One day in May
One fine May day in 2010, when the weekend on the occasion of the first of May had long ended, and on the occasion of the ninth we had not yet thought of starting, we decided to hit the road to the Crimea. In the morning at work, creating the appearance of presence, at 12 o'clock they rushed away from the city. Since it was a weekday, the track was pleasantly empty. Bearing in mind the sad experience of standing in traffic jams, when people are massively drawn to the south, they chose this option. Initially, we planned to visit the coast, where our foot had not yet set foot, or rather, the area east of Koktebel - Cape Chameleon and Quiet Bay.
On the way, passing Belogorsk, we chose the route as close as possible to the White Rock in order to take a closer look at it, because before we saw it only in the distance. This rock has been familiar to us since childhood from the sad film "Mustang Pacer". There, this same mustang, at the end of the film, throws himself off a cliff, preferring death to captivity. And now, somewhere in the vicinity, they arranged a safari park "Taigan". We admired the rock, even wanted to spend the night under it, but then changed our minds. We decided it was better to drop by for a day in our beloved New World.
It was already evening when we, having passed Sudak, began to creep up the serpentine to the village. I must admit that I was very nervous, because before that we had only traveled here by minibus, and I squealed endlessly so that my dear would not drive. In front of the village, we drove off the road to the foot of Mount Sokol and, having driven a dozen meters, stopped in a clearing, just above the road, slightly closed from it by bushes. The tent was pitched at dusk. For mobility, we took not a huge super-comfortable camping tent, but a tiny one, bought in Neckermann for 3 kopecks, in order to quickly set up and assemble.
After spending the night in this way, it was neither light nor dawn. The first thing that breaks into a barely dawning consciousness is a downright tangible smell of juniper. I have never smelled such air anywhere else. After drinking coffee and collecting belongings in the trunk, we drove into the village. Leaving the car on the side of the road, we went for a walk. All the trails of the juniper grove and Karaul are both walked and crossed by us, but still I am ready to walk there again and again. This time, however, we decided to walk in the mountains a little further from the sea, where we had not yet wandered, due to the intense heat in August, when we usually came here. And now it was, although it was also quite hot, but the breeze from the sea blew a chilly one. In general, walking in a bathing suit, I did not sweat much. We went down to the village, bought a cold local brut and settled on a bench on the beach. The beach is just a fairy tale, because there are practically no people yet. After drinking a glass, they took turns dipping into the sea. Vodichka is a song, but you can’t swim, it hurts your bones. Of course, we were not limited to one bottle. In a word, we had a cultural time.
Overnight was supposed to be at the same place as the day before. And the driver was slightly drunk and was terribly afraid of traffic cops, who, however, were never found there. Nevertheless, it looked like this: I was walking ahead and vigilantly looking out for sellers of striped sticks. Having passed 50 meters and not finding them, I wave my hand. Our car is coming up. The procedure is repeated several times, since from point A to point B there are as many as 300 meters. Having safely reached yesterday's clearing, we build figs. I forgot to say that the entire territory adjacent to the New World is either a nature reserve or a nature reserve, and it is strictly forbidden to put up tents there, and even more so cars. And today, apparently, was not our day. It was about 8 o'clock in the evening and it was still quite light, and the thickets that separated us from the road were not thick enough, so a forester passing by saw our cheerful yellow-pink tent. We know this forester very well. Every summer he collects bribes from our wild beach. Moreover, the amount depends on the ability to negotiate. And since this skill is completely absent in us, we always paid the most. One friend from the beach, who has a business in Kyiv and a two-level apartment there, never paid anything at all. We, in the end, spat on this matter and were on the beach only in the afternoon and at night, so the forester could not catch us for several years. And then hello to you, hello, what happiness! But in person, thank God, he did not remember us. Presenting the crusts, he said that we should not stand here. Calling him by name, I say that we know, we are practically locals (and he never took money from the Crimeans at all). And he says, if it’s local, then why are we violating it, collect your belongings and blow away so that I don’t check. Of course of course! What is the market about! Left. Well, we, as honest people, got together and left. But not far. After driving a couple of tens of meters, we found another clearing, however, unlike the previous one, since in the immediate vicinity of it there was an overpass for repairing cars, around which various construction debris was scattered. But there was no choice.
After turning over for the night, early lying, so that the forester would not cover us again, moved towards Koktebel. Having successfully overcome one serpentine, after Sudak they got to another, not the same as in the New World, but still quite dangerous. After an accident that happened to us in the winter on the way home from Yalta, I became wildly afraid of fast driving in general, and serpentines in particular. So the road was tense for me, but everything worked out and, having passed Koktebel, we headed towards Cape Chameleon. And on the way, a surprise awaited us in the form of the Koktebel winery, or rather its brand store. Having bought Madeira there, we went further to Quiet Bay. The bay lived up to its name and was really quiet and deserted. In addition to us, there were a couple of other cars and that's it! And in the summer, according to rumors, there is a full house. The beauty! Putting up a tent, we decided to climb the Chameleon. At first everything went well, such a cool cape, no stone for you, completely earthen, unusual after the Novy Svet mountains Sokol and Orel, which are solid rock. Therefore, it was a little dumb on the Chameleon, a rock is a rock, but the earth can collapse at any moment! And the path narrowed and narrowed, and at one terrible moment I realized that I was simply afraid to go further - a cliff on the right, a cliff on the left, and in front of a narrow strip of land. With difficulty overcoming dizziness, I turned 180 degrees and returned back, where it was somewhat wider, and with bated breath I began to watch how my climber reached the end and even managed to return. Phew, well, fuck him, such an extreme!
Returning to the tent, we took off the stress with Madeira, had dinner there and retired to sleep. But, as it turned out, we chose the place somewhat unsuccessfully. Already in the dark, poachers appeared with a boat and began to pull out their nets, shining a flashlight. Wake up, bastards. Finally, they finished and fell off, and we continued our interrupted dream.
The next morning, having had breakfast, we lay a little on the beach, refreshed ourselves in the sea and wondered where to go? The thought came to me, why don't we go to Ordzhonikidze for lunch? There it is, at hand, through a couple of bays. No sooner said than done. Not even assembling a tent, since they expected to return soon, they went along the path through the hills. But in fact, "at hand" resulted in a more than two-hour journey over rough terrain. When they finally came out onto the road, they saw behind them a poster with a cheerful inscription: “Beware of encephalitis mites! ” Brr! . Turning down the rolled-up jeans, I found several of the aforementioned cuties behind the lapels. Yes, you were warned! It would be nice to install such a poster on our side.
We entered the village of Ordzhonikidze - nothing outstanding. Once again we were convinced that there is nothing better than the New World. We walked along the embankment in search of a working cafe. We found it with Tatar cuisine and, accordingly, with dostarkhan, which we love very much. No, Mamai and Batu thoroughly walked through our lands. Otherwise, how can I explain that I really like to sit with my legs tucked under me? Vrochem, I read somewhere that it’s more useful to sit like that than with your legs down. Yes, the Tatars are not fools, they know a lot about food and rest. We ordered lagman, mussel salad and, found on the menu, bovine eggs. Well, we could not pass by such exotics. Having burst, they began to think how to return. I did not want to go to the ticks. The bus still ran somehow indistinctly, the season had not yet begun. They asked some man, is it possible to walk along the shore? He answered somehow vaguely, maby es, maby know. But we heard in his answer what we wanted - you can! Well, let's go.
At first everything was fine, we walked along the shore strewn with such beautiful pebbles that, unable to resist, they began to collect it in a backpack. There were even oyster shells. Having passed several beaches in this way, we ran into a cliff. I had to climb up the slope. The slope was, like the Chameleon, purely earthen, the path, if you can call it that, was trodden by some crazy person, apparently immediately after the rain. And two more crazy people followed this trail, we, that is. In one place, I thought that everything, kapets me, now I will fly into the abyss. I had to throw two beautiful stones that I held in my hands. And to cling to the slope, which immediately crumbled under my hands. My climber began to speak his teeth to me, trying to quench my panic. He himself managed to carry a backpack in one hand, and a bag of stones in the other. What does experience mean? Somehow pulling myself together, I shuffled further. And the bays do not end and do not end. Here, it would seem, ours will open around this turn, but no, not ours yet. And so several times. Wow, let's go out for lunch! Again the stress had to be removed. This time it was dessert Muscat Karadag.
The next morning, having decided that we had had enough of extreme sports, we decided to raise our cultural level. For this purpose, we went to Feodosia, where, as you know, the Aivazovsky art gallery is located. Throwing the car right in front of the police department, we went to explore the city. Such a nice, cozy town, but there are not enough mountains. We went to the gallery. I am not a great esthete, and all sorts of avant-garde impressionists lead me simply into bewilderment. How can you pay so much money for the fruit of someone's sick imagination? But Aivazovsky hooked me. The sea is so naturally depicted, which I can look at endlessly! Also, in Feodosia there is a Genoese fortress, however, unlike the Sudak one, it is badly destroyed and neglected. Nobody restores it. Sudakskaya has been restored and big money is being made on it - in addition to the paid entrance, all sorts of jousting tournaments, concerts and other entertainment are held there. And in Feodosia - devastation. I took a picture of one house, the owner of which saved on one wall by attaching it to the fortress. And on the Feodosia beach, there are also very beautiful pebbles, but completely different - pink. They took her too.
We returned to the base and spent the night. On this day, they planned to make their way to the Karadag nature reserve. We were there on tour, but it's not the same. And he (the reserve) is surrounded on all sides by thorns, but we were sure that we would find some loophole. Already on the outskirts we met a young couple, who were asked, how could we seep through here? To which they answered us that it is better not to do this, if the foresters catch it - it will not seem enough. Everything is grown-up here. We believed them and dejectedly wandered back. The rest of the day was spent in Koktebel, tasting different wines. Pretty nice little village, but in the evening we decided that since such a bummer with Karadag came out, tomorrow we will leave home, a day earlier than planned. In the evening, on their beach, they admired a dozen paragliders soaring in the sky. Before historical materialism, Koktebel was called Planerskoye. There are some special ascending air currents favorable for aeronautics.
Foggy morning the next day zasobiralis home. We went to the winery. There are two stores there - one sells products in bottles, and the other - for bottling from barrels. Having bought cognac in one, we went to another. In front of us, the people of Kiev were dressed like an adult: they bought absolutely the entire assortment and in five-liter eggplants. Well, we modestly took only 2 liters of Madeira, some kind of cracker and ten-year-old port wine. Moreover, I was categorically against the last position, but my dear insisted. As it turned out later, port wine is not necessarily that terrible shmurdyak that we drank at school. So the bag did not stay long and left like children to school.
But that's a completely different story.
