With a smile enveloped by steam rising from a pot of milk simmering on a stove, Yulia Bachurinskaya reminisces about the moment she fell “deeply in love” with cheese.
The Belarusian cheesemaker traces the start of this love affair back to trips to Italy as a child in the mid-1990s.
The tours were organised by a non-profit organisation helping Belarusian children like her who grew up in the zone contaminated by the 1986 Chernobyl nuclear disaster.
“The farmers made ricotta the old-fashioned way,” she said of the experience that prompted her to learn both Italian and the art of traditional cheese making.
And then in central France’s Auvergne — home to some of the nation’s most beloved cheeses such as Saint-Nectaire, Cantal and Fourme d’Ambert — she discovered the “obligatory plate of cheese enjoyed after each meal”.
These experiences set Bachurinskaya, alongside her husband, on a lifelong journey dedicated to making cheese, both before and after fleeing political repression in Belarus and resettling in Poland.
“We can’t see our parents, or go back,” said the 40-year-old from the city of Gomel in southeastern Belarus.
“But we can’t think about that all of the time, we have to move forwards,” she added.
Bachurinskaya and her husband Alexei Kuchko, 42, remain in frequent contact with many other exiles, with whom they speak their native Belarusian rather than the Russian language preferred by the government back home.
Hundreds of thousands have fled the country in the last few years following a crackdown on protests after President Alexander Lukashenko claimed victory in a 2020 presidential election that rights groups said was fraudulent.
The couple arrived in Poland in late 2021 and are now settled on a farm in the village of Balazowka in the Carpathian Mountains, where they live alongside 37 sheep and five goats.
The couple have been making cheese since ditching their office jobs in Minsk —Bachurinskaya was a translator from Italian and Kuchko worked in marketing — and settling in the northern Belarus countryside in 2015.
Their efforts paid off with the duo specialising in farm-to-table artisanal cheese in a country where the agricultural sector remains largely linked to its collectivist past and where most farms are state-owned.
Lukashenko, a former collective farm director, boasts that he has created a paradise for farmers.
The reality on the ground and in the fields was very different, according to the couple.
“Let’s imagine you want to buy French sheep in Belarus… If you’re an average guy, no one will give you permission. If you’re a friend of Lukashenko, you’ll have everything,” said Kuchko.
Five years after they left the capital, Belarus was upended after Lukashenko claimed to have won 80 per cent of the vote in polls, as he sought a sixth term as president.
For weeks, tens of thousands took to the streets to protest against the alleged fraud.
Under mounting pressure from the demonstrations, Lukashenko turned to Russian President Vladimir Putin for support, as he brutally cracked down on the protests.
Opposition figures were rounded up and some allegedly tortured, while more than 300,000 of the country’s 9.3 million residents fled abroad, according to UN figures.
For months, Bachurinskaya and Kuchko feared arrest after campaigning for imprisoned opposition figure Viktor Babaryko.
And then in late 2021, they decided it was time to leave the country.
The couple managed to leave with their two horses by passing them off as racehorses, but parted with most of their livestock.
Once across the border in Poland, they started to slowly rebuild after finding a piece of land and buying new sheep and goats.
In their kitchen, they make around 10 varieties of cheese by hand, including one creation that Bachurinskaya says combines the “piquant taste of goat cheese with the creaminess of brie”.
The concoctions are later sold in the city of Krakow, a 90-minute drive away, or via their Instagram account, Krapacheese.
Despite all the hardships, the couple say they remain grateful for what they have and the cheese they are able to share with the world.
“We have very little time to be sad,” Bachurinskaya said. “And I’m happy about that.”