What to see in Bakhchisaray
Bakhchisarai is a small town that has drawn up its territorial boundaries almost in the middle of the artery of the road link between Sevastopol and Simferopol. Truly one of the most unique places in the Crimea, which, unfortunately, does not find due attention and interest in our environment spoiled by opportunities.
The shabby town of the old formation, with narrow streets in the old town and broken roads in the new one, is clearly controlled by the Tatar community, which, in places, due to disagreements in views on the layout of life, often scares away residents of other regions.
The policy of non-intervention of my neighbors in the landing and the administrative district results in a pessimistic view of this oasis of antiquity and holiness in the form of “what did I forget there”. Of the more or less traveling members of the society I interviewed outside the city, everyone remembers only the Khan's Palace with the Pushkin fountain, which you cannot look at without tears, and the Assumption Monastery, to which "we did not go, because my legs were tired. "
This is how Bakhchisaray stands alone, blooming at a slow pace and taking on a piquant form for those who meet everything new with enthusiasm and a gleam in their eyes. So we, having made a short roll call and filling the thermoses with tea, and stuffing the backpacks with sandwiches, confidently took our places in our iron horse. Old childhood memories need a modern upgrade, new information should become known to the public, and the emotional piggy bank, which has been systematically losing colors under layers of dust for a couple of months now, should wake up again from the ringing of impressions.
The road was easy and not forced. Having left Sevastopol in the early hours, we were literally one of the first to drive up to the Bakhchisaray Miniature Park. This allowed us to choose a parking spot and hear a drawn-out explanation from young parking attendants why they were taking 5 hryvnias from us for parking under a “free” sign.
"Zhiguli" is, of course, not the best means of transportation, but when the appropriate crew is selected, then you stop paying attention to such trifles. You treat the constant overtaking by more colorful colleagues with understanding, and the noise of the road surface escaping from under the defenseless iron arches of the hull is easily drowned out by the noisy conversation inside.
By starting the adventure season with Miniature Park, we were able to achieve the right tuning for a tuning fork of positive emotions. The park was wonderful, educational, entertaining and just great. It was good for our entire group in the age range from 7 to 38. Whenever possible, we tried to share bright spiritual vibrations with the world, projecting pleasure on everyone.
As you understand, thanks to this, the atmosphere in the park was just wonderful. The children squealed, the parents laughed, and the parents of the parents, touched, blossomed with happiness on the sidelines.
The weather was also on our side, which inflamed our passion for adventure even more.
The next stop was Chufut-Kale. Actually, the Khan's Palace should have been a logical continuation, but I wanted volume, space and fresh aromas. Centuries-old walls with plaster forgotten about the expiration date and carpet art, which absorbed the dust from the shoes of 1000 and one traveler, simply did not fit with the feeling of cleanliness that I wanted to experience in the vast heavenly city of Chufut-Kale and the stronghold of Christianity in the local regions of the Holy Dormition monastery.
And, in truth, having got out here without spending the night, it is very difficult to pay attention in a day to everything that the Karaite capital is ready to boast of.
We did not believe the guy with the lady's handbag, who said that "the parking lot is right here at the rise", but timidly sent the car up along the narrow paved road. Not having reached a few tens of meters to a column concreted in asphalt, we pressed against the side of the forest. My team left the car and in a matter of minutes built a picnic right on the hot hood. The slope was impressive, so in addition to the standard handbrake and first gear, I had to mount a stone under the rear wheel, which, judging by the number of neighboring cars, was clearly in short supply.
Having replenished the supply of proteins and carbohydrates, we walked the remaining kilometer up the hill to the monastery. There has already been a slight rush from those who want to drink from the holy spring, buy herbs and fragrant oil and visit the oldest Crimean monastery.
After checking the clock and having a 2-minute meeting, we decided to first visit the cave city, and only then, tired, visit the monastery of the monks. To reach the final climb to Chufut-Kale, having climbed the plateau in front of the monastery, you do not need to ask anyone. Just keep moving in the same direction that your heart and visual cues will tell you.
We climbed up about 3-4 kilometers. In order to somehow cheer up my female staff, which I treacherously kept in the dark about the real distance to the city, I had to make small souvenir purchases. The children got bracelets and local skullcaps, which can be yours for only 20-50 hryvnias, and the wives got oils and tea fees, which are sold at prices cheaper than Lipton tea bags.
A light murmur and fatigue gave way to excitement and glee when we crossed the gates of the cave city. Although I was here at school age, but, most likely, my self-willed memory deleted all the old memories from the hard drive as unnecessary and more than a decade of lack of interest. So for me, visiting the city could be called the first. A surge of strength filled tired muscles, and the images that captured consciousness by storm splashed out of the head case. The city was fabulous, breathtaking and simply magnificent. This is not a ruined tower on a certain mountain or part of the wall of some prehistoric supermarket. It was really a city, with its streets, dwellings, viewpoints, squares, towers, wells and even a mausoleum. In general, here you can hang out for a long time. The space does not lend itself to being covered by the eyes and consciousness, which requires a permanent presence with both soul and body, and at least three hours.
We periodically made halts, drank tea, had conversations, in general, we felt at home. Emotions, fantasies and mental drift, everything here moves to an independent platform, depriving you of the means and methods of managing them. Perhaps the company and the weather also played a role. Or maybe it's because of the uniqueness of this place. After all, not everywhere you will find such a well-preserved city, located so high in the air. Being in it, you really feel the unreality of what is happening and some kind of internal suspended state of flight, when your legs are pressed tightly to the ground, but the organs, slightly suspended inside, as if in weightlessness, create a strange soft feeling of pleasure that you don’t want to let go under any pretext.
Having levitated to our heart's content and bypassing everything to the extreme borders of the settlement, we made the difficult decision to set out on the way back in order to reach the city borders of Bakhchisarai at sunset. Impressed by the cave monastery, we reached the foot of the monastery at sunset. Looking like an anthill during the daytime, now it seemed empty and not a little majestic. Carved right into the rock and consecrated by the dim light of lamps and candles, it was beyond the bounds of human capabilities and everyday imagination. Too bad the darkness was pretty thick and I didn't have time to set the camera to freeze. And besides, the ban on photography did not sponsor my titanic efforts. Suspending the priest who was mincing down, I learned that the temple would be closed in 15 minutes before the evening service. Calling our group to prudence and record-breaking activity, we managed to find ourselves inside for a while. The internal style of the church echoed the external outlines and continued the theme of mystery and non-patterned building. Arched entrances alternated with flights of steps, where here and there niches were carved into the rocks for portraits of saints lit by candles. Inside, several marble columns were installed under a low vault, connecting the rocky ceiling to the perfectly polished floor.
They decided to retreat to the city limits only because of the catastrophic time limit. Having lost contact with reality while still on the peaks of Chufut-Kale, we did not notice that the hour hand of the clock, having overcome the earth's gravity at 6 o'clock, began its inexorable rise along the left scale of the dial.
The car has already missed us and probably lost hope. In addition to our car, there was only one more left here, and its owner was found not much later. On the way back, we decided to pay a visit to one of the local restaurants to taste local delicacies and immerse ourselves in the atmosphere of the Tatar feast.
The evening was complemented by delicious chebureks served to the accompaniment of squeezing teapots with herbal tea. There were also local sweets.
Full emotionally and literally, we rushed through the night expanses towards the house. The car confidently clung to the roadway with its tread, not paying attention to the loud-voiced passengers, who unanimously discussed their impressions and the speed of the worldview turning to a new orbit.
The day was a success, and with it a segment of life that was not wasted, but, on the contrary, filled the mind with new thoughts and goals.
Bakhchisaray and its suburbs certainly deserve attention, promising the tourist an unusual experience that is hard to expect from the predictable Crimea. But it turns out that not everything is so transparent in our Crimean kingdom.
