When you start endless repairs or voluntarily surrender to slavery on dacha plantations, I try to follow a simple rule: you can rush even to the Canaries, even to Mytishchi, only so that it is a vacation from the first day, and not a marathon with obstacles, after such a rest you feel more gutted than the entire year of work in the office penal servitude.
After all, this is what many are doing in anticipation of freedom, freedom from work - generally accepted, legalized, such necessary (“because money needs to be earned!”), Native and hated slavery? They, as befits a true drug addict - work- and stress-dependent workaholics, inhaling a breath of intoxicating freedom, immediately start looking for work- and stress-substitute: that is, another dose of a familiar hemorrhoids on their smart heads. They either rush to knock out vouchers for sanatoriums and rest homes (“knocking out” is such a precise definition, there is still, before you get healthier, heal, you must first spend some health on this knocking out, gnawing your teeth at this very healing-healing as if by personal example to prove that you are disabled, ill, dying), or book travel tours to exotic countries, far away and pozakovyristee, as if trying to escape from themselves and everything that reminds them of their slavery, with two transplants and five crossbar . Or they decide to “just spend a couple of days at their dacha”, but first they stand in traffic jams for half a day, then they crawl their ass into the sky on the beds and allow a bunch of problems accumulated for their absence, then exhausted, but satisfied with this rest, they crawl to the house and satisfied, with sick members all over the body, fall into morphic oblivion, in order to return to work again tomorrow.
Those who prefer dachas to rest are more comprehensive and exhausting, run further: these happy, poor in mind and often not poor in body, who have not tasted from the Tree of Knowledge, How Can You Rest, before leaving for the heavenly bushes of the promised land Rest, are bought with a suitcase of rags - so that to carry a sausage on vacation, a sausage suitcase - in order not to die of hunger on the way and on vacation, and a suitcase of money - in order to “rest like people”. And they leave, fly out, jump out of their plagued megacities and shabby tmutarakaney. And ... here it is - the sweet moment of freedom, here it is - happiness ...
But first they need to overcome a couple of barriers in this marathon race on the way to Happiness: book hotels and recreation centers, buy tickets for train-planes, drag all their suitcases to these train-planes and not quarrel with friends, and not get divorced with spouses before you get to your destination. Here it is - Rest! Here it is - Happiness! Of course, all this is done in advance, in advance, in the workplace, when the authorities do not see. But how much strength you need to put on the fact that in this race among your kind, with a sense of elbow in the side and an all-conquering desire to overtake all the others and come to the finish line, at least among the winners.
And what, tell me, is the universal joy of excursions and trips in the composition of some group or, what is worse, with work colleagues, somewhere in belle Paris for two days or a colorful Ural for a week? You are either dragged along the routes planned for you, from some supposedly remarkable ruins to the nearest local history museum or a house where Stolypin himself allegedly stopped from Surgut to Bodaibo, telling all the way legends and fairy tales. Either you yourself are carrying around with colleagues who are bored and at work, who decided for you that boutiques are more interesting than the Louvre, and when, and how, and why?
I tried to run along with everyone a couple of times - well, because they are still running. They run from June to September, drenched in sweats, stood in line, spent the night at train stations. I knocked out some vouchers supposedly due to me to some recreation centers, where everything was already taken, booked hotels that look more like dock houses with palace prices and inhospitable service, dragged some suitcases with rags and sausage with a kind of a dead horse from an airplane on the train, until pretty soon I realized that such a run was not for me - I prefer slow walks, when no one breathes in my head, I value my time and I am nervous.
Now I drive with one backpack, in which there is a sandwich, a bottle of water and a change of linen, I climb away from the trails, resorts, hotels, and train stations that have been dust-covered by the rest of the marathon. First of all, I am looking for simplicity and silence, even in Spartan conditions.
The best rest is, firstly, when it is rest, and not marathon jumps, and secondly, when nature is around and you are your own boss without the regimes of living, feeding and forced walking. And this is why this year I decided to jerk almost savage-free tourist to the reserved places in the north of Belarus - to the Braslav Lakes, which you, dear reader, will be able to learn more about in subsequent reports from there.