K. Zhukov’s essay “Notes on the Way to the Southern Coast of Crimea,” published in St. Petersburg in 1865, is not very well known to lovers of Yalta antiquity, especially in comparison, for example, with the popular “Essays on Crimea” by E. Markov. Nevertheless, this is a very interesting document of its time, interesting for the accuracy and originality of everyday sketches. In the proposed passage, which tells about Yalta and its environs, the author's punctuation and, often, spelling are preserved.

In the month of May, an extraordinary movement begins in St. Petersburg. There are large boats on the Neva River, and on the streets, carts carry away furniture and all sorts of home comfort items. On the shore of Vasilievsky Island, foreign and Finnish steamships are smoking. The number of people leaving St. Petersburg on the railways is increasing. It is clear that a large number of residents are in a hurry to leave the city.

One should not be surprised at such a relocation when warm days arrive. After an eight-month seclusion, anyone who has any means, unless he is bound by exceptional duties, leaves for a dacha, a village, or abroad.

Recently, traveling abroad, for an educated society, has become some kind of disease, curable only by fulfilling the desire to leave, no matter what, even if it undermines the funds necessary in the future. Therefore, in any circle that has a claim to belong to an educated society, no matter how small this circle is, there will always be people who have been or have been abroad. Meanwhile, there are very few people who have traveled around Russia and could talk about its riches and diversity. It is clear here, on the one hand, an indomitable passion, and on the other, a stunning indifference.
If it cannot be assumed that in Russia there are no wonderful places for curiosity and for treatment, then indifference to traveling around Russia does not mean that it is impossible to travel here comfortably and cheaply?

To resolve this issue, if possible, I will try to tell how I, who was leaving St. Petersburg only for Moscow, happened to go to the southern coast of Crimea.

On June 16, 1864, I set off. Having flown by rail to the city of Ostrov, Pskov province, I rode by mail to Kyiv and then to Vasilkovsky district, Kyiv province. Having lived here until July 12, I went to the town of Rzhishchev, on the banks of the river. Dnieper, in order to get by boat, by this river and the Black Sea, to the southern coast of Crimea.

I don’t know if St. Petersburg bookstores are rich in guidebooks to this charming part of Crimea? But, along the way, I did not find any printed signs. Mr. Shevelev's notes, published in 1847, 23 pages of 16 sheets, are very brief, although one should be grateful for them, especially since they contain historical indications. Of course, there are scientific works about the Crimea, but the traveler, without a scientific goal, is looking for other details. Meanwhile, the stories of the people we met were different, depending on the look. Some assured us that starvation awaited us; others that you need to have with you everything that a person who is accustomed to some of the comforts of life needs, while others, on the contrary, reassured, proving from experience that you can find everything you need - if only you had money.

Believing that I will not be the only one in such a dubious position - which is especially difficult when traveling with a family, as was the case with me - I decide to describe my trip to the southern coast of Crimea, in order to clarify for many the question of the convenience or inconvenience of traveling around Russia.

I won’t talk about the route from St. Petersburg to Kyiv in detail, because travel by rail and postal routes does not require explanation. The carriage rolled along a smooth, beautiful highway; there was no shortage of horses. It is true that the horses were often found exhausted from the carriage of postal stagecoaches, constantly scurrying along the road, but still these poor animals did not refuse to serve, and I had no pretension to gallop headlong. Poor post horses! If the belief about the transmigration of souls into animals can be realized, then, in my opinion, the poorest souls will be those that transmigrate into Russian post horses. I won’t even talk about how convenient it is to travel by boat of the Dnieper Shipping Company from Kiev to the Rzhishchev metro station, which is one trip, because I started my journey along the Dnieper from the Rzhishchev metro station. I'll start with my departure from this place.

On July 12, 1864, at 12 noon, I boarded the Dnepr steamship, in the town of Rzhishchev, Countess Dzyalinskaya, upon the arrival of this ship from Kiev. The steamer "Dnepr" is not entirely adapted for the comfort of passengers, which is especially experienced by the ladies, who are assigned very small cabins. It is true that, if impossible, based on the known height of the water in the river. Dnieper, to make the ship longer, wider or higher, not even an inch, as they say, you cannot demand special amenities. But as a ship stops for the night near the shore, on which there is nowhere to shelter, and therefore it is necessary to spend the night in a cabin, it seems to me that the Dnieper Steamship Company would greatly oblige passengers of the 1st and 2nd classes by making pull-out beds next to those benches with pillows , which now serve as the only refuges in each class, insufficient for men, if there are more than ten of them, and for ladies even less, or to have several folding sleeping chairs on the ship. As for food, you can get everything you need at the ship's buffet, but at the high price customary for steamships. It’s not a bad idea to have your own tea and sugar, a travel toiletry case and linen for the morning toilet and wash.

There is talk of a noticeable shallowing of the Dnieper River. The Main Directorate of Communications showed considerable commitment to clearing this river of stones, but the work did not achieve its goal. The stones were blasted shallowly, and although the tops of the stones are not visible, they remained in place, covered with water, which makes them more dangerous.
Practical people say that by disturbing the stones in the rapids between Ekaterinoslav and Nikopol, they increased the shallowing of the river.

The steamer is heated with wood. It is known, however, that on the route of the shipping company there is a place called Smela of Count Bobrinsky, where, or near, there are rich coal mines that tested and fueled the count’s sugar factory. During the journey, a lot or stick is constantly lowered from the steamer, the end of which is painted in different colors. Sometimes a ship unexpectedly stops in sight of a shoal that was formed by chance and was not known. Sand deposits form shoals there. In some places, karzhi, noticed by special jets on the surface of the water, are dangerous for steamships. Trees that are torn from the banks and stop under water are known here as karzhi. The bottom of the steamer "Vladimir" was torn out by such a karzhe. It would seem that engineers should not so much work on exploding stones, which does not achieve the goal, as clearing the river of karzhi. From them, ships cannot sail at night, which lengthens the time and increases the inconvenience.

The society on the ship was mixed. At the very beginning of our voyage, it started to rain. Passengers of the 1st and 2nd classes hid in their cabins, and the poor 3rd class, on deck, experienced the full burden of their exposed position. But, as you can see, passengers in this class are used to it. I noticed a lady dressed very simply, who was called the captain. She, in the pouring rain, covered with a tiny umbrella, smoked from a pipe with a long stem, releasing clouds of smoke. There were also other women smoking cigarettes. Nothing can be said against this if smoking alleviates suffering and perhaps prevents illness. It’s not easy to drive 300 or more miles in the rain, spending a day and a half on deck. On the way, the ship stops to disembark passengers or take on new ones. The emergence of new faces revitalizes society. Thus, we stopped at Cherkasy metro station, near the mountains. Canon, as well as Krylov, formerly Gorodishche. We met large mast boats with luggage, called Berlins here.

Having left Rzhishchev, as said, at 12 noon, we arrived the next morning in the mountains. Kremenchug. Having time until the next day, we transported our things to another steamship, called “Kremenchug” - which must be done with our own efforts on a cab or cart, without relying on the assistance of the steamship office, which did not prepare for this purpose either people, horses, or boats . Although the steamship's servants volunteer to transport by boat, we almost drowned in a crappy fishing boat, and we very much regretted that we trusted the carriers; Moreover, it turned out to be possible to swim only to the Dnieper drawbridge, which was not raised, and therefore it was still necessary to hire a horse, and cross the bank knee-deep in sand.

One cannot help but protest against such indifference of the management of the Dnieper Steamships to the convenience of passengers, from whom they take good money. No, we are in many ways behind foreigners in this regard, and, in my opinion, no objection from the management can be valid. The cashier said that it was as if a carriage had been started, but that there was no desire to ride in it or transport luggage; but such weak sympathy from the public probably resulted from the fact that here, too, the prices were very high...

... The horses were ready, and we moved further to the Baydar Valley, located 25 versts from Balaklava. Soon we arrived at the Baydar station, and again there were no horses, and there was no hope of getting them until late in the evening. We didn’t want to drive through the picturesque Baydar Valley and enter the southern coast of Crimea at night. Therefore, we stayed overnight at Baydarskaya, a literally nasty, purely Tatar station, and went for a walk. Here is a Tatar village, fairly populated, but so dirty in its surroundings that all the poetry of the area, not devoid of pleasantness here, disappeared at the sight of dirty, and even partly half-naked, Tatars and their dwellings.

For the first time I met a woman covered with a veil, through which only shining eyes were visible. The woman was sitting on the grass and was decently dressed; but then, as we saw in the Crimea for the first and last time, a young Tatar boy passed by with a load of tree branches, almost naked, because the rags that covered only some parts of the body, and even then not completely, could not be classified as what type of clothing. Soon it was getting dark and we had to return to the station. Near the road, a Tatar cemetery. They drove oxen along the road. Tatar carts (carts) with unoiled wheels - which is not an accident among the Tatars, but in the order of things - produced an unpleasant, unbearable creak. Some freshness began to appear in the air, but not northern, and we returned to the station house, where we settled down as comfortably as possible, thanks to the fact that there were no other travelers.

Having nothing else to do, I began to look at the stationmaster. What is the life of a stationmaster? Coachmen and horses, with whom he cannot have company, and travelers, with whom he has nothing in common, this is the position of the stationmaster. Passers-by, for the most part, try to either end the conversation by asking a few questions, or start and end with unpleasant complaints, and often unfair abuse. Meanwhile, you see before you, very often, a young, decent man, dressed in the uniform of an official; near him is a sword, a sign of nobility; All the rooms at the station, except his, are clean and well furnished. Meanwhile, there are many caretakers who are married, with lots of children, deprived of education.

I traveled through many stations in Russia and saw everywhere, not so much material needs, which can be satisfied with little, but everywhere moral poverty, which makes a person trash. At one station, early in the morning, I found the caretaker teaching his little daughter to pray. She diligently banged her forehead on the wooden floor of the room and briskly repeated the words of the prayer “Our Father” commanded by the Savior. In Baydar, the caretaker, as if responding to my thoughts, put forward, not on purpose, all types of his unpleasant life. But this is not so bad in the southern country, where nature ennobles feelings. What is this situation in other places?

We got up early in the morning, but the fog that obscured the objects made it impossible for us to leave immediately. Soon the air cleared, and we entered the picturesque Baydar Valley. How wonderful everything is here, how little similar it is to the surroundings of the St. Petersburg pit, where many people are swarming, while here, closer to paradise, the green place is so empty. There is the kingdom of people, here - birds and insects.

The Baydar Gate is approaching. Rising up the winding roads, enraptured by the surrounding views, we must drive up to a place from which we can suddenly see the entire southern coast. The royal family stopped at this point for breakfast, and, in memory of this, a gate made of stone quarried from the rocks was built here. Indeed, when we arrived at the gate, surprise and delight were complete. I will consider this moment one of the happiest in my life.

Artists, poets, come, write, sing! Before you is an endless quiet sea, near you there are huge rocks, and eagles soaring above them. Below, a winding strip of highway, on the left side of the road, rocks covered with picturesque vegetation and streams of pure water running here and there; and to the right is a magnificent green velvet slope, dotted with vineyards, gardens and ending with a sea so impressive that you don’t want to take your eyes off the influence of this wonderful view. We can say that here God threw paradise onto earth in order to prepare for the concept of heavenly paradise.

And so we rolled further and further, it seemed that we remained in the same place, because the gate, which I spoke about, was not lost from sight. Meanwhile, miles disappear. We meet Tatars and Tatar women, in local two-wheeled boxes with canopies, or horsemen galloping on horseback. Eastern multi-colored clothing, Muslim greetings, and villages hanging on the rocks were all new to us, and the road, becoming more and more picturesque, presented more and more entertainment. But here is the Kikeneiz station, from which there is one transfer to Alupka, Prince Vorontsov, crowning Crimea with its splendor.

It is known from published descriptions of Crimea that the Tatar villages found from the Baydar valley along the southern coast bear Greek names that belonged to them before the resettlement of the former inhabitants, during the reign of Catherine II, to the shores of the Sea of ​​Azov. So, not far from Baydar, the village of Faros, in the middle of a wooded mountain, Mishatka, Merdven, with a stone staircase winding around the abysses; Kuchuk-koy, part of which collapsed in 1786, with houses and gardens, and formed abysses, and then Kikeneiz, with a postal station of the same name.

Intending to go to Alupka, and therefore turn off the postal road before reaching the next station, we encountered difficulty in Kikeneiz. We were told that the coachman had no right to turn off the road, but that we could, having reached the next station, take private horses there to Alupka. It was clear that there was only one owner at both stations, and that this oppression was nothing more than a desire to rip off postal fees from us and for a private return rental of several miles to Alupka.

Seeing such a Jewish calculation, we decided to test whether it was possible to hire a horse or a porter for suitcases on the road, and we ourselves prepared to walk to Alupka, from the main road, on foot, which is not very difficult. Of course, we risked packing our suitcases on the road; but it turned out that “the devil is not as scary as he is portrayed,” and our coachman was tempted by the offered fifty dollars, and, turning off the road, brought us to Alupka to the hotel itself.

Here we are in Alupka. But before describing the poetic side of this delightful shelter, let’s get down to organizing our abode. We need to take a breath from the impressions that have left us.

Prince Vorontsov, so famous for his many-sided excellent qualities, made Alupka an object of curiosity for travelers. Everyone who had a chance to be in this direction, or on purpose, went to Alupka, and it was necessary to arrange a refuge in order to provide the opportunity to stay in this hospitable corner, without embarrassment of the owner. I don’t know who came up with the idea of ​​the hotel: the prince’s father or the son, the current owner of Alupka, but the fact is that you find a hotel here, very clean, equipped with comfortable, good furniture and dishes from the prince. I heard that it was leased, but, unfortunately, to the Frenchman, who was probably left over from the tail of the French army, in which he, presumably, served, at the stables, or in the camp at the redant.

He has his own staff: 1, his wife, the mistress, is obliged to compile incorrect, increased accounts and represent an example of French female illiteracy; 2, girl N, his or his wife’s sister, cook, laundress, scullery maid and hotel companion, in short, a jack of all trades, and 3, in one person, doorman, footman and janitor, who served in the French army with donkeys, therefore borrowing from There are many of them, donkeys, who lost their handkerchiefs, if they had any, during the siege of Sevastopol. The question is, what could the Frenchman do to deserve attention, and why exactly did he receive an advantage over rental applicants?

We occupied very good rooms here, and before walking we felt it necessary to explain about dinner. No matter how the hostess covered up her insolvency, one could guess that she had neither supplies nor money, and that we would have to borrow only the poetry of the area and imagine ourselves as disembodied spirits living in paradise. However, there was no refusal, and the hostess spoke the names of different dishes with such dignity that one could get enough from the variety of enticing sounds. Having entrusted ourselves to the protection of fate, we went for a walk.

Before us is the sea, and on the shore lies Alupka with its palace, an Orthodox church in the form of the Pantheon, a mosque and such vegetation that it resembles all the countries of the world. Cypresses, olives, vines, oranges, flowers of all kinds, scattered everywhere, and in the garden: grottoes, hermitages, ponds, etc. We did not know where to start, and for the first time limited ourselves to a general overview, as much as the oppressive heat and fatigue from the postal journey.

We return to the hotel hungry, with an appetite capable of swallowing all the kingdoms of nature. In the dining room there was a table d'hotel set, and the servant, turning out his dirty blouse, with the dexterity of an almost military man, handed us the dinner menu: 1. potage a la reine; 2. saute aux roynons and 3. roastbeef a I'anglaise. What more? We were fed as poorly as one would expect in a hotel not devoid of visitors. In the dining room, we found a Russian merchant traveling around the Crimea in his carriage with a long-tailed footman. The merchant began to affably talk to us about the innkeeper. He scolded him for being fed kidney soup, the only dish he had received, and pointed to the samovar standing in front of him as his savior, from which he, in a sad mood, was blowing his tenth glass of tea.

Soon, the venerable merchant weighed anchor, and so openly, with such details that did not go beyond decency, scolded the Frenchwoman that she should be satisfied if she understood at least one quarter of the sweet epithets.

I regret that I did not accustom myself to expressing feelings, and there were so many of them in Alupka. A wonderful, southern and, moreover, moonlit night arrived. The air here is so quiet, soft and fragrant that all the senses were in a particularly pleasant mood. Maybe for me, as a St. Petersburger, a resident of a city where everyone is busy, even those who have nothing to do, the very freedom and relaxation contributed, to a certain extent, to a passion for a new personal situation, but I in no way agree that the same feelings would have been possible in this new position of mine, in another place, less charming.

Far from the shore, stood a Greek ship, the only object on the boundless expanse of water illuminated by the moon. This ship arrived here to pull out from the bottom of the sea the fragments of the steamship “Yenikol” that sank here during a storm.

The Tatars, as residents of the south, are content with very little for food. I don’t know how the richer ones lived, many of whom left during the recent eviction from Crimea; I saw the remnants of the Tatar population, ordinary people, workers. Someone called all the Tatars, both those who left and those who remained, rubbish, and, as it seems, this is true, because the Tatars inhabited Crimea for many years, and the latter does not represent progress. It can be assumed that the rich Tatars were not ahead of their poor brothers in their lifestyle. The Tatars eat excellent lamb, but rarely, because it is not cheap, and here, in the south, meat is not as necessary as it is in the north. The predominant Tatar food is millet gruel with sour milk, katyk, and that’s all. Unfortunately, I noticed that our Russian civilization has taken root here too, which should not have been planted.

I'll tell you about my comment. The hotel hired Tatar day laborers, who were having lunch at the time we returned for our dinner. On the stone that served as their dining table, there was a piece of calico bread and a bottle of vodka. I asked: how long ago did Mohammed allow drinking wine? The Tatar replied that the Koran forbids drinking wine, and that he would not take a drop in his mouth for a thousand rubles, but that vodka is not prohibited, because it is not wine. This is no longer naive, but cunningly invented, I thought, and guessed that the great teacher in this case was, of blessed memory, a brilliant buyout, and then the drinking and take-out signs that were widespread everywhere, which decorate all entrances and exits. It was sad, driving into district and provincial towns, to read such signs at every step, and even sadder to meet them on the southern coast of Crimea.

The poetry of the morning gave way to the poetry of the evening. We went to explore Alupka. The house of Prince Vorontsov represents from the outside an example of Moorish architecture, as suitable as possible to the nature of this area, where a building in a different style would not be consistent with the character of the surrounding dwellings. Inside the prince's house, the connection between the eastern and the western is so well maintained that the latter does not destroy the former. The view from the house, its furnishings, and all the little details show what taste guided the owner and what means he had.

When we walked around the garden, where we knew so well how to take advantage of the generally rich nature and the stone masses torn away from the mountains, it seemed to us that we were in some magical place. Grotto, a cliff under a rock to which a ladder leads; ponds with clear water and many clearly visible fish; swans, cascades, mulberry trees, oranges, oranges, laurels, olives, lemons, pomegranates, roses of all kinds, magnificent magnolias, cypresses, poplars, palm trees, grapes, figs, cedars, nuts, tobacco, tropical vegetation, etc. , all this together represents such wealth that the steppe inhabitant is amazed. And how many objects hid from our eyes; how many of them are here for the personal pleasure and use of the owner.

The heat, inevitable as midday approached, made us hurry to swim. For this purpose, a place was chosen near a rock, which is not entirely convenient for those who do not swim; Moreover, the bottom here is rocky, so it’s unpleasant to walk without shoes. But all this disappears when entering the water. However, you must definitely have shoes for swimming, which are sold in Odessa, but which are better made from thick camel cloth, in the form of a sock, tied with ribbons. This cloth is soft, withstands more straw braids - which I saw in Odessa - and after squeezing it dries quickly.

Alupka is visited mainly on Sundays by residents of Yalta, and there are crews there, which will be discussed below. But even on weekdays Alupka is not without visitors.

Looking at the heights of the mountains, over which eagles soar, and seeing a cross on the mountain, you want to know what is there, beyond the mountains, and to your surprise you find out that behind the mountains there is a steppe expanse, and there is neither the vegetation nor the air there. southern coast of Crimea.

Our lunch that day was more plentiful. The innkeeper, having received some money, bought meat, bread, etc., and fed us with great attention. Unfortunately, the footman blouse has not been reborn and his habits: taking a glass, dipping his vile fingers into it, and removing flies from the cream with the same hand, remained ignorant. But we, on the road, often encountering similar habits, managed to remove the participation of the dirty servant, whom fate, as if in mockery, appointed as a French swineherd, finally elevated him to the footman of a Russian hotel.

May the reader forgive me for keeping him busy with such details; but I want to save him from the caresses of the plucked French, who seem to originate from Judea, which cannot be doubted when considering the type of family of the innkeeper, and the ability to conduct trade without capital, of which the Jewish tribe turns out to be most capable.

After lunch, we went to the village of Alupka, which is near the prince’s house and features a row of flat roofs with Tatars, Tatar women and Tatar women sitting on them. The Tatar woman was digging in the garden, and, seeing my wife, gave her a cucumber with a smile, and when she accepted it with gratitude, the Tatar woman wanted to repeat her kindness. The women here are not veiled, but maybe because they are at home; however, we later met many women and girls, here in Alupka, but outside the village, and all of them were without veils. We did not enter the interior of the saklya, but, as one could see, we did not lose much from it. We wanted to maintain a pleasant impression and not disturb it.

Near the village there is a market consisting of several shops and a mosque. The old mullah entered the minaret and shouted the call to prayer in a very pleasant voice. With the permission of the mullah, and one might say at the invitation of all the Tatars who were at the mosque, we entered it. There are many lamps coming down from the ceiling; the floor is covered with mats and in some places carpets. In front, there is a small recess in the wall in which some kind of rag is hung, sacred because it was taken from Mecca, from the tomb of Mohammed.

In front of this rag, the mullah, sitting on his knees, read prayers, which were repeated by all those present, sitting in the same position. Each Muslim, entering the mosque, took off his shoes and bowed, pressing his hands to different parts of the body, and then prostrated himself. Everyone prayed very humbly, and each one separately; but after that, the prayer became general, or a repetition of the mullah’s words. There were moments of such concentration of the praying people within themselves that I wondered if they had fallen asleep.

The Tatar costume is very beautiful from the front, but not beautiful from the back. Near the pond, we saw several young women and girls of very pleasant appearance. They have good eyes; but dyeing hair and teeth makes them look unpleasant. They slap their shoes, and this makes their gait unsteady and irregular. I noticed the Tatars were cross-legged, probably from the awkward position on their legs. A group of women and girls near a pond completed the picture of the oriental setting. When we reached one separate saklya, we saw an agile young Tatar galloping up. He jumped off the saddle at the feet of his girlfriend, very pretty and graceful, who was waiting for him with a smile. Then a lively speech rained down, and the young beautiful couple disappeared into the hut. This date scene is etched in my memory.

But enough for Alupka; we need to move further to Yalta. Prince Vorontsov, in concern for the convenience of travelers, allowed the beautiful cart to be turned into a modest stagecoach and what came out was a very nice 8-seater stagecoach in the Tatar taste, but on springs and with oiled wheels. When we hired a stagecoach in order to have stops at Apiyanda and Livadia, the coachman negotiated with us, asking for up to 6 rubles for such an exception to the rules, assuring that he would not give space to anyone in this box except us. Therefore, we believed that the price depended on arbitrariness, although the hotel posted a fee. But before leaving, a clerk came to us and took 3 p. according to the regulations. for four places, and 1 rub. for luggage and announced that we would not have enough time to stop, but would go alone, due to the lack of other passengers. The coachman was appointed not the one who wanted to deceive us, and thus we experienced from experience that we should not have contacted individuals, but directly to the prince’s office.

Leaving Alupka on July 31st, at 4:25 a.m., after lunch, we arrived in Yalta at 7:00 p.m. The entire road is an endless garden, with wonderful views of the sea and rocks. Everywhere streams of the purest water flow from the mountains into constructed reservoirs and from there into the vineyards across the road. Here and there there is a pleasant sound of cascades. Having passed the picturesque estates of Maltsev, Kochubey, Princess Meshcherskaya, Naryshkin and then Ariyanda of the Grand Duke Konstantin Nikolaevich and the upper and lower Livadia of the Empress Maria Alexandrovna, as well as the estate of Korsakov and beautiful dachas near Yalta itself, we arrived here, delighted with the road.

Yalta, a small county town. Here a fast stream rolls from the mountains and flows into the sea. At the top, there is a beautiful Orthodox church. At the entrance to the city, from the side from which we entered, down the bank there are: the barracks of garrison soldiers, an unfinished house for persons of the Imperial Family, the French Sobes hotel, customs and the Galakhov Hotel de la cote; the best house in Yalta. We ask the coachman where they stay more, and he points to the French hotel, saying that Galakhovskaya is better, but there are a lot of insects there. Bargaining with the French begins. They asked for double: 3 rubles. for every dirty room; Moreover, there was no shortage of French tricks, as on the other. They agreed to charge 6 rubles for two rooms on the first day, 5 rubles on the second. and in the third 4, and stop there.

When we decided to leave, the Frenchman gave in for 3 rubles. two rooms or two rooms. Such a concession, however, was nothing more than an accident, which would not have followed if the Frenchman had known that at the time of our agreement, in the Galakhov hotel, all the rooms were occupied for the retinue of Grand Duke Mikhail Nikolaevich expected from the Caucasus. Of course, in Yalta, as I noticed later, there are apartments; but maybe we wouldn’t have given them away for a few days, or we might not have had servants.

Yalta is a very small town on the shore of a bay; the coast forms a semicircle, and the city from a distance is very beautiful, because, behind it and nearby, there are magnificent mountains covered with wonderful vegetation, and the sea. If we look at the houses separately, then all of them, except for the Galakhov Hotel, do not deserve attention. Such a city, in another area, would be called trashy, to be fair. They say that when the city of Yalta needed to build a hospital, there was no place, and that this happened due to the seizure of city land by adjacent owners, who, having legalized, albeit incorrect plans, had evidence of ownership, while the city, not caring about the plan, too I learned late about the seizure of his land.

The enemy invasion left several plucked French blouses in Crimea. The inn house also belongs to a rude blouse who has amassed a huge fortune in the space of a few years. He, having now given his house to his fellow countrymen for a hotel, is himself engaged in trading or maintaining horse carriages. They say that the store with various goods located in his house belongs to him, which can be assumed by the high cost, possible in the absence of competition. The hotel is run by Frenchmen: one who runs the house, and another, a fat man, who prepares the food. This triumvirate holds the visitors in their hands, and picking pockets is brought to the point of genius.

If some smart Russian merchant had decided to compete, it would now be difficult to knock these vampires out of a position that provides a means of sucking the blood of travelers increasing every year. After all, they knew how to spread rumors about bedbugs in Galakhov’s hotel, whereas in the French hotel, not only bedbugs, but also other animals, not excluding the owners and servants, were not included in the fable. We still have a long time to wait for the decline of our attachment to everything foreign, and a long time for our art dealers to learn the art of satisfying the needs of the public with small means.

There is a boulevard on the shore, but without trees, because here under the influence of the sun, in the open, there is no vegetation. There are also baths for men and women, separated by small wooden booths on the shore, and several boards, under and on the water. The water here in Yalta, contrary to expectation, was cold, and there were a lot of sharp stones at the bottom, so that without shoes it was impossible to walk at all, and there were cases of large cuts on the legs. But despite the unevenness of the water, which became warmer and colder, swimming here is very useful and pleasant. The more often you swim, the more you want to continue. At the beginning of August in St. Petersburg, there are few or no people willing to swim, and in Yalta and other places on the southern coast of Crimea, the best months for swimming are September and October, and even November, but not always. During these months, grapes ripen, and in general an abundance of fruits.

We went for a walk along the boulevard in the evening. In the middle there were musicians playing, Czechs, two men and one woman. The music is not bad, but it is very modest for a boulevard where a significant number of strollers gather and there would be even more. But here all music can be replaced by the harmonious melody of the evening breeze, refreshing the air, and the surf of the waves scattering near the shore stones. That same evening, a steamship of the same name sailed to the city of Kerch, and music was playing on it. Passengers were transported to the ship from the shore by boat, due to the impossibility of setting up a pier near the shore itself and the high cost of the pier, the construction of which, it seems to me, would have spoiled the picture of the bay.

The moon, emerging from behind the clouds, illuminated infinity and disposed us to dreams. Having interrupted them, we went to the market, which in the evening, in the southern darkness, being illuminated by lanterns displayed by fruit sellers, is quite picturesque. The traders here are predominantly Greek. There are also many Tatars offering riding horses, and several Russian shops with various goods, such as sugar, tea, coffee, butter, candles, etc. There are several bakeries, of which one is German. It seems to me that a city cannot exist without a German bakery. In Vitebsk, I stopped at a shop where I noticed familiar-looking rolls, and it turned out that the rolls were German. In other cities, we noticed the same thing. Therefore, I can assume that the Germans have taken over the all-Russian bakery trade.

At the beginning of August, in Yalta, there was no good fruit. The early grapes turned sour - what happened due to the cold that occurred in 1864, after the onset of spring warmth; pears, plums and apples, sold by the pound, turned out to be bad and expensive. I only liked the figs. As for the melons, they were tasty, from Sevastopol, but here they are called muzhiki, as the fruit is very common. And in our north, I thought, the melon occupies an honorable, dear place.

The morning of August 1st was as good as the previous days. After bathing, in shoes, prepared for 75 kopecks. for a couple we guarded the baths - we drank tea in the garden, or rather the hotel’s vegetable garden, in a gazebo entwined with vines. The southern shore was visible in the distance. The heights of the mountains were covered, as if with steam, from the clouds that had descended on them, which, little by little, disappeared, revealing the mountains in all their splendor. The sun illuminated several streams falling from the mountains, and the greenery had such a wonderful color that if it were not for the heat that was increasing in our shelter, we would have admired the picture of the shore for a long time. Unfortunately, the heat here is very tiring, and there are hours of the day in which time is wasted due to the inability to walk under the scorching southern sun and do anything due to the heat. However, in 1864, there were no such heat as the local area.

My hat was covered with a white turban, bought in Odessa. The ends were pulled down to the shoulders, which protected the head and neck from the sun. I did not attach anything special to my physiognomy through this bandage, and I did not in any way think of being the subject of special attention, but it turned out that way. Several beautiful and elegant young people came to Yalta from St. Petersburg. They rode Tatar horses and dressed decently for horseback riding and walking. But they didn’t have enough turbans like I had, and it was impossible to get them in Yalta.

However, there is no irreparable evil in the world, and happiness or self-satisfaction returns as quickly as it leaves. The next morning we saw that the cavalcade was moving out for a walk with white muslin stripes on their hats, so that the ends were flying through the air. The hotel residents immediately nicknamed the young people brides. I advise the reader not to tie such ribbons to his hat, but rather to lower a white cambric scarf from under his hat - which is closer to the goal, not funny, and what the British do wherever the sun burns.

On August 1, after lunch, when the heat began to give way to pleasant coolness, we went to Arianda, the estate of Grand Duke Konstantin Nikolaevich, on the southern coast of Crimea. The area is majestically wild, but the artificial cleanliness of the roads, paths and platforms, and in general art at every step, destroyed the wild charm that was so taken advantage of in Alupka. The palace has a lot of taste and luxury. The flower garden is beautiful; rotunda on the rock. But no matter how hard the builders and gardeners tried to decorate the area, the best decoration of Apianda will be the wild beauty of the surrounding mountains and the sea, the most amazing view of which is seen in the Grand Duke's Palace.

Returning from Arianda, we stopped at Livadia, the estate of the Empress Maria Alexandrovna, which formerly belonged to the Pototsky family, probably counts. The palace is being rebuilt; but we were not deprived of the opportunity to see some of the rooms, so that - one might say - we were in the palace. When all the alterations and rebuilding, as well as new buildings, are completed, then of course Livadia will be one of the most elegant shelters for improving health and relaxation. The church, which is finally being finished, was built in the Byzantine style. Italian artists work here, to whom Byzantine painting is alien, which does not prevent them from fulfilling orders, with great skill, of course, according to these samples. All work is supervised by the architect Monighetti.

But it was starting to get dark and we had to return to our hotel. Our rooms seemed disgusting after those seen in the palaces, and our comforts were pitiful, although they were not bought cheaply. But even such luxury as we saw in the palaces could weigh on us. The royal vineyards serve as no small decoration for the described dachas and probably provide a large harvest of this pleasant fruit, beneficial for health and for winemaking.

Upon returning to Yalta, again swimming, again evening on the seashore, again surf. The wind increased and a large swell began, which was explained by a distant storm at sea, although rare in August, but still possible. In the city, between the police officers, movement and running began, and on the shore at the boat pier we noticed a gathering. They were awaiting the arrival of Grand Duke Mikhail Nikolaevich, which was known by telegraph; at which it was ordered to prepare rooms in the Galakhov hotel for the Grand Duke's retinue. There was a military steamboat in the bay, on which one could notice something in common with the preparations on the shore. The next day, August 2, we saw a pier decorated with flowers, which of course was more noticeable during the day, and scales and bowls were prepared on the city buildings.

On August 2, in the evening, signals began on the military ship, and in the evening, with heavy seas, the ship arrived with the Grand Duke and his retinue. Soon after, the boats approached the shore, the Grand Duke left for one of the Imperial dachas, and the festivities continued in the illuminated city, which, it seemed to me, could hardly have done more within its means. What I liked here was that the Grand Duke, who had the honor of decorating the pages of Russian history with the final conquest of the Caucasus, received his first reception, expressing gratitude and devotion, in a very small and poor town, but no less sympathetic to the great event than other large cities.

When the conquest of the Caucasus became known, I was in Maloposcia, and I saw that this event made a great impression. Later, when I was sailing along the Dnieper and the Black Sea, the Caucasian event was the first subject of conversation among those traveling on ships. Immediately there appeared people who had goals and views of the Caucasus calling for their areas, unusually rich in nature and promising to serve as a golden fleece for trade and manufactories. With the arrival of the Grand Duke, Yalta became even more lively. The Grand Duke and members of his retinue visited the city.

On August 3, swimming amazed me. In the morning, at 7 o’clock, the water was eight degrees, and at 8 o’clock it was thirteen. The pleasure of swimming was inexpressible, despite the freshness of the water. There is no need to stay in the water for long. It is enough to plunge two or three times in cold water, or stay up to 10 minutes in the water when it is warm. Sea bathing - I'm talking about the Black Sea - in water that is subject to constant changes and has great impact force, is not suitable for weak-chested people and those suffering from colds. It is better for them to take warm baths in the same sea, but in Odessa, which I talked about in my place. To protect hair from the influence of sea water, so-called sea soap is used. If sea water has too great an effect, that is, it will produce on the body not only itching due to a small rash, but will cause wounds, boils, etc., then it is very useful to rub the body with chicken egg yolks before bathing.

Walking into my room, I could not help but admire how affably the French triumvirate robbed their guests. - How could a rude blouse make a huge fortune for himself in a town so small if he did not have impudence? His successor no longer wears a blouse, but his manners and appearance prove that they are brothers both in the land where they began and in character. I won’t say the same about the third one, which is completely dependent on the stomach, and I’m afraid that someday, standing at a hot stove, it will melt and completely deprive me of the opportunity to unravel its properties.

Wanting to explore the surrounding area before leaving, we went on horseback to the Uchan-su waterfall, behind the Greek village of Outkoyu. We left in the morning, on Tatar horses, with Tatar saddles and with a Tatar guide. The road to the mountains is picturesque, and the further we went deeper into the forest and closer to the waterfall, the wilder the area became. In some places the paths were very steep, so that finally we were forced to leave the horses and continue on foot. One must be surprised by the Tatar horses, how accustomed they are to walking in the mountains. In some places, an intelligent animal walks completely vertically, but in others, on narrow paths, it will stop, tap its foot to see if the stone or earth is holding firmly, and then it will step. Without such horses, it is impossible to drive up to the waterfall. They say that the Tatars are lazy and lead into such wilderness, shortening the road, but that it is possible to travel more conveniently.

Wuchang-su Falls must be magnificent after the rains, when there is a lot of water; but when we were here, the water descended vertically, along the stone, flat, steep rock, in small quantities, and therefore we did not find a noisy, roaring waterfall, with a spray of water, as it should have been at other times. But we were at a great height, we saw the whole of Yalta and the sea, which has no end in its infinity. Arianda, Livadia, Mashtar, Outka - all this was visible. In sight of Outki are the ruins of a fortress dating back to antiquity. In Outka there is a Greek church, with a very elderly priest. It was impossible not to notice that there were many taverns in this picturesque area.

Upon returning to Yalta, we met Academician Makarov, who, it seems, was in military service, who showed us several views of the surrounding area that he had photographed, such as the city of Yalta and the Uchansu waterfall. After Aivazovsky, all art will seem weak, and I cannot say that Mr. Makarov’s paintings and drawings made an impression. Looking at the artist’s work and not finding in it what the eye saw in pictures of nature, I come to the conclusion that it is impossible to convey correctly that for which neither the art of painting nor the ability to describe what is visible is enough.

On August 5, we decided to leave Yalta in a carriage hired from Sobes to Simferopol. It was a very comfortable carriage with six seats, including a place for the coachman. But the horses turned out to be crappy. They bargained for a long time, and finally, they hired him cheaper than what was requested by the owner of the only, but very good, crew, a Tatar, Sobes’s only competitor. We were supposed to arrive in Simferopol the next day, after spending the night in Alushta. The weather was beautiful, quiet, but without the sun, which appeared then when it could not disturb.

Driving along a picturesque road, we passed the estates: Islenev, Mordvinov, Nikitsky Botanical Garden of the State Property Department, which should not be left without inspection; which we could not do due to circumstances - the estate of Aidanil and Massandra of Prince Vorontsov, Gurzuf, at the foot of Yayla and Ayudag, in ancient times Cape Kriumetonon. From here you can already see Mount Chatyr-Dag (Tent Mountain), in ancient times Trepezus, the highest in Crimea, where there is constant snow in the gorges. In addition, we passed the estates of Gagarin and Fundukley. If the view of the sea and the wonderful coast from Baydar to Yalta can be called picturesque, then the road from Yalta to Alushta deserves the same name.

It can be said that the entire southern coast forms one common row with mountains, rocks, winding roads, streams, forests, vineyards and cottages, each of which, combining nearby vegetation that requires care, is at the same time surrounded by wild terrain, which has its own special vegetation. In general, the vegetation here is amazing. There are walnut trees in Miskhor, with Volosh nuts, which we call walnuts, so huge that one tree, providing shade for an entire circle, feeds three families with its fruits, that is, it provides so much income through the sale of fruits that three families have an annual livelihood. At the Fundukleya estate, we saw a camellia so huge that the flowers covering it were counted in the thousands, but here, too, this tree, during the winter months, is covered with boards, from which something like a barn is made. In Prince Vorontsov's Massandra, the tobacco is not inferior to Turkish and the wine is excellent.

Finally, we arrive in the Tatar village of Alushta, from where, turning towards Chatyr-Dag, we part with the southern coast...

The car jerked, and behind me,
With semi-family naval antiquity,
Beaten off by dust, Sevastopol disappeared.
And the look - with an impatient string:
The sea would soon rise like a wave,
To disgrace before a magnificent country
With all the deafening heights
And cypress and poplar!
We fly - and it’s as if Crimea has withered away,
We fly - and, as if in hoops,
We circle in the ridges, waiting:
Will the rocking of the waves soon cease?
We fly - and right on our shoulders
Huge rocks... Touch and fuck!
We fly, teasing fear, -
Now under the mountains, now on the mountains, -
And even if only the sea could flicker in the distance!
The censure of Crimea is already ready...
We fly, we fly... The dusty ashes frolic.
We fly, we fly - and in a hurry
In the span of the gate and - oh! And - ah!
Oh! - And in wide eyes
The spaces are brilliant in scope,
Space sea exclamation!

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More poems:

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2. Here it is, the wave element, in the restless glory of the spill! As if running, pouring, He wants to get to know me. But the pavement of Moscow life pulled me so deeply into its ways that it was about to come from the sea...
3. It’s raining in the mountains, there’s a gray sky in the mountains, Mountains are rumbling on mountains in the mountains, A stream is rumbling that was only snow yesterday, Clays that were solid yesterday are rumbling. And it’s easy for us! There is a trough of sun above us...
4. You are all wrapped up in a fluffy fur coat, lying in a serene sleep, quiet. There is no death in the radiant air here, This transparent, white silence. In deep, undisturbed peace, No, it was not in vain that I looked for you....
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10. And it will come - the hour of accomplishment, And behind the moon, in turn, the circle of daily rotation will close the tired Earth. And, exposing silvery rocks in the depths of sleeping ores, icy masses from the poles...
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14. You imagined a city, all flooded with daylight, and a silk cloth in a quiet house, and relatives’ voices. Perhaps the juicy moons are twinkling of fruits over the river, perhaps the clear ripeness is in vain...
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You are now reading the poem Baydar Gate, poet Vasily Vasilievich Kazin

FOROS CHURCH. VIEW FROM THE TUNNEL

In the pre-war years, not the Foros church, but this tunnel was the calling card of Foros. Many postcards and photographs of this tunnel were published. During the war it was blown up. It was finally destroyed in the post-war period.

Tunnel at the Baydar Gate. 1905

*Standing near the Baydar Gate, it seemed impossible to me to descend from this height without a sinking heart and secret fear, but when we set off, the fear disappeared instantly; the highway is so beautifully constructed that the slope is barely noticeable.

This descent reminded me of the descent to Mljety in the Caucasus along the Georgian Military Road. The highway there, for 15 miles, goes along Gud Mountain with endless windings and the place from where you left at the top of the mountain hangs right above your head when you reach its base. There the mountains are higher and covered with snow, but here they are more picturesque and are bordered by the sea on one side.

Having driven about three miles from the Baydar Gate, where mountain range Yayly, due to its impregnable enormity, was impossible to go around; an underground passage was punched in the rock. This tunnel is 20 fathoms long, quite wide and quite consistent with the surrounding terrain and formidable rocks, piled up in a chaotic disorder from the very top of Yayla to its foot.
“Memories of Crimea” by Princess Elena Sergeevna Gorchakova
http://www.bigyalta.com.ua/node/2617

In November 1941, there was a terrible battle there. I knew that there once was a tunnel near the church that was blown up during the war, but I had never seen photographs of it. .


Grotto Foros
At the Foros Church. Alexander Terletsky. To be remembered

Therefore, today there is an opportunity to talk about the events of November 1941 and about the hero-border guard Alexander Terletsky.

"...Then German regiments and divisions rushed to Sevastopol, walked along highways, infiltrated through paths, passes and gorges, looked for any loophole - just to quickly surround the city from land. Resort towns and villages were burning along the coast, their reflections made flames sea.
On “Scarecrow” someone wondered:
- Oh, I should hold them at the Baydar Gate!
- At the tunnel?
- Certainly! There, two machine guns can knock out a battalion.
And a day or two later - I don’t remember - the people of the forest house were agitated: some border guards at the Baydar Gate did such a thing that it’s hard to believe. The German motorized vanguard was detained for a whole day. There are countless corpses there.
...Alexander Terletsky, the head of the Foros border outpost, was urgently summoned to the unit commander, Major Rubtsov.
- Where is your family, junior lieutenant?
- Evacuated, Comrade Major.
- Fine. Select twenty border guards and come to me with them.
Nobody knew why they were lined up so suddenly. The unit commander personally walked around the formation and looked everyone in the eyes.
- We are leaving, and you are staying. You will keep the Germans at the tunnel all day. Remember - a day! And no matter how many there are, keep them! If you're scared, admit it!
The system was silent. The commander gave time for preparation and took Terletsky aside as parting:
- If anything happens, we will take care of Ekaterina Pavlovna and Sashka. Go, Alexander Stepanovich.
In the narrow gorge, distant artillery explosions roar - Sevastopol is fighting. On a stone patch hanging over the abyss there is a tobacco barn - thick-walled, made of ringing diorite.
It’s empty inside, dry tobacco leaves play and rustle in the breeze. Only in the attic voices are barely audible - there are border guards.
Someone approaches the barn and knocks on the door with a rifle butt. In response - not a sound.
An unexpected burst of machine gun fire pierces the door. Narrow beams of light from flashlights search dark corners.
The Germans enter en masse. They breathe more freely, chatter, and sit down.
Dawn is slowly creeping up.
The eyes from the attic counted the soldiers. There were eight of them - tall, young, without helmets, with machine guns on their stomachs.
Behind the walls, mountain water roared, bouncing on gray stones; far in the west, a front was awakening.
New sounds began to be carefully woven into this already familiar noise - German vehicles were crawling towards the tunnel.
They slashed from the attic with machine gun fire - not a single soldier rose.
- Take away the weapons and documents! - Terletsky was the first to jump from the attic. - Remove it, cover it with tobacco!
There is no trace left, only in the breeze, as before, a dry tobacco leaf plays and rustles.
Light. Terletsky looked at the tunnel and gasped: the night explosion was not so strong.
Showed it to his border guards:
- Bad job! Do you understand me?
Below the tunnel, armored personnel carriers stopped and soldiers poured out of them.
- Do you understand me? - Terletsky asked again and lay down behind the machine gun mounted in the attic. - And be quiet!
- Johann! - voice from below.
- Do not shoot! A bayonet will do. Bedukha, I instruct you.
- Understood.
- Johann! - a voice right at the door.
The doors creaked, opened slightly, a helmet appeared and immediately rolled down onto the yellow tobacco leaves.
The motorized infantry was approaching the tunnel. The soldiers got confused and began throwing stones.
Two machine guns hit at the same time. Those who were at the tunnel fled. Only the dead and wounded remained.
Machine guns fired at conveyors.
...A day has passed. Already in the tobacco barn there is no attic, no doors. A stone skeleton remained, and five border guards from the Foros outpost survived.
Terletsky, black from burning, in a tattered overcoat, lay behind the last machine gun.
“Ten grenades, two loaded discs, comrade commander,” reported Sergeant Bedukha.
The tanks arrived. The guns are on the frame of the barn. They hit with direct fire.
The border guards jumped out before a new volley cut off the entire right side of the barn to the ground.
...Five border guards were brought in to the chief of staff of the Balaklava partisan detachment, Akhlestin - scorched, with sunken eyes, barely standing on their feet. One of them, tall, gray-eyed, putting his hand to his visor, reported:
- A group of border guards from the Foros outpost from a combat mission... - The border guard fell.
- So it was you who held the Baydar Gate? - asked Akhlestin, raising Terletsky.
...Alexander Terletsky became commissar of the Balaklava detachment."
"...We went up to the road. Terletsky and two radio operators. Terletsky listened. Quiet.

“Let’s go,” he whispered and ran across the road. The radio operators are behind him. He's in the cotoneaster, on the path, and then... an explosion! We ran into a secret mine. The radio operators died. Terletsky fell unconscious.

In the morning, residents of the village of Baydary saw how burly fascists were leading a tall Soviet commander down the street in a torn, bloody overcoat, with a bandaged head.

Residents of the village were herded into the commandant's office. They brought us in one by one, pointing to the shell-shocked commander, whose face had already been bandaged.

Terletsky's gray eyes looked motionless at the one who was brought to him. The commandant asked the same thing:

Who is this?

They were silent, although they knew Alexander Stepanovich, whose outpost was beyond the pass near the sea. The confrontation continued the next day, this time it was the residents of the village of Skeli who responded. A thin man with a policeman's sleeve badge hurriedly approached and shouted:

So this is Terletsky! The head of the Foros outpost and, of course, a partisan.
Not far from the Baydar Gate there is a lonely church. There was a restaurant here before the war, tourists came here and admired the South Coast from the site behind the church.

On a cold March day, several women, in shabby clothes, with knots on their thin shoulders, frightenedly huddled against the retaining wall. From below, from the direction of Yalta, a black car was approaching, honking heart-rendingly. I stopped. The Germans in black overcoats pulled a barely alive man out of the back of the car. He couldn't stand. The Nazis tied a rope around the knees of the lying man and dragged him to the abyss. They poured something into his mouth and placed him over the cliff. An officer and a village policeman approached. The officer shouted something and pointed down to Foros, to the sea. The village policeman shouted:

Admit it, you fool! Now you will be thrown into the abyss...

The officer took two steps back, and the policeman wrapped the end of the rope around the cast-iron parapet post.

The Nazis pushed Terletsky into the abyss. Falling stones rustled. One of the women screamed and froze.


The officer looked at his watch for a long time. He waved his hand. The soldiers pulled the rope - blue bare feet appeared. Terletsky was thrown into a puddle, he moved, opened his eyes, looked intently at the women, bowed his head and began to drink greedily. They hurriedly grabbed him by the arms, lifted him up, and threw him into the car. She rushed off towards Baydar.

This is Katya's husband, our waitress. Yes, Ekaterina Pavlovna. She has a son - Sashko.

Lord, what have they done to a man!

It was a clear day. The drums hit. Soldiers and policemen ran along the crooked streets. The inhabitants of Skelie were herded to a granary, on the extended mat of which a loop was dangling.

Cannon salvoes thundered near Sevastopol.

Terletsky was dragged along the street. They threw him under the gallows.

Another volley. Below, in the Baydar Valley, there is a cloud of thick smoke. It was a naval battery that hit. Terletsky suddenly raised his head, listened and looked for a long time at the silent crowd, then walked up to the stool under the noose, pushed the executioner away and climbed onto the scaffold himself.

The volleys struck with new power - one after another. Terletsky turned his face to the front and, gathering his last strength, shouted:

Live, Sevastopol!" (I. Vergasov "Crimean notebooks")

After the war, Ekaterina Pavlovna Terletskaya (the hero’s wife) and border guards found his remains and reburied them in a park in Foros.

(I. Vergasov “Crimean notebooks”)
Source http://www.rusproject.org/history/history_10/krym_terleckij

*Literally yesterday I walked along the road I mentioned above. During the existence of the tunnel, the road to Foros did not pass through it, but from the church towards Mount Foros, going down a serpentine road and returning under the red rock and again moving away from it... and ultimately ends up on the Sevastopol - Yalta highway. http://www.odnoklassniki.ru/baydarskay/album/51476252852405


Tunnel


Tunnel at the Baydar Gate, old postcard from the collections of the Chekhov House Museum in Yalta

The Baydar Gate is one of the amazing sights of the Crimean Peninsula. The Baydar Gate is located on the old Sevastopol road, between the villages of Foros and Orlinoe.

Geographic coordinates of the Baydar Gate on the map of Crimea GPS N 44.406153, E 33.782005.

- a monument that was built in 1848 in honor of the completion of a grandiose construction at that time, namely the road that connected the cities of Yalta and Sevastopol. The strategic importance of this road is difficult to overestimate - in those days it was the second road leading to Yalta. The first was built in 1837, it connected Yalta and Simferopol, as a result the city received a new direction for communication and trade. Now Yalta had three possible routes: sea and two roads to the western and northern directions of Crimea. In the mid-19th century, Turkey’s claims to the Crimean Peninsula were still strong and each new road provided significant opportunities for maneuver of troops, their rapid and unnoticeable transfer to the peninsula.

Vorontsov was involved in construction work and development of this part of Crimea. By his order, in honor of the completion of construction work, a portico was built by the architect K.I. Eshliman, together with observation deck which offers a wonderful view of the sea.
The Baydar Gate is located at an altitude of 604 meters above sea level, between the Chhu-Bair and Chelebi mountains. From the Baydar Gate one of the most best views to the Foros Church, Cape Aya and Laspi Bay.

Planning a trip to the Baydar Gate, they usually visit the second attraction located on the route, namely the Foros Church. Its construction provided invaluable experience in constructing complex objects on the edge of a cliff and on steep terrain in Crimea. After the Foros Church, one of the most famous attractions of Crimea, the Swallow's Nest, was built.

You can get to the Baydar Gate from Sevastopol: after passing Balaklava and the “Night Wolves” biker club, you need to find the turn to the village of Orlinoye or find the sign “Shalash restaurant”; further along the main road and in 20 minutes you are at your destination. Second option: go up from Foros, there is a turn towards the gate, indicated by a large sign “Shalash restaurant”; the road before the tunnel turns sharply to the right, a 20-minute climb and you are at the Foros Church, another 5 minutes uphill and you are at the Baydar Gate.

Near the Baydar Gate there is a restaurant with beautiful views and good food, mainly consisting of ethnic Crimean cuisine. There is also a small market with souvenirs and fur products. Almost all the products on the market are handmade, the sellers are mainly from the nearby mountain village of Orlinoe.

Visit to the Baydar Gate and - a very interesting adventure, the road is much better than on, the slopes and turns are not so sharp and the serpentine does not feel so strong. Along the way, from the side, there will be several mountain springs, built at the end of the 19th century. In the summer, water flows from only one, and the rest of the time both sources work. Therefore, if possible, take a container with you for collecting water.

Baydar Gate on the map of Crimea

The Baydar Valley is a charming and lovely place in southwestern Crimea. Even the toponym Baydar-Ova confirms what has been said: Paydar in Turkic languages ​​is magnificent, excellent, Ova is a valley.

Preserved here old road from Sevastopol to Yalta, it crosses the valley and through a shallow gorge reaches the Baydarsky Pass (527 m above sea level). To the west of the Baydar Gate rise the spurs of the Chelyabi peak (655m) with a rocky cliff protruding to the south - Mount Foros (563 m) or Razriv-Mountain, to the east is Mount Chhu-Bair (705 meters).

In 1787, having completed an extremely difficult and lengthy journey of 5,657 versts for those times (14 carriages, 124 pairs of sleighs were involved, the retinue reached 3,000 people), Her Imperial Majesty Catherine II visited here. Her route travel around Crimea did not include, unfortunately (due to the lack of equipped roads), the entire South Coast, however, following from Balaclavas towards Karasubazar (now Belogorsk), the empress nevertheless climbed to the then wild Baydar-Bogaz pass and literally “out of the corner of her eye” looked into the fairyland, which she later called the “best pearl” of her crown... Years later , when the pass was already fully equipped, and the road from Yalta to Sevastopol did not seem to be a serious obstacle to travel in carriages, Emperor Nicholas I also visited here. It was he who called the Baydarsky Pass the “Russian Simplon”, firmly and decisively equating the recognized landscape beauties of the Alps with those that were just entering the tourist fashion of the Russian aristocracy of Gorny Crimea.

The road passing through the pass was built by order of the Governor of Novorossiya M.S. Vorontsov, constructed under the leadership of engineer Colonel Slavich.

The construction of the road was carried out by military builders, Russian soldiers. Construction work was repeatedly interrupted (in 1830-1831 due to epidemics of plague and cholera), accompanied by human casualties(in 1834, a mountain collapse occurred at the pass, under which four construction soldiers died...). But still, despite everything, the road was built. .

In memory of the completion of construction in 1848, according to the design of the architect K.I. Eshliman, a stone arch was erected at the pass point, preserved to this day— Baydar Gate, a kind of “parade” entrance to South Coast. From an architectural point of view, the Baydar Gate is a portico made of blocks of limestone mined here with a complex cornice, flanked by semi-columns and covered with an entablature. On the sides of the portico there are pedestals in the form of rectangles, made of limestone and giving a monumental appearance to the Gate. A staircase leads to the viewing platforms at the top of the propylaea.

The Baydarsky pass is not the highest in Crimea, but the strip of the southern coast here is quite narrow and the sea approaches the very foot of the mountain cliffs and rocks. And, of course, the view from this pass is perhaps the most spectacular and impressive. And the most unexpected one.

The road had just climbed the relatively gentle northern slopes of the Main Ridge, winding through the mountain forest, as if in an elegant green tunnel. And here, at the pass, the horizon suddenly opened up. Ahead, as far as the eye can see, the sea sparkles and shimmers; deep below lies a green carpet of gardens, parks and vineyards; the church on the rock complements this picturesque picture and, as if guarding all this beauty, like giants, huge masses of steep and torn rocks hang.

Of course, this view is unlikely to leave anyone indifferent - and even more so the creative people, people of art who have been here: artists, poets, writers, musicians.

The road winds. Thickets, valleys... The day is blazing, cloudless and fierce.

We walk along the long road without rest, And suddenly I hear: Canoes!

I look - the gate... Two desert rocks, And then? Next... Or is it a spell?!

These enthusiastic, wonderful lines belong to the outstanding Ukrainian poetess Lesya Ukrainka (L.P. Kosach-Kvitka).

In 1890, while in Crimea, the terminally ill poetess traveled a lot, drawing inspiration for her creativity and, probably, vitality from the Crimean nature. In the same year, while traveling from Sevastopol to Yalta, she visited Baydar. The kayaks conquered her, this poem was born, which was subsequently included in the poetic cycle Crimean Memoirs.

Modest Mussorgsky wrote the piano piece "Baidara".

The Polish poet Adam Mickiewicz, the author of the amazing cycle “Crimean Sonnets”, which became the crown of his trip to Crimea in the summer of 1825, dedicated one of his sonnets to these places. I. Bunin was very fond of these lines, which prompted him to study the Polish language.

Baydar Valley.

I'm galloping like mad on a mad horse:

Valleys, rocks, forests flash before me,

Changing like wave after wave in a stream...

I love that whirlwind of images!

But the horse became weak. It's quietly pouring onto the ground

Mysterious darkness from the darkening skies,

And everything rushes before tired eyes

That whirlwind of images - valleys, rocks, forest...

Everything is sleeping, I can’t sleep - and to the sea

I'm running away:

Here comes the black shaft with a noise: I am greedy

I bow to him and extend my hands...

It splashed, it closed: chaos dragged me -

And I, like a spinning boat in the abyss, wait

That my thought will taste at least for a moment of oblivion.

And the famous Russian journalist Uncle Gilyai, Moscow reporter and poet Vladimir Gilyarovsky expressed his feelings no less emotionally:

And above us, and below us,

Now the azure, now the steel of the sea -

With clouds and waves

Mother of pearl distance...

We're rushing down the road,

The aroma is intoxicating

Gemstone prisms

They burn in the brilliance of the sun.

Gemstones are not only a poetic image. In the southern cliff of a mountain with the half-forgotten name Yaurn-Chaurn-Beli, underground balls were discovered that were once filled with Iceland spar (and this is the same caplicite, but only colorless, transparent and with the ability to refract light twice). When studying vein calcite, voids were discovered in it. The fact that crystals of transparent minerals sometimes contain “prisoners” - voids with liquid in which a gas bubble floats, was known back in ancient times: “... like a hostage, a drop is hidden in it. It is the water that gives the crystal its special value,” wrote the Roman poet Octavius ​​Claudian.

Once upon a time, in the old days, transparent Icelandic crystals from a vein, unfortunately now depleted, were sold here.

The most consonant with the solemn beauty of these places are the marvelous lines of the poet A.K. Tolstoy, who lived in Melas. He passed through the pass with his bride Sofia Andreevna in 1865.

The fog rises at the bottom of the rapids,

Among the midnight cool

Wild cumin smells stronger

The waterfalls thunder louder.

How dazzling is the moon!

How the peaks of mountains are outlined!

Visible in the silvery twilight

Below is the Baydar Valley.

The skies are shining above us,

The blackest thing is before us,

The shining dew trembles

There are large tears on the leaves...

It’s easy for the soul: I don’t hear

The shackles of earthly existence,

No fear, no hope,

What will happen in the future, what happened before -

I don't care - and what about me

Always pulled to the ground like a chain,

Everything disappeared with the anxiety of the day,

Everything was drowned in the moonlight...

Where has the thought gone?

Why does she seem so drowsy?

Is it in the middle of a magical dream?

Are we riding along the cliff together?

Is it you, full of timidity,

Did you lean towards me silently?

Am I really not seeing in a dream?

How the stars shine above,

Like a horse treads carefully,

How is your chest breathing anxiously?

Or under the deceptive moon

I'm only teased by a false ghost

And is this a dream? Oh, if only I

It was impossible to wake up!

Ivan Bunin, the Nobel laureate, visited Crimea many times, became firmly attached to this region, and the love never faded, even in distant emigration.

It's getting light...Over the sea, above the canopy of clouds,

The azure morning brightens:

Peaks of the bizarre baydar steeps

They turn vaguely and softly blue.

The sea is like a mirror... The surf does not splash...

Under a light veil of fog,

In the gorges, where the darkness crowds the night,

It's still cool and early...

But with every minute in the dawn rays

Both the shore and the sea are becoming clearer...

How wonderful it is here, in these green mountains,

Fresh spring dawns!..

In conclusion - an excerpt from the “Guide to Crimea” by Grigory Moskvich for 1912.

“As soon as you step on the other side of the gate, the majestic sea opens up in all its beauty and unspeakable splendor: there below, far away, it swirls in the deep fog, laughing, sparkling, sparkling and kissing the shore blooming with plantings. At sunrise, purple-golden clouds covering the horizon by the sea as a solid wall, combined with the luxurious greenery of the valley, on which the freshness of the night still lies, gives the picture opening from the Baydar Gate a special charm. There is a platform above the gate from which the views are even more majestic, even grander.”

P.S. From 1848 to 1972, the Baydarsky Pass was the only road leading to Sevastopol from the southern coast, and only after the construction of the Yalta-Sevastopol highway through the Laspinsky Pass, the Baydarsky Gate became not just a “passing” attraction, but a place that again symbolized the opening of the southern coast Crimea