On a visit at the old man of Altai of
Ya was born and grew in Novosibirsk, in 500 kilometers from one of the most amazing and most beautiful places on Earth - Mountain Altai. But so it developed that to visit this unique corner of the nature it was presented to me only in 30 years. By the way, it was also the first experience of travel without children, together with the husband that filled a trip with the person who is slightly forgotten by romanticism and created illusion of free flight.Early in the morning we started on
on a way, having providently filled the car various provisions and a half of clothes of a series “for all occasions“. The important place in our store rooms was taken by pies and hot tea in a thermos. What this pleasure - to drink tea in the field, inhaling a smell of fresh ears and to admire dawn! Rooks ruthlessly stirred master`s crops, filling air with aroma of bread, and I intoxicated and drugged by all this magnificence, tried to catch them in a camera shot. Here it, Russia - the mother. What is, purely washed, without any prikras. Began to recur verses from the school program about the nature to the memory and to get new, now real, sense.
By noon we crossed border of Altai Republic. The first that I saw through lateral glass of the car - unreal color the small river. It was brightly - turquoise as a beads from the Chinese plastic. To be convinced that it is not optical deception from long tracking the road, I went out of the car and went down to a reservoir. No, of course, water was transparent as a tear, but here the river... It, really, was turquoise. And was called - Katun that in translation from Turkic is meant by “woman“. Ah, Katun as you are beautiful.Sledushchy “ah“ also did not keep itself waiting for
. There were mountains. I grabbed the camera and began to click randomly. Running forward, I will tell that I removed everything that I then managed to nasnimat. It were only “florets“, and “berries“ waited for us ahead. Mountains and hillocks. Big and small. Bald and shaggy. Abrupt and flat. Woody, grassy, stony... We devoted the first day of
Hastily having abandoned things in number, again - in the car and with the head in this primitive beauty. And in the evening we with the husband burned down a primitive fire on the bank of Katun, admired low Altai stars and remembered student`s youth. Fortunately, in Altai there are neither mosquitoes, nor midges at all. However, wanted to spend the night I spoiled by a civilization in blank cozy number, but not on a nature bosom therefore we lodged in the sound estate, but not in the tent town.
In the second day of stay to me took in head to drive on a horse. Oh, and powerful splash in adrenaline was caused by this “slow“ walk on mountain paths on an old jade by the name of the Traffic light. The horse group consisted of us with the husband, ten another city “white collars“ which are eager for adventures, herd of variegated horses and the juvenile who is absolutely untied as well as his wards animal, the instructor. All this somehow did not inspire at once trust, but after foreign horse kicked my horse sideways in 5 cm from my leg, to me all this finally ceased to please. I showed willingness to get down and leave where far away. But as desire to me it was refused, I spent further hour in talk with the horse. “Svetoforchik, please, well we will go... Traffic light, not there, there break... Traffic light, good, good boy... Let`s go...“ The horse finally mounted upon a neck to it a grief - to the rider as I and minutes 15 quietly chewed a grass while the white back of the closing fellow student disappeared from the line of the horizon. “And well, went!“ - I shouted, and was late having followed advice of the instructor, steganut a horse. The horse was stunned by my impudence and rushed, without sorting the road. My main objective in the next 15 minutes was to keep on this cattle, in literal and figurative sense of this word and to remember all other curses. Only antler bathtubs and an evening sauna with a hydromassage could relax me.
we allotted the Third day of a trip to visit of Chemalsky hydroelectric power station and sights, adjacent to it. The hydroelectric power station carries out now rather decorative role as the developed its capacities are enough only for illumination of one sanatorium. But here types of the Chemalsky reservoir against mountains really volshebna. After passing through locks the river Chemal falls into Katun. This place reminds huge cocktail when two rivers, transparent and turquoise, merge in one, and carries Vorota Sartakpaya name. According to a legend when the only daughter of the old man of Altai - Katun ran away to the beloved Biya, met the unapproachable rock which not in forces was to overcome on the way. It was come to the rescue by the athlete Sartakpay. It let out an arrow, and she opened the way in the rock for the beauty of Katun.
Passing Gate Sartapkaya, we rose up goat to a track and appeared near the island of Patmos. The island received the name in honor of that sacred island on which it once prayed Sv. Apostle John Bogoslov, and on the island Saint Apostle John Bogoslov`s church is constructed. It is possible to get to church, having passed on the suspended bridge which is settling down at height
a personnel safety notification with group, Germans with horror watched one of such bright companies frolicing on the bridge. Eyes of tourists were rounded in direct ratio to the told guide, and after the end of instructing especially nervous reached for validol. Having waited for sufficient time until the merrily company went away, Germans were built in a rank with a distance exactly in 1 meter and went to church. We with quiet soul joined them and passed a suspension bridge without special incidents except that periodically I had to podpinyvat the husband singing under a nose motive “Doychen zoldaten, an unter ofitsiren...“ Germans already managed to go without cadence hardly. Back we returned in the same way, having finally made friends with the German tourists, despite tricks of the spouse who sank into dotage.
the Weekend approached the end, and the long journey was coming us again. On the way we stopped by in the village Joints and visited a house museum of the Russian writer Vasily Shukshin. In the village bought apples, pears, plums. By the way, fruit, honey and nuts sell along the route almost throughout all flat Altai, for locals it is one of not numerous types of earnings during the summer period. And there is all this kopek for a bucket. And what aroma stood in the car when we brought fruit home... Mm... In the city of it you will not buy not at any price.
Altai subdued me the hospitality and not to return there will be an inexcusable mistake which, I hope, I will not make.