From the stories of the spider traveler
I am writing this essay exclusively at the requests of my acquaintances and friends. The main goal I put to show my attitude to life, in particular, in Poland. Based on this, I do not turn on the product of technical information that may be interesting for some part of readers. This information will be covered in the corresponding echoconferences or reported in the form of answers to specific questions. On the first international ravine, which served me for two cycling in Poland, has already entered several reports of other participants, it does not have any desire to repeat, I describe a sink with a few philosophical point of view.
I think the dear reader will hold a pleasant moment when reading this essay.
Finally completed fees. Ahead is expecting such a honeycomb and at the same time blinding soul unknown. This state of the soul I call for myself "entropy". well. Where ours did not disappear – on the road!
To the Ukrainian-Polish border I was volunteered to hold my comrade and a big adventure lover. Let’s call him Yuri. On the road talked to souls. In general, a non-confessant Yura spoke about his life and, no matter, about bicycle system illegal in Europe. Seven months he spent in Holland, having survived a bunch of adventure and earning the bear to the passport. But God was merciful to him and now he lives peacefully and contains a family in Lviv. It turned out to be Jura, has a lot of experience not only cycling, but also in the hitchhiking. On his account stop in Ukraine, Belarus, Russia, Baltic States, as well as in Poland and the Czech Republic. During conversations, kilometers of roads, as unfortunately, and time flew quickly. Here’s already Rava Russian, and for her – Cordon. It’s time to part.
Outcasting cars in a kilometer queue, drive a barrier direct move. Here we stop the border guard question:
-What cadet? – I wonder.
-What the first time?
The border guard smiled and handed some kind of piece . I was on that day the first cyclist. How will be soon – not only on this day. We said goodbye to Yura and drove.
Dispersed so that purely accidentally drove our zone. I read: "Burn Prospoirita Polish". Reluctance to return, but without printing in the passport about the departure did not risk entering Poland.
I got on a drunken customs officer who wanted to show his power:
-Turn back and sit on the bus – the bike is not a trap, the -prorek he with a shiftman.
-. Not a vehicle?
-The vehicle has a motor, – it was importantly answered and deleted. I go to another customs officer, and he:
-Go to who I was talking to. You go on his channel.
That’s not lucky, I think. Come to convince this drunkard in that he also lacks balls. Nothing else remains. In the end, the vigilant guard of the national rich agreed with me and "kindly" took to inspect my baggage. That it was for Shmond-hard to describe. I just say that I had to open even the boxes with matches, wrapped from rain with polyethylene and tape. Thank God, there was a young border guard nearby and encouraged me with the words:
-Nothing, getting up – he graduates the inspection and there will be no more problems. With standing nearby booths, border guards from Passport control pursuerly looked at me.
-So it will be with each cyclist, – I have been observing myself for not in my sleeping bag of nuclear warheads in a platinum building and hiding eyes from your colleagues, Proper Customs officer after a clock bundle.
As pleasant after all this was the Polish control, which was in responses to a couple of questions and wishes after a pleasant young border guard:
Poland met me with the feeling of inner freedom.
Roads in Poland much better than our. True, their condition is very dependent on the voivodship. The most pleasant impression in the sense of me to the stationery voivodship. Even country roads are covered with high-quality asphalt, not to mention highways, on which they guessed to provide a separate band for the movement of low-speed vehicles. True ride a bike on highways An employment: noise, SMR, constant nervous tension. They pass on some distance from houses. So that even the water come to the side sometimes. Yes, and sleep under the noise of the engines – too, an amateur needs to look. Therefore, I decided to go to Helma to ride secondary roads.
That’s when I felt the present bliss of traveling by bike: Going – a circle of forest and nor soul, except for 10-15 minutes. Starting some lonely car. And the terrain is hilly, well, right – Carpathia, the birthplace smell. The forest ends – begins the fields and villages, as if you go through such a native and cute heart Western Ukraine. Although that the Ukrainians inhabited by Holmshchina before the war.
Suddenly in the valley there is a big lake, a cry of chaks heard. What could be better resting in such a hot season near the water. Maybe it will be easy. As it turned out later, the lake belongs to some kind of society of something lovers and I had to urge after a polite proposal to leave here 30 evil. (All I had) in the form of a fine for violation of non-state property. True, enjoy his beauty and snack here I still managed.
Well, here and Helm-city with something that reminded me of Lviv, the same hilly with curves with narrow streets. Here without a conductor can not do. Thank God, I, who, not bending any opportunity, and loving, chat, already in some extent managed to master the Polish language. And the language, as they say, Ivan to Kiev will bring.
I must say that the Poles turned out to be a very polite and hospitable people, often happened to be convinced of this, despite some of their fear of the inhabitants of the CIS. It was enough to talk a little with a new acquaintance, as you suggest to divide together with my meal: Well, just like our good time. In general, I have not yet been convinced of the truth of the wise statement: "Who can ask for bread from a person in his native language – never will die with hunger". Worselessly – people before being frightened by the incident in which our tribesmen are involved that very rarely take overnight. I have always adhered to the rules – never ask anything, and when they give – to take, but also know the measure. But twice the night I found me in the village and had to try to ask the bed. Not once successful. It should be noted that one very and very good woman regretted me and herself suggested to spend the night on a haymaker. When we said goodbye, she confessed that he was very afraid that I will come to the house at night and the throat to her.
After a pleasant overnight stay on the shore of a large lake near Ternopil (not to be confused with g.Ternopil, that in Ukraine) I moved on the road. The weather spoiled very much, the unpleasant counter wind blew, the rain was raining. In the head wound obsessive thoughts – "Will be Syshovopka? Maybe the festival was canceled due to flood? What a pity that in recent weeks I could not read mail!" But now overcome the last kilometers and I finally meet me – the goal of my trip. Asking where the festival should pass "Basovichi", I approach the lyingk. And then I noticed a pointer on paper with a keyword "Basovichi". I am. What was my joy when I noticed the fish numbers there, then the chero will be! Subscribed to the bottom and enveloped by driving to the tent. Inspecting the Polish youth about Fidoshniks, approach the place indicated by the Belarusian flag. I meet Fidoshniki Belarus. The Kiev Fidoshniks come out of the tent. So met.
And the people all arrived-with the main mass – different informals in ribbon sweaters with long hair and pants with patches on all sorts of interesting places. On girls, if you can call them, it was hard to watch. Their view caused me a sense of disgust: Multicolored hair, workers, at best – military sample shoes. In the hands of cigarettes. Their speech, strongly diluted with rude words, the matter was interrupted by energetic spots in all directions. I got acquainted closer-for this dirty mask – good souls. And attitude to foreigners, t.E. to us, such an oversight- good-natured. "Ambasada"-so lovingly called our place and jealously protected him from various encroachments. Every newcomer came to personally say hello to representatives of the barn. I was explained by this special attitude to us.
"Basovichi" Comes from the word bass – Belarusian Student Association. This Annual Congress is already 10 years old runs on the territory of Poland on the former Belarusian Lands of Belostoche. But the representation of Belarusians for various reasons here is very small.
On the same day, representatives of Polish television approached us and interviewed. We had to talk to different nonsense about the impressions of the trip to Poland (which impressions may be in four days in an unfamiliar country? After some time, I treated the opposite sign. I will say more – after one and a half months of staying in Poland, I turned from liberal in the proletarian, but to say that my glasses were transformed from pink in the final transparent I still can’t. Fortunately).
In the evening, a man came, who was actually an inspirer of the collection of Russian-speaking paloshnikov from different countries of Europe. Thanks to him, and managed to realize the idea proposed by a political refugee (Hu this policy! One of this word is crucial and causes nausea!) Andrei Romashevsky. The name of this person is Alexey Sotnik. I am familiar with him for more than a year, but in absentia. Mostly from Sergei Kreuzman’s stories, personal correspondence and echoconference of German.Rus. Although it is believed that you can learn a person in absentia – this impression is sometimes erroneous. Meeting with Alex turned all my ideas about him. This is a very strong moral man, which immediately expressed in his powerful welcoming institution. I can say that in everything I agree with his views on life, but I think Alex is a man worthy of great respect.
That unexpectedly pleased – this is a pleasant gifts to every fidoshnik. True, it was sad to observe the picture of their distribution. People pounced on Alex, like wolves on a sleeve lamb while waiting for a leader’s permission to grab yourself a piece as fat. I can say that I did not cover such greed. Where is she from? Or from severe (relatively, of course) life in the CIS countries? Or in nature the human laid this is beer? Which in critical moments of life turns people in animals. Wake up, people! Be higher from this devilish potion, which sooner or later can destroy you! Thank God, the distribution ended, and the wolves again became ordinary people with their pains and problems. Yes, the man of this evening was Alex.
There is one thing in local relations (and not only local) Poles to Ukrainians, which is very pleased with my national pride. It is very difficult to describe it, but you can compare with the blade of a knife – one way is unlimited respect, on another – infinite hatred. During your stay in Poland, I was allowed to dock with both manifestations of this relationship, but I always tried to be on the edge, and, thank God, I managed it. I was often asked if the Cossacks exist in Ukraine. It so happened that in Poland, at least on the Belostochetia, popular sports clubs with names, including the word "Cossack". Preferably, youth engaged in them, which comes from Orthodox childbirth. With one of these guys – the Pole from the Belarusian kind, I get to know this festival.
In the evening, we managed to talk to the Belarusian nationalists, the views of which converge with the militants of radically tuned Ukrainian parties. Georgted their Alex, but for what purpose I still can not understand for myself.
Then I wanted to talk about politics, but I could not keep silent about these two moments – not politician I.
Hippie – also people
I knew about Hippie’s movement only on the hearse, although I met them in the streets quite often. Closer to get acquainted with them I managed after the end of the rock festival.
Two days nonbeating lil rain. All my stuff including sleeping bag wicked up. Thank God, Alex offered to spend the night in his car. Although I slept normal. Sunday in the morning rain a little arrive. The people began to touch around and through a couple of hours of glade, littered with a lot of Mussor, empty. Well, I think we sing – and in the road. Raised primus and cooked soup from the package: even though it does not occupy a lot. Lit as left by someone else and started for lunch. Polyana after the festival resembled a mousserving, which carefully look after the contents of various bottles, vials, packages wandered the specific people – hippies, causing me a unwitting smirk with his childhood joy when finding a whole unwanted bottle (it can be passed) or a cigarette taching.
Here you are fitting for two in the trimmed clothes, you can see hungry.
-This is the water in your canister?
-Water, of course.
-And you can drink?
-Please -re i and continue my lunch.
-What are you eating? – asks one.
-Soup as you see.
-And you can try?
-Yes, try, for God’s sake.
One of them fell out of the kittel:
-A spoon can be?
-Yes, take a spoon, do not be shy, – I can talk about what embarrassment? The other, seeing such a freez, snatched the bowler and that there are power sipped. And immediately jerked, grabbing his hand for the throat and fisting from pain: Soup, freshly welded, did not have time to cool. I just did not give laughter looking at this hungry guys. Singing and thanking me for my dinner, both gone to dig further in the piles of the Mussor.
-Well, time is not waiting, – I advised me, and began to gather on the road. And in the head, unhealthy thoughts were kept about what it would be necessary to succumb to: no clothes are dry, caught up yesterday so that he did not notice how someone opened my sleeve polyethylene, in which I ordinary spent the night, and everything was wet. The rain almost stopped and I, undressing to sports pants and T-shirts moved on the road. There was a resurrection, cars on the road not much and I quietly drove, dressing occasionally a proclaimed jacket, when the rain finally started to dismiss me.