New Year's story 5. (Which is strangely summery and long, but it happened).
My friend's dad is a Chechen, and his mum is Jewish. In this regard, he lived for a long time as a simple Russian man. At some point, he became interested in what it was like to be a Chechen. And he became one. He mastered the language, danced the lezginka, studied the history of the Vainakhs. After some time, he decided to complete the puzzle and became an observant Jew. The red Chechen beard became the red Hasidic beard, and the short sideburns were now called sideburns.
When we sailed along the Gauja River from the city of Cesis, I gave him all my money and documents for safekeeping, deciding that a real Jew is always a little bit of a banker and nothing will happen to my holdings.
We rafted on decommissioned marine life rafts as part of an organized group. People were mostly random and inexperienced. Approximately half of them embarked on a dangerous journey along the rapids of the river with suitcases on wheels. There were also outright eccentrics among them. Let's say one citizen was a fierce apologist for urine therapy. He pestered everyone with stories about the miraculous properties of urine and that official medicine hides these irrefutable facts. In this regard, the people made fun of him, offering him instead of morning tea to sip someone's freshest urine. He received the nickname Urinson.
In addition to him, there was a Britarian among him. In appearance, an ordinary, pretty girl with a solid figure, 28 years old, but she ate the sun. In order not to miss the most delicious rays, most of the time she walked, despising all kinds of clothes. At all. At first, people were terribly amused, but then everyone quickly got used to it. She was given the appropriate nickname. Miss Erotic. She was a harmless being. In addition to the sun, she collected some herbs, roots and berries in the forest. I also enjoyed chewing on the cones. True, at the parking lots she asked to bring her a couple of liters of milk and a large loaf of village bread from the nearest village. Washed with ashes from a fire. That was the end of her concern for her appearance.
< Having picked up all sorts of miles of knowledge about the religion of the Jews, he, like any neophyte, began to zealously follow all the rules prescribed by this religion. He received the nickname ‘Lubavich Rebbe’ or simply the Rebbe. talked about him all the time. But again, on top.
When a really wise man hundreds of years ago. Every Jew cannot take more than a few steps in the morning without washing his face. So the sage instilled in the people the habit of hygiene. As a result, in the evening, a friend put a tub of water near the tent and washed himself there in the morning. This was noticed by the bastards from the group and began to drag this tub a hundred meters away. The newly minted Hasid cursed them, called them goyim, but the bastards needed only that. The tub migrated inside the tent and turned over at night. And so two nights in a row. Of course, I respect someone else's religiosity, but it was already too much. And I went to live with Miss Erotica.
. Before going to bed, she read aloud Japanese depressive, hypernaturalistic Kobo Abe and Akutagawa Ryunosuke by candlelight. Of course, falling asleep to the sound of mumbling about how delicious the sulfur from your own ears is somewhat disturbing. But it was warm and dry. And she treated her with cones and roots.
This is all nonsense. The main problem was that this helmet left both my and my money, and all the documents in a storage room at a camp site in Cesis. He claimed that food is included in the cost of the tour and we will not need money. Uh-huh . . There was food. Macaroni, pearl barley and a certain “lump stew”. Apparently, the escorts were in collusion with the surrounding farmers and didn’t really bother about food. This had its own logic. At each stop, people went to the nearest village and bought homemade sausages there, only that baked bread, cottage cheese, milk and, most importantly, booze. And we ate pearl barley. Of course, we were treated, but you can’t live for free for ten days. And especially I suffered from the lack of cigarettes. He got to the point that he began to collect cigarette butts thrown by the redneck part of the group. Because I was embarrassed to do it openly, I had to come up with a device for collecting freaks. At one of the parking lots, I found an old basket with a lid. Having made a large hole in the bottom of this basket, I walked with it between the tents, pretending that I had gathered for mushrooms. Seeing a cigarette butt, he put a basket on it. He opened the lid and, pretending to straighten the mushrooms, took a cigarette butt through the hole and put it on the rest of the bottom. And closed the lid. Yes, boyars. It's a shame.
Speaking of mushrooms. I did go after them, although I don’t like passion as this business. Collected, cleaned, started cooking with pasta and decided to add salt. He took a petrified pack of salt, opened it and clicked on the edge. Half a pack immediately fell into the boiler....
In general, the trip (or swim) did not indulge in luck. Rather the opposite. There were anecdotal incidents. During a day's horseback riding, the horse the Rebbe rode decided to fall in love with the horse I rode. Imagine - on the left is a cliff, on the right is a slope with thorns, and suddenly you feel that your legs are pressed to the sides of the horse by the hooves of a hot stallion, and on your shoulder is his drooling, lustful muzzle. I can hardly imagine how you can try to have sex when a mammal of a different species is sitting on the object of your passion. Although maybe from the point of view of the horse, I'm cute? Like a cat.
And finally, we have arrived at the finish line. To Sigulda. I've been there before, so I knew a few things. And I came up with a plan. We took spoons and a ladle and went to Gutman's cave.
There, in the cave, a spring beats, which forms a tiny lake and a stream flows out of it. Because This place is a must to visit, there are many tourists there. And many people throw coins into this lake for good luck.
And my friend and I, having waited until no one was around, began to dig in the bottom silt and sand of the lake, like real gold diggers. There were Latvian lats, Danish, Norwegian and Swedish kronas, euros, rubles, hryvnias and even English pence. At some point, we heard the chirping of the guide, who, approaching, in English, told a group of pensioners about the history of the Gutman cave, about wall autographs and about a source with amazingly clear water. I had to hide. When the sightseers approached the source, they saw a vile, brownish swamp. The voices fell silent and, fortunately, the tourists left rather quickly.
We wiped the mined coins as best we could and took them to the exchange office, almost without hoping for success. But the good money changer believed in our story that we were street musicians, and exchanged our bunch of assorted little things for armor. It turned out in terms of about 30 euros. It was real wealth. We divided them and parted ways. First I went to a cheap cafe and ordered myself a plate of fried potatoes with an amazing cutlet. And coffee. Then he bought cigarettes and smoked, smoked, smoked. Then I bought a large two-liter bottle of cider and cut myself.
And I felt good!
Friends! When they congratulate the New Year, they usually wish happiness, health, fulfillment of desires and well-being. I wish you money. And more. And I also wish to find the same Gutman's cave, which will help in a difficult moment. Happy New Year!!!!!!
