This is a Latin dictum, an ancient sailor's proverb: "It is necessary to sail on the sea ..." Once the sea for a person was endless, boundless, unclear and therefore constantly beckoning - and what's next, beyond the horizon? In ancient times, when no one knew that the Earth was a ball, this wisdom was born. The proverb is written in full like this: "It is necessary to sail on the sea, it is not so necessary to live." The depth of thought lies in the fact that people have always valued knowledge of the world around them more than life itself. Discovering the unknown is always risky. But the man from the cradle of his history deliberately took risks. Otherwise, we would not know the outlines of the continents, the depths of the ocean, the space of deserts, the heights of the mountains and the thickness of the snow. Everything is gained by daring. Every step is marked by courage, challenge to danger and hardship.

It is unthinkable to enumerate all those who, bit by bit and scraps, collected the present image of the Earth, their name is Humanity. But our memory keeps the brightest names and will keep them forever: Columbus, Magellan ... Our century has added two names to this list: Gagarin, Armstrong ...

It is necessary to sail on the sea ... It was fortunate for Gagarin and Armstrong to affirm the philosophical breadth of this thought, because it was no longer about the sea, not about the Earth as a whole, people stepped into the space lying outside the Earth.

Everything that happens after the first step always exceeds the dimensions of the first step. But those who walk a torn path and a wide road will certainly remember the first effort, the first one daring. People now live in space for weeks, months. But it took more than a hundred minutes, lived by Gagarin, to make everything else possible.

"It is necessary to sail on the sea ..."

Gagarin has two birthdays. The first, quiet and inconspicuous, is in a peasant house. The second is in full view of the entire Earth. The second birth caused a lot of feelings: “He is a man - a messenger of the Earth”, “He is ours, Soviet”. And, perhaps, the most important feeling - “he is the same as everyone else”, was born in a peasant house, ran barefoot as a boy, knew the need ... The highest pride of ordinary people is to see a person of his milieu at the pinnacle of success. It gives a person hope, strength and faith. That is why the Smolensk guy in one hour became a citizen and a favorite of the Earth. Fifteen years have passed since that April (how time flies!). We remember: in maternity hospitals in those days, most boys were given the name Yuri. These guys are fifteen now. Gagarin is already history for them. The living appearance is gradually obscured by monuments, songs and poems, the names of steamers, villages, stations and squares - the usual and natural path from life to legend. And therefore it is very important on Gagarin's birthday to remember him as a living person.

I knew Gagarin intimately. I met him at the cosmodrome, at a wedding, on a fishing trip, at a meeting of scientists, in an honorary presidium, in a cheerful Komsomol flea market and at home surrounded by children. I saw Gagarin in robes hung with orders of honor from many countries. And I saw him in satin shorts, when the astronaut slapped his legs with his palms, fighting off mosquitoes. There are people who knew Gagarin closer and deeper. I think the best book about him that has not yet been written will be the book of memoirs. Simple, artless, each one or two pages long. Mother, childhood friends, spacecraft designer, statesman, Gagarin's wife, rocket launcher, cosmonauts, the person who sent him on his last flight ... Each word - and we will receive a living testimony of a person who is very dear to us.

If I had to participate in this book, I would write my page about the first meeting. Then, on April 12, 1961, we still did not know who this person was, we only knew his surname and some details of his biography. I was eager to see the cosmonaut, and reporter Pavel Barashev and I, having overcome mountains of obstacles, received permission to fly to the landing area. We were the only passengers in the huge IL-18 plane. The stewardess clearly knew some secret. And we became its owners without much effort: "This plane will deliver Gagarin to Moscow tomorrow."

In Kuibyshev, new obstacles awaited us, but by four o'clock in the afternoon we nevertheless made our way into the fortress guarding the cosmonaut. It was a house on the banks of the Volga. There was a billiards table in the large hall. We began to chase the balls, looking impatiently at the large oak door. It was from it, as it seemed to us, that the cosmonaut was to appear. A thin, pretty lieutenant, who had escaped along a narrow wooden staircase from above, we took for an adjutant, who, of course, should be here ...

Are you from Komsomolskaya Pravda? the lieutenant said with a friendly smile.

The train of elderly generals and doctors in civilian clothes, glittering with ribbons, up the stairs from above immediately clarified everything - we spoke with Gagarin! But there is nothing heroic about a person. Growth is below average. It is tailored, however, extremely well. There are cheerful sparks in the eyes. Conquering smile. All the thoughtful questions that we prepared for the astronaut turned out to be out of place. You had to ask something very simple. Gagarin helped us out.

Well, how is Moscow?

We had newspapers with the first story about an astronaut, with pictures of his house. This was the first mirror of fame, and Gagarin looked into it with boyish curiosity.

Yes, this is Valya and her daughter ...

We recovered and hurried with questions about health and well-being. They asked me to play billiards. Gagarin readily took up the cue and immediately showed that he did not intend to lose. The game, however, did not work out. One of us fussed about filming, and the medical generals had their own duties - with jokes, arm in arm, but persistently they took Lieutenant Gagarin away from us. From the stairs, turning, he winked and showed his hand, they say, we'll finish the game.

The astronaut slept well that night, as always. But Barashev and I did not fall asleep. Having sent a note to the newspaper, they answered the same question for a long time. Everyone in the editorial office wanted to know: what is he like? Then, almost until the morning, we sat near the receiver - the word Gagarin was continuously repeated on the air in different languages.

In the morning, the hall, where yesterday we started a billiard game, was filled with eminent citizens of the city of Kuibyshev - directors of factories, heads of various departments. Each had a gift for the astronaut. ... And everyone was led here by unlimited curiosity: what is he? And then there was a sea of ​​people, in which the IL-18 seemed like a small fish. Gagarin, in a brand new, brand new, major, stood on the stairs, raising his hands to greet. But people didn't want to let him go. One word flew over the field: Ga-gar-rin! At that moment it was possible to understand: the guy will not have an easy life.

Then we flew to Moscow. These were two hours in Gagarin's life, when everything was over, and everything was just beginning. The fighters of the honorable escort were visible through the windows. The commander of our plane came out to say: “What is happening on Earth, brothers! Our radio operator cannot fight back. Journalists beg, threaten, demand, ask at least a word from the cosmonaut ... "

This was the second birth of Gagarin. Thus began the test of human strength, a more severe test than crossing the frontiers of space. Did he himself expect to be at the height of attention, curiosity, and worship? Five minutes before landing at Vnukovo, I sat down next to him. The plane flew just over the Kremlin. The streets were crowded with people.

In honor of you ... Expected?

Gagarin was embarrassed and visibly agitated. He knew, of course, the value of everything that he had done the day before yesterday morning, but he clearly did not expect, did not imagine this avalanche of feelings locked in his name ...

And then there were seven more years of life; busy life in front of people. Job. Family. Friends. Everything was like the others. But there was still a difficult, lifelong honor - to be a symbol of the nation, the personification of everything that stood behind his one hundred and eight-minute flight. The full severity of this load was known only to Gagarin. But he never complained. He knew how to keep up everywhere. His famous smile did not fade from time to time, did not turn into only a protective agent. Superman? No, an ordinary man of flesh and blood, but he was a man of good leaven and a very strong temper. This is what is dear. Have you dreamed of flying yet? Dreaming. I didn’t talk about it often, but I did. And he had certain plans ... Such people would have to be released for two centuries, but he lived to an insulting little time. But he lived well. Until the last minute he lived according to a high standard: "It is necessary to sail on the sea ..."

If you ask a sailor (it does not matter - the present or the former) the question "how far has your ship sailed?" - there is a good chance that the answer will be as follows: "the city is floating ... the ships are sailing!" (Another option: "what ships did you sail?"

So, those sailors who are a little more cultured - usually the most indecent word in this phrase is replaced by the phrase "fly in jam". And from truly cultured sailors this proverb is hardly ever heard (but are there such?).

Initially, apparently, it was invented by the "old" sailors - with the aim of showing off in front of the newly arrived "dushars". It has leaked onto land, of course - through those dismissed to the reserve ... And there it has already begun to spread like an infection - thanks to the stable rule "one fool blurted out - the rest picked it up."

Well, okay, to hell with him. Moreman knows better what swims in the sea and what walks. But, it is very funny that nowadays they do not "float", but WALK inflatable rubber boats, kayaks, catamarans, rafts and other lake-river troughs (by the way, they have nothing to do with the sea) together with their "captains" and crew ( who could not serve in the army at all, not to mention the navy). None of the above persons, apparently, wants to inadvertently turn out to be the same waste of life that appears in the maritime proverb.

Obviously, all this substitution of concepts is also done in order to amuse your pride. They say - what a seasoned I am, in fact - a sailor. True, the lion's share of such "sailors" saw the sea only from the shore, or at best - from the passenger window of a pleasure boat. Therefore, from the outside all this "navigation" looks like a kindergarten and a banal monkey, but from a scientific (psychiatric, of course) point of view - as a manifestation of a certain inferiority complex.

But according to the dictionary of the Russian language - the word "sail" in relation to sailors and their ships (and therefore - in general to any ships and floating craft) is much more applicable in meaning and "literary" than "to walk", which is assigned only to a professional colloquial (exactly sea!) application.

But that's not all. It turns out that the great and mighty Russian language itself has put a good bandwagon on who should be. From the same dictionary it turns out that in the medical colloquial - the word "walk", in addition to its basic meaning, also implies (cough-cough) the actual biomechanical process, as a result of which the substance is born that floats in that catch phrase.

For "swim" and "walk" there are synonyms that have some semantic difference from them. This is "swim" and "go". According to the dictionary, “swim” and “walk” mean repeated movement without a specific direction (by the way, “swim”, by the way, also means not only movement, but simply being in the water), and “swim” and “walk” mean a single movement in a certain direction.

What's funny - and these two words were involved in the same madhouse as "swim" with "walk", although they are not even used in the favorite Moreman proverb. Moreover, the unpleasant substance mentioned in it, by itself - without the application of external force - is physically unable to swim. But explain this to the illiterate people. It remains only to answer with irony - "well, therefore, I - g ...!", And continue to row the oars.

“It is necessary to sail on the sea. It's not so necessary to live. " Flashed on the Internet page, from childhood, a familiar phrase that belonged, as far as I remember, to one of the Roman generals. Desperate selflessness, in its literal sense, does not evoke in me unambiguous admiration today, as in my youth. Rather, it frightens with its recklessness.

Pompey Sextus, commander of the Roman fleet in ancient times. I would like to learn more about him. I search the net and suddenly I find an ad-offer:

Book.
“Ice splashes. Victor Konetsky ".
This is the seventh book of V. Konetsky from the series
Travel prose, that is, prose about the sea
Labor, marine production.
Hardcover, perfect
condition. I will exchange for some
love story.

V.Konetsky's book for "some ..."! Who is this madman?

What a wonderful sea romance the reading of my childhood was enveloped in. "Children of Captain Grant", "20,000 Leagues Under the Sea", "Fifteen-Year-Old Captain", "Treasure Island", "Scarlet Sails", "Island of the Dead Ships", "The Old Man and the Sea", "Amphibian Man" ... But after the sea the topic did not let go. Thor Heyerdahl appeared and conquered with his "Kon-Tiki", "Ra" and "The Mystery of Easter Island". J.I. Cousteau and his Whales.

My last hobby is Viktor Konetsky. A wonderful singer of the sea. An intelligent, ironic, subtle psychologist of human souls in extreme circumstances. Again I am indignant - V. Konetsky's book is on, what a horrible, love story! Yes, just listen to how this one writes

“Around there was a green swell, the vastness of the ocean, fluttering fields of seagulls above the fish school, reddish-black hulls of trawlers, the breeze and the sun, and distant streaks of fog, empty bottles on the swell overboard, soaked pieces of bread that spoiled seagulls did not pay attention to ... And the first thing we heard fifty miles from New York on the radiotelephone was:
- "Dostoevsky"! Dostoevsky! Dobrolyubov says. Answer by connection!
“Well, I’m Dostoevsky,” replied an old, grumpy voice.
“Hello, Fedor Mikhailovich! - I thought - that's who I did not expect to meet in the Gulf of Maine, so it's you! "

***
Or more:

“Next to Vera Fyodorovna Panova:
- It seems to me, Viktor Viktorovich, you forgot our first meeting.
It was a terrible meeting. Vera Fyodorovna Panova called for a conversation after I asked her to read my next opus and, sweaty with fear, sat on the edge of a chair.
Vera Fyodorovna slowly and carefully put on her glasses and stared at my opus:
- You wrote it here, here is page sixteen "the cow, which my father bought, having returned from the front, died." Did you write that?
“Yes,” I said, and chuckled, for in my youth I was laughing. And suddenly I clearly imagined that my cow defended Moscow and reached Berlin, and upon returning from the front, the poor fellow, died.
But Panova did not smile. She was full of severity. No humor when it comes to a saint. "

No, this is incomprehensible, Konetsky, writing the captain of the long voyage, no matter what kind of love story, - I am indignant at the monitor.

And, by the way, now my love for the sea extends no further than the pages of books. For some time now, I firmly know that I will never step on the deck of a ship again. Anyone. I'm afraid of the sea.

In the early eighties, or rather, in 1982, my husband and I worked at one of the defense facilities. It was a troublesome, tense summer. And the opening was not expected until the very delivery of the structure. The arrived commission "hacked" vacation, including me. And when, as a "consolation prize", they offered in August a business trip with my husband to Sevastopol to agree on the documentation for the technical revision of the "product" for a period of 20 days, I happily seized on it, deciding that without telling anyone, I could take an eight-year-old daughter. We’ll settle down somehow, not to leave the child without the sea this year.

They immediately shook off the plane, allowing themselves a two-day rest from the exhausting race of the stage-by-stage delivery of work, having bought a separate compartment on the train. I loved the train, shopping at the stops of hot smoked fish, lightly salted cucumbers with steaming potatoes in a bag of coarse gray paper, sugar tomatoes, melons, fruits, and most importantly, relaxed idleness, a rare pleasure in those years.

The train arrived at about two in the morning. Sevastopol in those years was a Soviet "closed" city, entry to which was relied on with special passes. Only the telephone, written on the back of the travel card, gave hope for the solution of housing and other problems in an unfamiliar city. However, for this it was necessary to wait for the morning.

We got out of the hot stuffy carriage onto the platform and, the inhabitants of the dry steppe, where by the middle of summer the foliage begins to turn yellow and the grasses turn gray and thorny, plunged into the damp coolness of the southern Crimean night. I still don’t even know how the Sevastopol railway station is arranged. We did not have time to look into it to try to settle for the night, when the locals surrounded us with an offer of an overnight stay. The old woman, who looked like Baba Yaga, as far as her station illumination in the night made it possible, literally, by the sleeve, dragged her husband along with her. We looked at each other, it was all the same, tired, with a stumbling child, obeyed.

Apparently, recently there was a light rain, invisible on the asphalt, but the old woman led us, sliding along a barely noticeable path somewhere up the mountain. We walked, without speaking to each other, through some thickets, barely keeping up with her. And she climbed the steep briskly, like a goat, which was just right to be amazed at her agility. The image of Gogol's lady - a witch - flared up more and more brightly in my mind. But finally, a light flashed between the trees - they came.

The hostess opened the door of a tiny shed, which had nothing but a wide bed and a small sofa, disappeared for a minute and returned with two sets of excellent starched linen, took the money and disappeared. We never saw her again.

We woke up from the crowing of a rooster right under the ear. Then the goat bleated. It turned out that our dwelling was separated only by a plywood partition from the grandma's barnyard, which we didn’t care about at night. When we went out and looked into the courtyard, we saw ... a beige llama and a gray peacock, willingly spreading its tail, among fussy chickens.
The morning was warm, quiet and we, despite the early hour, hurried to leave the "hospitable" hut. However, going down the path to the station, we were amazed at what darkness the cockroach decided to climb into at night. All that was left was to marvel at my provincial credulity.

The phone call had a magical effect and after a couple of hours we settled down perfectly in a departmental hotel, where our daughter was not a hindrance to the administration, and until tomorrow we went to get acquainted with the city, the legendary and beautiful Sevastopol.

We had enough time during these twenty days to wander the streets to appreciate the marvelous relief of this city, when in the rain the streams rush down noisily and we, together with everyone, took off our shoes and cheerfully ran to the bus stop. Legendary Count's pier. Primorsky Boulevard. Monuments to Nakhimov, Kornilov. Malakhov Kurgan. Fraternal cemetery. A touching monument over the Mass Grave of Russian and French soldiers, erected in 1892. Panorama "Defense of Sevastopol". Plane trees, chestnuts, walnut, unusual for our eyes. Peaches, sumptuous huge peaches, were sold on every corner. Excellent grapes and books, which we thoughtlessly "attacked" on the first day, and then, like a great temptation, bypassed - it was impossible to grasp the immense wealth lying on the street ruins. They managed with Balzac, Shakespeare, Zola and the new Ozhegov Dictionary, which replaced our, utterly worn out.

The enterprises we are interested in were located in the wonderful town of Balaklava, with its amazing landscape, embankment, Cliff ... And the sea, of course, the amazing sea splashed at our feet.

The designers turned out to be good guys with a concept and, according to the agreed schedule, we carved out several days at the end of the business trip and enjoyed the luck that accidentally fell on us, until this event happened one of the last days.

That Sunday we once again took a pleasure boat to a distant beach, excellent, I must admit, with the finest sand. Now I don’t remember its name. By noon there was nowhere to step. Vacationers kept arriving. We settled down far from the water by the steep sandy wall of the shore under an umbrella and carelessly played with our daughter in the "cities". The husband went deep into Zola.

We did not attach any importance to the fact that the wind had freshened up. On the contrary, seeing how waves suddenly began to reach our bare heels, dragging us along, we mischievously rushed into the water, flying back with another wave, almost to the wall of our cliff. My daughter was delighted. Hungry. We went up to the summer cafe-glass, standing over the cliff.
Carelessly eating, they suddenly noticed how boats flashed, taking out the rest. In a megaphone, it was announced that the next flight was the last, due to the danger of a storm. The spray from the waves was already reaching the mirrored walls of the cafe. But we confidently entered that last voyage, a boat packed full of people. They sailed away already with strong excitement.

Traveling on a motor ship along the Volga, I never felt fear. But here! The sun has disappeared. It began to drizzle and the rain intensified. Sky and water somehow quickly merged into one gray water mass. The unimaginable began. We took off onto the ridge and dropped off. The overcrowded ship heeled, and all the people, shouting, at first, delight, and then - horror, fell in one direction or the other. Waves began to crash across the deck. Two elderly women began to pray. We, wet from head to toe, with all our strength hugged the child and I, it seems, for the first time in my life, not knowing a single prayer, began to ask God: Lord, help! Help us get to the shore alive! I knew that I would never, never step on deck again, not a single ship in the world.

Only a sailor-worker on deck, who seemed to be calmly reeling in some kind of rope, inspired some kind of hope.

And suddenly in this horror of waves, splashes and rain, right next to us, completely indistinguishable a second before against the background of the billowing sea, a silhouette of a huge cruiser appeared. He walked, it seemed, very close to us by the high gray wall of the hull. It seems that you could touch her with your hand. I managed to catch with my glance the cannons, antennas, masts that flickered, almost invisible in the darkness, and he again disappeared into the rain, invisible and inaudible, like a ghost.

A general exclamation of horror overlapped the sound of the playing waves, and the sailor who was next to him on the deck, suddenly, with a changed face, fervently crossed himself.

Exhausted, we went ashore. There was no strength either to thank or answer the captain's gloomy question:
"No losses?"

Exhausted, we sank onto the steps of the pier. However, like many others ...

But, I remember, in the late seventies, during our fun cruise on the route Saratov-Moscow-Astrakhan-Saratov, somewhere in the Ulyanovsk region, where the Volga looked like the sea, we woke up early in the morning from the demand for a loud-speaking communication from the captain the bridge of our luxury liner:
- Senior mate urgently to the captain!

The motor ship stood, hummed continuously and for some reason the bell was ringing. Thick fog with milk - outside the cabin window. And again, already annoyed:
- First mate to the captain!

In spite of the fact that we did not move, we began to feel sick, and nausea appeared. Those who went out into the corridor were asked to return to their cabins. We listened with frivolous curiosity as the service ran. But the cheerful music included on the broadcast drowned out even the signs of anxiety in our country.

Gradually, the fog cleared, and we went on, without delving into the details of the crew's excitement. Just then, in the late seventies, we still did not know that on June 5, 1983 (a year after our Sevastopol), the passenger motor ship "Alexander Suvorov", when approaching Ulyanovsk, at full speed will go under the non-navigable eighth span of the railway bridge across the Volga, will be demolished the entire upper deck, where there was a disco, and a trainload of coal and grain will fall on the handsome liner. It was announced about 176 dead, and the crippled was innumerable. The cross in Ulyanovsk on the shore stands in memory of the victims.

And further! I remember the magnificent steamer "Admiral Nakhimov". While resting in Gelendzhik, we arrived in Novorossiysk, we wanted to visit the memorial cemetery. We sat on the embankment, watching this luxurious snow-white liner getting ready to sail. A smart crowd of passengers came aboard in an endless stream. Cheerful, happy people. I remember we were surprised how many boxes of wines, champagne, boxes of fruits and vegetables with foreign labeling were loaded into the hold. Cars drove up hastily, and the loaders, in an endless chain moving along the ladder, in the same black clothes looked like ants.

We, quite close by, fed tame dolphins with delicious white rolls made from flour of the Kuban wheat. And who would then have guessed that on August 31, 1986, when leaving the Novorossiysk Bay, the steamship "Admiral Nakhimov" would collide with the dry cargo ship "Pyotr Vasev" and sink two miles from the nearest shore. More than 500 people died. Eternal memory to them.

Never again did I tempt fate on the water. And sailing on the sea is, of course, necessary.

Photo from the Internet.

Navigare necesse est!

Vivere non est necesse

It is imperative to sail on the sea!

It is not so necessary to live.

An old Latin phrase spoken by either Pompey or Pliny.

When you walk along the Lycian Trail along the southern coast of Turkey, your gaze often rests on an inaccessible coastline of amazing beauty, with numerous islands and beaches only accessible by yacht. And the tourist is gnawing at an inquisitive thought - how to swim, get there to places accessible to few. I was hatching this dream for a couple of years, until I accidentally saw a super offer: "I am looking for a partner on a sea trip in a kayak." Roma is an expert on Southeast Asia, who has traveled to thirty countries, sailed two oceans, several seas and bays, was looking for someone to go kayaking along the Turkish coast of the Mediterranean Sea. I could have done it alone, but reasonably judging that it is more fun to do it together. For me it was a jackpot, a lucky lottery ticket.

So I left Kharkov

All technical issues have been resolved and I'm on my way. I was looking for the cheapest air ticket and certainly to Dalaman - near the beginning of the route. And I found him. Therefore, I left two days earlier than Roma. He was carrying his kayak. The kayak "Harpoon", frame-inflatable, weighs 20 kg and was bought especially for sea voyages and the convenience of transportation in airplanes, where it is often necessary to keep within the weight limit of 20 kg. I was carrying most of the common bivouacs and common groceries I bought at home. Turkey did not welcome us with a hot sun, but the water in the sea ... well, not warmer than in the Black Sea, but twice as salty. By the way, salt water more actively penetrates into all kinds of hermetic packaging, and dries more slowly than fresh water.

Directly from the airport I go to the sea and for two days I swim, walk around the neighborhood, eat oranges from ownerless trees. It should be noted that in Turkey a person walking with a backpack on the road is very likely to be brought up for free. Once a taxi driver gave me a lift. Is free! Another time the Germans are pensioners, who have a cottage there near the airport. I drive to the meeting point and the beginning of the route on the shore of the large lake Kyochegiz. There is the city of Kyochegiz.

This is an approximate route map

Early morning. At the end of the embankment I meet Roma. We collect the kayak, set sail. I suggest the first meters on the water along the embankment. There, all coastal towns and villages have embankments with berths of numerous ships and yachts, cafes and staggering tourists. So: we row slowly along the embankment and see if they notice us or not. They notice! Even in Russian! So all this is not in vain !!!

First overnight stay on the peninsula. The breath of the sea is already felt. Strong wind blows. This almost never happens with us. This makes its own adjustments. We set up the tent only in the evening, when the wind has died down. Otherwise it would have blown away. Another thing is that Roma is a fan of settling on a hill with a good view of the lake and the sea. But also with the wind in the load.

The next day we pass the lake to the end. We go along the river, which connects it to the sea. Along the banks there are mountains. In general, the entire coast of Turkey is mountainous and rocky there. The stones are all sharp. So it is not possible to moor everywhere.

On the shore is the city of Dalyan.

There are hundreds of ships and boats at the berths. We have been looking for a berth for a long time. Two water snakes and a sea turtle about a meter in diameter are swimming nearby. In fact, turtles are not allowed into the Lake. There is a turtle fence in the river and a gate for ships. But turtles can be seen waiting at the gate and breaking into the lake after a passing ship to lay their eggs in an unusual lake environment to the delight of predators. When we swam to these gates, apparently we didn’t look like turtles and they opened the gates for us and let us go further into the river.

There are a lot of such towns on the banks of rivers and in our country, but what a resort the Turks have turned it into! Not worse than those promoted on the seaside. And tourists are taken by boat to the sea beach. That is why there are hundreds of boats at the pier. I go to the store for bread and fruit. We fill all the bottles with water of about 30 liters. Suddenly, a local dog jumps into the kayak and unambiguously says that he will swim with us. I have already come across this behavior of dogs in Europe, when they are nailed to tourists and accompany them throughout the trip. I stroke the dog, comfort him. And despite her stubborn demands, I leave it on the shore.

We come to the sea. The wind is strongest there. Sand spit, bay and beach about six kilometers. During the day, imported tourists roam there, and at night the local turtles lay eggs. The ropes are stretched, there are wire fences so that they do not go over the balls. But there are a lot of people walking everywhere. Strong winds bring sea spray and sand. And tourists walk a little lost trying to hide from the wind and sun.

Having defiled along the beach, we go out into the sea, into the waves and wind. Well, I have never walked on such waves before. I believe that the wind was somewhere around 50 km per hour for cycling, and the waves were over a meter high. We go 200 meters from the coast. sideways to the wave. Keeping balance, we make a proactive movement with the body and oar for each wave. I sit in front, the wave sometimes hits me hard in the face, rolls over the boat. At the moment of impact, for a moment I lose my orientation in space and balance. I hope that Roma will keep us afloat at this moment. We pass the beach. You cannot spend the night on it. Our overnight stay is on a small rocky beach in the bay. After such a turbulence and the fact that everything ended well, I have strong feelings: victory over the waves, my fear, in general a bouquet of positive feelings.

Morning Turkish spider sleeping on a kayak!

The next day, to avoid the waves, we go out on the water at 6:30 in the morning. To the cape on the horizon, we are walking with a favorable wind along the calm sea. The sun is slowly peeping out from behind the high mountainous coast. On the cape, chaotic waves appear from different directions. We go around the cape and then it began ... headwind and short pointed waves in the face. It seems that the kayak is standing still despite our desperate efforts. We take closer to the coast and, hiding by the coastal mountains, we go around the large bay. With a strong crosswind, the kayak constantly turns around and rowing from the kayak becomes like a canoe, on one side. Because of the waves and sharp stones, it is impossible to moor to the shore, therefore, stops are rare, only on the beaches. We row sometimes for four hours in a row. Everything you sit with is numb to the point of impossibility. I noticed that after a couple of hours of rowing, I was starting to feel sick: I begin to regret that I had breakfast in the morning. But if you get into a strong turbulence, everything goes away at once, it is forgotten.

We pass by the airport in Dalaman. There is an endless beach about ten kilometers. On it there are nocturnal footprints of "Caretta-Caretta" turtles and other animals. Airplanes landing and taking off are flying over us very close by. We spend the night at the end of the beach. There is a quiet, deserted place. In the morning we rise again at 5:40, at 6:30 We are already on the water. We go around another promontory that juts out into the sea. This time, beyond the cape, the sea was relatively calm, and after walking about twenty kilometers that morning, already at 11:00 we were parked. There is not much point in going further today. The mooring is super-great and the waves get stronger by noon. Dry sticks and pine needles burn in my woodchip with a crackle, like sprinkled with gasoline. Surprisingly, with such an amount of super-dry fuel, not a single trace of forest fires can be seen.

According to the plan, we were supposed to reach the city of Fethiye, but in order not to disassemble the kayak and not dry out on the crowded embankment, we decided to end the hike in Yaniklar, near the mouth of the river.

By the way, it seems that there is no word river in Turkish. There are words a stream. I noticed this while talking with the locals. We washed the salt and dried it. Showed Roma with a kayak to the airport. And I still had two days at sea in Dalaman and sixteen hours between flights to wander around Istanbul. There are two airports in Istanbul: one named after Ataturk on the European side, and the other, where I flew "Sabiha Gokcen" on the Asian side. Sabiha is Ataturk's adopted daughter, who became a pilot. From the airport there is a Havatas express bus to Taksim Square. All sorts of festivals and fairs are held there.

Fair in Taksim. For some reason, they drift away from the theme of dancing dervishes.

Typical Turkish samovar with a teapot on top.

A gourmet paradise.

There are many historical monuments within a radius of five kilometers. I got a night walk across the bridge over the Golden Horn Bay. There, dozens of locals always catch some kind of small anchovy with fishing rods right from the bridge. Small but a lot. I found the historic church of St. Sophia - the stronghold of Byzantium's Orthodoxy. Now there is a mosque, but the name has hardly changed, it is Ai Sophia. I saw in the same place the fortification walls of Constantinople, built in the fifth century by the emperor Roman, which defended the city for a thousand years, but could not withstand the assault of the knights of the fourth crusade in 1204 and the dramatic last siege of the city by the army of Mehmet the second in 1453. Where for the first time in history they fired at them with siege artillery, the diameter of the cores of which sometimes reached one meter!

Ancient walls.

Saint Sophia.

I was amazed by the embankment with bicycles and running tracks stretching beyond the horizon.

And homeless people and tourists sleeping there on the stones. And most importantly, the friendliness and goodwill of the people of Istanbul and all people in Turkey.

Happy Turkish dogs.

This trip cost me 200 dollars for tickets taken 4 days before departure, 900 hryvnia for groceries bought at home and 25 dollars spent in 10 days in Turkey on buses, bread, ayran and fruits.

Even before I knew that it was necessary to sail on the sea, But now I have a clear vision of why I need to strive to visit southern countries, seas and oceans.

And what will be left of us besides

What the cross means in the lists

After all, it's not so necessary to live

And necesse is only navigare est.