bus

Survivors, including a seriously injured child, taken to hospital as state governor declares three days of mourning.

A bus returning from a religious festival in northeast Brazil has veered off the road on a curve and overturned, killing at least 16 people, including four children, officials said.

The bus had been carrying about 60 people when it tipped over in the rural interior of Alagoas state on Tuesday, ejecting some passengers while others were trapped beneath the wreckage.

The Alagoas regional government said in a statement that seven women, five men and four children were among those killed. The accident remains under investigation and was described as “highly complex”.

Brazilian media reported that the bus had been returning from celebrations for Our Lady of Candelaria, a religious festival in the state of Ceara that attracts thousands of devotees every February 2.

“The bus went off the road on a curve, overturned, and some people were thrown out,” said Colonel Andre Madeiro, director of the Alagoas Aviation Department, which took part in the rescue operation.

“Some were trapped under the vehicle. It was a very bad accident, even atypical,” he told a news conference.

Images posted on the X social media platform of the reported crash site featured a severely-mangled bus lying on its side as injured passengers sat nearby waiting for help.

Survivors of the crash, including a seriously injured child, were taken to hospital, where they remain under medical care.

“I express my solidarity with the families and friends at this time of such great pain,” Governor Paulo Dantas wrote on social media. Three days of mourning will be observed in the state, he said.

Deadly road accidents are common in Brazil.

In October, 17 people died in the northeastern state of Pernambuco when a driver lost control of a bus.

More than 10,000 people died in traffic accidents in Brazil in 2024, according to the Ministry of Transportation, including in December 2024, when at least 32 people were killed when a passenger bus and a truck collided on a highway in southeastern Brazil’s state of Minas Gerais.

Also in 2024, a bus carrying a football team flipped on a road, killing three people.

Feb. 2 (UPI) — A Russian drone strike in Ukraine’s southeastern Dnipropetrovsk region has killed at least 12 miners and injured eight more, according to officials who are accusing the Kremlin of attacking unarmed civilians.

DTEK Group, Ukraine’s largest private energy company, said a Russian drone struck a bus transporting staff from its Dnipropetrovsk mine, resulting in at least 20 casualties.

“The bus was hit as it was taking miners home after their shift,” the company said in a statement.

The strike was part of a large-scale Russian assault on DTEK’s mining facilities in the region, the company said as it extended its condolences to the families and loved ones of those killed.

Maxim Teimchenko, CEO of DTEK, accused Russia of conducting “an unprovoked terrorist attack on a purely civilian target.”

“This attack marks the single largest loss of life of DTEK employees since russia’s full-scale invasion and is one of the darkest days in our history,” he said.

“Their sacrifice will never be forgotten.”

Serhii Berskresnov, a Ukraine Defense Ministry adviser, identified the weapon used in the attack on Telegram as an Iran-made Shahed drone.

Using a MESH radio modem, the drone pilot deliberately attacked the bus after spotting it on the road, he said.

The drone struck near the bus, with its blast wave forcing the driver to lose control and crash into a fence, he said, adding that as the injured were exiting the vehicle, a second Shahed drone struck.

“The operators operating from the territory of Russia 100% saw and identified the target as civilian, saw they were not military and made a conscious decision to attack,” he said.

“This is yet another act of terrorism. I have no words.”

Russia has been widely accused of committing war crimes in its nearly 3-year-old war in Ukraine. From indiscriminate attacks on civilians to executions, torture and forced deportations, Russia has been repeatedly denounced for alleged war crimes that it denies.

The International Criminal Court has formally opened a war crimes and crimes against humanity investigation into Russia’s invasion of Ukraine and has issued arrest warrants for Russian officials, including its authoritarian president, Vladimir Putin.

The strike was one of numerous Russian attacks across Ukraine on Sunday, with Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky stating on X that people throughout the country were without heat and electricity. Railway infrastructure was hit in the Sumy region, he said.

During the month of January, Russia launched more than 6,000 attack drones, 5,550 guided aerial bombs and 158 missiles at Ukraine, Zelensky said.

“Virtually all of it targeted the energy sector, the railways and our infrastructure — everything that sustains normal life.”

On Saturday, Russia bombed a maternity hospital in Ukraine’s southern city of Zaporizhzhia, injuring six people, according to Prime Minister Yulia Svydenko.

“This is the nature of Russia’s war,” she said.

The attacks occurred during a cold February that has seen the temperatures drop well below freezing, according to the country’s hydrometeorological center.

The strikes come despite U.S. President Donald Trump stating last week that Putin promised him that Russia would refrain from hitting Ukraine for a week.

“I personally asked President Putin not to fire into Kyiv and the various towns for a week, and he agreed to that,” he said during a cabinet meeting without making clear which towns, cities and regions that the Russian leader had agreed not to attack.

“We’re very happy that they did it.”

Trump has been pushing since before he returned to office to end the war, which he vowed to do during his first 24 hours back in the White House.

Zelensky confirmed Sunday that dates for the next trilateral meetings for a cease-fire between the United States and Russia have been set for Wednesday and Thursday in Abu Dhabi.

“Ukraine is ready for a substantive discussion, and we are interested in ensuring that the outcome brings us closer to a real and dignified end to the war,” he said.

Russian drone strike kills 12 mine workers in Ukraine’s Dnipropetrovsk region, injuring seven others.

At least 12 people have been killed in a Russian drone attack on a bus carrying miners in ​Ukraine’s southeastern Dnipropetrovsk region, the country’s energy minister said.

“Today, the enemy carried out a cynical and targeted attack on energy sector workers in the Dnipro region,” Minister of Energy Denys Shmyhal posted on Telegram on Sunday.

“As a result of the terrorist attack, 12 mine workers were killed and seven more were injured.”

Police said the attack took place in the ‌city of Ternivka. Footage posted by the State Emergencies Service showed a charred bus with ‌shattered windows that had veered off ⁠the road.

Energy firm DTEK said in a statement that the killed and wounded were its employees returning from a shift.

Earlier on Sunday, regional officials said at least nine people had been wounded in Russian strikes on a maternity hospital and a residential building in the ‌southeastern city of Zaporizhzhia.

The attacks come days after United States President Donald Trump said Russian President Vladimir Putin had agreed to temporarily halt the targeting of the Ukrainian capital, Kyiv and other cities, amid freezing temperatures that have brought widespread hardship to Ukrainians.

The Kremlin confirmed on Friday that it agreed to suspend attacks on Kyiv until Sunday, but did not reveal any further details.

Russia and Ukraine held trilateral talks with the US in the UAE capital, Abu Dhabi, last month and are expected to meet for a second round this month, amid ongoing US pressure to end their nearly four-year war.

Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy said on Sunday that the second round of talks ‍would take ⁠place in Abu Dhabi on Wednesday and Thursday.

While Ukrainian and Russian officials have agreed in principle with Washington’s demands for a compromise, Moscow and Kyiv differ deeply over what an agreement should look like.

A central issue is whether Russia should keep or withdraw from areas of Ukraine its forces have occupied, especially Ukraine’s eastern industrial heartland called the Donbas, and whether it should get land there that it has not yet captured.

Out on the water, paddling across the straits between two small rocky islands, the dusk fades and the stars appear. Jennie has done her best to coach me in local geography before darkness, showing me the map with its patchwork of islands and bays, and describing the shape of each landmark. All to no avail. I’m more than happy to be lost at sea, leaning back in my kayak to gaze at the constellations, occasionally checking that the red light on the stern of her kayak is still visible ahead. We stop in the sheltered lee of an island and hear a hoot. “Eurasian eagle owl,” says Jennie. “They nest here.” Then she switches off all the lights. “Let’s paddle slowly close to shore. Watch what happens.”

As soon as we move, the sea flickers into life, every paddle stroke triggering thrilling trails of cold, blue sparkles. When we stop, I slap my hand on the surface and the sea is momentarily electrified into a nebulous neural network of light, like some great salty brain figuring out this alien intrusion. Below that, squadrons of jellyfish pulse their own spectral contribution.

“When I was a child,” Jennie whispers (we are both whispering), “there was no light pollution. We would throw stones from the shore to see what we called ‘sea fire’.” I spend a pointless few minutes attempting to photograph this elusive bioluminescence, then relax and simply enjoy it. Travel should broaden the mind, not the iCloud.

We are in the maze of deserted islands off Hälsö (population: 569), one of 10 inhabited islands in Sweden’s northern Gothenburg archipelago. To get here, all it took was a short bus ride out of Sweden’s second city, a brief ferry ride, then a leisurely hike along the new coastal trail that snakes round these islands, using bridges, causeways and ferries to connect. It does not feel like a lot, not for the sensation of being on the far side of the Milky Way in a kayak-shaped flying saucer.

My own definition of an island is any land mass surrounded by water that is large enough for Robinson Crusoe to survive on. I want a beach, a lookout point and enough driftwood to build a shack. The Swedish mapping office, Lantmäteriet, however, defines an island as anything more than 9 sq metres, an area sufficient to pitch a small tent. Using this definition, Sweden boasts in excess of 260,000, though only about 8,000 have ever been settled and less than 1,000 are now inhabited. My aim on this trip is to visit about half a dozen in the Gothenburg archipelago.

The new footpath is a 21.7-mile(35km) section of the much longer Kuststigen trail that goes from Gothenburg to Oslo, but this small slice is worth taking a little time over. I base myself in Skärgårdshotellet on Hönö, where there are a few cafes and restaurants. It’s a quiet place outside school summer holidays. On the first morning, I walk over a soaring bridge to the southernmost island of Fotö and discover why the relatively short distances can take time. As soon as the path leaves the road, you are on a maze of boulders, a massive adventure playground for anyone who loves leaping and scrambling. The fantastical patterns of striations, crystallisation and lichen only cause further delays.

I am almost late back to Hönö for my boat trip with Lasse, an avuncular computer expert turned sailor, who takes visitors out on his veteran fishing vessel. We do not spot any seals – the ostensible objective – but that doesn’t matter. We spend a couple of hours wending our way through the uninhabited islands out to the archipelago’s farthest point, the rocky outcrop of Vinga. This was once home to Evert Taube, one of Sweden’s great folk music balladeers, whose father was the lighthouse keeper.

That evening, back in Hönö, in the Tullhuset restaurant at the harbour mouth, I sit with the owner, Preben Pedersen, and watch the Vinga lighthouse flash. “The islands are very proud of the Evert Taube connection,” he tells me. “Music has always been important here. The church played a big part in that.”

As usual, however, the devil had the best tunes. While the islands were once officially “dry”, smuggling and illicit production were rife, and had their own geography: Moonshine Bay was a popular hangout for local folk music heroes such as Arne I Bora (real name John Arne Jansson) who blasted out a rougher kind of melody. (He made one album, after relentless encouragement from locals). Preben’s brother, Leif, upholds the tradition, occasionally playing at the restaurant. The church retains a strong presence: I see signs out for prayer meetings. “Don’t miss the old church on Öckerö,” Jennie had told me while we were kayaking. “As kids, we were terrified of it!”

Next day, I meet local climber Andreas Lundqvist at Ersdalen, a vast boulder-strewn coastal area on Hönö. Andreas brings a crash mat and I turn myself inside out attempting routes that he breezes up without any apparent effort. The mix of the otherworldly seascape and Andreas’s storytelling about growing up on the islands and subsequent adventures makes the whole experience hugely enjoyable.

Exploring the archipelago is made simple with the Västtrafik app on your phone, so I catch the ferry out to the last, most northerly island, Rörö. The weather has turned from blue skies to thick mist, but this suits the sparse, mysterious splendour of a remote island. I squelch through bogs, scramble over lichen-crusted boulders and come across wild ponies.

The ferry back connects promptly with a bus that takes me back across the islands. There is one more place I want to explore: the old church on Öckerö. Why did local kids such as Jennie grow up terrified of this place?

It is a simple red-roofed Scandinavian church dating from the 1450s, but the door is locked and the windows too high to see anything. Determined to get inside, I ring around local contacts and get the number of the verger who agrees to come down. Ten minutes later, he arrives and unlocks, but does not enter. “Text me when you’re finished,” he says.

In the small vestibule there are some ancient stones and a sword. I step into the nave. There are 17th-century models of sailing ships in cases either side, and everything is as might be expected, with robust, precise woodwork. Then I see the ceiling frescoes. The rear of the church roof is a painted hell. No wonder the island kids were terrified: fire-breathing monsters and demons dance across the barrel-vaulted timbers, torturing sinners who are sinking into scarlet flames. But then a suspended sailing ship points the way to salvation, the colours lighten, and by the time I reach the altar, everyone is floating on clouds and blowing trumpets. I guess those are the ones who stayed away from Moonshine Bay. Painted in 1792, it is a tour de force.

Eventually, I drag myself away, text the verger and, after just a couple of bus rides and a ferry, step down in Gothenburg. I’m still feeling a little dazed, as if I’ve been somewhere very far away indeed.

The trip was provided by the Gothenburg Tourist Board and travel to Gothenburg by Interrail (a four-day in within one month adult pass is £189). The Skårgårdshotellet has doubles from £93. Jennie Walker takes evening kayak tours from £63pp Andreas Lundqvist offers bouldering adventures from £115. Boat trips with Lasse from £20

Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan, Ukraine, Moldova, Armenia, Abkhazia, Georgia, Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia and Belarus have some seriously interesting bus stops

Find yourself at a bus stop in the UK, and there’s a decent chance you’ll share it with some wads of chewing gum and a bit of scrawled graffiti, sat on an uncomfortable bench designed to stop unhoused people from lying down.

In terms of artistic flair, the most creativity you’re likely to see is a traffic cone balanced on the roof.

The same cannot be said for former Soviet Union countries, where the world’s most striking and strange bus stops are scattered across the rural landscape. From Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan, to Ukraine, Moldova, Armenia, Abkhazia, Georgia, Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia and Belarus, the Eastern Bloc nations are adorned with a reminder of the Empire in the form of public transport infrastructure, 30 years after it collapsed.

Do you have a story to share? Email webtravel@reachplc.com

READ MORE: One of the UK’s ‘worst seaside towns’ is getting a huge £37.5million revampREAD MORE: I couldn’t survive on my pension so I moved to country with £240 a month rent

The Mirror’s Jonathan Reynolds found himself enchanted by the unusual shelters during a recent trip to Moldova, a country of 2.2 million that is the poorest in Europe. What it is rich in, Jonathan discovered, is bus stops.

“For Christmas a couple of years ago, my brother had bought me the book Soviet Bus Stops volume 1, and in it was a section of Moldova and pictures of these amazing bus stops that had been designed and built with such creativity and care. Often, it includes intricate mosaic designs in a structure created to provide shelter and comfort for the local commuters,” he explained.

“So, I woke up early, before the sun came up, picked up my hire car at 6am and headed out into the Moldovan countryside to find as many bus stops I could. I wasn’t disappointed.”

One particularly striking bus stop has large, intricately designed mosaic stars running along the wall, beneath a ski-chalet style roof. Another is a long, dry-stone wall with a corrugated roof lolling over the top of a small bench, providing protection from the elements, while echoing the style of contemporary British artist Andy Goldsworthy.

The creator of Soviet Bus Stops volume 1 is Canadian photographer Christopher Herwig, who has spent years travelling more than 30,000 km by car, bike, bus and taxi across 14 former Soviet countries to document the unexpected treasures of modern art.

He started the project in 2002 during a trip from St Petersburg to Sweden, on which he pledged to take a photo of something every hour. “I was trying to get out of that mindset that I needed to find a stunning National Geographic monument. I wanted to make ordinary things look cool or interesting. Bus stops, clothes lines, power lines, whatever you’d find on these farm roads.”

When he got to the Baltic countries, he started coming across the bus stops. “They were much more individualist, unique, minimalistic. They were beautiful pieces of architecture and design.”

In the two decades since, Christopher has returned to the Bloc multiple times, to take more photos and to unravel the history of the bus stops.

“I spoke to architects and designers to find why these curious things are on the side of the road. They’re quite unexpected, in that it’s a bus stop, on a rural road, but also, in that it was the Soviet Union. I had a different impression, growing up in Canada, of what the Soviet Union was like in terms of creativity and art. I thought a lot of things were standardised and controlled, without a great scope for freedom of expression, but these bus stops went against that,” he said.

“I could not find any evidence that it was a centralised plan from Moscow. But it was not something that was discouraged either. Bus stops were classified as something called a small architectural form, which didn’t have the same stringent rules and necessity to be approved or ideologically controlled as other monuments or bigger buildings.”

One of the key architects behind the bus stops was George Chakhava, whose unusual work decorates Georgia’s Black Sea coast.

“He created some of the wildest bus stops I could find. He was working in concrete and mosaics. George had a lot that went over different animal themes. An octopus, an elephant, a fish, a wave. One of his has a big concrete crown with a large gap in the roof. It gives no protection from the elements.”

This intriguing tension between form and function is replicated in Kyrgyzstan, where a plump bird forms the main structure of the bus stop. Its wings are too small to offer any protection to passengers from the wind or rain. Another is, simply, a large hat.

“The bus stop showed a lot of regional and national pride, more so than communist ideals. The Kyrgyzstan hat is a traditional hat, for example. There are some, however, that are blatantly propaganda and have hammers and sickles.”

While Christopher did meet people who loved their bus stops, such as a group of Estonian factory workers who took great pride in designing their very own, others saw them as eyesores.

“They are not something that’s treasured. They are seen by a lot of people as something that should be taken down. People tend to go to the bathroom there or throw their rubbish there. I’ve had people approach me asking why I’m taking photos of this yucky scene,” the photographer explained.

Copes of Christopher’s book are available online. His Instagram page is herwig_photo.