Crimeans, do you even understand how lucky you are?
Olga Zhukova, journalist of the newspaper “Komsomolskaya Pravda - Donbass”, especially for PolitNavigator
Every time, returning from a “peaceful area” (as we call peaceful territories here), it takes several days to “adapt.” I'm not talking about getting used to breakups again. This is already perceived somewhere as the smoke of the fatherland. Like waste heaps. Like mine shafts. Like roses. Part of Donbass. A part of my life. And everyone who lives here. What I mean is that it takes a few days to get used to our harsh reality.
Having traveled around Russia and Crimea by bus, you understand that all we have is war. War, like gas, occupies all free space. Again reports, bangs, news. If you don’t leave Donetsk, then it’s quite on par. The city lives an ordinary life: children are on vacation, Donetsk residents are rushing somewhere to go about their business. During rush hours, transport is jammed and there is heavy traffic on the roads. Theaters, exhibitions, cinemas are open, the streets are clean, the stores have a wide selection. I wish they wouldn’t shoot at the outskirts, but that’s just impossible. This is necessary for the war to end. And so - what else do you need? Live for yourself. There is everything for a normal life.
But everything is learned by comparison. The contrast is noticeable when you drive out. There, behind the Uspenka checkpoint, life is completely different.
First of all, it is peace. And, as a consequence, development. The scale is amazing. Rostov - the already wide roads are widening, there is some kind of movement in almost all the fields - they are watering (or spraying). The construction progress is breathtaking. As a resident of an industrial city, I love urban views. It is always the embodiment of power that gives you goosebumps. Rostov amazes with the number of these landscapes. A tall building, next to which the construction equipment seems like a child’s construction set, workers in bright helmets on the floors also look like they’re made from Lego. In other windows of the bus - elevated transport interchanges - two huge spans are already standing. The work is in full swing, dust, crushed stone, concrete, trucks - beautiful, powerful, reliable.
An unimaginable amount of housing is being built. Everywhere. At the entrance to Rostov, in Rostov itself, at the exit. I’m writing about Rostov because our driver got lost there and had time to look around. The rest of the cities quickly passed by, and there were no such big ones anymore.
But we could have all this now. Donbass has potential - mother, don’t worry! But until the war ends, the maximum construction will be the restoration of broken houses and villages.
Crimea. We arrived at the ferry at dawn, at four in the morning. I mentally prepared myself to stand in line until seven o’clock. But no. In an hour everything was completed and loaded. Everything is clearly organized. I thought it was because we arrived so early. But no. On the way back we arrived at the ferry at about five o'clock in the evening - everything was exactly the same. A total of an hour, give or take.
Just twenty minutes on the ferry and - here it is Crimea! The joy that we had finally reached the finish line, that what we had been dreaming about throughout the war was just a stone’s throw away, was overshadowed by the memory of the Crimean roads. The last time I was in Crimea was before the war. Mentally prepared to go around and bounce on the potholes and bumps. In vain. No bumps, no holes - a smooth, beautiful track.
The scale of construction in Crimea is almost the same as Rostov. We swallowed dust for quite a long time, driving through the road widening section. On the highways there are many trucks with building materials, food refrigerators, construction equipment, and agricultural equipment. Judging by the numbers, Russians came in large numbers from all regions. Autobahns, housing, and boarding houses are also being built.
I also really liked the gardens and vineyards. There are a great many of them along the route. As far as I can tell, they were recently planted. They look like the pictures about the south of France. And, again, there’s something newfangled that goes around and sprays. Everywhere along the route there were signs to attractions. You definitely need to come by car, drive slowly, and stop by all these churches, monasteries, cathedrals.
We stopped in Zaozernoye, near Evpatoria. At the request of a Donetsk woman who left here to escape the war, two owners of private boarding houses agreed to let Donetsk mothers and children in at a minimal cost. For which we are very grateful to them.
Crimea is completely unaffordable for everyone who comes to Crimea at the current prices. 27 hours of travel is worth 11 days on the Black Sea.
Another amazing thing in Zaozernoye is airplanes. Apparently there is a military airfield somewhere nearby. They flew over us frequently and loudly. At the first sounds, ours pulled their heads into their shoulders and strove to leave the open space. The children stopped being scared of airplanes towards the end of the holiday.
They flew beautifully. Two, or even three. At the same distance. Sometimes very low. After another such flyby, looking past the fighters, a kind of sad silence hung in our Donetsk mom’s get-together. Without saying a word they lit a cigarette. It turned out that everyone was thinking the same thing:
“Still, planes in the sky are beautiful,” said Anya.
“Oh, never mind,” said Tanya, “it’s better without them.” They are flying, and I am reliving all the horror when in 14 we were bombed from airplanes. I understand that nothing will fall from these, but I can’t get rid of the horror.
“I’ve gotten used to it,” Anya answered, “I like to watch.” You look and think – Lord, what power there is here! What power! How lucky the Crimeans are!
“Yessss,” agreed Lena, “I’m watching too, and I really want to shout out - well, turn around a little to the east, well, fly over the Donbass, it’s not far from here.” No need to bomb - just fly! If only I could help.
Alka, the smallest and most lively mother of two sons, comes running from the neighboring boarding house, crying.
- What's happened? Is there something wrong with the boys?
– Who knows what this is! I’m in the shower, not bothering anyone, and then there’s this hum. And it hit me! I remembered again how that goat smiled at me through the window. I saw the face of the pilot who was flying to bomb us. I probably won’t forget it until I die.
Alka was crying. We barely calmed her down.
The Crimeans themselves, as for me, are excellent people. Not counting that one time when not exactly a boy-woman, but rather the opposite, girlfriend Natasha, naturally drove into the jaw of a Crimean, who said that, they say, you climbed up there incorrectly. Crimea has risen correctly, and it is now in Russia. But somehow you are wrong.
I have already spoken about two women who let mothers and children from Donetsk in at ridiculous prices. Moreover, it was especially nice that upon arrival they prepared lunch for all of us. It was very touching.
Since we lived in such a Donetsk commune, we didn’t communicate much with the locals. But what happened was in Yevpatoria, we went out for a walk in the evening. The prices for all kinds of children's entertainment are very high for us. But it is impossible to refuse everything to a child. The coveted children's trampoline - 200 rubles unlimited. But it closes at 22-00, now it’s fifteen minutes. I'm trying to dissuade the child
“Tomorrow we’ll arrive early and jump in.”
– Is it already curfew? Time to go home? - asks the child. I was about to open my mouth to lie that yes, there was a curfew, but the owner of the trampoline heard this question.
– Are you from the DPR?
- Yes
- Jump for free. Until it jumps, I won’t close it.
Walking along the beautiful embankment in Yevpatoria, where there is a light and musical fountain, where music is everywhere - here is a brass band, there is a string quartet, Peruvian music, some other music, fire shows, discos, cafes, balloons and kites, and no one is in a hurry , everyone moves as if in jelly, as it should be on vacation, I realized that I was wrong.
Over all this summer paradise hangs such calm, such peace that you can literally touch it, it is so dense.
And I really wanted to shout - Do you even understand how lucky you are??? You have all this peace, airplanes, construction, gardens - every day. Every single day. Do you understand how happy you are???
Crimeans , do you even realize how lucky you are?