Rus Articles Journal

Than heart will calm down? In my case Balaklava and Sevastopol

my Any other travel in strict accordance with the Russian philosopher Solovyyov - existential break. And here my heart that calms down. Cools down, it is torn and fades in rest tears.

I watch

Ya at a windy night Balaklavsky bay. February. Strong storms. Just I was brought here from Simferopol next boring and immoderately by the greedy taxi driver - the retiree. At first delayed flight, and instead of the put two o`clock in the afternoon I arrived to the favourite peninsula at impenetrable blizzardly night. I have no choice. Only the next taxi driver. It was just nearly beaten a heavy bag by the enraged old woman. It seems, it has no choice too. But in it still there is a rage. And I arrived behind rest and, glory to me here, I not too will grow poor. If it was still possible to switch off it, this standard Crimean taxi driver. That it did not ache about what in Moscow is good, and in the Crimea it is bad. Who to you prevented to go to Moscow? The guy, you for five years are younger than me. And I, by the way, from Odessa. When you left from service, offered you the tiny apartment in Balaklava, and you wanted big in Sevastopol, now and not that, and not another? Damned state and! Turn off broadcast of the taxi driver! I at two o`clock in the morning will not tell it that it has hands and the whole legs and that there is no lost generation, only separately so never happen and not been. Plus-minus forty-year-old. A plus-minus with the same abstruse complaints to gasoline and envy to volume “where we are absent“. Velkam, guy! Indzhy it!

It is good that it should not answer. Everything is told to us.

at one of small restaurants of Sevastopol Tomorrow too. But absolutely other retirees! It should not answer too. They should listen! “And I in the shlemofena also shout to this idiot to look in a periscope on there where we came!.“ “We then lay down near Cuba, and here communication broke...“, “Well and the captain of the torpedo boat also speaks to it!“ At small restaurant it is possible to smoke. But they do not smoke. Because the captain does not smoke. Captain of the submarine. Gray-haired, beautiful, it is professional - proud. I look at it, having opened a mouth. I procrastinate the dose of whisky behind the next little table in a corner. My attention does not remain without answer and all of them begin to play a little. But it is beautiful, honest, it is professional - proud game. Among them there are also not retirees forty-year-old yet. Why these are pleasant to me more taxi drivers? Because even happening boring, they are not lost. At small inexpensive small restaurant where I was lucky to peep as these nice uncles note something, I am inflated as a bubble. It is a little more and I, apparently, will start singing about inaccessibility for enemies of the city of the Russian seamen! It is the real pride, with all its meanings, led by a sea lion, but not a jackal - the single on four wheels who is not knowing where in Balaklava Kuprin Street. You were at night in Balaklava, in February? What you know about loneliness! However, how many there that Balaklava!

the hostess of the guest house Leaves. Margarita Pavlovna. I do not joke.

“It is a Kazakh woman. Devout. Good woman!“ - the cook drunk by ten in the morning will gossip couple of days later in waste, bringing me very tasty breakfast. Kazakh woman Margarita. Given rise from Kazakh Pavel. Several times a day rushing in one hundred meters the standing Orthodox church. Arrived once davny - long ago here from Kazakhstan the Russian. Not whining as it is bad, and the attentive kind Margarita Pavlovna who adjusted a strong hand business. The hostess of the guest house, three cats, a couple of dogs, the husband, the son and everything the herd of cooks, maids, taxi drivers, builders which is fed from its business and so on, and so on, and so on. Palm trees are lovingly wrapped up in a film - very cold winter this year.“ My God! As it is good that you told that at night the bamboo knocked on a window! I did not even think of it, it will be necessary to fix it!“ There was strong wind. I move in a penthouse. A huge balcony, a beautiful view, free Wai - fay and silence.

I Go for a walk on the embankment.

Same restaurants. In one of them I am invited for a little table by worn, but strong men. Why is also not present? The owner gives. One of men deputy deputy. Sober tells as now everything is heavy and bad. After the third shot glass brags to me of the New Zealand business and the fact that bought up here, in the place, the sea of the earth and the ocean of apartments at below cost prices. Also made happy doctors, having opened some dolphin center for treatment of children with cerebral spastic infantile paralysis. “You trade in hope?“ Oh yes it is bad to be venomous and sarcastic. “What?!“ - is perplexed. Wanted to strike with the width of scope of humanity.“ No, I am glad for dolphins. But to tear off considerable grandmas for, in effect, entertainment, from parents of sick children?!“ I specify what salary at the doctors who are “made happy“ with it. Gives ridiculous number. I angrily laugh. “Let in general will say yes thank you that I give work to them! It at you in Moscow is not enough, and at us here to them for happiness!“ Opominayetsya. Something filters about socially - responsible business. About the fact that such as it will make this country Europe and even America.“ I passed driving nearly six thousand kilometers across the USA. From the Brooklyn Bridge to Golden Gate. I did not meet any stray dog. Any! The word of honor, I specially looked for. And I even understand that they where - that is. I saw mongrels with the amputated paws, is proud leaving with the owners who are new found in shelters pet - spa, but did not meet any stray dog. In the USA dog - responsible business. When you construct a dog shelter, I will believe in your social responsibility, dear deputy - the businessman, and until then... “

Tries to be

darling. Something sings about the fine credit history in New Zealand, cunning grinning.“ He from Vinnytsia“, - apologizes for him the companion. It that, diagnosis? Behind a waffle three salaries of the Sevastopol doctors working in the dolphin center are stayed in fish small restaurant.

I Buy by

sausage for a homeless oshchenivsheysya boughs. She clings me the trained eye of the professional beggar and waits at grocery store. I am that client who will give. In shop two witty shop assistants in hop. “Weigh, cut and...“ “Also eat! - cheerfully one cries out. - Oh, nothing that I on a floor dropped?! You for a doggie?!“

Yes, I for a doggie. A doggie, having eaten, loses to me any interest and continues to review clever eyes of few passersby, without forgetting to kiss or spank the nearly from it the size of dairy butus. When presses - not to a sentimentality. Any offenses.

Genoa fortress. At top a lean kitten. What to it here? Go down, there fish restaurants! Here, above, only wind. And sea. And bay. And feeling of rest.

If not to look at stray dogs and cats if not to look at poverty and palaces not Yanukovych, not his relatives. If not to look at the shabby bare houses draped with magnificent yachts. All this is perfectly visible from a penthouse under a weather vane. And even a dignity - Franciscan falseness - a facade Balaklava already got.

City plyazhik. Poor city balaklavskiya plyazhik. Cats, pigeons, swans, ducks, tequila bottle. Not, and how differently?

Sevastopol. Primorsky Boulevard.

Cats, cats, cats. Taxi drivers, dogs, deputies, in local theater a premiere of the play of Oscar Wilde. “Art still in big to a debt“. Lufarik, kabmala, yushka, imperial fish soup, corsair soup, lufarik, lufarik, lufarik... sargan. The same stripped vests at the same aunts. Aunts tipsy. Unique biogeostructure.

Ya I calm heart here. And to Maldives I will fly to California behind binge. When I grow old to decrepitude, I will lodge here and I will become sevastopolsko - the balaklavsky madwoman. I will go with a staff and a paper bag of stale doctor`s sausage for dogs. And, perhaps, I will lodge with some cat on the hill of the Genoa fortress. And I will be shown to grandchildren of the next Donetsk or Vinnytsia nabob as local sight. And will speak:“ Look, children, in - about - it one old woman all in tears there, with absolutely upokoyenny dead heart is our bare homeland. And now, children, let`s go on the yacht, lobsters to guzzle!“

Ya it is awfully pathos, isn`t that so? To tear off from crust wounds - incomparable children`s pleasure. But the sea everything treats, believe. I on it grew up. On the most blue in my world Black Sea.