the beginning is laid

= Day 1 =

I suppose it's worth starting a diary. I'll make notes in it about key events. Maybe someday this will prove useful, first and foremost to myself. One day, years from now, I'll reread it, and it will help me remember and rethink the entire experience. I decided to get from Krasnoyarsk to Sochi by train. Sometimes I love long journeys – there's always time to think things through properly and mentally prepare for everything. And over these three days of travel, I planned my route more carefully and clearly defined for myself what I want from the trip, where I intend to go, and what experience I want to gain. These two months shouldn't go to waste – I'll squeeze the maximum out of them, as much as possible. Upon arrival, the first thing I did was buy a bicycle, having scoured a fair number of shops and markets. In addition to it, I got a bike pannier, installed a rack and a basket.

I had quite a hassle with the rack – I shouldn't have bought a full-suspension bike, but taken a road bike instead. The thing is, it's very hard to attach a rack to a full-suspension bike...

Plus, it's heavy, and the entire Krasnodar region is nothing but mountains, as it turned out. Add long distances, two backpacks… I got carried away with my choice. Lack of experience? I don't think so – I should have prepared more carefully. Oh well, we'll see what happens next. Toward evening, I found a way to attach the rack so the pannier wouldn't rub against the rear wheel…

During the day, I stopped by Riviera Park and drank mineral water from a spring at the temple...

In the evening, there was a pleasant meeting with old friends – Vasya and Vika, the founders of the Focus Point training center, where I had happily worked the previous couple of years. That was a magical time, a concentrate of magic and unusual events… Nowadays, they live and continue their work in Sochi. We had dinner at a street café near MoreMall, had a heartfelt chat, after which our paths diverged once again. The guys went home, and I… went wherever my eyes led me. I had no goals for this evening…

I spent the rest of the evening and half the night riding through the streets of the night city, completely surrendering to the road, letting the city guide me. I was interested in the city from the inside; I found it cozy and wanted to get to know it better…

Along the way, by chance at a street café, I was lucky enough to chat with a middle-aged woman. The conversation started suddenly and imperceptibly drifted toward talk of purpose, fate, the meaning of life, and other such topics. Well, coincidences aren't coincidental… At the end of our talk, she unexpectedly asked me one question. It hit like a gunshot, yet she spoke softly and not at all harshly. The question left me dumbfounded, and it went something like this: "And what are you looking for?" For a moment, I had the strange feeling that the question wasn't so much asked by her as through her, as if her lips were merely the obedient mouthpiece of something external and invisible, and nothing more. I had a stock, prepared answer for it, and that's exactly what I replied. But that unusual woman's question – about what I'm really looking for here – still occupies my thoughts. And I don't have an honest answer to it… During my stroll through the night city streets, I more than once caught myself feeling as if I were finding myself in others, as if they were all nothing but my reflections. Along my path, I met travelers, just like me, and street guitarists too. But the one who stuck in my thoughts most was a girl on a bicycle, who, like me, was riding somewhere forward simply because she was riding somewhere. For a moment, we exchanged glances. She greeted me with a nod and disappeared around the corner of one of the city's narrow streets…

Toward midnight, I rode past a street bar located along the Sochi river. A rock band was performing there, and as I later learned, they were from California. The vocalist was older – looked about 60, with graying hair, long locks, and a bald spot on the back of his head. It was melodic rock with beautiful vocals; I stood nearby and listened to their performance nonstop for about an hour. They played songs by other artists, but the feeling with which that vocalist sang, his ability to express himself, struck me to the core. Impressed, I rode past that bar more than once and listened. Toward the end, I moved a bit farther from the bar, where there was no one else but me. I couldn't hear as well anymore, but I was alone and could enjoy the live performance in proud solitude. Night, the coolness of the street, live music, the loneliness of a traveler, and the intoxicating feeling of freedom. Such was my first day spent here…