My Gurzuf

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July 3, 2015

My Gurzuf

By Yevdokia “Dunya” Sheremetyeva (little_hirosima)

Translated from Russian by J.Hawk

Crimea is being drenched with rain for several days now.
I’m hearing the ill-will of many wishing us “suffocating vacations”,”horrible service”, “primitive conditions.” etc.
I don’t want to even argue with them–these people don’t know Crimea. Or rather don’t want to know it.
My Gurzuf–it’s the winding lanes, it’s the roofs down to your feet, and…
Clothes lines.

It’s the artists at every turn. Everywhere and of all ages. In any weather. Stoically painting everything in sight )

And also the cats. Which are also everywhere. A city of cats.

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It’s the crumbling piers and wave-breakers from which one can dive into the sea until one turns blue. Or until mom chases you away from the water with a stick while you, teeth chattering, scream “but I’m not cold!”

It’s my favorite recreation of my childhood. Hanging off the anchor while the ship departs. You cut through the water with your feet, as if water-skiing, waiting for the moment when it’s not too late to jump off. The captain is screaming but nothing helps. All the locals in the small towns are continuing this tradition.

But sometimes the sea simply merges with the sky. And you feel like you are suspended in mid-space, as if on a spaceship.

Well? How can anyone not love this? Not worship this?

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