How I became a real tourist. Chronology of one transformation.

The recipe is always the same:

get down to business, no matter how clumsy you feel

no matter what you feel, be persistent

You will be amazed to seethat the experience

As if by magic, he came to you.

Andre Maurois

"Letters to a Stranger"

This story is an attempt to explain to myself how a normal sofa lover becomes a crazy adventurer during a six-day hike.

Day one

"Jump into the water"

I woke up in Simferopol, cheerful and pleased with myself. The guide did not bother everyone an hour before arrival, and I managed to sleep and not look at the pillars flashing outside the window with the thought: “Well, when, when will we arrive in the end.”

At the station, almost everyone was asleep, curled up in wooden chairs. “Oh, how indecent it is to sleep so uncomfortable,” I thought, had breakfast and fell asleep.

It's funny to remember how feelings change. It seemed to me that a huge backpack, a special jacket, a bandana on my head was just a masquerade and an excellent reason for anyone to point a finger at me and say: “Look, she’s pretending, she’s not a real hiker!” Or rather, I myself was crazy about all these “accessories”.

At the agreed time, the naive tourist approached the storage lockers on the first platform. Seeing the group, I tried to identify the guide. Everyone was fussing, running, constantly pulling something out and putting it back into their backpacks, and only a moderately well-fed comrade in glasses, standing a little to the side, watched this with emotion and melancholy, eating an apple.

"Andrey?" - I asked. “Uh-huh,” they answered me through the apple.

Naive (but future great) tourist scared I was very surprised. According to my expectations, the guide was supposed to develop the most vigorous activity, rush around this Brownian motion in orbit, manage to control everyone, and give instructions.

I leaned against the wall next to him and began to look at the rest of the people. Everyone was busy stuffing provisions into their backpacks. No one was in a hurry to get to know each other.

We had to start from the village of Vinogradnoye, where we got to by trolleybus. Almost on takeoff, some half-sober guy besieged us with a shout of “Where?!” Through a stream of abuse (I previously considered this expression just an artistic device), we caught some meaning: this guy is a forester, and we are stupid people, going to a dangerous place where they could shoot us, mistaking us for deer. And they will definitely confuse us with deer if we don’t persuade him to guide us.

At the edge of the forest, having already parted with our “talisman against short-sighted hunters,” we cheered ourselves up with a snack and let's storm began to rise up. And then I started to get hysterical, I really wanted to burst into tears, because I simply could not climb the hill when everyone else had already disappeared into the forest. “I’ll go home, I can’t go” is the only thing that came to mind and tongue. Andrey did not let me escape, for which I am deeply grateful to him.

He took some of the things from my backpack, and by some miracle persuaded me to crawl up this hill. Then we walked, walked and walked again through the forest, both up and down. I stopped enjoying the descents, because after them the ascents began. “The hike is hard, not fun and humiliating if you trail at the very end of the group,” I decided. With sadness, looking out for another steep climb, I heard - “Halt!”

In the evening there was a real tourist dinner - pasta with stew. Over a mug of tea, the conductor suggested a voluntary-compulsory game “and now we’ll all get to know each other.” Everyone had to tell something about themselves. And I quietly crawled into the tent to sleep, because I hated everyone and didn’t want to communicate with anyone.

Day two.

"Getting to the Top"

In the morning I really didn’t want to wake up. The sides are dented by the mat, the street is disgustingly damp. And in general, if you are already sleeping on the ground, then what is the point of going outside?

"Breakfast, breakfast!" - the conductor announced and my stomach responded to his cry.

“They may not leave anything,” I thought gloomily, crawling out of the tent. In the morning, the almost feral tourist did not risk checking the folk wisdom “in a large family they don’t click their beaks”, to the detriment of herself.

Everyone stood bent over near the smoky cauldron, personally raking up some kind of white mass. “Uuu..oatmeal” - I identified my least favorite porridge. Together with the full bowl, the gourmet hid back into the tent and picked at the dish a little. “Hmm... nothing will work out for us” - the tasteless mass did not whet the appetite at all. Then as an aphrodisiac, i.e. seasonings, the hungry traveler used half a stick of dry sausage. I now have porridge with meat and a reason why I shouldn’t go outside.

For the sake of tea, I had to sacrifice peace and get out of the house. The whole company happily sipped the brew (mate). Like hungry cobras that had already swallowed a rat, but now noticed something smaller, but also alive, my fellow hikers stared at me, surrounding the log on which I sat down in a semicircle.

“We all met yesterday,” a tall blonde of indeterminate age with the sour mien of a school vice-principal either boasted or complained.

I was surrounded. And I passed appearances, passwords biographical information - name, age, occupation. Feeling like a partisan who had not yet really woken up and therefore was not very worried, I lazily looked at the “fascists” through the smoke of tea. The “fascists” could not figure out what to do with such a gift - they couldn’t leave it, and they didn’t want to take it with them.

"And how did you end up here?" - continued the conversation-interrogation. “On the advice of friends,” I shifted the responsibility onto innocent people and tried to escape into the tent. Failed. An energetic woman from Kiev, who looked like a boy with her short hair and a complete lack of coquetry, was already closing down our shelter.

“We’ll just go up a little to the plateau, and we’ll walk along a flat, wide road all day,” the guide promised.

I believed, as a sick child wants to believe, that “it won’t hurt” and again harnessed myself to the backpack. The detachment cheerfully trotted along the forest paths.

It was cold on the plateau, I put on a jacket, a hat, leggings under my jeans and finally stopped scolding myself for packing a bunch of warm clothes. And she began to indulge in narcissism, feeling like a real tough tourist (the only thing missing was snow, a beard and an ice ax).

Have you ever seen how a man sincerely rejoices at the sight of a blue sweater decorated with an elegant pattern?

"Ahh! Sweater! Do you have an extra one?!" - Andrey exclaimed.

“Nothing, it’s not hard for me, thank you,” the noble lady waved off the excessive concern, stuffing the knitwear back into her backpack.

"Give it here!" - the chilled conductor commanded.

Thanks to my kindness, I got rid of the unnecessary things and admired the cute “blonde” in glasses and her mother’s sweater.

As soon as I learned to walk correctly: “in small steps, distributing my strength,” and almost began to have fun, nature, giggling at the mighty traveler, turned on the wind stronger.

“I’m strong, brave and I’ll climb Roman-Kosh if I don’t get blown away,” I assured myself,

carefully admiring the view of Babugan Yayla from the edge of the cliff, trying not to become part of this landscape forever.

From the highest point of Crimea, the dreamy wanderer expected sharp rocks and kites sitting on them.

And this is a large gray hill, with a pile of stones on the top. Offended that no one noticed my mountain-climbing feat, “the elusive Joe” conquered Roman Kosh once again, perching himself on this pile.

Without waiting for the applause, I joined the group (I caught up with them on the descent).

M-o-o-re was visible in the distance. It was beautiful there, warm, green and sunny. And here we walked in dust and fog, like a herd of hobbits (well, there was definitely one weak little hobbit there). My legs hurt, my toes were sore, and, in general, I didn’t understand why I left my beautiful valley, and how I could enjoy these views when I just wanted to fall and lie down, but I had to follow these disgustingly cheerful comrades.

Our camp was in a sparse forest, overlooking Gurzuf, Artek and Bear Mountain. Below us was the village of Partizanskoye. At the command "Halt!" I fell on my back, feeling like a giant turtle with a 75-liter shell on my back.

Peace! It comes when you have dinner, lie down in the tent, and hear “what great fellows we are!” and you will modestly agree with this.

I finally noticed how beautiful it was around me and started calling Kharkov residents who couldn’t see it. The lover was busy, my mother did not answer the phone. I failed to please my loved ones (to enjoy someone else’s envy).

In the evening it started to rain. After practicing, the rain became rain and dispersed the company to their tents. Thus, bedtime came around seven in the evening. The dream had no idea about this.

Kiev resident Natasha invigorated us with stories about conquerors of snowy peaks with frostbitten limbs. These “bedtime stories” were supposed to suggest that our situation (a cold, wind-blown tent and leaking walls) was not worth worrying about at all.

I wasn’t happy with the stories and the chance of getting sick, so I decided to change the subject with the help of a magic potion for colds and bad weather - cognac.

Remember the scene from the movie Some Like It Hot when there's a "party on the second shelf"? We also had our own celebration (in a separate tent). It became warm and cozy as we passed the flask around in a circle, giggling.

I have never encountered living vegetarians before and, without wanting to offend religious Natasha’s food beliefs, she delicately asked her if it was possible to put cheese next to the sausage or would she then not eat it?

She supported my concerns (about cheese) and shared a modest meal with us.

And then we tried to fall asleep, listening to the noise and dripping rain.

Day three.

"Go, go, go"

A heart-rending cry of “R-I-I-S!” woke me up in the morning.

The tent was wet and so was I. There was no puddle, but there was still dripping from the ceiling, so there was no need to wash. I woke up just in time for breakfast, which the guide was trying to prepare. But rice didn’t want to appear on the culinary scene.

An SBU officer from Kyiv had been carrying a bag of rice in his backpack for two days, but noticed this only when the group rummaged through their duffel bags for the second time. The “flimsy tourist” became jealous. What a mighty little man! Personally, I was mindful of every pack of bread in my backpack and tried to get rid of excess cargo whenever possible. It looked especially wonderful at a rest stop, when everyone was racing to pull out food (sprats, bread, sausage). The “snack” set (one piece of each item) was formed in a couple of seconds, the “latecomers” hid the canned food back with a sigh.

We hit the road. It was drizzling. At first I pretended it wasn't raining. The rain was offended and switched the operating mode from “weak” to “normal”. When this “fact” started running down my face, I had to pull out the poncho. I dressed myself and my backpack, looking like a chemical defense soldier with secret equipment on my back.

And then a lonely barrier, uncontrolled by anyone, appeared on the road. The entire group wisely avoided the vehicle barrier. The guide dived under the barrier with a backpack on his shoulders and safely emerged on the other side. I wanted to repeat the pirouette - after all, I had already learned to just walk with a backpack! As a result, the “floor exercise performer under a log” caught on the crossbar and began to imitate a large bat stuck in a tree, sleepily stuck. The “mighty man” took me off the “branch”, and a small hole appeared on the poncho due to my fluttering.

This was just the beginning of our adventures today. Dear readers, have you forgotten that we are walking through a real nature reserve? And we forgot.

The drizzle had intensified and we were now moving in a gray fog. I was constantly falling behind. It was sad and depressing, but I had to go forward and forward. Obviously, everyone was in a “donkey in a harness” mood, because we missed the turn to the Arbor of the Winds. I had to go back.

In the humid fog we were overtaken by a bobby. It was not possible to blend into the landscape, but the last hope was visible on the faces of the chilled tourists: “maybe they won’t notice a group of fourteen people.”

Three sweetly smiling people got out of the car, all of them looking the part - beefy guys in camouflage. One of the foresters had a gun with him, which he held on his shoulder.

I was so tired and wet that I wasn’t very afraid of the Guardians of the forest, field and deer that suddenly appeared. Moreover, they were more interested in men. Conservationists headed towards the guide and the rest of the courageous tourists. I listened to the tirade about the deer that we prevent from reproducing sideways and with half an ear. The prudent traveler took out plastic bags and began to pack her cold feet in them. One package was blue and the other white, I couldn’t find a pair. While we were told about the nature of the reserve, the laws of Ukraine and our deliberately bad behavior, I managed to: change clothes (exchange wet jeans for wet sports ones), finish the candy, and talk with a couple of newlyweds from Western Ukraine.

The reserve guards began to let members of the squad into their cars one by one. An application for a fine was being written there.

After the “bobby” left, Andrei made legal and tourist conclusions: “It turns out that everything is so simple! You can’t officially get into the reserve for any money! But you will receive a receipt for a fine and you can walk as much as you want.”

And we went for a walk further. The rain decided not to be shy anymore and turned into a steady downpour. Having caught up with Andrey a couple of times, I started whining that I needed to eat. He wiped his glasses, looked around and shrugged his shoulders melancholy.

This seemed very cruel to me - not only was she tired and worried, but she was also hungry!

There was no strength to be sad. Go too. There was no other option.

Thanks to the major from Kyiv, who walked at the end of the group and patiently waited for me when I fell behind. It's much easier to walk when there is someone next to you.

Day three (continued)

"Get there hutу-mental hospitalу"

The “advanced detachment” disappeared behind the hill, and the three of us were left. I thought doomedly: “If I stay here, they won’t come back, and it’s unlikely that the “pathfinder” or his wife will carry me on the shoulder.” At that moment, the realization dawned on me that you must walk on your own, and no one will take these steps for you. We finally entered the forest, where Andrei promised to stop, but this guy continued to lead us forward. It felt like we were in the autumn Carpathians, because it should be warm and sunny in Crimea!

I didn’t have the strength to feel sorry for myself and hate this dull, damp and boring landscape. I wanted to eat, or something sweet, or just chew! I was well versed in wild berries - I could distinguish rose hips from all the others. I chewed about ten pieces, small and tart with thick skin. Then I remembered that they were medicinal (but I didn’t remember from what or for what) and I was afraid of an overdose. She generously offered a couple of berries to the “pathfinder.”

Do you know what happens when you learn to just walk with a backpack, go up, go down, walk in the wind? Right! The road decides that you are a m-o-l-o-d-e-ts, you have learned everything and can easily walk without it. The hiking trail turned into a swampy mess with a scattering of cobblestones for pleasant landings, and we took up the mud descent without skis. I only fell on my butt once! It doesn't hurt to fall - you're too lazy to get up!

At the fork we caught up (they were waiting for us, but that doesn’t matter) with the entire combat detachment. Andrey wandered with a detached look with a GPS navigator, like a shaman in search of a well. Soon it was going to get dark, we started whispering: “What’s it like to spend the night in a wet forest?” Finally, he pulled out onto the leftmost path (by location) and we walked forward. I have reached that “wonderful” state when I don’t care what happens next, because nothing good can happen. Dampness and slush accompanied us today.

How do you usually describe your first meeting with your lover? “As soon as I saw him, I realized: it’s him!” or “I didn’t have time to see his features yet, but I felt that he is my future, what I’ve been looking for for so long!” And so, we had not yet had time to really see and understand, and Andrei was jumping in ecstasy across the clearing and shouting: “I dreamed about her! That’s how I imagined her!” It was beautiful: miniature, green, woody, on four black rubber wheels - a forester's hut.

I dropped my backpack and stood next to it. I felt so good that we weren't going anymore.

The female part of the group dived into the house to prepare a snack, the men went on reconnaissance - there was some kind of holiday village nearby.

It turned out that everyone was not only alive, but also very hungry. There was no tripod over the fire, so the edges of the cauldron were placed on bricks lying along the edges of the fire. This structure - a cauldron plus a fire - was very stable - if you didn’t breathe on it, didn’t climb towards it with a spoon and didn’t look in that direction at all. Andrey, trying to stir the boiling mixture, each time risked leaving us without dinner and a healthy guide (if the contents of the cauldron spilled on him). He was focused and careful. Looking at him, I remembered the scene from the movie “Mission: Impossible”, when Tom Cruise’s character hangs upside down from the ceiling, copying the data of the enemy computer. The spy needs not to disturb the alarm - and he does not make a single extra movement, practically does not breathe, and a drop of sweat falling from his forehead almost ruins the entire operation. Thirteen hungry and angry hikers were breathing down Andrey’s back. Cruise's hero definitely couldn't handle it!

The most phlegmatic, but also the most businesslike tourist, Artem from Moscow, started drying his things. He built a banner from a spear and wet pants and set it up by the fire. He had to hold the bottom of his trousers in his hands to keep the “flag” from charring, so he found a second spear and erected a wooden dehydrator by the fireplace. Other people's socks instantly flew onto the free branches, like wet sparrows, and the painting "Halt" acquired a pacifying warmth - dinner was boiling, things were steaming.

I didn't want to write about this day. You can't describe a miracle, it can just happen to you. Who will believe that cold and tired, lying in wet sleeping bags, we laughed at eleven at night? We felt so good that we didn’t even believe it ourselves. Before the hike, I was very worried that sleeping on the ground was uncomfortable - it turned out that this was nonsense. Trying to sit on one plank of the sun lounger, since the second one is occupied - this is the task.

Kiev resident Natasha was shivering from the cold. Her sleeping bag was also wet in the backpack and now we were lying on one part of it, and covered ourselves with my dry one. Having overcome my heterosexual habits, I opened my arms to her. She pressed herself against the wall so that a third person could also lie between us.

- What are you doing?! - Her eyes bulging, she asked from the other end of the lounger.

- I wanted to warm you up! - the selfless friend answered tearfully and unconvincingly, who was about to share a piece of her warmth, and was so straightforwardly understood.

- Hey, you're there, in the lezbiche! - Andrei’s voice came from the floor, trying to sleep and dry at the same time. There was a burner next to him, and the image of the conductor swirled in clouds of steam.

- Don’t be jealous! - Out of habit, we answered in unison and turned our backs to each other.

Day four

"Turn out to be nand the crossroads"

In the morning there was a feast. The menu included canned meat, sprat pates, sausage cheese and sausage - all supplies for the remaining three days of the hike.

We are about to "go to civilization." Andrei, like an escaped convict, delayed his meeting with the “mainland” and stubbornly advertised a tour of cave cities. His big, honest eyes sparkled through the lenses of his glasses: “This is a very interesting route, there is no strong wind blowing there, if it rains, we will hide in a cave.” He was like a blessed preacher - a crazy but harmless descendant of Moses.

No one except me had dry things. A couple from Israel continued to dry out their damp sleeping bags over the fire. I mentally thanked the Kharkov residents, highly experienced tourists, with whom I consulted on the topic “how not to screw up on a hike.” They ended each conversation with the words: “...and most importantly, you should have spare clothes in the bag so that you can completely change into everything dry.”

By noon, when we got ready to leave, I discovered that I wasn’t sick yet and wasn’t even going to. It was amazing and inexplicable. Yesterday, as the water squelched in my boots, I tried with grim optimism to remember the factors of frostbite. The sub-zero temperature was not enough to keep my toes in my boots. But I could just get chilled and catch a cold under the high-mountain wind?! And (image drum roll here) my legs didn’t hurt! This all defied any logic, so the tourist, pleased with herself, stopped trying to understand the mysteries of the body.

Everything turned out to be more interesting than what was promised by the organizers of the hike: “the daily treks on this route are longer than in our other Crimean hikes - on average 16 km instead of 11.” According to Andrey, yesterday we covered about twenty-five kilometers, breaking all amateur records. Feeling like a battle-hardened tramp, I didn’t even mentally groan at the thought of the morning evacuation, as usual. I set myself up for an easy walk to the car that was supposed to pick us up on the highway. And it seems it's not just me. The sun was shining, everyone was smiling and taking pictures along the way.

River... A real forest river. She wriggled flirtatiously through the forest. Mossy, gray-green boulders lay along the banks, and through the clear water, so clear that it was as if it were not there, the outlines of all the pebbles that covered the bottom of this beauty wriggled. It was as if there was a piece of a fantasy world before my eyes.

Something happened. Maybe at night? All the days of the hike I wanted to: eat normally, sleep not on damp ground and not walk all day! It was a couple of meters away from civilization along the pebbles across the river. Everyone had already moved to the gazebo on the other side, but I liked this “wild” shore. I admired the river, shaded by trees, and my reflection in the water. Finally, I decided to cross the river and began to wait for the “evacuation service” to arrive.

A minibus is very “micro”, considering that there are exactly two times less seats than needed, or three times less, if you remember about half-height backpacks. But we were several times more optimistic. "Let's all leave!" - the wild tourists decided and began to help the less optimistic driver stuff their backpacks into the luggage compartment.

In the salon, the women sat on the laps of their men, Natasha, a Kiev woman, found an empty seat next to the boy, the son of an Israeli couple. I sat in front, next to the driver and conductor. While our fragile little boat on four wheels was overcoming obstacles on a section of the landscape conventionally called “road,” the conqueror of forest distances and mountain heights indulged in dreams. I imagined myself in a hotel room, getting out of the shower, so light and fresh, wrapped in a white fluffy towel, falling onto a large bed and...

Negotiations or conspiracies continued behind our backs about who was going where next. A mother from Israel found out the details of living in caves. It was suspicious. Until this moment, only one couple from Moscow showed a desire to continue the adventure. But they are already crazy! We've already traveled half the world. Artyom, with his calm ingenuity, will survive in any conditions, and his wife will “drink the blood” of those around her, and will not be lost either. But when the cautious, caring mother of the family is about to rush out of the forest into the caves, “that’s when you think about it.” There was some kind of melancholy in my chest, and I finally realized what I wanted - to stay with them and move on.

Already at the station I was trying to decide whether to do what I needed to do, what I was going to do (go to Gurzuf with Natasha), or what I wanted to do - with them, into the caves.

- Do you have to crawl over rocks there? - I asked Andrey. Cave cities seemed to me like an enlarged version of swallow's nests.

- No.

- So you don’t have to walk on the stones there? My shoes are slippery.

- No, it's not slippery there.

But no one gave me guarantees. And I rushed between two possibilities - a measured rest, or another adventure.

Day four (continued)

"Find nовую roadsу"

This is where the real fun began. We decided (it hit someone’s head, but the rest didn’t mind) to have a barbecue on the top of Mangup. We decided to leave a huge side of lamb where it was, and bought ten chickens. I’m happy because I did as I wanted, and not as I should have, and I slowly realized what was happening. Namely: I’m still wearing wet boots, tights (two pairs of pants are wet in my backpack) and a long jacket. The most amazing thing is that no one made fun of it. Apparently they decided that my style was to walk through the forest in tights, or they were shocked that I hadn’t disappeared into civilization. Special thanks to the person who left walking poles at the foot of the mountain. They helped me a lot. We (Anna Pavlovna) climbed Mangup quite easily. There was no more food in the backpack, and we were not walking in the rain.

I saw a Karaite cemetery. On both sides of the path there were stone tombstones, shaped like houses, with inscriptions in Hebrew. The son of a couple from Israel translated one of them, it turned out that the epitaphs differ little from modern ones: “To my dear, beloved grandfather from...” At the very top of the mountain it was fabulously beautiful - all the paths were overgrown with emerald grass, among the dry bushes rose gray ruins of varying degrees of decay - from the foundation to almost decent walls, and on the sides of the mountain there was a view of two huge valleys, with bright spots of green, yellow and scarlet foliage.

We started looking for a hole to sleep in. (Mangup is the capital of the ancient principality of Theodoro. The people there lived in caves that they hollowed out on the top of the mountain. And the mountain itself is a large hill with a stone knob)

Guess which room turned out to be the most spacious and comfortable? Jail. We went down into the hall, on one of the walls of which there was a memorial plaque dedicated to “a man who loved mountains very much,” and I felt somehow uneasy. And I felt completely uneasy when I saw the steps to our new house. There were no handrails... none! They were simply walking along the edge of a cliff. I remembered the cognac for dinner, the approaching darkness, and cried out: “How are we going to walk here in the evening? Or maybe we shouldn’t?”, to which the guide philosophically replied: “Be careful. But if you want, you can look for another place.” I sighed and imagined that I was almost not scared, well, maybe a little... well, “Please back me up, or better yet, just carry me down.”

We set up tents in our “prison”. The cave had two large halls and several solitary cells. They scattered it - they laid out their things to dry and went upstairs to the clearing. Everything was wonderful: marinated chickens, spring water, and only brushwood was missing. Almost the entire crowd went on a hike to get firewood. I'm like the most lazy responsible, stayed to look after the “baby” (a 15-year-old teenager a head taller than me).

“Mangup is beautiful at night, when the full moon illuminates it,” but an extra step to the right or left may be the last. Therefore, it is advisable not to turn off the headlamp, look at your feet, and tell your “colleagues” that you ran into the cave for a bowl, or they will start rejoice in advance worry - “what if you fell off the mountain!”

When our unconventional tourist dinner was already stewing, two representatives of the local informal diaspora arrived. Obviously for our bread and salt. The delegation was received friendly (for the first 5 minutes), then with restraint, then they formed their own circle around the fire, leaving them to slowly talk among themselves. Dinner was almost ready. We (greedy hungry tourists) started to get nervous.

The “diplomatic message” was carried out by guys from Israel. My wife enlightened the guests that we have two different companies. Her husband supported her, adding, “let the dear guests clarify the purpose of the visit: “to eat, drink, or something else,” and expressed confidence that it would undoubtedly help them. The “aliens” proudly declared that they did not need anything at all, “they were just passing by,” and disappeared into the darkness.

You could go for more until you burst (in contrast to a regular dinner, when they counted how many spoons of porridge for each person).

The evening of revelations began. One of the couples turned out to be not “real”! The guys from Moscow said that they are not husband and wife, but simply “friends since school years,” and “maybe we’ll get married when we’re thirty-five years old, if there are no other options.” The next news struck us as Vadim (formerly from Kharkov, now a programmer at one of the banks in Israel). It turns out that due to the climate there it is impossible to drink fortified drinks and he has not tried cognac for two years.

The guide Andrey said that he had never had such a dinner in his entire camping life, and after wine he switched to cognac.

I (heavy sigh) remembered the stairs above the cliff and drank more symbolically than for pleasure.

Already in the tent we honestly tried to sleep. But when snoring was heard from the next “room”, similar to an opera aria in its power and originality, we began to go hysterical. Choking with laughter, Andrei recorded a vocal number to please the “performer” in the morning; we can’t all enjoy it!

I went out at night to “admire” the view. The valley glowed with lights, pleasantly reminding how far civilization is from us.

Day five.

"Feel beauty"

And the next day there was sun! Big, bright and real - just like in summer. The most practical tourists laid out their things to dry, which is why the top of the mountain acquired the touching appearance of a spontaneous flea market. The laziest ones (like me, for example) depicted lizards basking on rocks. The conductor stoically finished the rest of the chicken. On the third serving, he mentally broke down and came to the edge of a cliff. Putting his hand with the dish behind his back, Andrei bent like an ancient Greek discus thrower. Concentrating, the winner of his gluttony with a powerful movement threw his hand forward and sent the remains of the bird on its last flight over Mangup.

A summer resident of the mountain, an informal girl from St. Petersburg, appeared near the fire. Dry and light, with long sandy-white, sun-bleached hair and caramel-colored skin. Her statements, like nimble lizards, showed off for a moment and ran on. She stood near the fire, drinking our tea from her mug - a two-liter bottle cut off at the top.

I feel apprehension and envy at the same time towards outwardly “unformatted” people. Envy - from the outside, their life seems absolutely free, easy and permanently happy. Why the apprehension? You feel their strangeness, or your own in their eyes. For example, the girl said: “When I meditate, birds fly to me and start tumbling in the air in front of me,” and something else about rapidly developing psychic abilities. Why wave your inner world like lace panties in front of the nose of a person who didn’t ask for it?

The gathering of the group now began with a shout: “Anya, go ahead!” Andrei decided that it would be much more fun for me to walk if our squad, full of individuals dissatisfied with my physical fitness, was behind me.

On a winding mountain path, I learned that you need to descend half sideways, crouching a little and straightening your back, so that the weight of the backpack weighs down your bottom, not your top. Otherwise, you risk going down very quickly, but only once.

I didn’t want to test the “kolobok technique,” ​​so I diligently portrayed a retired ninja turtle - shaking knees, a heavy shell and general despondency.

At the same time, there was only one thought in my head - where to put my foot. If you start to worry, you immediately stumble. On the path, small pebbles - "loose" - have collected in puddles. If you stand on the “powder”, the stones, merging into a cheerful stream, will carry you down the mountain.

A monastery is being built in the sandy side of Mangup - monks dig caves, make railings - and swallow's nests with handrails are ready.

Under our feet we came across “monuments not made by hands” - natural casts of ancient shells. This mini sculpture looks like a mollusk valve carved on a piece of chalk.

Silent white city. All-stone two-story houses. Clean and quiet - put down the carpet and live. We sat on the bow of the “ship” - the rock “floated” in the green ocean of the protected forest.

The first time I had such a feeling was in Sudak, among the walls of the Genoese fortress. I saw such an inviting blue that I wanted to swim there, beyond the horizon.

The silence of the walls of Eske-Kermen, the silence of tired comrades, the sight of a lonely young man sitting on a stone - and here - before you are the defenders of the fortress, the last survivors.

In this friendly corner there are potential graves - holes as long as height and one and a half deep, modestly covered at the edges with lush grass.

Watch your step if you don't want to become part of the history of Eske-Kermen!

Low vaulted ceiling, spacious cave halls, huge “windows” - openings in the side walls. A view of the valley over which you want to soar. All around is the warmth of summer and the luxury of autumn colors. Ancient miraculous penthouse.

There was a small lake in our "room". I saw my reflection in the clear water and felt like Cleopatra - the mistress of the royal chambers. Having laid out a towel, soap, cream, she sat down on a stone and slowly, admiring herself, enjoying the sensations, the beauty of nature, she washed her feet. At this moment, everything around is yours and only yours.

We got together for dinner. Near the fire lay a long log on which the detachment sat, like birds on a wire. They listened carefully to the teacher. There were no other options. She paced in front of the seated audience and “communicated.” A real talking Google! Madame knew everything and did not remain silent for a minute. It was a benefit performance in the role of “the soul of the company.” Occasionally allowing someone to insert a couple of words, she developed the topic from the spot, refuted her opponent and rushed on, intoxicated by the sound of her voice and the radiance of erudition.

I went to hide in a cave and take a nap, but her voice reached here, and the malicious echo repeated what was unheard. After tossing and turning for about five minutes, I began to feel sorry for myself, the last evening and decided to fight for my moral comfort. But how? There was no chance in a frontal attack - you couldn't negotiate. All that remained was to come from the rear. I walked up to the fire, and, sitting down on a stone hillock, began throwing twigs into the hearth. Her husband took care of dinner. We started talking about something. The euphoric speaker noticed something terrible - part of the ears outside the affected area. She tried to participate in the conversation here and there. This was successful, but with less intensity. The flow of eloquence was weakened and washed out by the streams of words from the other interlocutors. The evening lost the totalitarian flavor of the times of the Soviet Union, when there was only one entertainment channel.

Day six.

"turn intorockabillyа Dundee"

The last morning of the hike arrived. Translucent tent. I'm alone. Feels like you're lying in a fog. It's light and you can't see anything. You can hear everyone gathering. The main thing is not to miss the cry of “breakfast!” I'm lying there, waiting. Suspicions begin to creep into the soul (closer to the stomach) that they decided to eat in silence. Like a jealous spouse who, when her husband is a minute late, “sees” his mistress’s pink garters, my imagination torments me. Before my eyes there is a picture: “here they are gathered near the fire, silently eating breakfast straight from the cauldron.” I jump up, put on my pants, and grab my jacket. Near the fire, the guide unties the bag of millet. The milk hasn't boiled yet.

I remove things from the sloping walls of the cave, destroying the installation “panties and socks on a stone surface.” Slowly (so that Andrey has time to help me) I assemble the tent.

The sun has risen, but there is gray sadness all around. You have to go down along a rocky, slippery path. I need it, but I don't want to. I alternately, as slowly as possible, rearrange the four limbs - sticks and legs. The guide asks me for sticks and solemnly launches them down the mountain. "Go!" - the “healer” calls out. I feel like a spider without my favorite pair of legs.

I proudly pass the last slabs on my butt. Proudly - how could it be otherwise! The whole squad is looking at me.

The first signs of civilization are grandmothers along the road with apples, melons and raspberries.

We made it. Bus stop. I put down my backpack and warmed myself on the grass. In my pocket I have exactly enough money for travel to Sevas and a couple more Ukrainian rubles. While hiking, you stop thinking about money. And these are such delicious apples! Maybe.

First, Artem treats everyone - he bought a melon. Then the generosity attraction is carried out by the head of the Israeli family - after all, the apples are delicious. Now I silently worry that I cannot treat them in return.

There is a whole day ahead, and the train is only at 22.30. I remembered Sevastopol last year: five in the morning, gray and sleepy. Tired to a light blue, graduates in ball gowns appear like elegant drowned women on the steps of the Count's pier, as if from the Black Sea abyss.

I don’t want to perceive another world - gray, dirty, dusty. The savage stares at the girls in huge heels, in glamorous rags, hung with multi-colored transparent cobblestones. "How is this?!" - the hiker in me screams - “it’s inconvenient!” Unwashed for a week, in jeans stained with mud, in worn out hiking boots, I walk, expecting that some patrol will be interested in a strange girl. The oncoming guards of Sevastopol law and order carefully avoid me.

After a hike, a physiological need to walk arises and the confidence settles in your soul that you can walk anywhere. Other side effects of “coming out of the woods” are aversion to the garbage around, and horror from the crowds of people.

So, Feeling sorry for myself, I find a deserted place on the side of the road overlooking the port. I climb onto the low wall separating the highway from the steep cliff and call my cousin.

- I feel bad! I don’t want to go back - I want to go back! - I howl into the phone.

- Congratulations! It's okay - you're "sick"! You are ours! - brother rejoices.

He tells how after the August hike he ran for a week with a backpack to fetch water from the spring, trying to walk longer every day - “because I wanted to.” So I'm alone, but I'm not the only crazy one.

On the train I feel like a “stern man”. I throw the huge backpack onto the shelf and slowly take off my shoes. The neighbors in the compartment are washed, shaved, and scented with perfume, not wanting to fall into the “powerful and smelly” category. Nestled on the top shelf, I fall asleep. Tomorrow begins "civil" life.

A hike is just a chance to feel your strength. Life becomes an adventure if you understand where you want to go.

Characters and events described above, are real, but presented in the author’s perception.