Tales of an entomologist. About adventures and travel

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20.10.2010 23:45, Alexandr Zhakov

The bike is not exactly entomological, but it will be linked in the "About book prices and freebies"thread
The parable of Khoja Nasreddin and the teahouse owner (free retelling).
Khoja Nasreddin was hungry and while passing by the teahouse, he caught the aroma of fried fish, so he went to the teahouse and asked the teahouse owner how much his fried fish cost. Upon hearing the answer, Khoja realized that he would not be eating fish today. Sitting in the shade next to the teahouse, he took out a stale flatbread from his bag and began to chew it with his eyes closed, inhaling the aroma of fried fish and imagining that he was eating this fragrant fish. A teahouse owner was watching him. Having satisfied his hunger, he got up and decided to continue on his way, but the teahouse owner stopped him.
- Khoja Nasreddin, you ate a flatbread and smelled the aroma of my fried fish. You have to pay me for this.
"Very well," said Nasrudin, and he took out the money and began to pour it from hand to hand.
"I've smelled your fish, and you can take the clink of my coins for it."

Likes: 10

23.11.2010 20:45, гундоров

1996-Philippines.Mindonao Island, Cagayan de Oro city.We were just the two of us-we stayed in a cheap hotel first in the city center-I went to the bank to change money.A couple of guards with guns are standing at the entrance to the banks.I went into the common room, where the clerks were sitting at their desks.I gave $ 100 to change to pesos-the exchange rate was about 27 per pupaar-a Filipino man of about fifty is sitting-the computer is working,
phone calls are distracting in the hall-he counted out 27 thousand pesos to me (as for $ 1000 and says goodbye.I paid him back $ 900 in pesos.My uncle was sweating and crying.I went to the hotel and told my partner.He said we'd still be tied up if I didn't return the money.The city has only a million people.White people are few.

Likes: 1

26.11.2010 17:05, гундоров

From 6.08.09 my message-from the messages of many people phrases, stories.

Guys
It may be possible to publish our stories for free.There is no question of any kind of commerce.First, I suggest using separate phrases in the form of a title-related to tourism and travel:
1. I went to Lake Baikal. Ohrenel two times: from nature and from a reserved seat compartment.

2. I really liked the Moscow Zoo. We stayed there with our son for two weeks.

3. A girl is looking for a couple for a trip to Tugulym to visit her parents for life.

4. Russians! Let's go to Bulgaria for a vacation all at once! It'll be fun.

5. Rafted on the Chupsovaya river. Get high! When passing the thresholds, however,
takes away the cups, but if you tie them, then the buzz!

6. On Sunday, we decided to go to the Trampoline Park with the children. We paid 500
rubles for each ticket, and then we arrived. A real scam! I recommend it to everyone.

7. Hotel ?Shershe al fam? in Egypt - fancy, but for some reason on the 2nd and
5th floors shat in front of the elevator... And updated all the time! Maybe this
is a special trick to make the Russians feel at home?

8. Vacationing in India with my chick. I don't recommend it. A whimsical hysteric.

9. Moscow region sanatorium ?Mushroom Russia? - for real mushroom pickers! Mushrooms
grow right in the room!

10. While flying to Spain, I lost my car and apartment at cards, got drunk with grief
and lost my digital camera. So see my photos from last year's anniversary of the company
here.

11. We arrived the day before yesterday, either in Pedrum, or in Natalia, a
Turkish hotel, they say, 5 stars, all the bells and whistles, breakfast and lunch, massages-I don't
know, I haven't been yet. The main thing is that there is an Internet connection, it loads in one fell swoop, the layout
is Russian, computers with holes for flash drives and a DVD cutter are all included. ?Asya?
established, games are different, - in short, I'm having a good time, I recommend it to everyone!

12. How we got drunk on the plane to Thailand, watch here! How we got drunk in
Thailand, watch here! How we got drunk on the plane from Thailand, watch
here! How we're drinking right now, watch here!

13. Bought a donkey tour of Afghanistan. Very satisfied. Everything was as
promised in the travel agency - and the donkey, and the dust, and the poverty of the locals is beyond
praise!

14. Did you go on a tour ?all inclusive? for 900 bucks. AND I DRANK AT 2300,
REALLY, GUYS!

15. We had a great rest in Nepal! If you want, you climb seven thousand meters, if you want
, you sleep in a crevice. Minus - there is no food and children's slides.

16. I had to turn on the lights and TV myself, and I also had to wash them off in the toilet!
And that's for $ 800! And they said-all inclusive!

To raise your mood.Send your stories-the topic is good-fascinating, not sad.

Likes: 3

29.11.2010 19:59, Penzyak

The other day, Mikhail Shcherbakov (our Penza Dersu was located in the south-west of the region) came here. Over a glass of tea, we remembered the past summer, the search for insects, Bikmurzino, pioneers, trips, fishing, kebabs (see the summer post in this branch with photos of night fishing + a branch about blestyanki). He told a cautionary tale...

Unforgettable 90-ies, the Ministry of Emergency Situations appeared and they were obliged to raise the prestige of the service "in their spare time..." to study with schoolchildren...
Imagine: summer, heat, a field tent camp of young mchesov members on the edge of a forest near the river bank in the Russian hinterland... The beauty is indescribable...
Morning formation. Before the formation of sleepy youngsters, the head of the camp goes and gives TSU for the next day...
"So we have a SURVIVAL SCHOOL today!!!
The pioneers stare at each other, scratch their turnips, and squint angrily at the "pack leader" who is completely stunned by the heat.
- "Vo, damn hit... Che, this time we will search-collect - and then they will also make us eat... Ugh, it's disgusting - so that he eats it himself... "
The boss thought about it and said:
- "So-today we catch frogs! Who caught, fried and ate the most - that and the best candidate in the Ministry of Emergency Situations!"
The pioneers grimaced, spat, and laughed at their plumpest friend-like, " I wonder how much a frog can fit into it...???"
After wandering around the camp, the young naturalists armed with what they could scattered around the neighborhood to fish...
If the head of the camp knew what events a not quite adequate order would cause...

A local fisherman sits on the shore fishing, suddenly sees a kid scratching along the shore, trying to hit the stunned frogs with a club... Not having had time to light another gypsy, sees another schoolboy catching a frog in shallow water (in a jump)...

Molodukhi swim in the river, lo and behold:
- "And the city" small fry from the camp " rave fishing, take it out to the bay and not paying attention to the small fish that beats in the matna - starts beating with wild screams ... the frog! Here's the cross!!"

Grannies in a forest clearing were picking berries. Suddenly they hear wild screams, and lo and behold, two pioneers run out into the clearing and beat something with sticks in the grass with maddened faces! Old women from sin on snags in the bushes and in the village...

The shepherd drove the flock to the stream, to drink - lo and behold the smoke, comes closer and almost swallowed the gypsy-a stick hangs over the fire and a dozen frogs are roasting on it ...

It was getting late... Young friends of nature are already all in the camp, counting the catch, neighing like horses, a civil dinner is being cooked over the fire in a cauldron. And then something started happening... Local walkers came from the surrounding villages: some with a saucepan, some with a bag, some with a jar, bucket, etc. Completely stunned, the camp commander was tormented by bowing and thanking the peasants for the FOOD! It turned out that "word of mouth" spread such terrible stories about "starving urban pioneers - from that camp..." that the compassionate Russian people dragged food for a week...
The next day everyone was ill from gluttony... So that the good was not lost, the surplus was handed over to hungry tourists passing by on kayaks, since they managed to partially drown and partially wet the food the day before...

This post was edited by Penzyak - 30.11.2010 12: 23

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Likes: 9

28.12.2010 1:13, Wild Yuri

The story of the past summer from the Primorsky Territory teeming with informals...

DARTH VADER

I wanted to visit Russian Island, where there are luxurious coves framed by forest and nice butterflies, and here I am on a ferry going to it from Vladivostok. Leaning on the rail, I look at the picturesque "swirling" water overboard.

Romantic mood. Life is good! Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I see a strange shadow... and I turn around. Black cloak, face of death… This is Darth Vader! Prince of Destruction from George Lucas ' Star Wars movie.
I decided to take a walk on the deck. Swim in the bays. An aquatube protruded from under Vader's helmet, and he had flippers on his feet.
I almost fell overboard with fright, but I realized that this was a reconstruction. There is such a youth trend. Who goes as a knight in armor, who is the tsar and cosmonaut… And he must be a Star Wars nut. Made a copy of Darth Vader!

He stands at the rail and looks into the distance.
– some aunt is indignant. – How did they get him on the ferry?" Maybe he's a terrorist… What is this ...
- This is Darth Vader! - my granddaughter happily reports. "He blew up the planet!"
"My God..." the woman crosses herself.
The ferry continues on its way.

After disembarking, Darth Vader stomps to the bus. Some children are happy, others are afraid. The passengers remain impenetrably silent.
I decide to go out where Darth Vader is and see what happens next.

Taking off his fins and putting on his running shoes, he quickly stomps towards the bay. Just me behind him...
he looks around. He pulls out a huge pistol and points it at me.
"Tell me, buddy," he trumpets in cinematic, " why are you following in my footsteps?"
I know that a gun is also a reconstruction, but ... what if it shoots?
"Uh... I want to go for a swim somewhere." Can you tell me the way to the cove?"
– Ha-ha-ha! Now you will bathe in your own blood!
Darth Vader will raise his gun…
Mom, what if this isn't a movie?!
A trickle of water spurts out of the gun.

"Ha-ha-ha..." a handsome young man says, smiling, taking off the helmet of Darth Werder.
- Anton. That's how I joke, so that life was not boring! I used to be Batman. He rode a motorcycle in a long raincoat and bat-wing mittens. But this is cooler. Superdrive!
We're heading for the bay. Anton tells us how he made the costume. This is the third one. The first one was taken away by the cops, the second-by drunken hooligans in Vladik.
"And you… Don't you consider yourself a bully? I ask a provocative question.
"I think so. One lady almost had a heart attack a month ago… But these are small things. There are many more advantages! People are freer and easier to relate to life, seeing such heroes.

He went to a secluded beach of his own. I stayed on "general".
He really is a hero, I thought after him. Darth Vader. Episode 1. No wars.

Happy New Year to all! To be scared only in the movies!

Likes: 5

28.12.2010 17:28, Wild Yuri

Here's another story from last summer...

CHEATING ON MILKY WAY

An Italian man came to visit me on an entomological tour. We rode with Marco (that was his name) on the train to the place of excursion, and I racked my brain: what will I feed him all the days? Italians are fastidious, you need some special dishes...
A pie vendor appeared in the car. Marco became interested and decided to buy a pie. Oh no! I was dismayed, considering our pies "terrible" for the European taste, and began to dissuade him from buying.
He begged… He wanted to try what they eat in Russia. And I had to give in. The Italian did not eat the pie on the train, as we usually do, but wrapped it in a napkin and hid it in a backpack.

When we arrived at the guest house and began to eat, Marco took out a pie, cut it into pieces,and began to prick them with a fork.
I was sure he was about to choke on the "bad" taste. But the Italian... began to praise him!
- Yuri, for years of traveling around the world, I have never eaten anything tastier! What is the name of this wonderful dish?
"Uh... pie."
– Pirezhek… Pire ...
he repeated the name three times and even wrote it down in his travel notebook.
I was surprised by this curtsy and thought that my guest was just "joking". But when, on our way to another excursion, we boarded the train again, the Italian once again stopped the saleswoman and bought a second "pirezhek"!
I wrapped it up in a napkin again, put it in my backpack, and ate it at dinner the same way I did at lunch. He again admired the taste of the "dish" and the simplicity of its recipe: dough and cabbage inside…

I realized now that Marco wasn't joking. I was surprised. Now I took a different look at Russian cuisine. It turns out that our food is simple: a pie with cabbage is not inferior to the "cool", in the understanding of many, Western. It turns out that the pie is delicious, and I don't have to worry about recipes for Italian and foreign guests.
I slept well that night. The next day I fed the Italian borscht and pancakes. Later I cooked okroshka and jelly. Marco ate everything with great gusto, praising the dishes and writing down their names in a notebook.
After he left, I suddenly..... I stopped putting milky Way in my backpack. From now on, I buy and enjoy eating a large, weighty cabbage pie on the train. Delicious!

Let's drink to Russia on New Year's Eve!

Likes: 14

Likes: 10

29.12.2010 11:23, Yakovlev

As proof, my old sketch about kvass.

A word about kvass or the psychology of the unconscious

On a hot day in June, a funny Japanese man named Yoshimi-san burst into Dima's and my life (no, rather entered, slowly, stealthily). A child of World War II, a son of progress and high technology, a victim of the Japanese way of thinking, he landed at Barnaul Airport and came out to us. We proudly held a chart over our heads, where Yosimi Kohayakawa was written in blood-red letters of the Latin alphabet. His fear of being lost in a crowd of Japanese-faced Russians was so great that our companion obliged us to adorn ourselves with this slogan. We met and found each other for a fun 10-day trip.
The "Konnichi-va" sung by Uma Thurman was said and quickly, for lack of further linguistic abilities, was changed to"Hello". His English, where most of the consonants were missing, was excellent. Dima admired ...
the apotheosis of our relationship and the pivotal moment of Japanese perception of Russian reality was the word about kvass, a word that became a legend.
In Srostki, in order to surprise Yoshimi with Russian cooking, we bought pies and kvass. Homemade, cold, and delicious food. The Jap stared long and hesitantly at the cloudy liquid in his glass, then tasted it, then tasted it.
"What is it?"
- Kvasok, Yoshimi, kvasok. Russian Pepsi.
- Ahh..., - and again
He drinks to the mug, so he wipes his sawyere.
- How is it produced? – asked, raised on robotics resident of the metropolis.
"Out of bread," Dimych said, not realizing that he was letting the genie out of the bottle.
- Bread?
- Bread.
- Bread?
- Bread!
- BREAD???
"Brad, Brad, for fuck's sake..."
Just some nonsense...
The Japanese man fell into a long trance. The motionless posture, the half-closed eyes, the general relaxation of the body indirectly indicated the intense work of the mind. Sweat broke out on his forehead, small drops as cold as May dew. My fists clenched.
And we sit and think, well ... we've arrived, we've ruined the elder.
Then Dimka, a bright head, saw the reason for all this nonsense.
"You," he says, " Roma, think about it. This is a man-made race, fathers and children of robots, computers and DVD players. They have a computer in their head, the algorithms are solid.
It was beginning to sink in.
- So he thinks about how the finished product can be a raw material. Why can't you take flour and yeast and make kvass out of them? Why bread only, again mysterious not only the Russian soul, but also the original Russian technology.
Yoshimi came to his senses… Apparently, he realized that the common yard can not be measured, the brain can not understand. Got it. Not immediately, of course.
A day later, in the Aktash area, we bought a bottle of kvass specially for Yoshimi, but not home-made, but such a factory-made one packed in poltorashka. We, of course, did not say that this is golimaya chemistry, but simply explained in an accessible way – that, they say, it was home-made kvass, and this is factory-made.
Yoshimi grunted with pleasure, drank, but his brain kept working, finding all the missing links, restoring the technological chain from the very beginning. Kvass undoubtedly had a stimulating effect:
- I understand that these kvass factories bake bread EARLY in the morning.
Well, they understood that by the evening the kvass was already infused...
here they would finish, but no. Marina, the legal wife of the driver, the cook and the pennant of our expedition, had the final say:
- Cho, you're torturing my uncle.
Laughter, mad as the cry of a wounded rhinoceros, rang out in the valley of Dima's laughter:
- Yes, we will definitely tell him now that kvass is made exactly like this: in the morning they bake bread, by noon it is dried in the sun (on cloudy days factories and private artels are idle), in the evening it is soaked again, and by midnight Russians start drinking kvass.
Yoshimi watched our noisy argument from under half-closed lids. His fingers, as thin as the segments of an elegant insect, trembled ...

Likes: 18

Likes: 1

30.12.2010 18:37, Penzyak

You say...
Well, for the holiday, drinks are mostly hot and fun... I remembered one expedition in which, instead of the expected July heat, we were caught in incessant rains, dampness and a nasty cold ...
Of course, we had" fire water "with us, but despite the stupefying heat and relaxation at the forest lake, and under the fish and shish kebab, the emphasis was placed on the" mineral balance " (that is, beer). Incessant rain, camp idleness, ubiquitous dampness... In general, a week later, in the vestibule of the tent, not even unpacked beer packages were standing forlornly, and the head of the camp poured warming and hot (literally) vodka only one hundred grams for lunch and dinner... But, then we remembered that soon a friend was supposed to come to us from the "mainland" and he would definitely bring us what we needed! Moreover, on the day of his arrival, Viktorovich went to the top of Gorushka for a planned connection with civilization and Igor asked to bring us a hot drink... At dinner, pouring the last bottle, we ask the boss:
- "Viktorych, did you tell Igor SPECIFICALLY that we need VODKA"!?
"Is he a fool or something..."
In the morning, Vitka and I caught live bait and went fishing-good perch in connection with the cold snap was caught well, just fine! By lunch, with a rich catch, we return to the camp. Even from a distance, we see Viktorovich walking around the camp dejectedly... At our silent question, he spat angrily and went to the fire to cook his famous cabbage soup...
Looking into the dressing room of the tent, we see that the reserves of our "mineral balance" have increased by another pack of beer...

This post was edited by Penzyak - 12/30/2010 18: 38

31.12.2010 12:05, Yakovlev

Dear friends! Happy New Year! And once a holiday means you can have a drink and a snack. And my last bike this year, as well as time is dedicated to this. Health to all!

We will
write this little story almost impossible on a sober head and, apparently, incorrectly, but the risk is noble, we will try.
You sit there and think about it. What's the first thing that comes to mind? It's hard to decide like this. It is possible that a homemade pepper pot caught fire in the spring, snow-covered Aktash taiga. An interesting trip – we left early in the first days of May to find the Altai tenedius. Yura Perunov brewed pepper flakes "just in case of fire". The fireman happened tomorrow, when the snow front hopelessly melted the sky with hopeless lead. The tent sagged under a thirty-centimeter thickness of snow, instead of spring, we rolled back into winter, and it was really cold. When they got out the next day, the frozen fishermen reported that it was minus seventeen at night. And then we crawled out of the sagging tent into the thick snow, like partridges from a snowdrift, the New Year's weather did not coincide with the mood. Dressed rather warmly, we were still not prepared for such an ordeal. Yuri woke up very early, apparently his side was frozen very hard and was walking from side to side, burning an endless smoky bonfire. Tired of walking back and forth, and finally desperate to keep warm on his own, he pushed me aside and threw me out into the cold, splashing a yellow, fragrant liquid into the mugs. Wide flat-bottomed aluminum mugs stood on the stump, and mine was easy, but Perunovskaya did not want to come off, frozen solid. This amused us greatly, and when he knocked away the unyielding container with a stone, we clinked glasses and ...
the icy swill burned our mouths and exploded in a myriad of fiery sparks in our stomachs, each of them carrying the long-awaited warmth. Warm Uzbek pepper together with pure immaculate alcohol in the frozen taiga. And the fire burned brighter, and three layers of clouds stopped running. We moved closer to the fire and added more.
Another cold summer, Andrey, Lyosha Maryin, our guide Kasym and I were sitting in a barrack near the famous Teply Klyuch Pass. Endless tundra expanses, silence broken only by the wind and noise of Zhumala. Kasym recounted Hilary's Everest book close to the text, interspersed with lyrical digressions:
- I really want to go to Tibet, it's terribly hard there, but that's what I need.
The amazing Kazakh, with whom we spent three difficult seasons, became a good friend to us, some force forced him to leave his homes, he left everything and went on a journey. Difficult for rural mountaineers to understand, it deserved a lot of ridicule. So he disappeared into the next campaign, disappeared from the eyes of the Jazator shepherds, and did not answer my letters sent to his home in Zyryanovsk. Kasym sat and spoke, Andrey squeezed black ice water out of a keda, Lyosha argued with Kasym about the benefits of mummies, I shifted the endless eneis and klossians collected during the day and thought about why strawberries don't grow on Ukok. I just wanted strawberries. Our peaceful evening, the wind and the splash of the upper Zhumala river was blocked by the hum of a car. It is worth saying that the border lawns and the Urals were passed there with great difficulty at that time, and that the sound of a passenger car seemed almost unreal to us. Our long-suffering horses cut their ears and froze. Because of the hillock with the maximum possible speed (4 kilometers per hour), a broken field crawled out. It took her half an hour to cross a small swampy clearing, and when she reached the barracks, she stopped. The doors opened and, like in a fairy tale, people began to come out and fall out. 12 people is certainly not the limit for Niva, but it was enough to surprise us. Dating and fraternization began, a young Altai woman immediately began feeding the baby in the icy wind, the men who were more sober went to cook a rookery in the barn, the veterans sat down to dinner and talk. Arrived to be treated from Ortolyk. They came to radon to indulge, to drink, they brought a six-month-old cub, a legless old man, a whole gang of dark, shy women in headscarves.
Our attention was drawn to a mobile boy, very similar in appearance and habits to the idol of those years, Michael Jackson. Jackson got to know us, and was most involved in helping disabled people, nursing mothers, and the driver. A business guy. When most of the resort guests found sleep on smelly sheepskins and nightmares, when the cub stopped crying, we still sat and admired the huge stars of the incredible Ukok sky. Ruined the evening undoubtedly, but what to do, it happens.
Then our Ortolik Jackson came out of the barn like a shadow, came over, sat down, and stared at the stars for a long time.
- Maybe we'll have a drink, guys, - suggested Michael.
- There's nothing, - Kasym answered briefly, and he thought, no doubt: "If it were, do you think they would pour it."
The twenty-fifth day in the field had depleted our supply of sugar, food, and vodka – a stingy diet and constant light hunger unnerved us.
- Yes, I have, - said the boy and went to the barracks, after a couple of minutes quietly came out. In his hand were two bottles of plain Bulgarian breadcrumbs.
"Will you have one?" I can't drink vodka, I can't drink alcohol, but I respect wine, " Jackson said, and stared up at the sky.
And here we sit and a light cool stream of grape juice, grown somewhere under Shipka, quenches our thirst, slightly pricks the tongue with thin blades of alcohol. The horses slept standing up, Zhumaly sang an endless quiet song, and we looked at the cold, close sky and quietly sipped Kadarka or someone's hut, I don't remember. All I know is that I'll never taste this wine again. Or any of us.
Our brother does not sit still, and in the next early open season, on May 4, we hid in the shadow of the UAZ and listened to the forecast.
- In Delhi +42.
Thank God it's hotter somewhere. And we are not far from the huge Balkhash. It beckoned me since high school, remember, a strange lake, half on the map is blue, half is blue. That's how it is, violating all the laws of diffusion, and stretched out among the huge reed jungle in the south of Kazakhstan. The sands are all around, and there's a turtle wandering around, leaving a chain of footprints on the dune.
The race to Bakanas was a complete success, the floor of a box of Tien Shan beer is ringing in the box on the table behind. The camp is broken, the sun is at its zenith, the clouds are still in Russia. Our whole little party sat down at the van, some on a high chair, some on a herbarium press. Misted bottles pleasantly cool your hands, delicious, how great. Beads of sweat stand out on his forehead. Herman squints at the sun that hits his eye and blows away the foam. Antoniuk starts one of the most unfunny of his endless collection of unfunny jokes. Beer is drunk slowly, you can not rush. The cold wind of the Tien Shan blows over our fried faces, and even the picky Smirnov praises:
- Normal beer.
It's a long day, siesta. The hand reaches for the second one.
- Let's be healthy!
- We will!

Likes: 7

31.12.2010 15:56, taler

Bike about "bianzin"
After leaving Mae Sa (who has been, he knows), there was even more corn.The winding road with steep ascents and descents(corresponding signs were present), did not give any chance to stop and even more so to set up camp.The corn was a solid fence right where the asphalt ended.The ridiculous Suzuki SUV I'd raped right down to first gear and connecting the second axle was choking,twitching,snorting, and still going uphill at extremely low speed, threatening to roll back every time.
Climbing on ocherenuyu top again saw the hated corn.The Jeep, rejoicing in the descent, tried to regain our trust in it, began to rush and was constantly restrained by me-too high, the track can also be brought in as "mother-in-law's tongue".
Cars overloaded with cabbage were constantly coming to the meeting.Real "cabbage traffic".Papis once again started saying that it was time for the Thais to master the creeping clover,and they would have something to grow,and we would have plenty of space.
However, the corn was getting smaller,and there were slopes with cabbage growing on them.Cabbage, you know, is not corn-much lower, but still not a creeping clover.The mood slowly began to improve.But then Suzuki said it was time to refuel.And all along we came across individual huts and not a single gas station.At the entrance to the village of Ban Pang Kiya, an aboriginal man of 70+years met.I spoke to him in English about gasoline-zero by weight.The good news was that the Thai didn't mind contact with the Farangs.I asked him dejectedly in Russian -
"is there any gas?" - and, lo and behold, the Thai's eyes answered with understanding, and his mouth repeated -
" bianzin?!Bianjing is
there!""
"Dalyako, dalyako!"
I was confused as to whether he understood me or was working on a voice recorder.
"Where?" -and pointed in a direction-one down the road and the other in the opposite direction from where we came from.To our regret,Grandpa pointed in the opposite direction.Since we didn't encounter anything like this all along the way,it was decided to take the "language" with us."Language" did not resist.
They crawled in the opposite direction.Papis started a conversation with the tongue about nothing.The dictaphone was already bothering me.But from the look of it (the voice recorder), it was fun to repeat farang's funny words after Papis.We drove 15-20 kilometers.I was getting impatient,and the light bulb was no longer blinking,but was constantly on.The prospect of being stuck in the wilds didn't sit well with me.I expressed my dissatisfaction out loud.The native sometimes liked to repeat after me.Suddenly I saw an animal on the road-either a turtle or a lizard.He stopped.He came up.Elongated,about 30 centimeters.Elongated carapace, rather long tail, head like an agama.Papis and the trophy also got out.We held a consultation, the good thing is, zhivotina was in no hurry to retreat.However, Papis ' camera refused to take pictures of the reptile.I ask a local, like, who is this, glidish, maybe knows, tea delicacy-
" well, what is it?Lizard or turtle?"
"Yashcharetsaa ilya chyarpaha" the interpreter calmly replied.Well, I didn't expect to hear any other answer from him.I suggested that Papis throw off the ballast here, in the company of a mutant.But Papis liked his new friend, and he was absolutely against it.To my further questions, " how much longer to go?", the friend happily repeated my words, sometimes losing a word.
Okay, let's move on.Half an hour later, Grandpa began to fuss.He began to babble something in his own way,but the word "bianzin" could be guessed.However, there was nothing like this in the limited horizon.Papisu said that if he decided to run away, I would move.Grandpa quickly jumped out of the car and ran to the trees,and I ,squeezing the last of the wheelbarrow, ran after him.And I saw a pretty good house behind the trees.Even if there is no gas, we will hang out not on the road, but in the house.A rather grimy young woman jumped out to dedku.They began to chatter, gesturing and pointing in our direction.Then they came up and gestured that there was a bianzin ,but there was no key.I was determined, asked again where the gas was,so that I could see the object of hacking.
And ... just Kin-dza-dza!Mr. Pae-jae's last breath!An inconspicuous booth, more like a kiosk, according to the gestures of the aborigines, was a fuel storage facility!
In short, having understood my and Papis ' intentions to crack, the key was found very quickly.And it didn't matter to me what kind of "bianzin" they pour into me,or how much it costs.

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02.01.2011 17:05, slava penza

nowadays, in the era of rapid development of science, technology and technologyin villages, it is increasingly common to believe in wizards and witches, rather than in the fact that one of their fellow villagers collects and catches butterflies.
here are 2 old stories, 2006 on April 30, on the edge of the village I lit a lamp and catch butterflies, I have a white net, a white jacket, a white sheet and a white light... and around the dark night...
on the eve there was a religious holiday, which I don't remember now, three grandmothers are walking at half past 12, on the other side of the ravine, they need to come here, they are probably visiting somewhere for a while, I know them perfectly well, they also know me, but they don't recognize me, they stop and start talking about the messenger of Satan, sorcerers and long wonder what it conjures, what kind of evil spirits waving something white, after half an hour with the words, Christ will not let us offend went a detour, I rewound the extension cord, I sit smoking in front of the house, in the direction where I conjured, there is a crowd of young people, apparently to expel evil spirits, and there's no one there anymore...
and toko one guy expressed the opinion that it is glory that catches butterflies. that's how it happens
in the same summer I put cups in the forest, and tied pieces of bandages on the branches above them, for a mark, in the future, one old woman collecting mushrooms was surrounded by diabolical marks, barely got out of this hellish maze)))

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16.01.2011 22:52, Wild Yuri

Stories... More like an essay here! Here's another one. A big message about the whole tour.

BEETLES AND GERMANS

I meet two Germans at the Vladivostok airport. Collect beetles. I will be the guide of their two-week collector's tour in Primorye.
The car. Driver. We are going to the taiga, where my friend lives, who is ready to "accommodate" us for the days of the tour...
"Stephie," I ask one of the Germans, " do u vish tu kollekt kallipogon?" (Do you want to catch a callipogon?) - the king of local beetles, a particularly rare and very large (8-10 cm!) species of them. (I'll show you the place!)
Stephie rolls her eyes and stays with them until they get in the car.
The second entomologist, Kari, is naturally deaf and mute. Stephie writes to him in her notebook: "Sallipogon!!!" Kari almost jumps up, kisses her pinched fingers and gives an exalted thumbs-up.
Yeah, I really would like to catch it... A lot of collectors will come to me later!
The Germans are tall and slender. Real... Stephie has long hair tied back with a rubber band. Karl has short hair.
Large backpacks. An expedition...

The friend to whom we are going has fled from the city to a settlement in the forest. Lives alone. 7 kilometers from the village, there is a primer...
But we're still at Vladivostok, and Stephie says stop! He points to the department store.
"Umbrella! Ai nid umbrella!
He needs an umbrella. No problem. Let's go buy.
Umbrellas on sale are black and colored... But Stephie is interested in white!
– ??
He explains that the umbrella is used for catching beetles. Go to the tree. Reveal... Turn it upside down with the "roof". And-stick to the branches! The beetles are falling... Into the umbrella. You can clearly see them on a white background...
There is no umbrella of this color in the store. There is a pink one. Glamorous. With a long stack...
Stephie nods in the affirmative. - Rosen umbrella okay!
I can imagine the long-haired guy sauntering through the woodlands with an umbrella like that. Kari has some kind of clever "fan" in general. Loggers can't stand it...
But the guest is adamant. I give up.
Not again!.. After leaving the store, the Germans plow open the tools and attack the front garden. They beat the bushes with sticks, shake the trees... The population doesn't understand. The local drunk covers his eyes with his hands...
Police Tula looms in the distance. I barely get the Germans into the car, and we continue on our way.

Here we are. A tall wooden house in a clearing in the forest. The owner swings in the hammock.
– Well, where else can you swing under a 300-year-old lime tree? It's worth leaving the city just for that! he says thoughtfully.
An old hollow linden tree with so many beetles in it. Stephie puts her ear to it. Isn't someone scratching?
– No need... The landlord takes him by the shoulder.
He leads Stephie to the woodpile. The Germans forget about the tree and start quickly dismantling the woodpile...
And – the first trophy! Kari shakes a small gold coin in the air and even ... kisses it.
The owner is peaceful and happy.
It's really nice that he left the city. Here, right next to the house, butterflies flutter and beetles crawl, it is surrounded by an old forest, landscapes... And what is the water and air here! And it all belongs to him. He swings in a hammock on the island of Eden, in the midst of an over-populated and poisoned" civilization " world.
After finishing with the wood, the Germans go deeper into the forest. Peel off the bark from the dead wood, "hilling" branches…
They don't notice paradise. They need beetles!

The bungalow has 3 floors, it is made of fir timber, with a maroon "hut" of metal tiles... The house is more high than wide, and from a distance resembles a boletus.
It doesn't have linoleum. Wallpaper. Plastic panels. Siding... Smooth light wood and a subtle aroma of resin. Silence... And only the owl squeaks at night on the hill and the leaves of the trees rustle.
How can you sleep here? You get four hours ' sleep at night, and eight hours aren't enough in the city... And I understand why the 50-year-old owner is so cheerful and young in his eyes. And in the city he was ill... He doesn't like to think about the city.
He invites us to dinner. At a table, under the trees and with a" picture " of the slope. We are waiting for okroshka from birch kvass. And ...
- Rush whiskey!
The owner pours everyone a glass of oak-bark-infused moonshine. The Germans are afraid to try... At home, they are taught that alcohol is dangerous in Russia.
- Strange whiskey... (Strange whiskey). Bat (no) hood... Veri good!
They drink to the bottom. It's nice that the Germans liked our old Russian drink.
If, of course, you do it right...
We eat okroshka. We have another drink... You can live like this!

The next day I visit with the Germans the outskirts of the village, which is 7 kilometers from home. There, according to the owner (it's time to introduce him: Sergey), he saw a big black barbel. Stephie thought it was Gotchi. They are very interested in this species!
We go out to one of the farmsteads. Dogs bark. The Germans are sneaking up on the firewood...
They are laid out on the grass, examined. Karl digs through the manure with a shovel... Dogs go crazy.
This is the owner...
- Lux kafer (beetle)! Wow! Stephie mutters, holding a pink umbrella under her arm and looking at the log. Kari continues to dig up the manure.
"Are you going fishing?"
What an unruffled people we have! And then: we've seen enough...
- Yes! - for some reason I'm lying. Well, I don't want to talk about entomology for the hundredth time.
"Yeah." And where did you come from?
- From Vladik...
Kari suddenly picks a copra out of the dung and points her thumb at the sky: "Good! Good!"
-I'm really glad... Does it bite well?
On the next farmstead, without dogs or a fence, the Germans are hanging sticks around a recently faded plum tree. The ovary pours out... I barely get them out on the road.

In a week we are going to another district of the region. The taiga is much wilder here. Large trees in candelabra lianas. Tiger tracks... This is where the Callipogon mentioned at the beginning of the story lives. About half the size of your hand. The monster! I even feel a little cold inside when I imagine myself reaching out to him...
Ski base. The trailer. Our new home. I cook food on a camping gas stove, and the Germans go into the forest on a field trip.
They return in euphoria. Found it! The tree from which Callipogons were bred! Half-dried elm, with huge holes...
– Maybe a woodpecker? I ask Stephie.
He shakes his index finger in front of his face with a Mona Lisa smile. The bug!
Most often, callipogon finds itself at night. The Germans decide to spend the night near the tree to catch it for sure. I don't believe in success, but I can't leave my guests in the woods for long, so I go with them.
All night the Germans are on duty at the tree, put their ear to it and light it with lanterns.
Alas, the beetles did not appear...
The next morning, Stephie borrowed an axe from the base guard... The Germans want to cut down the beetles or at least their larvae from the "substrate". I let them go alone. The sound of an axe fills the area...
The Germans are returning with two Callipogon larvae!! Cream "sausages" with speckles, as I once saw in the photo... Them!
Stephie put the larvae in a bag of tinder to keep the beetles out during the tour or at home. But not fate ... him... I crushed them by putting the bag in my backpack.
Wrong German. He was sad. But later he admitted that he was still very happy. He held in his hands, albeit in the larval stage, his cherished dream!

The next day, fate gave him compensation. Stephie and I went exploring in a nearby ravine. Kari stayed behind to collect beetles from the base.
There were many clearings in Raspadka, and each one had tents and trailers for mobile apiaries. We ask beekeepers about the giant beetle...
Of course you did! Two years ago. Enough! Some showed the size of two palms.
And this year is not the season...
One of the beekeepers brings a bottle of mead.
We are tasting... Balsam!
Beekeepers have a good job. You sit in a clearing, admire the world, pour... and you collect beetles.
I was dreaming. A bee hovers over me. They don't seem to like redheads...
And the beekeeper reports that he saw another beetle here recently. The blue bark beetle! As long as a matchbox and a mustache like that...
Stephie almost choked on his drink.
- Das ist... Rosalia!..
A beetle the color of morning azure. Another rarity and a coleopterist's dream.
What if he's here? And Stephie rushes to inspect the apiary territory. Walks around tree trunks, hits branches...
The bees are worried. I urge him to leave the search and move on.

– I want (emphasis on the first syllable) blue juke! Stephie says, slightly tipsy, to the owners of the next apiary.
They are silent thoughtfully, looking at the pink umbrella...
We continue walking along the road. Apiaries are running out. Lawn. Tall grass, bushes...
I hear the German mutter behind
me... Das ist!
I turn around... rosalia is in his hand!! He is surprised, he blinks his eyes, sits down on the grass and looks at the trophy as if it is a "glitch".
Stephie saw a blue patch on the shrubbery. I thought it was a berry. Fits... And she has a mustache!..
I congratulate the collector. It was a great day!
On the way back, Stephie shows the beekeepers the blue bark beetle stain.
- Collection of zis! (Catch it!)
"And I'm his boot.".. - says someone thoughtfully.
Beekeepers are constantly fighting pests. Beetles are trampled or nailed to trees. I myself saw two nails, 7 cm apart, with which the kallipogon was nailed a week ago. Eaten by birds...

The Germans want to save money, let the tour driver go "free", and we go back to Sergey by train. Then 7 kilometers on foot...
Late evening. Dark village. Stephie pulls out a flashlight... Kari hesitates. He writes on a piece of paper from his notebook: "Taxi!"
Pedantic people. I wouldn't have guessed it... Taxi service! Um... I knock on the door of the nearest house and ask the owner where I can find it... some wheels for taking tourists "up the mountain".
The owner is drunk. Joking:
"Can't you walk?" Tourists to me... I don't have a car. Go to Petrukha...
We go to the house of our neighbor Peter, which is opposite.
"Oh, Rousseau turisto!.. Germano? What, really?! The car is under repair...
He looks at us cheerfully and offers to spend the night with him. And in the morning we'll figure something out...
"His moonshine is delicious... my neighbor whispers in my ear.
The Germans are gloomy. They do not want to communicate with "incomprehensible" local residents, and in general they came for...
With great difficulty, we retreat to the street.

And yet on foot...
Kari pulls a map out of her backpack. On it... tiger habitat points in Primorye are marked! One near this village. Kari points at it, and I understand why he doesn't want to go... Well, pedants! I explain to the Germans that the tiger's feeding area is 40 km, and the beast constantly wanders. Maps need to be updated!
Well, the Germans still have to stomp. Two powerful flashlights, plus my head lamp... Which... does not work. The batteries are dead!
And the Germans suddenly accelerate. Hey, wait up! They move away very quickly on the way to the bungalow...
And the darkness closes in on me.
7 km to the blind...
"Kari! Kar...!!! "there's a distant echo. One eaten? Or did the other one lose the lantern?
Or maybe that... raven. Kar, karr... A raven at night?? Fear is beginning to creep up on me, too.
I feel the road with my feet. Then it begins to show a little, from the narrow crescent of the moon and stars. Oh, how luxurious it is here, far from the city's "illumination", the sky of night! A washed-up Milky Way and bright streaks of galaxies... And somewhere in that abyss... the traveler. Where am I going and why?..
Night scents... The smell of herbs in the clearings. Nectar descends from the crowns of flowering lime trees...
So I went home, enjoying nature and the night. Everyone is already asleep... The Germans are safe. And it's still great that the lantern "died"!

And in the morning Sergey offered the Germans... Fraulein. Business ladies should come from Vladivostok. In a jeep. Take a steam bath in the sauna. Drink and sing ...
the Germans tensed up. How many foreign tourists have I seen, all the same! Babyknow! Only beetles. Or butterflies... Only Ukrainians once showed students karabuses...
Fraulein – profit. Oh, what a car! Sparkling "Prado" like a UFO on the background of ancient lime trees… And what a blonde from the driver's seat… Although, to be honest, in the city would not pay attention. Two hot brunettes...
At the request of the landlord, I go to chop wood for the sauna, and the Germans silently walk away, past the Fraulein, into the forest.
One of the Fraulein girls gives Sergey a resounding peck on the bald spot. Russian women are so spontaneous... This is probably why they are loved in the world.
A pile of firewood is growing. Sergey plays the guitar for the ladies...
- Ah! I caught a bug! The Germans... Where are the Germans?
Here are the women in Russian villages. They earn good money, drive a Prado, and then arrive in a forest hut in the middle of nowhere.
Catching beetles...
The forest is quite noisy. The Germans today have an energetic rush in the preparation of trophies.

And now it's the last day of the tour. Hundreds of beetles in stains, a torn " fan " and a broken umbrella... Peaceful Germans. We go to the airport with the same driver.
He asks... I'm responding.
"I wonder how many of them there are in the world... informals? Who collects boogers.
- Enough... Thirty thousand, I think. Maybe fifty...
"That's funny. And what's the buzz in that?
.. This is akin to a treasure hunt. You find a bug. On a pin...
The driver's face will somehow get kinder. He remembers that he used to catch it too... In the distant childhood. He kept little bronzes and deer beetles in boxes.
"And you know who I met once?"
He talks about Kallipogon.
And I suddenly get lost in time... It's like starting a new tour. Or maybe it's one endless...
Callipogon... Blows of the axe... Glamorous umbrella... Mead... Fraulein ...
- Here we are!
I have to take the Germans to check in...

This post was edited by Wild Yuri - 18.01.2011 23: 52

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18.01.2011 12:23, mikee

The Germans 'fear of a night hike (3rd paragraph from the bottom) has long surprised me and my fellow tourists, and I found an explanation in the Internet:
" Germans are upset and disturbed by all kinds of metaphysical fear (the concept of Angst)." From the site http://www.langust.ru/review/xenoger1.shtml#top.
I learned a lot of new and interesting things about this people. I advise you to look (the authors of the material are Germans!).
PS And for comparison, what they write about Italians: http://www.langust.ru/review/xeno-it1.shtml. Looks like... we've been on tour, too. I hope to write about them one day.

Come on, come on, for example, about the quiet elderly "mafioso" Gino from Sicily, whom you drove 30 km through the mountains, after which he even sat with difficulty

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18.01.2011 13:10, Sergey Didenko

Yes, Gino is just a hero. Mikhail and I didn't hesitate to abandon this extreme hike, and poor Gino, in his 70s, somehow even managed to crawl back to the base. True, the last 50 meters were given to him with great difficulty. Before they passed, he sat next to our screen for half an hour (it was already 12 am), not reacting at all to anything and could not even focus his eyes.
And I also remember that Gino immediately realized that someone who got up late was left without breakfast (lunch was not meant at all, because the whole day was spent hiking). Unfortunately, getting up early didn't always help - the local cats got up earlier and destroyed all the food supplies a couple of times.
Gino's fastidiousness in food was absent as a class - he swept away everything that he saw edible (even not quite edible, in my opinion). In general, it was fun in Anisimovka. There really is something to remember.

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