Crimean sabotage

Poet Andrei Rodionov shares with Slon readers to impressions of Crimea in verses and prose

Photo: Andrey Rodionov, Ekaterina Troepolskaya

1. Morning

The yellow-blue car of the Crimean Railway drags through the territory of the Russian Federation. Behind the back there was a crossing through the Kerch Strait. There are still thirty hours of Russian bath ahead. We return from Crimea by the most innovative route. The train Simferopol - Moscow was launched on August 1, but there are no air conditioners and dry closets in it.

Photo: Andrey Rodionov, Ekaterina Troepolskaya

You wake up at the station as soon as the knock of the wheels stops, and in the late stage at the toilet you listen to stories about the rest.

“They rode from Murmansk for five days,” says a pleasant aunt with a side, “and two days in line for crossing. The line did not move, the buses were missing. And then I could not stand it, went out onto the road and missed anyone until my son drove. ”

What makes a person go to the sea for five days?

They saw the line at the crossing. The Greeks love us, despite sanctions, their ferries help reduce waiting time. You can drive for eight hours. There are toilets and souls along the road, and here it is - the sea, but no one bathes. Local young mothers are earned, sitting down with babies in cars so that the loving power would miss in line.

As for us, it was like that.

In the Crimea, in Zaozerk near Evpatoria, our relatives settled on the sandy shore of the gentle sea: to whom mom and dad, and to whom - father -in -law with his mother -in -law. And we went to visit them, especially since the parental house this year became a refuge for the whole relatives from the east of Ukraine. A pregnant sister with her husband from Lugansk, aunt with a son from Stakhanov is a typical population of Evpatoria of this season. People from cities whose names are transmitted on TV came here to escape from the war, and at the same time rest a little, and sunbathe, and ride on the banana. This is a business of our family: to roll on a banana, catamarans, on a boat and on Batman. We are kin's kings.

Evpatoria is a soft city. It quickly became clear that alcohol trade after 23:00 is not prohibited here, but talking about politics is prohibited. Our relatives adhere to different views on the situation, and on the beach any grandfather can be the father of the second person in the DPR. Or the jeep stuck with Ukrainian deputies.

Childhood fairy tale is precious

Endless story

I am making a return

To the yellow city of Evpatoria

Where is the fence of the pioneer camp

Circus ringing, acacia grove

Stop machine, anchor chain

Ran to the sea of ​​the past

Here is my body that is shabby,

Lake of healing mud

- Hey father, please tell me

Who lives on this base?

- It’s not a base, then others,

Satiro Humor Center ...

The patients live now,

They are rehabilitated here

Childhood Fairy Tale, Lee Lee, Lee,

All cycades and acacia

Celebrity lake

Rehabilitation Center

2. Day

They got to the Crimea by plane and immediately at the airport saw an advertisement for the upcoming bike show, on which a swastika splashes a swastika a little later. After Evpatoria, we arrived in Sevastopol, the most Russian city. Proud architecture, and really a lot of bikers. They rented housing at the Central Market with Wi-Fay and air conditioning for a thousand rubles-this is the most popular price of the luxury class.

Photo: Andrey Rodionov, Ekaterina Troepolskaya

The transition of Crimea to rubles dispelled a strange illusion made by constant calculations in the mind on hryvnia and vice versa. Now, at the sight of 25 tomatoes, 35 peaches and cognac of 150 rubles, consciousness is slightly foggy. But in Sevastopol after 11 they do not sell. “We are Russia, not Yevpatoria,” the saleswoman replied proudly. Pride is the name of Sevastopol. Here are fashionable T -shirts with a national leader, singing his politeness and reliability. Majestic ships in the port. And the sea, warm and salty, like blood. In Moscow, I bought cognac in the spring, he was called the proud Sevastopol. I was delicious - I don’t remember that my cry is not about that. The fact that in August, in Crimea I rented an apartment in Sevastopol, and at night I came to him in his Magaz - 24 After eleven you came to me - said Aunt, - so go to bed, alas, but you will not drink cognac - and they give me in Yevpatoriya - I scream, we didn’t even ask! Well, it is proud of me in response - and here is not Yevpatoria! Russia! And I wandered sadly into the distance and then understood then firmly that the symbol of the city is an eagle that Sevastopol is proud!

3. Lunch break

Leaving Sevastopol, they bought tickets for the train Simferopol - Moscow, through Kerch. Such was a plan - to explore all the paths leading to the peninsula. It was then that it was necessary to feel how hot and long this road would be. But they bought a local newspaper, and there is an interview with Shargunov. The free press is in where it wants. The line did not move to ordinary cash desks, we decided to try the service center. The service in it is so -so, it sees. The apparatus for printing tickets is jammed, cashiers seize, with difficulty gaining data, they jam and arrange frequent funny meetings. But we did not suspect anything, because we were in Khersones and Bakhchisarai - we saw time.

Photo: Andrey Rodionov, Ekaterina Troepolskaya

Oh, Bakhcheva Bakhchisarai, the old worker center runs the gray roofs and the shed palace crawls to the barn. In a fountain of tears, it flows from a drop from a cup to a cup, symbolizing a sad and a lack of fresh waters flows a tear, the fountain lived and cried in the city with cruel and rose with red, and the yellow fountain refreshed the ancient city in the caves at the top. As if an infusion crawls on the rocks of ancient horror, suddenly hiding in a stone groin, look, tired aksakal, here is a shop “Crimea’s wine” and like a smile of Karaim

Loop the path among hot rocks

4. Evening

On the way to Yalta, the Ukrainian MTS refused. The Crimea, although ours, is the connection here is Ukrainian. But Prime Minister Medvedev presented a new Crimean network, and the next day the most fashionable Ukrainian operator stopped working the next day. The local weak Internet was missing, and in Yalta to search for housing had to experience station old women. Housing was found on VKontakte, but the old women pretty much stirred their heads.

Photo: Andrey Rodionov, Ekaterina Troepolskaya

According to the Ukrainian tradition, the Crimeans have a complete set of SIM cards. We decided to keep up and got a life, which immediately placed the future mistress. We settled in a lovely basement, in such a Yalta pre-revolutionary birdhouse on the shore of the city river of Ukhn-Su. With wi-fi and shower for 800 rubles. In the soul listened to the showdown of neighbors. For six months, people have no sex - you will involuntarily brutter. We went to swim in Gurzuf, to the country to Chekhov, and a kitten and a hedgehog came to us. At first it seemed that there was not enough people, but it was Thursday, and after it came Friday and the City Day. The delightful Yalta in pink feathers danced on the stage, the crowd was indifferent to the salute. And in the crowd we drank cognac, on which the laws of the Russian Federation did not act again. If you are old, or you are small, then look for another resort only for the strong spirit of Yalta is not a rotten, but a sweet cake upstairs, on the cooler, the middle of the steep rocks, among the pines and thorns, Baburen holds Baburen and a dozen important chickens, he does not like to rush his time - Perekrok Baburen - The Master does not work nearby. Baburen fell to be oz unsoloen, he rolled on a donkey of white northern children behind the cliff - the city of Yalta on stones flow streams - Baburen, what is your passport? - I got Russian

5. Night

"Here for money, their mother will be sold!" - the taxi driver at the bus station said. We arrived in the late evening, having agreed in advance about the apartment. But the apartment was busy. Greedy Lyuba, helmet to you our hot Moscow hello! I had to spend the night in the barn, in the village of Heroevka, with the acquaintances of the taxi driver. A shed with two beds, without a toilet and wi-fay cost 500 rubles and was in the yard, where everything was painted in three Russian colors. The hosts assured that the Luhansk residents would not let the thresholds, since the bandits on jeeps are hiding under the guise of refugees. As soon as it dawned, we left the heroevka and rented an apartment in an ancient way, calling twenty rooms in a local newspaper. Apartment in Stalin with Wi-Fay and a view of the sea for 800 rubles.

Photo: Andrey Rodionov, Ekaterina Troepolskaya

Kerch is such a Perm, but with the sea. There are no people, only a dozen fishermen on the embankment. A dull market, everyone is yelling at each other. In Kerch, they love not vacationers, but businessmen. The Kerch grandfather does not communicate with his brother, and the Kerch grandmother with his sister, because they are Maidan. Forty-one, forty-two, forty-three-these people were looking for those who left Crimea today Simferopol-Moscow brought in the port from the carriage, polite people in shorts are surrounded by ferry, as prisoners, the gray tones are spinning over the port of the Ukrainian cars, the zhovto-clatite chatting into the ferry of the Yama, the steam was grown-up. Fix the crossing of motorists queue. From the heat dwells below, passing the endless string of buses, the woman shouts: “Five days from Murmansk, two of them are trampled at the crossing!” She closed the roads with a body, misses private traders as a traffic controller in a black and white about the Great Patriotic Cinema in the Caucasus port of the Caucasus, as we are loaded into the train, re-knocked out at a drunken tantrum. Shouts: "I do not want to lick Obama's point!" He is neatly leaded to the operative of Russia, the microwave breeze, empty, have a conversation about science fiction with his wife, not yet knowing that the monster, generated by fear and emptiness, is already rushing about my track.