Ukrainians in Crimea
In the Crimea, the next summer season begins, and in the motley crowd of holiday-makers again it will be easy to recognize the numerous holidaymakers from Ukraine. They look anxiously looking for traces of "occupation", marching columns of "invaders" and start at the sight of people in camouflage. However, it quickly turns out that only some drunken fishermen walk the camouflage from Alushta to Yalta.
After the first shock from the pictures of peaceful resort life, a person arriving from Ukraine needs to speak out. He speaks uncontrollably, for a long time, without stopping, expressing his opinion about what is happening in his homeland. The words “goats” and “fascists” seem to be the most decent in this synonymous series. Although some of the stories he tells make you feel indignant. You simply don’t believe that this can happen in the XNUMXst century, but you also have no reason not to believe your visiting friends.
The next step is to get acquainted with the Crimean high prices for products, which seem even higher to a visitor, since the ruble has a large number of zeros. The Ukrainian tourist squeezes and saves (he traditionally saves everywhere due to his innate thriftiness). However, now we have to treat our few finances even more carefully.
To calm you show bills for utilities, heating and other public services. You tell about your salary, and how much of it goes to pay your bills. Ukrainian friend long and intensely considers and counts, translating prices for heating at the rate of hryvnia to ruble over a dollar. At first, after stitching, and then in full voice, the Kiev government begins to obscure, which has brought its country to a bestial state, and the Ukrainians to poverty. It is followed by a second series of stories about the Ukrainian reality, this time illustrated by the prices of utilities.
Then the obligatory question about the Tatars: “What about the Tatars?” Go buy a cheburek and ask! But cheburek is expensive, it’s cheaper to ask. “Yes, the Tatars are normal: they transport, grow, sell... I saw a national holiday in a village near Bakhchisarai - no driving, no parking. I ate to my heart’s content: tender young lamb kebabs, aromatic spicy shurpa, steaming crumbly pilaf...” That’s enough, the guest implores, better tell us about gasoline prices. Yes, normal prices are a third cheaper than Ukrainian ones.
Having talked enough, the visitors eagerly watch TV. I thought they were interested in Kiselev. No, they absorb their native Russian language from the screen, from all the programs, from all the television talking heads. And on the streets there is a boundless sea of the Russian language - majestic, natural, not disturbing anyone. But the signs on the language, left over from Ukrainian times, do not irritate anyone. On the contrary, they add southern flavor.
A Ukrainian tourist eagerly examines the Crimea around him. He is looking for signs of something new - and of course he finds them: something has been built somewhere, an unusual trolleybus of a new model is moving, and there are Russian advertisements all around, and posters of wonderful artists banned in Ukraine. And he sees the old, joyfully familiar: the beloved architecture of the always crowded embankment of Yalta, the green majestic mountains, the gentle sea. In which he immerses himself with delight and is soaked in it every day, like a sponge, right up until he returns home. Where he returns at least a little rested and with a clear understanding that there is another, peaceful life.
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