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The first thing that meets a traveler in winter Dublin is a man with a weathered face, wrapped in a scarf and waxed jacket, riding a bicycle and carrying a surfboard under his arm. And then another – but already on foot. And then – elderly and gray-haired, but also with a board. Dubliners (and indeed the Irish) are famous for their character. The harsh climate near the sea, eternal dampness, greenery, rocks, years of civil war and IRA terrorist attacks, poverty, economic crisis and famine taught the Irish not to complain under any circumstances, but find joy in simple things: the beach, surfboard, alcohol, long walks through green fields and sublime melancholy, which is poured here in the landscape. Continue reading
Cling to the ledge, the last spurt, and here it is, the top. Under the feet of Elba, all of Saxony in the palm. Someone in such a situation is scratching with uneven letters of joy on the stone “Oleg was here,” but not a German climber. He writes the same thing in a special notebook, which is stored at each top of Saxon Switzerland in a special box. To avoid vandalism. The Germans still order maniacs. Continue reading
On the Lima-Paracas highway, several types of policemen are waving sticks. I stop. Documents are in order, the speed did not exceed, there is nothing to fear.
“Ola!” – says one of the Peruvians, slobbering outstretched documents, climbs an unshaven face into the salon, notices a passenger in the backseat and snorts with satisfaction. Continue reading