Reporting from a "hot spot"
It's already the middle of May, and we haven't swum in the sea since January. It's time to open the season. They scheduled a departure for Saturday, but on Friday, from a reliable source, which we call OBS (one woman said), information was received that the right sector would arrive for another “cleansing”. Damn, already zadolbali right and left. Well now, do not go to the sea? At dawn, we were awakened by the sound of distant explosions. Quiet, fell asleep again.
When we finally woke up, looked at the news on the Internet - there was nothing. We decided to go anyway. I can't boot at all. At the exit from the city - a checkpoint, a couple of tanks or armored personnel carriers, I don't know, some armed people. Who, what, why? Stopped, asked to open the trunk. Opened. A roll of toilet paper stood proudly on a pile of beach junk. Seen still life, apparently, pacified them. They didn’t dig, they let go with God. Having traveled half way, they remembered that they had forgotten the key to the house. We drove back, a small traffic jam formed at the checkpoint at the exit, and we were not even stopped. Taking the keys, we again drive up to the warriors - again, no one cares about us.
Without incident, we reached the place - the village. San Melekino 2nd descent. There, at the very beginning of the Belosarayskaya Spit, we have a hut on the shore. He's not really ours. One kind person (God bless him) allows us to live in it for free for ten years already, we pay only for electricity. . I must say that the winter this year stood out, well, just guard! Our house was covered up to the roof. Moreover, 2-meter snowdrifts were so dense that even in March it was possible to walk on them without falling through. A neighbor's iron fence was broken by falling snow, and a couple of trees were simply torn to pieces. Tin! Another neighbor, even at the beginning of April, could not pass by KAMAZ, he had to hire a bulldozer.
In general, upon arrival, instead of blissful idleness (beer drinking and roach eating), I had to clean the house and the surrounding area. There was a terrible dampness in the house, a piece of lagging wallpaper hung from the ceiling, and the mice did their best. Since I didn’t leave any food for them, they ate everything they could, including a candle and disposable tableware. Having created at least some semblance of order, they set about an alpine hill, overgrown with grass so that the stones were not visible at all. Having picked up an armful of grass, she went to look for where to store it for the time being, and did not think of anything better than throwing it into the thicket of an abandoned part of the site. It was a mistake - a cloud of mosquitoes rose from the grass, I had to make my legs. Here's an ambush! Mosquitoes were here, of course, before, but so many! And then I remember with horror that I forgot the tablets for the fumigator. All right, a sleepless night is guaranteed!
Okay, stop working, why did we come here? Haven't you worked out at the dacha? Let's go swimming. The water seemed to me absolutely summer temperature. I thought, maybe I was already completely numb - we have been swimming in the river at the dacha since Maundy Thursday, not to mention the New Year's Black Sea. I decided to check on the Internet - yes, 22 degrees. Great!
Friends invited us to a gala dinner on the occasion of the opening of the season. They drank for him, then - for world peace, for the friendship of peoples, and all that. In general, mosquitoes could not buzz to me at night, since proverbs were not invented by fools at all, but mosquitoes are also suitable for the place of bjol.
But the morning turned out to be completely bleak. Having emerged from the arms of a close relative of death two hours later than usual, I thought that it would be better if mosquitoes ate me yesterday. Today we had a traditional march to the edge of the spit (about 12 km one way along the coast). I could not afford not to go for three reasons: firstly, tradition is tradition, and it is undesirable to postpone this event until a later period, because then you will have to literally step over the bodies (not to be confused with corpses, not everything is so bad). Secondly, I wanted to check the information of the same OBS source about tanks allegedly standing on the edge of the spit, waiting for the Russian landing. Well, and thirdly, if I don’t go, what will I write about? About how yesterday you nazyuzyukalas and did not go anywhere? You ask, why not write? No, the diagnosis was made - progressive graphomania, the disease is practically incurable.
In short, even a scarecrow, even a carcass, but you have to go. The second scarecrow felt better, because it turned off earlier. I recently saw a movie where Kevin Costner assured Jennifer Aniston that the best cure for a hangover is a mile run and a swim in the ocean. Need to check. Having swum a couple of meters (I didn’t have enough for more), we set out on a hike.
Ah, I love this time of year. There are practically no vacationers, garbage, respectively, too. At night, no one yells on the beach under the windows. The wind from the sea smells like watermelon (well, unless it's blowing north-east with a factory stink). The coastal strip changes its shape every year - the sea either advances or retreats, but more advances. Old-timers remember the times when our hut was a hundred meters from the water, while now it is no more than ten. Our host and his other neighbors are doing their best to strengthen the coast, heaping huge blocks of granite almost every year. Already a couple of such layers have completely gone into the sand. In other places, on the contrary, it washes wide beaches. Some handsome men stubbornly build fences a couple of meters from the water. They (fences) are washed away every year, but they still build. You have to be doing something.
Finally all boarding houses, hotels, people ran out. The beach is wide and completely deserted. If palm trees still grew, there would be a picture completely identical to Hikkaduwa.
Having reached (more precisely, having wandered) to the edge of the spit, except for a herd of gulls and other cormorants who raised a dissatisfied hubbub about our appearance, we did not find anything, no tanks. The landing, however, was - a couple of motorboats with beachgoers. Having rounded the spit, we went along the shore of the estuary. Traditionally, our further path lay along a country road in the middle of the spit, and we turned onto it. But barely moving away from the water, we were attacked by countless hordes of mosquitoes, and instantly began to represent a frame from the cartoon about Captain Vrungel, when he and Lom were covered with newborn crocodiles. At first, we simply slapped ourselves on all accessible parts of the body, destroying them in dozens, but this massacre did not bother the remaining hundreds or thousands, and new ones immediately took the place of the fallen. We still tried to just walk fast, but then it became simply unbearable, and, forgetting our quail disease, at the risk of pricking and cutting our bare feet, we rushed ahead through the taverns to the saving sea. Having reached, they plunged up to their ears. And the herd is circling above us and is not going to fly away. Then we began to splash water on them and somehow dispersed them. What is it, it has never happened before. Well, a couple of mosquitoes. An odd year.
Phew. Got out of the water. All these gestures robbed me of the last strength. And we still have to go back! And where to go? Went. On the way, she noted to herself that there were not so few people. In addition to local residents and owners of their own "huts", there were visitors, even the coolest villa in our area, the White Lion, worked. Majority people were already bobbing on the beach with the mojito brought by the waitress.
Well, what can I say. We got there, but our walk was somewhat delayed. Costner's method didn't work, and I was sick for the rest of the day. In addition, these parasites spoiled my skin thoroughly, and I was all at the face of a kitten. Beauty! Yes, we walked! Decently opened the season! I returned home in such a state that all sorts of checkpoints, terrorists, and Mujahideen there were on the drum for me. Why kill me, I'll die myself. And they didn't stop us. The devil is not so terrible as his little one!
Photos of different years from the beginning of May to the end of October.
