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Hakuna Matataland

I was never particularly tempted by Africa, thinking it’s just a desert with little food and little to see. Nothing of that turned true – variety of landscapes, comfortable temperature, numerous animals, friendly locals and clean public spaces can satisfy even the most critical tourist.

Honza tricked me into a holiday in Tanzania by showing the pictures of Zanzibar’s sandy beaches:

Can one say no? :) As a compromise, we decided to spend a week on the continental part for a safari, and then chill in Zanzibar for another week – which I would say is the perfect mix for a comprehensive holiday.

After few hard months at work, we both just slept through the 14 hours of flight with a quick lunch in Istanbul, and woke up in Dar es Salaam - the former capital and largest city in Tanzania. Over the last century, Dar es Salaam has grown from a sleepy fishing village into a metropolis of over four million people. Straddling some of the most important sea routes in the world, it is East Africa’s second-busiest port and Tanzania’s commercial hub. Despite this, and its notorious traffic jams, the city has managed to maintain a low-key down-to-earth feel.

We stayed at the local Backpacker’s hostel owned by a distant acquaintance of ours, who did  a city tour for us. It was pretty much just about walking around in a crowded slum-like city center, sweating at every step. The highlight was a metro trip (metro meaning bus run on tracks) and a visit to the local fish market. Boiling hot and rich in smells, it is divided into two main sections, with fresh and less-fresh fried fish sold to the local shoppers and restaurants.

Luckily, we escaped from Dar just after a day, and flew to Arusha, the gateway to the popular Northern Safari Circuit. Nested at the foot of Mount Meru (the view on which we enjoyed from the terrace of our guesthouse with a glass of wine), it is a lush green town as opposed to the dirty Dar. From some points of the area, you could even (theoretically) see Kilimanjaro - but it was always hiding in the clouds.

Here, we had a local buddy called Colman, who helped us book the safari, took us to the dinner with his friends and organized a trip to the Hot Springs (also with five of his friends). This is a fantastic oasis in the middle of nowhere. The term "Hot" in hot spring is used quite  loosely though - the water was warm at best, but very clean. The fishes munch at the feet all over, just like at the Thai massage places. There is a swinging rope to either embarrass yourself (me) or show off your monkey skills (Honza), and a little stall with suspicious yet nutritious French fries omelet.  

Next day, we took off for the adventure! The first destination was Tarangire National Park in northern Tanzania. Hump-backed wildebeest, kongoni with long ears and short horns reminiscent of a samurai headdress, hulking buffalo, buxom zebra, delicate gazelles, watchful eland, ostrich outriders, fringe-eared oryx and an array of predators move in and out of the park in different directions at different times. Starting with happy shouting when we see one lonely animal here and there, we were soon used to the herds of zebras and the whole elephant families gathering in central riverbeds. One more amazing sight were the giant baobab trees, medusa-headed monoliths often thousands of years old, making the scenery picturesque.

The first night out was in an African igloo at Panorama lodge. It has a stunning view on the savanna, and a storm was coming around in the evening. We enjoyed a dinner cooked by the group’s chef, scaring the lizards away from our plates.

We were in a group of five: two of us, a hot 40-y.o. American, and two German-Italian guys, in an indestructible Land Rover Defender, led by an amazingly calm guide Abdul, who’s been doing this for over 15 years. His personal lifetime safary experience was when a family of lions were passing through the camp and a baby got stuck in his tent, crying for mommy’s help. Abdul also helped me get my own personal lifetime experience of getting out of the jeep to pee in the middle of the savanna (strictly prohibited and deadly) few kms away from the lions.

The next park was THE Serengeti. With nature ranging from apparently limitless grass plains in the south, fertilized by volcanic ash, to wooded highlands in the east, crossed by rivers, it is a home to hundreds of inhabitants.

Among them, the principal actors are blue wildebeest and their spectacular annual Great Migration, “The Greatest Show Of The Natural World”, during which they trek in circumambulation for 3200 kilometers from northern Tanzania to south-western Kenya and back again. In turn, their trips affects other creatures: lions, jackals, hyenas, leopards and cheetahs prey on the migrating and resident herds. Vultures subsist on the predators’ leavings.

The herds of zebras were mainly turning their butts on us, but still were magical. Over the course of the safari, the amount of zebras around us was growing exponentially, until on the last night in Ngorongoro camp our tents were surrounded by them, walking between the tents. This was quite nice, as opposed to SImba camp in Ngorongoro, with hyenas swinging around and laughing right in your ear at night.

Ngorongoro is a park located in a volcano crater, with the diameter of over 20 km. This is a whole magical world, with own ecosystem, salty lakes, humid jungle forests and green swamps. The camp was based on the top of it, and at dawn we were descending for about 2 kms down on a dusty narrow road, speechless from the views unfolding ahead of us.

We’ve seen graceful flamingos, supposedly pink because of the shrimps they eat. 

The swamps were full of grey dirty rocks that turned out to be sleepy hippos, nocturnal thus not giving a damn about the birds jumping all over them.

As for me, if you just have one day, Ngorongoro is the most magical place to see on the mainland.

Tired and dusty, we returned to Arusha to fly to Zanzibar on the next morning. Local airlines are truly a miracle, where ‘hakuna matata’ principle rules over any regulations. The boarding passes are issued in handwriting, and our surnames were (understandably) way too difficult for the check-in guy – so we ended up with two pieces of paper stating ‘Jan’ and ‘Daria’, and a delay of just two hours.

The plane had about 10 seats, so it’s almost as if you had a luxury private jet. By the way, there’re at least three different airlines, with ticket price varying from roughly 70 to 370$ for the same route – we dared to go with the cheapest and it was absolutely fine.

Zanzibar lies on the east coast of Africa, and the name officially refers to the archipelago that includes Unguja and Pemba, surrounded by about 50 smaller ones. As we were explained, when mere silly Europeans say ‘Zanzibar’, they usually refer to the Island of Unguja, separated from mainland Tanzania by a shallow channel 37 km across at its narrowest point.

Zanzibaris have a long history of religious tolerance and although the islands are 95% Muslim, alcohol and tobacco are available (if you search for it: not in every hotel, but pretty much in every bar). The tourists are many, and they are requested to show consideration for the Zanzibari culture by wearing long skirts/pants and covering the shoulders.  

For many centuries there was intense seaborne trading activity between Asia and Africa, and Zanzibar was a key African port, hosting and blending the culture of Germans, Indians and Omanis. It used to be a colony of Oman for quite a while, and has become an official part of Tanzania quite recently, in 20th century. The name of the country itself is actually made up from two words: ‘Tanganyika’, the name of the continental part, and ‘Zanzibar’.

Zanzibar has great symbolic importance in the suppression of slavery, since it was one of the main slave-trading ports in East Africa. Interestingly, the majority of slaves were female concubines, whose children had full inheritance rights, same as the marital children of the master family. After a concubine gave master a child, it was impossible to sell either – which I can imagine resulted in an interesting blend of relationships and a blurred perception of social stratification.

The last but not the least important historical fact is that their beloved Princess Salme, who published an extensive memoir on her life in Zanzibar, looked like Putin. So we bonded with the locals immediately.

The capital and the main port is Stone Town, home of Freddy Mercury (Muslim locals do not seem especially proud of it, though). 

The historic center is essentially a labyrinth of narrow winding streets, all leading to the sea cost, where local children play and swim right between the boats. 

The city has a very calm vibe, and for the first time in Tanzania I felt truly comfortable and relaxed strolling around. One drawback is that obviously the prices are rather European – but fresh juices and local foods are worth it.

Zanzibar is sometimes called ‘the Spice Island’, as the agriculture is focused on growing spices. We decided to explore on of the local spice farms. Turns out, pretty much everything we know - cloves, cinnamon, nutmeg, vanilla, cardamom – grows on trees and bushes. Africans do not really use much spices for food, which is rather flat in terms of taste – but their traditional medicine is all about spices. Eating cumin powder helps with ‘running stomach’ (tested, proven personally), nutmeg gives women ‘romantic eyes’ and enhances men’s power (according to an alternative source, it can keep you high for up to 24 hours), and eating henna roots that cause internal bleeding has been an abortion solution for the most conservative Muslim communities for centuries.

After the farm tour, we did a local cooking class – fish curry, spinach mash and coconut milk dumplings with cardamom, all cooked right on the floor and eaten mostly by the local village kids attracted by the smell. If we did not see that fish on the local market, I suspect we might’ve enjoyed it more. But the dumplings were dope, and burnt cane sugar with cardamom is something you should all try!

After Stone Town, we headed to the north-east of the island for beaches and dives. Our first stop for few days was Kiwengwa, which, funnily enough, turned out to be an Italian enclave. Somehow the first tourists that started coming to Zanzibar about 10 years ago were Italians, and all the locals started learning the language. More than a half of the beach cafes were serving pizza, pasta and Prosecco (not that I mind!), and local kids were chasing us on the beach shouting ‘Ciao bella’.  The beach souvenir stalls with coconut carvings and textile bags had the proud names like ‘Dolce & Gabanna” and “Fendi”.

The sea life was absolutely stunning. We skipped the crowded dolphin-chasing tours and went diving and snorkeling to the tiny neighboring islands. My personal favorite was a trumpet fish:

And apart from that, there was absolutely nothing to do in the north-east, as there was no wind and no waves. I was counting with sunbathing all day long, however, the tan plan was usually fulfilled in the first 15 minutes at the beach, even with SPF 50: African sun is truly severe. Chilling in the shadow of hotel terrace was complicated by the hardworking waiters, who came every 10 minutes with a call-center dialogue script: “-Hello! -…. ‘How are you?’ ‘… ‘How is your day?’ … ‘Is everything okay?’… ‘Would you like something else?’ ‘… and a killer follow-up ‘Why not?’. When once I dared not to order a drink, one of the waiters literally chuckled, loudly expressing her contempt for my refusal to support the local economy. 

After three days, we ran away to Paje, a more democratic party village on the east coast. There was a tiny bit of wind, still not enough for surfing but sufficient for trying out a kite. This kept Honza busy for another two days, while I was swallowing Agatha Christie’s novel in batches. A sport that needs independent coordination of legs and hands did not look very promising for me. And the beaches were just amazing 24/7.

When it was time to go home, we took a ferry from Stone Town to Dar – and despite many negative reviews, I would recommend it to everyone. Reasonably priced (35$), big, clean and air conditioned, it reaches Dar in just about 2 hours – and then you can uber to the airport. Just be aware that local drivers aren‘t big believers in driving after they accept the order – they usually just stay where they are, apparently waiting for you to come to them. It took us just half an hour with 2 phones to actually get a car – but it was about 30 times cheaper than a taxi for an hour’s drive.

A lonely plastic pine tree in the departure hall reminded us that we’re flying back for snow and Christmas. This is nothing personal for Africa, but it was amazing to be back, with the reliable electricity supply, drinkable tap water and no need to bargain over everything.

 Some of the practical tips:

·         Essential vaccinations are just two – typhus ans yellow fever, but you must have a vaccination certificate for border crossing.

·         If customs officers go away for half an hour with all your documents – hakuna matata. Sooner or later they’ll come back, and even if you end up with few local loans on your name, the notifications are not likely to arrive overseas.

·         Mosquito net was available everywhere we stayed, but we still took one with us just in case. You’ll be bitten anyway, even with the net and repellent – but the levels of malaria are very high on the continental part.

·         If you take Malarone in the evenings together with red wine, your dreams will be vivid and complex.

·         If going in the low season as we did, you should definitely book a safari right on the spot in Arusha. This is more than twice cheaper than booking online in advance, and options are plenty. I’ll be happy to refer our local buddy to you :)

·         Make sure you go to the bathroom before sleep when you stay in safari camps to avoid unpleasant meeting with hyenas. Same stands for game drives, when you are technically not allowed to leave the car. Skipping on this results in the scariest two minutes of your life, especially if someone in the crew decided to fool you shouting „Look, lion is coming!“ while you’re out.

·         By law visitors have to settle bills in US dollars rather than shillings, but no one really cares. It;s best to bring USD and withdraw some local currency just in case. When paying in USD, you can (should) bargain over the exhange rate!

·         As usual – avoid raw foods, veggies and fruit that you do not peel yourself, and make sure your water bottles are sealed. Valid even for the five-star hotels. If anything, chew cumin.

·         Chat with the locals, smile and hakuna matata! Once you let it all go, Africa is amazing!

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The passion of taking and sharing pictures has turned many of us into little selective control freaks. If you think of it - for some reason, any person taking a photo of you feels internally obliged to take few, so that you chose later on. Selfies give absolute power over the way you look - and when it feels boring, you make silly faces. Then choosing the better one to share. 

And it turns out that the memories you create were carefully selected among ones with closed eyes and bad angles. The memories of you how you wanted yourself to be remembered.

And if you do nature - it’s very much logical to take just as many shots to be able to process and pick up the one later. 

Boring? Predictable.

But then, why to give some moments more chances than they actually deserve? 

There is this old hipster box called film camera. No pixels involved, only one filter available. And you have no power over it, and no immediate results. Pictures are a good training ground for learning how to let things go.

You don’t know how good the picture is, you aren’t even sure it’s actually there - but you press the button and let it go. And then smile when you see your little gem materialize, and forget about the moments which weren’t important enough to make it to the world on a 10x15 piece of paper. And you put it to a drawer, find some years later and smile wider.

While wandering through old folders or good old times on the Instagram feed still feels creepy to me, which is probably just a question of time.

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Açores cheatsheet

This July we’ve done a mind-blowing trip to one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been to, and many of my friends imply that it isn’t fair to keep that to myself. So, after a little bit of procrastination, here I am in November - trying to recollect all the names and places to be able to give some tips.

To start with, make sure you don’t have any of those delusions:

#1. Acores are in Portugal, Portugal is warm.

Now that I think of it, I am grateful for this little deception since it helped Honza make me wanna go in the first place - but on the location-deciding stage, I really wanted to have a holiday someplace warm to sunbathe and swim. True, I did burn my cheeks under the motorcycle helmet, and I swam in the ice-cold ocean, once, just to tick “done”.

The weather on Azores is extremely changeable, and it’s a slap for the planners. Once it’s sunny in the morning - it would most definitely be freezing and rainy in few hours; once you wrap yourself up in hoodies and jackets - it’ll be hot. Just accept it and relax. Also, make sure you have something to change during the day when going to explore - shorts instead of jeans or a spare dry T-shirt.

And by the way, it takes a couple of hours to actually fly from Lisbon to Sao Miguel. Nicely done, Portugese Empire.

#2. These are few islands close to each other, we can easily travel around if we feel like.

No. They’re freaking far away, and you need to book your plane (!) or ferry (10h they say) tickets in advance. However, Sao Miguel is big enough to explore, so we prefer to believe we didn’t miss much or left it for the next time.

#3. As Sao Miguel is actually big enough, car is necessary to travel around.

Public transportation does exist, but you’d be going 30km distance for 2 hours, with departures twice a day. You won’t do much of hitchhiking either as roads are nearly empty - so, personal vehicle is needed. However, we opted for a scooter - and apart from having to wait the rains over in local cafes (which was a very nice obligation), we never had any problems. We could get anywhere, park anywhere (biiiig headache in the city centre), and saved quite some money on it. http://www.autatlantis.com/en/motorcycles/ - and you can negotiate helmets for free, just push it :) 

Now, let’s get to the business.

Where to stay

We stayed in Ponta Delgada - the biggest (68.000) city on Sao Miguel island, also the place where the airport is. It was big enough to have what to do in the evenings, yet calm and pretty, with big parks and great view on the ocean from pretty much anywhere. 

To-do:

- walk on the promenade for sure

- Campo de São Francisco, Igreja Matriz de Sao Sebastiao  - nice churches

- Museu Militar dos Acores - fortress

- Museu Carlos Machado - fine arts, temporary exhibitions

- Jardim Antonio Borges - botanical garden with mystical trees

On the main square, there were classical music concerts pretty much every evening, but i think we were just lucky, so wouldn’t promise that to happen.

Few words about the housing:  Casa do Campo de São Francisco.  goo.gl/BW6Qhi

On a historical square just 5 mins away from the city centre, a former church was rebuilt into a villa and then into a guesthouse. Amazing wooden furniture everywhere (my little obsession), living room with a chimney for evening reads, cosy little garden to have dinners outside and insanely delicious breakfasts with home-made Azorean cheese, bread, pastry and jams. A very welcoming host Teresa, who quit hew marketing job after she inherited the house, did an amazing job. If you do stay there (which is sooo worth it), say hi! 

Food

Here comes my favorite part :) 

There’s plenty of delicious seafood on the island, and in Ponta Delgada you can just walk in anywhere and get a big nice meal for about 9-15 euros. However,

A Tasca (http://boacamaboamesa.expresso.sapo.pt/guia/tasca)

is THE place to go. Incredible variety of starters, a combo of which can leave you full and let you try various things (btw, just about 3-8 euros per each). Tuna carpaccio, limpets, local cheese pastry, vegetarian mixes - all I remember are totally unexpected but mouthwatering taste combinations and myself not being able to roll out of the room. Honey pudding is a must!

One obstacle here - the place is small and fully booked for the few months in advance. Don’t worry, be chunky, go there straight away at about 5 pm - you won’t get a place in the evening, but early dinner is totally feasible.

Corzido das Furnas

There’s an area of the island called Furnas, famous for its geysers and hot springs. The most famous local dish is Corzido das Furnas, or Furnas stew, which is cooked for hours under the natural heat in the soil.

Looks horrible, tastes pretty much the same. Honza liked it (well, it’s meat anyways). Worth a shot, but better split the portion before deciding if you want your own one. 

Two small gastronomic tips apart from that:

The while rounded flat bread and Acorean cheese is the best combo ever. Locals say there are more cows then humans on the island - which results in excellent dairy products. Get it for snacks.

Pasteis de Nata - wins my personal Pastry of the year. Got a box for the friends and ate it all by myself.

 Places

Sete Cidades Lake

This is a beautiful lake that looks like two - a green(ish) lake and a blue(ish) lake with a small bridge separating them.

There’s a cute little story about these color differences. Legend has it that once upon a time a shepherd and a princess fell in love but couldn’t be together - pretty much Romeo and Juliet case. When being torn apart by their families, they cried so much that the Sete Cidades lakes were formed. One of them had green eyes, other had blue - you got it, right?

There is a beautiful Baroque church on the shore, which is a good place to park and start the hike - took us about 2-3 hours to slowly walk around the lake. The path leads through Caldeiras hot springs, which I’ve mentioned above, so there’s a place to have lunch on the way. 

After that, it’s just a short drive to Furnas to try out the sulfur mineral baths. Head for Terra Nostra - hotel with a nature park, prepare to warm yourself up in stinky brown water. Supposedly healthy, but ruins your swimsuit. 

Boca do Inferno

The best viewpoint of the island. Totally useless when foggy (80% of the time). Go early and tell me how it was.

Gorreana

Last tea plantation in Europe (technically it’s still Europe). You can still access some parts of the factory and have free tea tasting. After that, it’s time to hike around for stunning views - the whole plantation is open for everyone. You can even meet the local workers cutting the tea leaves.

We explored it under a rough shower and came back soaking wet, but it was still amazing. With Azorean weather, I don’t think you can actually plan a good time to go - but at least there’s free tea to warm up, huh.

Arruda

Talking abut plantations, I can’t leave out the pineapple plantation, which is just like 5 km away from Ponta Delgada. It’s rather small, but extremely unusual - seeing pineapples grow felt like the clones from  Episode ll. Pick a brochure at the entrance to explore the process, or just ask the ladies in the shop if anyone’s free to make a small tour.

The shop sells roots of pineapples which are supposed to grow into a small plant at home - we’ve got two for our families, there’s one planted in Russia and one in the Czech Republic, so we’ll see if it works. The hidden cafe in the back has in-cre-di-ble pineapple Margaritas. Teas and pastry as well, of course.

Ponta da Ferraria 

It’s a village on the ocean shore surrounded by gigantic lava rock cliffs. This was the most stunning area for me - feels like outer space, seeing only black lava and endless ocean around. There’s a small resort where ocean water is warmed up by a geo-thermal natural spring beneath - but it looked quite boring, so we drove a bit further and discovered natural pools in volcano craters. Swimming shoes would be a great advantage, but it works well even without them.

Activities

We did surfing, whale watching and dolphin swimming. Now that I write that down, it looks incredible - and indeed it was! We organized surfing ourselves, and booked the rest of the things with Picos de Aventura agency, which was relatively cheap and very friendly.

Surfing

Asca, here we go! So first of all, there is a good number of locations all around the island. We did a small research and decided to go to Santa Barbara beach. It’s said to be the best one for beginners, and the most popular one for the surf camps.  Ribeira Grande, a lively town full of young people, is just a few kilometers away, and if I ever go back, I think I’d love to stay there for a while.

At Santa Barbara Surf school (www.santabarbarasurfschoolazores.com/), you can borrow all the equipment for like 20 euros per day, or take a class, which is what we did. Classes are held every day, you just need to call or email in advance to figure the time (it changes due to tides). Kids and adults, slow or quick learners - it was enjoyable for everyone. There were many people who stayed at school’s hostel and came specifically to surf every day, as well as big families who just joined the classes coming by van with own surfs and suits. We even talked with my girls about going there to a camp one day, to become very fit all of a sudden, but knowing that pineapple Margaritas are not that far away, it just won’t work.

And everyone could stand up on a surf during the first class and catch a wave. Not me. End of story.

Dolphins and whales

One-day sealife watching tours are a big thing on Sao Miguel. You’ll see the ads and tours offered everywhere. There are basically just one major difference to look at - it can be either on a big touristy ferry, which would be packed with people and would scare the sea creatures away, or on a small (8-10 ppl) kind of inflatable boat with an engine. The latter allows to come very close and stick your gopro underwater to film the whales from below. We could even go inside the water to snorkel with dolphins and tunas in the afternoon!

Gopro content is still on the way, so please enjoy a Google picture. It was actually just like that.

Just please make sure to have a big breakfast and maybe some meds in advance - i never knew I can be seasick before this one, and while everyone was watching the whales, had to watch the horizon. It gets better near the shore, though.

 Overall, I actually believe it was one of the most incredible holidays of my life (thanks Honzi!). The views are just stunning, there are not that many tourists yet and locals are very friendly. The variety of possible activities is wider than one can imagine - just go out there and explore!

And feel free to add your secret spots to the post after that :)

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Павлово-Посад - Назарьево

Никто сразу и не заметил, как у входа в наше "купе" (назовем его "купе") выросла фигура женщины в коричневом берете, в жакетке и с черными усиками. Она вся была пьяна снизу доверху, и берет у нее разъезжался...  

- Я тоже хочу Тургенева и выпить, - проговорила она всею утробою...  Замешательство длилось не больше двух мгновений. 

- Аппетитная приходит во время еды, - съязвил декабрист. Все засмеялись.  - Чего тут смеяться, - сказал дедушка. - Баба как баба, хорошая, мягонькая...  - Таких хороших баб, - мрачно отозвался черноусый и снял берет, - таких хороших баб надо в Крым отправлять, чтоб их там волки-медведи кушали...  - Ну, почему, почему! - я запротестовал и засуетился. - Пусть сядет. Пусть чего-нибудь да расскажет!

"Читали Тургенева, читали Максима Горького, а толку с вас...!" Я потеснился. Я усадил ее и налил ей полстакана "тети Клавы".  Она выпила и вместо благодарности, приподняла с головы свой берет "Вот это - видите?" И показала всем свой шрам повыше уха. А потом торжественно помолчала - и снова протянула мне стакан: "Плесни еще, молодой человек, а не то упаду в обморок".  Я налил ей еще полстака��а.Она и это выпила, и снова как-то машинально. А выпив, настежь растворила свой рот и всем показала: "Видите - четырех зубов не хватает?" "Да где же зубы-то эти?"

"А кто их знает, где они. Я женщина грамотная, а вот хожу без зубов. Он мне их выбил за Пушкина. А я слышу - у вас тут такой литературный разговор, дай думаю, я к ним присяду, выпью и заодно расскажу, как мне за Пушкина разбили голову и выбили четыре передних зуба..." 

И она принялась рассказваыть, и чудовищен был стиль ее рассказа...

  - Все с Пушкина и началось. К нам прислали комсорга Евтюшкина, он все щипался и читал стихи, а раз как-то ухватил меня за икры и спрашивает: "Мой чудный взгляд тебя томил?" Я говорю: "Ну, допустим, томил..." А он опять за икры: "В душе мой голос раздавался?" Тут он схватил меня в охапку и куда-то поволок. А когда уже выволок - я ходила все дни сама не своя, все твердила:"Пушкин - Евтюшкин - томил - раздавался". "Раздавался - томил - Евтюшкин - Пушкин". А потом опять: "Пушкин-Евтюшкин-..." 

- Ты ближе к делу, ближе к передним зубам, - оборвал ее черноусый.  - Сейчас, сейчас будут и зубы! Будут вам и зубы!.. Что же дальше?..

Да, с этого дня все шло хорошо, целых полгода я с ним на сеновале Бога гневила, все шло хорошо! А потом этот Пушкин опять все напортил... Я ведь как Жанна д'Арк. Та тоже - нет, чтобы коров пасти и жать хлеба - так она села на лошадь и поскакала в Орлеан, на свою попу приключений искать. Вот так и я - как немножко напьюсь, так сразу к нему подступаю: "А кто за тебя детишек будет воспитывать? Пушкин, что ли?" А он огрызается: "Да каких там еще детишек? Ведь детишек-то нет! Причем же тут Пушкин!" А я ему на это: "Когда они будут, детишки, поздно будет Пушкина вспоминать!"  И так всякий раз - стоило мне немного напиться. 

"Кто за тебя, - говорю, - детишек?.. Пушкин, что ли?" А он-прямо весь бесится: "Уйди, Дарья - кричит, - уйди! Перестань высекать огонь из души человека!" Я его ненавидела в эти минуты, так ненавидела, что в глазах у меня голова кружилась. А потом - все-таки ничего, опять любила, так любила, что по ночам просыпалась от этого... 

И вот как-то однажды я уж совсем перепилась. Подлетаю я к нему и ору: "Пушкин, что ли, за тебя детишек воспитывать будет? А? Пушкин?" Он, как услышал о Пушкине, весь почернел и затрясся: "Пей, напивайся, а Пушкина не трогай! детишек - не трогай! Пей, все, пей мою кровь, но Господа Бога твоего не искушай!"

А я в это время на больничном сидела, сотрясение мозгов и заворот кишок, а на юге в то время осень была, и я ему вот что тогда заорала: "Уходи от меня, душегуб, совсем уходи! Обойдусь! Месяцок поблядую и под поезд брошусь! А потом пойду в монастырь и схиму приму! Ты придешь прощения ко мне просить, а я выйду во всем черном, обаятельная такая, и тебе всю морду исцарапаю, собственным своим кукишем! Уходи!!" А потом кричу: "Ты хоть душу-то любишь во мне? Душу - любишь?" А он все трясется и чернеет: "Сердцем, - орет, - сердцем - да, сердцем люблю твою душу, но душою - нет, не люблю!!" 

И как-то дико, по-оперному, рассмеялся, схватил меня, проломил мне череп и уехал во Владимир-на-Клязьме. Зачем уехал? К кому уехал? Мое недоумение разделяла вся Европа. А бабушка моя, глухонемая, с печки мне говорит: "Вот видишь, как далеко зашла ты, Дашенька, в поисках своего "я"! " 

Да! А через месяц он вернулся. А я в это время пьяная была в дым, я как увидела его, упала на стол, засмеялась, засучила ногами: "Ага! - закричала. - Умотал во Владимир-на-Клязьме! а кто за тебя детишек..." А он - не говоря ни слова - подошел, выбил мне четыре передних зуба, и уехал в Ростов-на-Дону, по путевке комсомола...

  - Дело к обмороку, малый. Налей-ка еще чуток...  Все давились от смеха. Всех доконала, главное, это глухонемая бабушка.  - А где ж он теперь, твой Евтюшкин?.. 

- А кто его знает, где? Или в Сибири, или в Средней Азии. Если он приехал в Ростов и все еще живой, значит он где-нибудь в Средней Азии. А если до Ростова не доехал и умер, значит, в Сибири... 

- Верно говоришь - поддержал я ее, - в Средней Азии не умрешь, в Средней Азии можно прожить. Сам я там не был, а вот мой друг Тихонов - был.  Он говорит: идешь, идешь, видишь - кишлак, а в нем кизяками печку топят, а выпить ничего нет, но жратвы зато много: акыны, саксаул... Так он там и питался почти полгода: акынами и саксаулом. И ничего - приехал рыхлый и глаза навыкате...  - А в Сибири?..  - А в Сибири - нет, в Сибири не проживешь. В Сибири вообще никто не живет, одни только негры живут. Продуктов им туда не завозят, выпить им нечего, не говоря уж "поесть". Только один раз в год им привозят из Житомира вышитые полотенца - и негры на них вешаются...

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- Им делать нечего? - сказал я, - Почему они стоят целыми днями? Не работают, не ходят в магазин, полы дома не моют, не проверяют у детей домашнее задание, не варят еду? Откуда у них столько свободного времени? Ты посмотри, сколько людей, которым нечем заняться! Мы говорили об очереди в церковь, за святыней. - А я бы постояла, - сказала она, поглядев кротко. Я заткнулся.

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было и стало

я не была тут с лета. пришла - а пишет только много и артур. у него много чего не на месте, его за эти полгода помотало по миру, но себя он не нашел. хотя я чувствую, что стал ближе.

мы переписываемся по утрам, когда он пьет кофе, пишет кому-то сайт и наверняка слушает радио, а я еду в метро и сажаю батарейку белого айфона с красными цветочками на обороте наполовину, еще не доехав до первого за день пункта назначения.

я иногда думаю, что хотела бы, чтобы Артур вернулся в Питер, к нам с Юлей. и год будет совсем незаметным. и будет душное, звенящее, пустое лето. лето, в котором мы приходим втроем тяжелым похмельным сонным утром на одну кухню, завариваем что-нибудь и залипаем. смотрим какие-то фильмы, засыпаем, курим, читаем книги. я играю на гитаре, артур встречает меня с дачных электричек, юля готовит вкусные макароны. 

юля - сонная, немного недовольная, в шортах и синей футболке Федерации. с нетбуком и телефоном, босиком, за кухонным столом, поджав под себя ноги, слушает мою очередную историю вселенской любви и, прищурив глаз, с наигранным укором растягивает гласные в моей фамилии.

артур - утренный, лохматый. в рубашке с какими-то невероятными огурцами сидит спиной к двери за столом, слушает радио и читает самую новую книжку про руби. и можно сразу с порога влететь к нему в комнату, что-нибудь очень громко ему прокричать и вытащить на балкон.

а ночью мы ездим на думскую. как-то неосознанно, бессмысленно, но едем, собираем людей вокруг нас, танцуем, как черти, и под утро возвращаемся залипать на кухню.

и все это так свежо, что обязательно еще будет, точно так же, там же и еще лучше.

вот только кухни и балкона, с которого видно закаты и весь ночной парк, больше нет.

завтра я отдаю ключи хозяйке, и в этой квартире будут жить чужие люди.

юлю я вчера проводила в москву, она переехала. искать лучшей жизни, чем в пустом, звонком, душном петербурге.

а артур не появлялся здесь с сентября. уже почти полгода.

только на моем книжном шкафу стоит гипсовый Горький, так похожий на Сталина и все лето исправно служивший нам Фрейдом, а теперь вырванный из контекста.

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после работы на саммите у меня сложилось впечатление, что стать президентом вообще проще простого - закончил ты, значит, вуз, женился, пошел в партию, начал ее раскручивать, незаметно начал партия стала популярной - и ты обама или меркель

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реставрация

Мне кажется, что невозможно быть адекватным и уравновешенным, когда у тебя дома ремонт. Объемы пиздеца во внешнем мире редко опускаются ниже ватерлинии, а ремонт, как ревнивая еврейская мама, в самые тяжелые моменты коварно отбирает у тебя возможность засыпать умиротворенным. После тяжелого дня или ночи хочется «звон свой спрятать в мягкое, в женское» - наедине с собой посидеть на кухне, заварить чаю, помедитировать в горячем душе и забиться под одеяло с ноутбуком заниматься ерундой. И настолько быстро привыкаешь к хорошему, что кажется, что эти ритуалы – самые базовые и простые, а после полугода отсутствия какой-либо приватности их жаждется гораздо больше, и ты их уже ценишь, и кажется – вот же оно, совсем рядом. А не тут-то было. Когда кухня заставлена цветочными горшками и ящиками с инструментами, в ванне живут карнизы, все сервизы попрятаны по коробкам, которые вместе с видеомагнитофонами, чемоданами, пылесосами и архивами возвышаются баррикадами в середине комнаты, а путь к зеркалу наглухо заблокирован какими-то вешалками, хочется обхватить руками голову и выть на луну. Я держалась социально активным молодцом пару недель, стараясь сводить к минимуму пребывание дома без дела, но сегодня утром наконец снова обрела свой дзен и требую уединения для рефлексии.

Это очень странное ощущение, когда ты не хочешь быть наедине с собой и бежишь изо всех сил. Вроде и заполняешь чем-то каждую минутку, но на главное закрываешь глаза. В свете сегодняшнего дня – как правительство, которое бегает с мухобойкой за Навальным, веря, что он-то и мешает полному фен-шую, но боится признаться себе, что их каноны давно не имеют ничего общего с древней традицией. Вот и я долгое время ощущала себя какой-то потерянной, а сегодня – после довольно странных обстоятельств, надо признать, после которых, поговаривают, нужно быть прибитым к земле вчерашними мечтами и чувствовать себя виновато – снова стала цельнометалической, наполненной, гармоничной. Вот хер его знает, как это работает, но я доползалась до локального дзена именно сейчас.

Теперь мне очень нужно закуклиться, зарубцеваться и вылупиться к осени в бабочку, а тут ремонт, черт подери, и никаких гармоничных surroundings, сплошные Помпея, Гоморра и Нагасаки. Знай себе лежи на чистом от мин пятачке комнаты, закрывай глаза и надейся, что когда ты их откроешь, еще что-то немножко изменится, а лучше сразу наступит осень.

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слишком много надежд возлагал на это лето. задыхайся в Москве, в шредер твой полный метр вместо Греции греться по чужим дачам. вместо сдачи на права пересчитывать в троллейбусе сдачу. думал, тебя ждут большие перемены? просто сменил северо-восточный округ на северный продукты «номинал» на продукты «красная цена», и другую сторону останкинской башни видишь из окна это лето сожгло нас, высушило до самых нервов, мы не можем уехать домой, оплатить счета, вылечить тебе зуб, я стал чаще пить, а ты – ходить в церковь мы ждем эту осень даже больше, чем прошлую весну. заполняю анкету быстро, почти на автомате начальник службы персонала говорит - мне перезвонят несколько минут ещё сижу под кондиционерами в прохладе а потом выхожу в горящее лето как в ад торфяные болота горят, морги переполнены задыхаюсь от дыма, но не вижу смысла надевать эту маску и отсюда не вижу другого конца платформы пятьдесят минут в электричке - перегреешься насмерть не перезвонили. воздух мажет меня по дивану к каждой конечности гиря по десять тысяч долгов ты собираешься на работу, целуешь, как в липком тумане как будто позволяешь остаться и тратить твой кислород за это лето я не прочел ни одной страницы на следующей неделе упадет, говорят, до плюс 32 но смысла уже не будет, нарушены все границы сердце не верит и ум больше не воспринимает слова объявления на экране плавятся, я в черных списках не найти работу уехать всего лишь проигрыш очередной на остановке почувствовать, что конец по-настоящему близко задыхаться, жалеть, что не остался встретить его с тобой Голуби валятся с неба – их дворники с утра лопатами Сгребают вместе с сухими листьями. Лето 2010-го. Я целую тебя через марлю, стоя на эскалаторе, Который везет нас в туман. Лето 2010-го. голуби падают с неба их дворники с утра лопатами сгребают вместе с сухими листьями лето 2010-го шесть утра, и наверное можно будет обнять тебя и ты не сгоришь в объятиях лета 2010-го