As you celebrate the New Year, so you will spend it ...
This is not my idea. However, on my own skin I was convinced that there is something in this statement. We met and saw off many new years in Yalta. I remember my first trip. Friends who went there by car called us to go with them. But I, justifying the high title of Capricorn, rested against this very horn, and in no way! My argument is “What to do there in winter? Yes, we will arrive tired as dogs, and who will I look like on New Year's Eve? And still need to cook something! (and I hate to cook). I must say that before that I had not been to Yalta in winter. And it wasn't in the summer either. And in general, at that time, I was not much where. We can say that I have never been anywhere.
At that time, it was not possible to persuade me. And we met 2001 in full accordance with my then ideas of happiness - in a tavern!
The next year, I don’t remember how, but I gave up and let them take me to Yalta. Apparently, it was influenced by the fact that we had already managed to go there for the May holidays, and I began to understand what I had been deprived of all previous years. And when a friend one day first took us to Ai-Petri, where we got bogged down in half-meter snowdrifts, and the Tatars helped us push the car, and then went down to the tropics of the Nikitsky Botanical Garden, my underdeveloped imagination was so struck by this contrast that I disappeared! What, in . opu, taverns? What basins with Olivier under the "Blue Light"? Only Yalta!
Since then, we have a tradition that we strictly followed. It happened differently. Such weather as in that year (+15 and air and water) we rarely found. There were palm trees in the snow, and rain, and wind. There was an accident with our participation on the way home. However, this did not affect our desire to come there again and again.
But everything went awry, and for the last two years, for various reasons, we had to meet with friends (at Verka). Apparently, that is why, although it is impossible to say for sure, we had, as a rule, a joint vacation for both previous years. Now with one of the spouses, then with both at once. I won't say it's bad. But on NG we were insanely bored. No sense of celebration, no joyful upsurge. It was time to break this vicious circle and get everything back on track.
A month before the upcoming NG, we realized that everything should grow together, and from the mere thought of this it became easy and joyful in our souls. But when they began to break through housing prices, we were slightly lowered. The owner of the cheap apartment where we stayed last and the spring before last wrote that our shack was already booked, and she could offer us another option for as much as 1500 r / night! And this, according to her, is still divine. We were a little disheartened. The search for alternative options did not give much - we did not see cheaper than 1200. But despondency did not last long. You think! You will have to find only an additional 3000 r. Let's eat and drink less! But they did not negotiate with anyone in advance. Grandmothers with signs at the bus station, I think, no one has canceled. Will they come up with something cheaper? On this they calmed down.
But fate presented us with a gift - our old landlady was found, the connection with which was lost in the maelstrom of events. She agreed to let us in for 1000 rubles.
The weather forecast in Yalta was not encouraging - rain and cold. But what difference does it make to us?
On the thirtieth morning we left. On the road, I put on an old down jacket with voluminous pockets, in which eggplants with cognac and horseradish lay very conveniently. Vadik also had contraband hidden in his bosom in the form of a Goan Old Monk. The border met us with a wild east wind and a crowd of people eager to get to the peninsula. Since there was only one customs officer both at the entrance and at the exit, the queue moved at a snail's pace. But on the other hand, perhaps it was precisely because of this that the inspection was carried out selectively, and we managed to smuggle everything hidden without loss and didn’t even have to lie (and I don’t like that).
A huge crowd gathered in front of passport control. It's good that the concrete wall of the former fish market covered us from the east wind. But a couple of hours of standing on slushy concrete made everyone dance, regardless of the form of clothing and shoes. We couldn't see from our seat how many windows were open, but we got the impression that there was only one, both at the entrance and at the exit. At the same time, comrades in uniform were wandering around here and there, one by one and in groups, instead of sitting down at the computer and speeding up the process. Apparently they had a different setup.
Tourists with children, of which there were many, passed without a queue. One aunt lost her nerve, and she began to yell at these same people with children. Although it was necessary to yell at all and not at them. A riot was brewing. The crowd could already hear the cries of "Freedom to the parrots! ". They asked for a hotline. Uniform comrades, either on their own initiative, or on instructions from above, dragged a large tin with something hot (presumably tea) and disposable cups. But diapers were not included with the drink, so we refused their drink. Instead, I took out an eggplant with cognac from my pocket and we did not drink for the sake of drunkenness, but for health, took a sip. The girl standing next to us pointed her finger at the camera, directed exactly at us. But the neighbor uncle authoritatively stated that it does not work.
Either a call to the hotline helped, or we were already close to the coveted window, but it seemed to us that the process went a little more fun. When it was my turn, the man at the window asked about the purpose of my visit. I succinctly answered "Rest. " To which I was asked a question that caused a flurry of emotions in me: “What, there is nowhere else to rest? ” I restrained myself. Telling a man in uniform about our tradition was something akin to a dialogue between Lukashin and Ippolit, who found it hard to understand why people go to the bathhouse on New Year's Eve. And why should I explain to someone that herring is much tastier for me than chocolate?
It was an anti-record - we stood for two hours and thirty-five minutes. On the Russian side, the procedure took exactly twelve minutes. When Vadik was asked to open the suitcase a little, I decided to do it myself, because this time I packed the suitcase myself. Well, how did you set it up? She left the junk, closed the lock with great difficulty, and then stuffed the forgotten little things into the crack of the ajar lock. Therefore, I was afraid that with an unauthorized autopsy, all this trichomudia would simply fall out into the mud. But when I slightly opened the lock, surprisingly, nothing fell out of there. Apparently, things shrank from the cold, and froze to each other.
When we finally got on the bus on the other side of the border, it was already past four. At this time we have always been in Simferopol. They began to recruit the owner of the apartment. But it didn't work out. The nasty aunt on the phone was talking that we could not call for some reason we did not understand. I had to borrow the phone from the bus driver. Having finally phoned and made sure that the hostess had not rented our apartment to anyone else, we agreed that she would leave the keys with the neighbors, since we would arrive quite late.
Simferopol met us with snowdrifts. The nearest free places to Yalta turned out to be already half an hour later, which we used to visit the station toilet. At the station, as before, there were practically no people, but there were a lot of police outfits and a frame with a unit for translucent luggage, like at an airport (I won’t bother to learn what it’s called).
Having freed the body from excess fluid that prevented us from fully enjoying the happiness of reuniting with our beloved expanses, we got into our bus and began to revel in this very happiness, along with the cognac remaining in the eggplant. The last section of the road to Yalta is our favorite. But only when there. From there, I don't like it. Depressing.
There was no snow behind the pass. We arrived in Yalta at about nine o'clock in the evening. Of course, there were no grandmas with signs there. It would be funny if we didn’t agree in advance!
On the way we went to the supermarket to buy groceries for dinner. At half past nine I banged on the door of a neighbor. Nobody opened the door. It was still not possible to call the owner of "our" apartment. Luckily, we met another neighbor who was awake and called her. She called her neighbor, and the door finally opened. The coveted key has been obtained.
Morning 31 we were pleased with the sun. And who writes these weather forecasts? Leads to thoughts. Let's go for a walk along the waterfront. On the way, we went to a mobile phone kiosk to find out what was wrong with our SIM card. It turned out that the balance went into the red. Strange, in September there were about 50 r, which we did not use. Put in a hundred. The connection has been restored.
There is an innovation on the embankment - a glass building with boutiques, built relatively recently, was demolished. The boutiques have moved to a new shopping and entertainment center, located somewhat recessed, relative to the main row of buildings. The souvenir market did not have time to demolish, but has already been closed. Well, at least the alley of artists has not been dispersed yet. Walking through it is very pleasant. The works of the local Aivazovskys delight our unassuming gaze with familiar and beloved Crimean landscapes.
There are few people on the embankment. Olivier is probably being cut. Or they are already celebrating. Despite the almost complete absence of wind, the sea was quite rough. The surf was not a sin to remove.
The process of shooting was very exciting. Having removed one wave, you are waiting for an even more grandiose one to come.
And so on ad infinitum. Sometimes I had to jump back so as not to tarnish my reputation.
I forced myself to leave the embankment. You need to buy something else for the New Year's table.
Postman Pechkin believed that the main decoration of the New Year's table was a TV, but we had a different opinion. The main thing is champagne! They didn’t take Artemovskoe out of the house - it doesn’t fit in the bosom, but they can take it out of the suitcase. And where and when else to drink Novosvetsky, if not in the Crimea for the New Year? Even the day before, in the supermarket, buying food for dinner, I asked the price of my favorite drink. The price was just insane! If in September we bought it in the New World for 550, then here and now it was already 680! Choke yourself! Artemovsky brut immediately cost about 500 rubles. However! Having gone around several stores, we found what we were looking for at 590. Well, that's all right! After collecting more than four thousand sweets, which corresponded to almost half of our gluttonous-drunk budget, we went home to prepare.
In the front garden under the palm tree at our door lay a pine branch strewn with cones. Where it came from, we have no idea. Maybe the owner put it in. But at this point, I never got to know her. In general, it was a surprise.
We set the table, dressed up a branch, dressed up a little ourselves. It's time to start seeing off the old year. Under the Goan rum we watched with pleasure the traditional Irony of Fate on one of the Russian channels. The "Blue Light" was full of familiar faces - Brezhnev, Lorak, Povaliy, Rotaru, Meladze. And others already forgotten. Zelensky reigned supreme on Ukrainian channels. There was a good concert on Inter, but the ticker told that on December 30.2016, the lead actor was banned from showing, in connection with which, the program was urgently redrawn, and now we are shown a truncated version. Who butted this time and for what, was not reported. Viva, insanity!
Something we stayed too long. It's time to go celebrate the New Year! And they also wanted to first get water in the pump room, sober in the morning. Grabbing champagne, glasses, almonds and tangerines, we went to the embankment. Having almost reached its beginning, we remembered that we forgot to take caviar, eating which with a spoon from a jar was part of our celebration scenario. Pah you! It's thirty-five minutes past twelve. We decided that Vadik was returning home for caviar, and I was running to the pump room in Primorsky Park. We meet at the church. They fled. Going up to the Christmas tree, I saw that the territory was surrounded by a fence, along the perimeter of which there were cops, and they were allowed inside through a frame. A large crowd had gathered around her. But I didn’t need to go to the Christmas tree, and I went around the crowd of people on the right and trotted along the houses in the direction of the pump room.
Running to Oreanda, I realized that I would not make it in time. Went back. There was no Vadik at the church. Ten minutes to midnight. The thought came to mind that he could blindly cross through the frame. Cursing herself for the idiotic idea with caviar, she ran to the Christmas tree. Vadik was also not in the queue. He could go around the perimeter along the sea! She returned to the church. No Vadik! Already GDP is pushing. No Vadik! The chimes have already begun to strike! No Vadik! The thought came to open a bottle and drink it myself. Changed my mind. It is better to meet in an hour, Ukrainian time, but together, than now alone! An ominous adage sounds in my head “as you meet the New Year, so you will spend it! Ha ha ha! " The chimes keep on beating. Six, seven… Vadik trots. With my hands shaking from haste, I begin to tear off the foil and unscrew the cork. I have mastered the technique of opening champagne bottles to perfection. But this is in a calm environment. And now, as luck would have it, the cork stubbornly did not go. She slipped the bottle to Vadik who ran up. Open yourself! In strong male hands, the cork finally gave way, and with the last blow, the champagne was poured. swallowed. I began to open a jar of caviar. She tore off the ring. Yes, what is it? Vadik managed to finish getting snacks. A fun year has begun! It can, of course, be interpreted in different ways. In this case, I am optimistic. However, we will see in a year.
Standing at the parapet (there was no time to look for a free bench), almost on the porch, we finished our champagne, ate caviar with a spoon. Well, so that we live in the new year! Champagne, however, is not like that. Somehow we drank it in a hurry and did not savor it. But still, there must be at least some pleasure? But no! Something is wrong.
Salute, compared to previous years, was rather weak.
But he was. A long forgotten sight. We went to the pump room for water and went home to sleep. She pulled a champagne cork out of her pocket and examined it carefully. Instead of the usual crescent, the top end of the cork was adorned with the coat of arms of the NS Champagne Winery. Oh-ho-honyushki! Not otherwise, as they set up the production of soda at reduced prices. And when did you have time? Nothing like this was observed in September.
The morning of January 1 was no less sunny than the previous one. Ai-Petri shone (la, lo) with snow. I really wanted to go there. But it's expensive to go, and today's health is not enough to climb. The sunny path for today will be quite enough. In the yard, on the playground, the men were playing football. They give! Why do people have so much health? There was a computer near the garbage cans. Small but flat monitor, never broken. Raised the system unit - not empty. The body is quite modern. Vadik said that it would be worse at work. Hung up. Well, what to do with it? Is this how you take it and leave? You won't take it home. Call the owner - maybe she needs? So she, probably, still deigns to rest. Once, at half past eleven in the morning, we managed to wake her up. Can afford. The resort town has its own rhythm of life. Having trampled, we went further. Someone needs it more.
After passing the embankment and Seaside Park, we reached Livadia along the highway. A friend claims that you can walk along the coast, but once we were already looking for a way, but we never found it. I didn't want to poke again. Therefore, go on the road. Fortunately, there were almost no cars, and there was no need to breathe exhausts. In Livadia, we always forget which street to go to the palace. And they always asked passers-by. But this time we did not meet anyone, as a result of which we missed and went along the road leading to the Dolphin beach. After a long run, along with the road that runs along the orphan huts, we went to the beach. The man was swimming in the sea. We didn't take a towel. Goonies! Okay, another time.
Along the sea we reached the stairs leading to the Livadia Park. The park, as it was killed, remained. With a tongue on his shoulder, feeling that his health was already running out, they went upstairs. There must be a palace and the beginning of the Solar Path somewhere around here. I already wanted to walk a little for decency, find a shop with a more or less beautiful view, and improve my health with the draft bastardo bought the day before. We loop through the park. There is no palace! We found a sanatorium canteen, behind which we found a monument to three men we had not seen before, one of which I, from old memory ://my. turpravda. ru/Iren48/gallery/140555/513594.html got on her knees. It turned out to be difficult. What a slippery type, that Churchill!
But where the hell is the palace? Demolished, or what, under the guise? There were a lot of signs - a toilet, a church, a cafe... But there is no palace! Barely found.
Let's go to the trail. After walking a few hundred meters, we finally sat down on a bench overlooking the sea and poured a glass. Having eaten almonds, we wandered on. Yes, I haven't had such a hard time for a long time.
When we were just starting to master our tradition, we went to Yalta with friends, sometimes with some, sometimes with others. Our mornings invariably began with some muscatel, well, or a bastardo. We did not roam the mountains then. They limited themselves to car trips, gatherings in the tasting room of the Nikitsky Botanical Garden or sedate walks along the Sunny Path with stops at almost every libation stand. Well, Vorontsovsky Park with a bench by the pond, wine and almonds. In general, a normal pastime for average vacationers. And every time we dreamed that next year we would not sour, we would start running in the mornings and drinking exclusively freshly squeezed pomegranate juice, bought from Azeris at the vegetable market.
So what? An old Chinese (maybe Japanese) proverb says: “Be careful what you wish for! They can come true! After many years, the first half of the wish has already come true. Our holiday in the Crimea has become more than active. We didn't run, though. Completely stupid, in my opinion, an occupation. And it's also bad for the joints. You are touched, another time, by the runners, who are intensively inhaling exhaust fumes. Horses tend to run. And people tend to walk. Best of all in the mountains, away from the smells that accompany the blessings of civilization. What we actually do.
The second part of the wish has already begun to come true. We almost gave up drinking in Crimea. It's painfully hard. And the pleasure is far from the same. The lady, who recently headed both of our favorite plants at the same time - Massandra and Novyi Svet, has already practically ruined them. And these are not my conjectures (we have acquaintances of Massandra's employees who told strange things). In general, this is not bad (that we drink little). The bad thing is that it turned out, one might say, forcibly. We have not switched to pomegranate juice yet. We used to buy it occasionally. Even then it was expensive, but now it’s even scary to ask. But I think it's still cheaper than wine. So maybe next time….
Oh yes, I completely forgot. When choosing drinks in the store, we noticed that Massandra wines appeared relatively inexpensive (300 rubles each) with new labels. We decided to be curious and read, what kind of garbage is this? And they saw the inscription WINE DRINK. Yes! Drink yourself. But, picking up an expensive bottle, they found the same repulsive set of bukaffes. Lived up! I won't drink it! We went to the liquor store and bought a draft bastardo. At least the price tag didn't have the word "drink" on it. I always laughed at people who said at least five years ago that Massandra is no longer the same (I suppose they bought her in a Kiev supermarket). They scribbled! Now, she's definitely not the same! Of course, there are reserves spilled before 2014, but it's worth it...
Not so long ago we tasted domestic Cahors and bastardo brand "Bolgrad". If they do not reach Massandra's analogues (even those that are), then quite a bit. But it costs about 50 UAH. Feel the difference - 600 r and 50 UAH.
But enough of the sad stuff. Having slightly improved our health, we continue the exercise along the Solar Path. Today it fully justifies its name.
The next shop with a view, the next glass. . . Going breaks, but it is necessary. The next sign says that we have already covered 2100 m. But I read between the lines: “Slackers, drunks! You still have a whole 4600 m to trail! ” Well, we got along somehow. We boarded the Simeiz 115 bus and drove to Vorontsovsky Park. Sclerosis covered again and we got off not at the stop where we usually got off, but at the previous one. But it turned out that from here to go to the park is even closer! Live a century, learn a century - you will die a fool anyway!
In the park, as usual, it was sincere and beautiful.
There have been some changes. The tree that grew above the mirror pond almost parallel to the water fell down, unable to withstand the pressure of many tons of carcasses that climbed on it for photo shoots.
And a couple of ducks were placed in the pond to the swan, who kept his swan loyalty to her dead friend.
Having chosen a bench in the sun, we settled down to finish drinking wine. Easily coped with this task and walked a little more, crawled to the lower bus stop. For some reason, there were almost no people. Two women said they had been waiting for more than half an hour. The women were local. From a conversation with them, we learned that the buses here began to run disgustingly and scolded the new mayor. We were offered to take a taxi for four. But this article was not provided for in our budget, and we refused. The women left, and we, trampling, approached the guard at the barrier. He said that those two buses that were standing here would not go on a flight, because their drivers were sour around here. Maybe another bus will come at six o'clock. Wow! It's only half past four. Mess! The guard advised us to go to the upper road and try to leave with the same 115 that we came with. We galloped up through the park. And where did the forces come from? It was getting dark... To our great happiness, the bus was already at the bus stop and we managed to jump into it.
To be continued.
