after that?
As for Odessa—remember, this was about 20 years before Kolya and Clark’s visits—the description roughly matches. A “refuge for nations,” where there’s a place for everyone, but… Ukrainians are notably absent from this very list (I counted 11 nations). I suppose, for our enthusiast, there was no difference between Russians and Ukrainians.
He was also particular about limestone as a building material, and as for the dust and dirt—it seems everyone who bothered to write about it did so.
And in Mykolaiv, just so you know, the admiral—commander of the Black Sea Fleet—was based. Right there, not in Sevastopol. And, by the way, unlike in Odesa, all the buildings there—from government to private—were built of brick, and in a “modern style” (whatever that meant back then?).
Interestingly, our English author also devotes a lot of attention to the German and Swiss colonists. Perhaps because it was a large community that flourished—until a certain point, when their colony was attacked and destroyed by the Kurds in 1826. The next few pages are devoted to a description of the violence—unfortunately, business as usual.
But… Imagine a harbor where 300 to 400 ships are being loaded and unloaded at the same time! Imagine streets jammed with carts loaded with corn, brought in from their provinces by “peasants of Little Russia” (unlike the sharp-eyed German, the Englishman isn’t too concerned with terminology). There’s already the Richelieu Lyceum, the City Park, and churches—in short, a city. In the villages, however, strange customs prevail—for example, not to mention a child’s Christian name in front of outsiders... The book is illustrated with relevant images from Wikipedia, with links to the pages.
And finally… A little earlier than Pinkerton (in 1819), an American visited Odessa. Robert Stevens’ book *Description of Odessa* (2026) by Robert Stevens was originally published under the lengthy title “A Description of Odessa with Some Considerations Showing the Benefits of Trade in the Black Sea to the United States of America and the Advantages of a Trade Treaty with Turkey. By an American who had the opportunity to familiarize himself with the relevant facts and presents this work to acquaint his fellow citizens with them” (the edition provides a slightly different translation). They sure knew how to come up with titles for scholarly works!
As you’ve noticed, we’re traveling back in time. It’s interesting, to say the least, and offers such a pleasant retrospective perspective.
Strangely enough, it was the American traveler who turned out to be a staunch imperialist. He argued that aggressive Turkey had ravaged the Black Sea region, where “hordes of nomadic Tatars” roamed, whereas under Peter and especially Catherine, a period of prosperity began that had a beneficial effect even on Turkey.
The 1774 peace treaty, which ended the Russo-Turkish War, stimulated the development of trade in the Black Sea. Significantly, Kherson became the first major port on the Russian side. But because the mouth of the Dnieper proved unsuitable for navigation in winter, imperial officials began looking for an alternative… That is precisely how they turned their attention to the “Tatar village of Kodzhabey”…
There is, I might add, a certain climatic irony in this. It was precisely at that time (see Wikipedia) that one of the peaks of the Little Ice Age occurred, with its three temperature minima falling exactly in the years 1650, 1770, and 1850. Had it not been for that, Kherson would have reigned supreme on our coast, not Odessa.
And the irony lies in the fact that, while extolling the empire’s achievements, the author makes no mention of the Russians at all. Bulgarians, Germans, Slavs (who?), who were seeking a new life in new lands, a French governor… What else?
And then there was the war of 1806 and Russia’s occupation of Moldavia and Wallachia, which led to the expansion of the market for Odessa. Yes, war was a stimulus for trade—in fact, that’s why wars were waged. I believe this is precisely why we should view that enthusiastic description of imperial achievements in context. After all, Americans are a pragmatic nation (at least his analysis of the trade volume at the Port of Odessa shows that he’s far from a fool). Once again, I’d like to highlight the extensive commentary by translator Serhii Shcherbakov, which clarifies the historical aspects of the work.
Indeed, it was the notes of an American—whose country had recently (on a historical scale) won its independence—that turned out to be a eulogy to imperialism. This contrasts with the views of the level-headed German Kolya, who saw potential precisely in Ukrainian independence and did not notice any “Novorossiya.” And with the observations of an English missionary, who became more familiar with hospitals and prisons, quarantine regulations, and inadequate sanitation —that is, precisely what officials were supposed to oversee—and with the free people whom the officials failed to care for. And with the notes of an English scholar who considered the empire itself to be a hindrance to development.
According to the author, thanks to the fact that “the Russian government handled this successfully and with care,” in 1803, during the governorship of the Duke de Richelieu, 536 ships arrived in Odesa, mostly carrying ballast. However, on their return trips, they carried exclusively wheat supplied by “the local governments of Podillia, Volhynia, Kyiv, and Kherson,” because—and this is important for us—“the city had not yet established... trade relations with the interior regions of the empire.” In fact, Stevens is describing an almost independent region that supplies its own—and only its own—goods. The best thing the empire could have done for its development was to leave it alone, granting it relative autonomy, particularly financial autonomy.
I have a certain suspicion that, since the notes were originally written in French, they were partly intended to be read by high-ranking Russian officials—and thus to foster business ties between America and the Black Sea region. In other words, they are excessively flattering.
Now, let’s summarize. The history of the Black Sea coast in the early 19th century could have taken different paths. Kherson or Mykolaiv could have become the key port, and it was precisely Odessa’s geographical location that played a role here—a deep and sheltered bay that allowed a large number of ships to stay there safely at least from April through October... Therefore, all other drawbacks—the steppe, the winds carrying dust and dirt, the summer heat, the lack of water and vegetation, and even the scarcity of building stone—were no longer significant, since these challenges could be managed in one way or another. However, this was precisely what all visitors noticed, because it highlighted the contrast typically characteristic of a frontier town.
It was precisely this that ensured both the city’s development and its multinational composition, where Russians are actually a minority, at least compared to the Germans. It was precisely this that ultimately shaped its spirit, its almost demonstrative quest for its own distinct status and independence from the two empires. And this has nothing to do with the image actively promoted by the nostalgic diaspora and now exploited by Russian manipulators. A trading city, at once tough and tolerant, just like all trading cities.
As for the empire, in these turbulent lands it served as a sort of criminal “umbrella” that protected the city from other empires at the height of their expansion (such as Turkey, for example). Here we might ask a question to which we have no answer: what kind of city would have grown up in Odessa’s place if the Russian Empire’s ambitions had collapsed? A Turkish one? A Hungarian one? A free city-state? That, in fact, would be an interesting alternative history. But, without a doubt, something would have been there, because… well, we already get the point. First, it was the only navigable harbor on the coast during the era of trade development and (just around the corner) the Industrial Revolution. Second, as we can see, there has always been something going on here.
What I’d like to see, finally, are high-quality illustrations. But most importantly—expert commentary, because without accompanying historical analysis, it’s hard for us now to make sense of it all.
We have two more books in the series: Lawrence Oliphant’s *Odessa and the Political Horizons on the Eve of the Crimean War*, originally published in 1852, and *Odessa and Its Inhabitants Through the Eyes of an English Prisoner of War in Russia* by William Burkhardt Barker, originally published in 1855. But this marks a different stage in the history of the Black Sea region and the city, and we’ll discuss them later, if the editorial board allows us to.
Марія Галіна