Journey to Mars
How much I wanted to fulfill my dream and fly with my family and friends to northern Cyprus. Even in winter, tickets were bought and hotels booked. Alas. . . Everything went wrong. Epidemic. Insulation. Tickets have been sold. The hotel reservation has been cancelled. Despondency and melancholy.
But this is not about me. Since the whole globe is smooth, sea, oil at $ 30 per barrel and other kneeling, it's time to get out of here. Where? And the devil knows. I decided to go to Mars.
The start was given from here - the beginning of the toll road towards Minsk:
This is for the pepelats you need to buy a gravitsapa. In my case, it is much smarter to purchase a transponder. This is a crap, like a gravitapy, which greatly reduces the cost of the trip.
The path to Mars lies due west. Zvenigorod remains behind.
It used to be a lovely place. Sleepy, sweet, calm. Part of my childhood passed here. The center of the so-called “Switzerland near Moscow”. Hills. River. The impregnable citadel of the Savvino-Storozhevsky Monastery. 
But now, unfortunately, Zvenigorod is so built up with multi-storey microdistricts that it has turned into an overpopulated ghetto. It is especially sad that the Shikhov factory of plucked instruments was closed and demolished, freed for development. (Shikhovo is a satellite village of Zvenigorod. ) People who were born before without the USSR and who know why skis are standing near the stove under the wing of an airplane in a damp tent should remember Shikhov's guitars. They were not the best, but cost only a little over seven rubles.
And Shikhov's balalaikas were sold in Beryozka stores for Vneshposyltorg checks and even for hard currency.
Against this background, it may not be worth remembering the village of Yastrebki, where the production of the first cuckoo clock in Russia was born and safely disappeared into oblivion.
But not everything is so bad. About 30 minutes after Zvenigorod, the road to Mars runs through the village of Kolyubakino. Everything is fine with the industry. The Kolyubakinsky needle factory smokes with its chimneys.
Industry leader. Monopolist. It produces household sewing needles, machine needles, industrial needles, fishing hooks and, most importantly, mormyshkas.
Produces all these products by the millions and billions. And trains loaded with Kolyubakin mormyshkas rush to all corners of the world.
All these photos are a joke, of course. But the Kolyubakinsky needle factory really produces many millions and indeed billions of its own needles and mormyshkas. And all this is done in a small factory building of the 19th century.
There are also wonderful, perky, blue-eyed nymphets in Kolyubakino, eager for adventure. Unfortunately, gloomy, even in life, purely Kolyubakin nymphets live there.
But then I digress. It's a completely different story. There was a case…
And here it is Mars:
Well, what can you tell us about him? They don't live well there. Here is a typical Martian hut:
But they know how to make benches:
And swings:
And everything is fine with the benches and swings on Mars:
But the rest is not very good.
Here is an incomprehensible altar, probably for sacrifices:
Here is an alien technique:
Here are the Martians:
There are tailed ones too:
And ungulates:
About eighty people live in the village of Mars, and it never even occurs to them to somehow beat the name of their village for tourism purposes.
Make at least a small theme park, organize a souvenir trade and open a Martian cafe.
Moreover, the surroundings of Mars are conducive to relaxation and bliss.
The river turned brown from recent natural collapses.
But still good.
And how not to take advantage of this opportunity to attract tourists?
But they don't use it. And they could make good money.
Well, what do you take from them? Martians. They disappointed me. I flew home. Maybe the borders will still open? . .
