24.11.07 Нахаль Дрох

В виду малой активности в я поехал на юг с и тремя его друзьями.
Выехать намеревались в 23 вечера, и я заскочил до этого к Лину - попить-поболтать часика на полтора.
В результате выехали пол третьего ночи, соответственно я успел наболтаться.

На месте поспали 3 часа и выпив кастрюльку чая двинулись в путь из Сде-Бокера-а.




Маршрут был не сложным, но длинным - около 20и километров. Вернулись к машинам ровно к закату.

View Album

Замечательная история

Какое-то время назад я записался на сайт www.couchsurfing.com
Смысл сайта: туристы из разных стран навещают друг друга, общаются, ночуют друг у друга забесплатно.

За время моего прибывания на сайте мне написало несколько человек, но никто из них в результате не приехал кроме Ранхильд, девушки из Норвегии решившей поехать в Иерусалим на попутках.

По возвращении в Новегию она прислала мейл с описанием своего путешествия. Мне было очень интересно его почитать.


Dear friends all over the world!

I am now back in Norway after my hitchhike to Jerusalem. I promised to write to some of you if I reached Jerusalem, to others if I reached home – in short, to write if I survived - so here is an e-mail for you all, my beloved and loving friends around the globe! As you who have known me for some time might recollect, I came home two years ago determined to study political science in Norway, and I even went north of the polar circle to be able to stick to a chair and a writing desk long enough for a bachelor’s degree. Well. This is the second summer I have thrown my belongings into two university lockers, given lease termination notice to my landlord and headed for the world. This is me, people, and I am beyond change...Of course I made a compromise and brought my books along, at least 4 extra kilo on my first few weeks, to uphold the commitment to my studies. And I think that I have managed, through lorry-rides, religious brainwash, a robbery, an attempted kidnapping, beaches, lazy days, and lots of interesting people I rather would have spoken endlessly to than reading tedious theory, that I have managed to turn the pages of my curriculum. But only the exams will show the definite success of a semester on the thumb. They are coming soon, so pray for me!

This journey turned out to be something quite different than expected, all because a priest in the small breakaway quasi-republic Transdnestria (on conventional maps, part of Moldova) prophesized that I would die on the road to Jerusalem. Although blunt and bombastic, his prophecy eventually changed the whole mind-set with which I traveled, and I have been more afraid on this than on any other journey in my life - not because the countries I passed were particularly dangerous, but because the people I met definitely were much more dangerous, not least due to my choice of transportation.

The first bit of my journey was exciting but calm, hitchhiking from the northern edge of Norway with a tent and then to Sweden, Germany, Poland and Ukraine, where I mainly rode on trucks; after Transdnestria the character of my journey changed, an inner dimension was added to the superficial, experience-hungry outer one, and it became a crusade, a fight with superstition, much more related to my geographical destination than I had intended. Yes it might sound as amazing to you as it does to me - but suddenly, somehow, God was a part of it.

I was walking along the river Dnestr which separates Transdnestria from the rest of Moldova. After all, I study politics. I sweated, slept under the stars and forced some polluted liters down my throat whenever I couldn't bear the thirst anymore. I reached Benderi and a spent a night in a bathtub, a story I won't elaborate on...Tired and melting in the heat there was this fisherman who invited me to sit down in the shadow of a walnut tree and so, unfortunately, I did. Our conversation ended with him forcing my backpack from me, strapping it to his bicycle and riding away with it. I reached an army check point and reported the robbery, whereupon a bunch of policemen picked me up and brought me to their headquarters. They took my photograph from three angles and my fingerprints and whole handprints even, so that the borders between victim and accused felt quite fluid. Then an officer had the bright idea of putting me in a female orthodox monastery for a safe and soothing environment. Besides, they thought I had lost all my money, and after 4 hours’ interrogation (on top of a sleepless night and a robbery) I was too exhausted to protest on any idea with any prospect of some sleep and rest. So I let myself be driven to Peter and Paul’s monastery, and that changed the course of everything.

The priest of the place turned out to be very much against my journey, even though it was to Jerusalem. Father Sergei would look to the sky and say, oh Lord, what hardships are ahead for this girl. I was given food, shelter and an extra set of clothes, robbed 'clean' as they rightfully labeled my situation. In return I scrubbed pots in the kitchen and carded wool in the courtyard together with the nuns. Father Sergei called me a scarecrow, an egoist and said that my journey had no meaning. God doesn't want you to go to Jerusalem, God wants you to go to Kiev, he said. But I have made up my mind to go to Jerusalem, I said. I want, I will, Father Sergei imitated; all your life is just an enormous 'I'. Well, I couldn't deny that. If you go in that direction you may not return to your country, Father Sergei said, because God has brought you to me in order to stop you. So if I hadn't come here I could have continued along safely? I asked; yes, Father Sergei said, but if you disobey now God is going to punish you terribly. You have already had an incident once, haven't you? The second time it is going to be even worse. Arabs takes girls like you for slaves and then nobody will hear any more of you. Do you mean to say, I asked, that there will be a third time? There might be, Father Sergei reluctantly admitted, if you manage to escape from slavery that second time. But the third time you will end up in a coffin; and he put an imaginary flower on my imaginary coffin, and repeated that it was impossible for me to continue in a southern direction.

This was the first time in my life that God had expressed any opinion of my travels. Somehow he had never interfered in my itinerary before, although I had sought his advice before dipping my toes into countries like Afghanistan etc. A little contact was not unwelcome after so much spiritual roaming through all the world’s religions and many of its continents. But if he really wanted me to go to Kiev he should have told me of his preference directly, because as things were now I not only had to believe in God (as was not in itself easy), but also in Father Sergei. True, people came to him from many districts for advice and he decided which marriages were no good and who should leave their jobs and families forever. And a junior priest told of how he had ended up with a leg broken in three places when he had ignored Father Sergei's clairvoyant advice of not entering a car that day. I still limp and have pain, he said to me, so you must understand that you must listen to batjushka!

Yes, the nuns would whisper to me; if he forbids you something it's because he sees something...

Father Sergei was a profuse prophet. He had predicted that World War III would start in two years and had purchased land near the Ukrainian border to escape the bombings. These were the last days and a sign of that was that everybody was given identification numbers. It's a sure sign of Antichrist! he would proclaim, and ask to see my passport while the nuns gathered around us. In the monastery nobody had passports because nobody accepted identification numbers. And we will never accept them, Father Sergei said; and lots of people have had them operated as a chip into their wrists and they are just like zombies. He advised me to find an orthodox place where I could spend the rest of my life (which, in any case, wouldn’t be long) and have my passport burned. And he said that three quarters of humanity is going to hell and one quarter to heaven. When I said I couldn't believe God to be so strict, he looked at me and said that God indeed is terribly strict. Well! Somehow I felt relived that Father Sergei was saying all these things, because it meant that he couldn't be right about everything he said. He was probably just an old nutcase, although a terribly self-confident one. His views were medieval religion mixed with science fiction and I decided not to listen to him. He wouldn’t give me his blessing and this ringed in my ears for a while - but I had never thought that I needed a blessing before he had said that I wouldn’t get one, so I told myself that it was all psychological and silly, and that I wouldn’t pay attention to him.

I left the monastery and continued through Romania and Bulgaria to Turkey. Romania didn't feel dangerous at all, and I got picked up by much more decent people than in Poland and Ukraine. Nobody mistook me for a prostitute (as had happened quite a few times before, even though I was careful to hold my backpack in front of me), and nobody drove me into desolate forests to smoke marihuana with me, as had also happened. On a railway station in Romania, where I crashed for the night, I was given a goat-smelling blanket by a gypsy. In short, prejudices were disappearing, monsters became people everywhere, and I was full of hope about my destination Jerusalem.

Then, in Istanbul, I got as close to a personal disaster as I have ever been, and even closer to a miracle. As a rule I only hitch between and not within cities; I prefer a clean-cut highway to unintelligible city traffic. Furthermore, when you have hitchhiked 4 thousand kilometers you do not think that you are taking a risk by entering an ordinary city bus. It was around midnight and the bus seemed to be making its last round. There were only two people in it, the driver and a short man who appeared to be the driver's friend. To summarize events, they drove me out on a highway instead of anywhere central and as I opened the window and started to scream, the small man attacked me, whereupon I sprayed teargas in his eyes. The driver got mad and shouted HUNDRED DOLLARS! at me; he opened the bus door several times and every time I approached it, he closed it again; a truly sickening game. I gave him 20 lira, but that didn't buy me free. Up to this point I had hoped that Father Sergei's prophecy would not be true, but at this moment I hoped that it _was_ true, because I could count on my fingers and know that something worse was yet to happen to me. I would rather be afraid of that third, worst time which had yet to be materialized, if only I could escape this...

We drove, and I prayed to the whole spectrum of everything I ever had believed in. The small man wouldn't leave me alone and as I sprayed him again, I apologized; fearing the retaliation of every thing I did. We were all screaming now, I out of the window and the two men at me. Eventually the bus turned into a small side road and as soon as I was sure that we were stopping - I had lost my water bottle in an earlier misjudgment - I threw my backpack out of the window before I felt the driver’s hand on my mouth. What happened next is still inexplicable to me, and has made me humble, almost religious in my afterthought of it, but somehow I managed to slip out of that window, grab my backpack and run towards the highway. A man and a woman stopped for my outstretched arm and took me to a police check point. I was so shaken and grateful that I didn't even mind it much when the police officer, at the end of the interview, asked me what I expected from the Istanbul police. There are 17 million people in Istanbul and there are thousands of buses, he said; and you didn't see the number and you don't know where you boarded the bus.

I didn't care. I was alive. Amazingly enough, though it didn’t really matter, I hadn't even lost my new backpack! The gratefulness overwhelmed me and I felt newborn, resurrected, appreciative of everything. Most people in this world just want to lead their lives honestly, harmlessly, and peacefully - so who was I to leave Norway on every occasion in search of struggles, and dangers, which weren’t really mine? I walked beneath Istanbul’s great plane-trees and had some really serious discussions with myself. I felt totally vulnerable and totally blessed at the same time; and never had I felt so strongly that an outcome had depended so little on myself.



Soon relief was followed by a fear of future which glued me to the city for the next couple of weeks. I stayed, free of charge, in an antique library, then in a hostel when I wanted the company of other travelers. I walked on the same main streets every day, read relaxing fiction and I drank lots of coffee with ice cream. I looked at guns and electroshock-weapons in the passageway below Karaköy, I visited a firing range to take shooting lessons (an attempt which, with the instructor’s suspicion, culminated in me just shooting balloons in the park instead). I tried to call Father Sergei every half hour with an expensive phone card, but his line was constantly busy. I was scared shitless of continuing my journey because, according to the prophecy, there was nothing between me and my death now. From now on I felt as if I risked my life. I thought, It is coming true! and I thought, He really saw something. My options seemed to be to turn back and go to Kiev (for to Norway I would never go with so little gained), or to continue without blessing to Jerusalem. For two weeks I was stuck in the crossfire between my fear and my stubbornness and my superstition and my rationality, not getting anywhere. My head ached and I even consulted a fortune teller with a rabbit (who, by the way, told me that I spend all my time looking for love). Then a Bosnian guy who had invested his very last money in a one-way flight ticket to Tel Aviv and who just had 20 dollars left in his pocket, gave me the little shove I needed to continue. He asked me why I wanted to call Father Sergei so much, and that was a good question. In fact I had wanted to hear more of his vision, of when the third time would happen, where it would happen, under what circumstances, so I could cut it out of my journey like a worm in an apple I would still eat. But I knew that Father Sergei would just shout 'WHAT DID I SAY?’ at me and tell me to go to Kiev again. The next day I left Istanbul and instead of going north, I went south; my stubbornness victorious. I hitchhiked with a sign now, praying every day before I set off. It can happen today, I thought; maybe today is the day.

A prophecy is a terrible thing. It is invisible, yet it influences all your thoughts when you have come to believe in it. Of course I never deliberately believed in it, but I feared it, and that is almost the same thing. Yet the bulk of my thinking had been made in Istanbul, and when I finally had chosen a course of (Father Sergei would have used this word) obstinacy, I already experienced a certain relief. Sometimes I felt that I was tiptoeing on a bubbling volcano all the way, being incredibly stupid; and sometimes I felt that I was doing the right thing, trusting in people’s goodness, in my intuition, in God. Yes, I had started believing a little in God, and people who don’t just haven’t been afraid enough. It is not as much a question of belief as of hope...There had been a miraculous, totally improbable escape which I did not dare attribute to my own strength. And if I was to believe in something beyond myself I didn’t dare believe in anything lesser than God, because that lesser ascription was the thing God got mad at in the Old Testament all the time.

So finally, after three and a half months on the road, I was on the edge of Israel. The border guards questioned me hard on my Pakistani, Iranian, Iraqi and Syrian visas, asking me the name of my father's father and whether my surname was really Norwegian and whether we had Muslims in our family, then handed me back my passport with the front page torn off, an accident they apologized for. I was pretty upset at this, but nothing overshadowed my relief at being so close. All the time since Father Sergei’s dive into my dark future I had gone straight towards my goal, hardly a kilometer extra, afraid of having my luck broken, and now I positioned myself on the Jerusalem highway to kill that awful prophecy once and for all. A tire dealer gave me a ride to the holy city, and the triumph was official. Yet I didn’t dare to laugh at the prophecy or poke fun at Father Sergei: maybe I had broken the prophecy’s course to fulfillment by becoming somebody else than the person it had been based upon, similarly to the people of Ninive in the book of Jonas. I contemplated sending Father Sergei a postcard but figured it would just be evil. At least Jonas had been pretty disappointed back then...



Finally I felt that I could relax, and my time in this tiny middle-eastern country was the cream of my journey, firstly because of the shattered curse, secondly because of its endless diversity, history, and hospitality. I know I am expected to say something here about Israel and Palestine, but I am very cautious to do so. Actually it is much harder to draw conclusions when you have been there than when you haven’t. Also, I have a dangerous tendency to judge complex political situations from the few people I encounter on my journeys. I am not knowledgeable at all about the Middle East, but at a simple traveler’s level, I had plenty of great experiences on both sides of the Wall. Arab hospitality is lavish and so is Israeli, and there is much and very similar thoughtfulness in both camps. I once managed to rally 5 Israeli soldiers to save a cat from a roof appendage, and that was pretty sweet, I think. One of the most obvious problems seems to lie with the settlements, and there is definitely something strange about those Arab-hating, Arab-fearing settlers who decide to perch themselves on a hilltop outside of Nablus...The settlers are a lot to be considered separately from ordinary Israelis, that much I’ve learned. Israelis and Arabs alike can be very reflected about their mutual relationship, IN ISRAEL, while on the West Bank things tend to be much more black and white. (All right - now somebody who knows much more than me is probably going to contradict everything I’ve said, but anyway, these were my humble impressions from those parts of the world.)



I stayed a couple of months in Israel & Palestine, then got on a cargo ship to Greece, and hitched from there back to Norway through the Balkans, Central Europe, and Scandinavia. Enormous thanks to all of you who have been a part of my journey!! Without you I couldn’t have done a kilometer of it. Mikael in Göteborg, thanks for housing and encouragement to sneak-ride on the tram! Rene in Frankfurt Oder who talked to me ‘over seven bridges’, I will never forget the days with you and all those thunderstorms! Thanks to Oleg, the lorry driver who took me through half of Ukraine, who taught me much more about trucks than I ever dreamed of knowing, and who gave me some unforgettable days on a Ukrainian truck stand with all its strange, fascinating personage!

Thanks to the Moldovan border guards who didn’t even want a bribe for letting me illegally into Transdnestria. Thanks to the sweeping woman and her daughter in Tiraspol for their hospitality, to Arlen and his friends in Benderi for some wild drunken parties. Thanks to Vova who robbed me, so that the police drove me to a monastery where I received an awful prophecy my journey would not have been the same without. I am not going to say thanks to the two guys who kidnapped me in Istanbul, but to God, or whoever or whatever was protecting me that night, that no real harm came to me. Thank you Steel for the map of Europe, it is all in shreds now, I have used it well! Thanks to Mike for letting me stay in his antique and magical library in Istanbul; to Daniel for his belief in intuition, to Osman for our conversations on vampires and wars within the magical radius of Sufism! Thanks for the ride on motorbikes to Syria, I will never forget that, and especially not that you Mehmet coaxed me into hiding lots of stolen corn which turned out to be for me! Thanks Muhamad for letting me work with precious stones in your jewelry-carpet shop. Thank you Zeid for walking me around Damascus and pointing out so many interesting details apart from the one billion stainless posters of president Bashar al-Assad. Thanks to all the couchsurfers who have given me their couches, floors, porches, rooftops and beds to sleep on, you have saved me more than once! Leo and Camilla in Brønnøysund, Andrey and Jon in Haifa, Aksel in Copenhagen, you are all fantastic people! Elad and Martin, you two hold a special place in my heart, you have been great tutors to me and I sometimes feel as if I traveled all that distance just to meet you two! Thanks to all the random people who likewise have invited me in from the pitch black night - Stesha and Lena in Tiraspol who have given me a glimpse of real courage, John and Katrina in Sozopol, the family in Konya, the Jew in Tiberias who saved me from a cold windy beach with tea and fruitcake. Thanks Raed for all the criminal advice on ATM-machines, I hope to become the bandit queen you envisioned... Thank you Omri for the wine and water-pipe. Thanks to PSP in Beit Ommar, the small village on the West Bank I was volunteering in, for teaching me so much about cucumbers! It was great fun to pull away road blocks, sit in front of bulldozers and being lifted away by cute 19-year-old Israeli soldiers! Thanks to the Palestinian families who invited me to their homes in Halhoul, Hebron and Idhna, and thanks to the beautiful bride who let me dance with her on a stage in front of 500 wedding guests! (Yes I actually did it Marty, but it probably helped that the audience was all women...) Thanks for painting me with henna, sister-I-forgot-the-name-of. Thanks Grigor for giving me a place to sleep in Sandanski. Marina in Beograd, good luck with your project of visiting all African countries starting with Z. Thanks to the Albanian family in Presevo who gave me homemade burek and the room of a wedding night to sleep in! Thank God for getting me through the snow and sleet in the mountain passes to Kosovo...Thanks Santtu for our visit to the Kosovo Liberation Army exhibition in Pristina, and for your escort, KFOR-style, to the highway! Thanks to Francisco from UNMIK for his ride to Kosovska Mitrovica. Enormous, enormous thanks to all the drivers who gave me all the rides I needed to Jerusalem and back!! You are the ones who have made this possible, and most of you I haven’t even got the e-mail addresses of. May the bread you have cast upon the waters come back to you in the course of time, just as the saying says! Drivers of lorries with gin and frozen pepper, Samsung-electronics and paper, engine parts, propane gas and Harry Potter-books, thank you for your rides and coffees! My heart bursts thinking of you who have guided me through all this space, and I feel blessed to be able to state my opinion, that This is a good world people!!



Although I had many great moments, hitchhiking is not something I would recommend others to do, especially not girls alone (don’t do it!). I did not appreciate, for instance, the Serbian lorry driver who pretended to shoot me in the head with an imaginary gun, or the police officers in Raska who extracted money from an Albanian driver on the accusation of trafficking me (an accusation they were ready to drop for 30 euro). There were lots of misunderstandings all the way, and in many countries I shared the highway with prostitutes. The stonethrowing in Beit Ommar wasn’t fun either, and there hardly passed a day in that village without gunfire or explosions of some sort. Most of my fears, however, never came true, and when I was scared because somebody had a violent scar across his nose or joked a little unpleasantly while wearing sunglasses (so my maze, hypothetically, wouldn’t take effect), my head usually just spun baselessly while I was being driven safely to my destination and let off. So luckily, there was much less drama in reality than in fantasy, and that’s how things usually are.

People, don’t hitchhike...But if you still disregard all warnings and good sense, here are some hard-earned pieces of advice to help you:



- Never cross international borders on trucks unless within the European Union. I spent 10 hours on the border between Poland and Ukraine, on a truck carrying oranges from Spain. Then 5 hours between Moldova and Romania on a truck carrying sunflower-seeds from Ukraine. Never do it! Say thanks before the border and hitch across on a light vehicle.

- Never enter a car which stops for you by itself. The same rule applies here as with self-dead animals; don’t eat what you have not hunted down.

- Beware of the Turkish word ‘arkadas’, which means ‘friend’, but not necessarily.

- Wear shoes instead of sandals during winter, exercise caution in admitting that you have a mobile phone, and have a wonderful, _wonderful_ trip!!



All right, this is getting really long, I better cut off here. The only challenge which remains now is to pass my exams, but I am hopeful of this too. My studies suffered a little from Vova’s robbery so if I pass everything now, the honor goes to Elad who received a parcel for me.



Gosh guys, I hope I can repay all you have given me, I have a big cosmic debt now and I pray to keep the generosity of this world in mind all my life, and try to be as good to others as you have been to me. With all my best wishes, love and metta,



Yours,

Ragnhild

Кабаны на севере

Благодаря стараниям Каспера, существенная часть Кабанов выбралась на Суккот на два дня отдыха на природе.

Заехали в cреду вечером и расположились на берегу Иордана рядом с гешер-арик.

Место дислокации отличалось тенью, простором, близостью к воде, чистотой и достаточным расстоянием до ближайших соседей.
Минусом была проходящая рядом дорожка - по ней всю ночь ходили, а иногда и бегали пасущееся коровы.

Дабы предотвратить жертвы среди населения (в виде палаток затоптанных убегающими от коров девушками) лагерь был огорожен, а Боря вооружён nail-gun-ом:


Первый вечер прошёл под знаком Лина готовящего стэйки и Линки спросонья играющей на гитаре.

С утра пораньше Лин и Каспер выползли на рыбалку. Я с интересом понаблюдал несколько минут как они задумчиво стояли на берегу и занялся более продуктивным действием - варкой овсянки сэр.
Следующим пунктом в расписании культурной программы был мини поход. Для развлечения публики я выбрал Эйн-этину.

Некомсомольское время начала маршрута дало о себе знать. В отличие от предыдущих двух раз, когда на маршруте вообще никого больше не было, в этот раз приходилось идти упираясь в затылок впереди идущего.
Прохладная водичка приятно освежала, а наверху устроили фото сессию.

И в её брызгах вы увидите радугу


Каждому захотелось залезть под струю которая ощутимо сильно бьёт сверху, но основная аттракция называлась "сфотографируйся с Каспером":



Накупавшись поехали в Мишмар-а-Ярден кататься на тракторонах.
Сами трактороны мне понравились, но маршрут по которому мы ездили проходил в основном по полям и его можно было проехать и на лизинговой машине.
Под конец дня был рафтинго-каякинг. Прикольно поплескались, помахали вёслами, а мы с Лином ещё и протопали немножко пешком чтобы пройти единственный порог во второй раз.

В лагерь вернулись уставшие и сил на некультурную программу не было. Ещё раз сытно покушав, я, Лёвик, Каспер и Боря сели играть в преферанс. Лёвик взял 6 на мизере, а Боря мучаясь дотянул до конца игры пытаясь остаться в сознании.

Утром на рыбалку никто уже не порывался и медленно собравшись мы вернулись домой.

О спорте

Решил с и полазить на стенку.
Но так как соратники давно лишают меня комсомольских удовольствий то решил лезть в скафандре ехать в матам на велосипеде.

Туда час-пятнадцать через нижний город, обратно час через Фройд.
Не так страшен Фройд как его малюют. Длинный только. Чувствую себя спортсменом.

Вчера вечером зашёл к Лину на коньячок. И мне бы...

Вчера вечером зашёл к Лину на коньячок.
И мне была вручена

Хорошо меня вчера , и проводили! С лёгким се...

Хорошо меня вчера , и проводили!

С лёгким сердцем и свободной совестью ушёл.

Чао, буратины! Можете даже писать мне письма до востребования, меня зовут Себастьян Перейро, торговец чёрным деревом. Шутка.

Труба зовёт

Я выхожу 3го сентября на "Швиль Исраэль".

Это девятисот километровый маршрут через весь Израиль от Дана до Эйлата,
занимающий полтора месяца. Ориентировочное окончание 19го октября.

Тут: http://spreadsheets.google.com/pub?key=p2g29FSEX2Va6I12nZKQWbg моя планировка. Буду рад видеть гостей\попутчиков в любой день, но желательно со мной связаться по sms, чтобы удостовериться что я продвигаюсь в соответствии с графиком. Cмотреть таблицу могут все, за правами на редактирование с целью записи на посещение обращайтесь к Косте - . :)

Отчёты о продвижении буду помещать в отдельное сообщество .

Надеюсь видеть максимальное количество встречающих в Эйлате в последний день!!!

Закончился семилетний жизненный период.

До	После

Про культурное мероприятие

Спустя десять дней, решил поделиться впечатлениями с концерта ДДТ.



Я уже не мальчик, в турпоходе на концерте ДДТ уже два раза был: В прошлый раз они приезжали 2 года назад, а в позапрошлый, насколько я помню, 4 года назад. Так как к звёздам на интервью концерт надо ходить подготовленными, то я за месяц скачал их последний диск и долго вдумчиво слушал.

То, что концерт проходит в аудиториуме, должно было меня насторожить, но заранее я об этом не задумывался. Культурный шок наступил в очереди в кассу: Вместо подростков одетых в тельняшки и пьющих пиво, почти по вечернему одетые 30и летние старички. Всё выглядело как поход в симфонический...

Первая половина концерта выглядела соответственно: тихие песни (в основном из нового альбома), после каждой сдержано хлопают. 3(!) охранника (это на "рок-концерте"!!) просят людей не стоять в проходах. Разве что программки не хватало.

Где-то к середине концерта инициативная группа видимо решила, что так нельзя, и пока одни отвлекали охранников, другие ринулись к сцене. В миг всё пространство от третьего ряда до сцены было заполнено. Охране пришлось ретироваться.

Вторая половина прошла уже веселее, народ у сцены гудел, сидящие поддакивали. Когда концерт кончился, группа попрощалась и ушла за кулисы. Несознательные зрители начали выползать из зала, а сознательные стояли и хлопали.

Через несколько минут ДДТ вернулись на сцену и сыграли 4-5 старых песен, "Родина" и.т.д. - громких, энергичных, Шевчук носился по сцене, публика орала и подпевала. Это был настоящий концерт, жалко короткий!

Пойду ли я в следующий раз на unplugged концерт? Не знаю. На настоящий несомненно пойду!

Захотелось поделиться фоткой

Лучшее вино, это пиво!

Не успел я пожаловаться на фестиваль вина, как появилось это: http://community.livejournal.com/potrebitel_il/3337636.html

Предлагаю пойти, хоть и в Тель-Авиве имах шмо

Альпы - технические детали

Напоследок, немного технических деталей.

Финансы:
358$ - Билет Тель-Авив - Лион - Тель-Авив.
400 евро - потрачено "на местах".
Из них:
67 Добраться до маршрута (50 поезд, 17 автобус)
145 Еда из супермакетов и жильё в кемпингах - "программа минимум"
13 Одна ночёвка в хате
61 Еда в ресторанах.
60 Катание на транспорте вне маршрута ТМБ.
54 сувениры.

Расстояния:
Полный круг маршрута - 170-180км, 22км перепада высот (11 вверх, 11 вниз) расписан на 12 дней. Ссылка на википедию
Мы топали 9 дней нетто сократив примерно два дня пути в Швейцарии. Думаю, что прошли 135-140км.
Для сравнения - раз в год фирма Low Alpine проводит по ТМБ забег. Длительность забега (180км по неровной местности) - максимум 48 часов, а победитель приходит за 21 час.

У меня был с собой шагомер.

День	Шаги
2	36216
3	22225
4	24232
5	27066
6	30335
7	22382
8	29776
9	32233
10*	26538
11	35475
Итого	259940

* Десятый день не включён в сумму, так как он не часть маршрута.

Если идти без рюкзаков и еды (ночевать и кушать в хижинах), то можно пройти значительно быстрее.

Общая оценка - очень понравилось!

Альбом с фотографиями (Пикасса) тут

Дни похода: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12-13]

Альпы - дни двенадцатый и тринадцатый, последние. Chamonix - Лион - Израиль

20-21.8.06


20го утром даже не стали ставить будильник. Всю ночь шёл дождь, так что утром лежали в палатке и ждали пока он кончится. На этот день был запланирован подъём на Aiguille du Midi, но было очень облачно, так что опять пол дня гуляли по магазинам. Когда в полдень подошли к подъёмнику, на нём красовалась большая надпись на шести языках: "Нулевая видимость".

Здесь видно начало подъёмника и скульптуру двух альпинистов, показывающих "полезем туды":




В городе встретили пятерых украинцев, они пока никуда не идут - ждут погоды. В пакете у них было бутылок 10. Один рассказал, что в прошлый раз у него было 3 дня и он "сбегал" на Монблан за 9 часов.
В последствии выяснилось, что это их инструктор и он проводит во Франции больше времени чем в Украине.

В 17:00 в церкви был концерт. Паше надоело после первого действия, мне после второго. Церковь простая - стены не расписаны.

Но видимо святое прекрасное физиологическое на меня повлияло, и я побежал в булочную:


На улицах города каждый зарабатывает чем умеет:

---

21го проснулись без настроения куда-либо подниматься, и хотя к 9и утра все облака исчезли и стояла отличная погода, мы поехали в Лион.



В Лионе первым делом отправились на центральную площадь в турист информейшн.

Людовик и лошадь при нем:




Поднялись к собору, который находится в верхней части города.
Вид сверху на город:




Выделяющееся здание вроде является мужским детородным муниципальным органом.

Собор снаружи:


Собор изнутри:




Святой дух так и прёт:


В соборе у меня внезапно кончились батарейки в фотоаппарате.

Дальше пошли гулять по старому городу. Меня очень впечатлили люди, таких "разноцветных" в смысле разных и ярких, я не видел с Амстердама. Для сравнения, в Шамони все относительно серые.
Ездят кто на чём. Видели парня ловко ехавшего на моно-колесе.
Абстрактные фонтаны:


Посреди города река, через неё мосты:



Паша и Софа принялись искать магазин с сувенирной колбасой. Из тех немногих, что работают в августе, они закрывались у нас перед носом: 19:00, 19:30, 20:00. В конце концов в торговом центре рядом со станцией поезда, где мы оставили рюкзаки в камере хранения, оказался открыт большой продуктовый. Приехав на автобусе к аэропорту мы увидели перед входом израилов, доваривавших остатки еды на остатках газа.

Конец похода.
Техническо-материальные детали [тут]

Альбом на который я ссылаюсь (Фламбер) тут
А смотреть удобнее (Пикасса) тут

Предыдущие дни [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11]

Альпы - день одиннадцатый. Argentier - Chamonix

19.8.06


В этот день мы опят разделились - Софа пошла в Шамони через долину, а мы с Пашей к Planpraz через Flegere. К сожалению видимость была не очень - пики напротив были скрыты туманом.
Мы немного заплутали и поэтому в начале шли не по тропе размеченной ТМБ, а просто по лесной тропинке.

Flegere. Подъёмник работает, люди ездят во всю.




Планплац издалека:




Изначально планировали подняться на более высокую точку, к Brevent-у. Это ещё 500 метров подъёма, 2 часа хода и 5 евро за спуск на подъёмнике. Но нами уже одолел אס"ק и мы просто полежали на травке у Planpraz и полюбовались видом.




Всё то время, что мы отдыхали, на отвес между Панплацом и Бревентом карабкались скалолазы.
Тот отвес который в центре (скалолазов не видно):


Спуск в подъёмнике оказался неинтересным - кабинка двигается быстро и мало что можно успеть рассмотреть. Цена - 10 евро.


Вечером гуляли по городу. Паша с Софой пошли кушать пиццу, а я провёл этот час с пользой - рассматривал сувенирные. Потом сидели за кемпинговым столом и варили местный кускус. Рядом сидели поляки и мы пытались понять одно слово из десяти. Вдруг подошла группа из 15и человек и поставила ведро на огромную горелку. Оказалось хохлы украинцы. Общалась с ними в основном Софа - я на их мове не понимал ни слова. Они приехали из Львова на минибусе, восходить на Монблан. Морды на вид половина студенческие половина хулиганские. Налили в кастрюльку перцовки и угощали весь кемпинг. Но может они неправильные украинцы? Не матерились и перцовка была не крепкой.

Карта дневного маршрута:


Продолжение следует...

Альбом на который я ссылаюсь (Фламбер) тут
А смотреть удобнее (Пикасса) тут

1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10]

Альпы - день десятый. Вылазка из Argentier к Lac d'Emosson

18.8.06


Это был разгрузочный день.
Мы выспались аж до 7:30и под шум ночной грозы, а потом с маленькими рюкзачками, в которых была только еда, поехали на поезде до границы с Швейцарией.
На остановку поезда мы пришли заранее, и поэтому до нашего поезда на перрон въехал другой. Этот поезд остановился, мы стоим рядом и всем своим видом его игнорируем, так как наш ещё через 15 минут. Из пароэлектровоза высунулся машинист и стал призывно жестикулировать, мол лезьте в вагон чурки нефранцузские. Наше "non, non" видимо не звучало достаточно убедительно. Тогда я собрал остатки словарного запаса и заявил "Нуз - енкОр треин!". Это машиниста вполне удовлетворило.

Граница на замке шлагбауме:



Когда мы вышли из поезда и сориентировались на местности, оказалось что выходить нужно было на остановку позже.
Прошли эту остановку за 20 минут, а выглядит она вот так:


Там сели на хитрый подъёмник за 32 евро. Первая часть - вагончик, который тянется тросом иногда под углом почти 80 градусов вверх:


В то время что одна кабинка едет вверх, другая едет вниз. А на пол-пути они останавливаются и сбрасывают\берут балласт. Это сделано так как трос весит несколько тон.


Вторая часть - мини-поезд, выглядящий как игрушечный, едущий по рельсам.


И наконец, третья часть, подъёмник монорельс ведущий от низа дамбы Lac d'Emosson к её верху. Подъём 110 метров, глубина искусственного озера 150 метров.
Дамба - вид снизу:


На вершине естественно находятся ресторан и маленькая церквушка.
С обзорной точки открывается вид на всю округу:


Видно, что облака ниже вершин:


Поев, и оставив Софу, которой трудно было ходить, мы с Пашей пошли по дорожке к другому, "старому" озеру Lac du Vieux Emosson. Тоже с дамбой, но не такой большой. Второе озеро находилось где-то в часу ходьбы и на 200 метров выше. Ещё в часу ходьбы, судя по указателям, находился "Динозаврий заповедник", главная достопримечательность которого - след динозавра. Туда топать мы уже не стали.

Вид на Lac d'Emosson сверху:


Панорама с обзорного пункта:


Вернулись в Argentier и закупились там в супермаркете. Вечером было достаточно времени и я наконец-то наелся до отвала!
Сварили пол пакета макарон в двух кастрюлях бульона, добавили 850и граммовую консерву сосисок с бобами, а к чаю шоколад и хлеб с вареньем. В конце я не мог сгибаться. Даст воз фантастиш!

Продолжение следует...

Альбом на который я ссылаюсь (Фламбер) тут
А смотреть удобнее (Пикасса) тут

День одинадцатый

Предыдущие дни [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9]