Yes, the local color in Karaganda was felt in everything, and Asian exoticism at first caused all of us, especially the father, a feeling of real euphoria. And, indeed, in comparison with the order boring Barnaul, Karaganda appeared before us in an amazing splendor. We walked with my father along the wide avenue named after Nurken Abdirov, a Kazakh pilot, who repeated Gastello's feat during the Great Patriotic War; Drank koumiss, which was sold at every step instead of kvass; Ate beshbarmak in the cafe "Botakoz", which means in Kazakh "camel's eye" - in general they enjoyed life in full in this, as we then thought, a fertile Asian region. There was one more circumstance that favorably distinguished Karaganda from Barnaul in the early 70s of the last century and especially pleased mother - food abundance in the stores. After the chronic "torricelli emptiness" on the Barnaul shelves, we really thought that we were in paradise - it affected the miners' special supply in the city of all-Union significance.
One thing only at first exasperated us, the forest inhabitants of Altai - the absence of nature outside the city. After the rich ribbon pine forest - the relic coniferous forest of the glacial period in Barnaul - the Kazakh steppe, with the endless ocean stretching around Karaganda, looked very poor. It took time to find delights in this ascetic nature. And indeed, the steppe in its own way, too, can please the eye, unless you are, of course, agrophobic, and no less than forests and mountains.
The steppe in Kazakhstan is especially good in the spring. The red disk of the Sun, rising above the horizon like a giant UFO, transforms the steppe in an instant, adding soft, surreal shades to the colorful palette of spring flowers and grasses; Fragrant herbage, as in a slow motion picture, gently sways in the plasma of the solar wind; Languishing in the sun, plunging you into the magical world of steppe scents. All your senses are working at the limit, eagerly trying to embrace, sense, absorb all this splendor! Creator only once a year allows himself "in full" to relax in the steppes, turning after a bored winter from a grumbling misanthrope into a real merry fellow and an impressionist artist. The range of colors used by Him is impressive: red and yellow tulips, crimson poppies and undersized irises with yellow and purple flowers, fragrant violets and mauve anemones, frivolous buttercups and appetizing shrubs of wild asparagus all merge into a multicolored rainbow, a many-voiced chorus of smells and watercolors of spring Steppe. I happened to visit both the Gobi Desert and the Roerich sacred corners of the Altai Mountains. And one can argue where the breath of the Cosmos is felt stronger. In any case, I was able to make sure on my own experience that the meditative practices of Mongolian nomads are not inferior to the spiritual practices of Tibetan monks.
While finishing work was taking place in our new house, my father settled us at the hotel "Chaika" - the only hotel of the representative class at that time. She looked like an imposing manor surrounded by a high fence, with a park and even a fountain inside. At our disposal was a three-room suite, with a luxurious bathroom and even a queer bidet for that time. On the territory of the hotel there was an exclusive two-storey bungalow for VIP persons, namely cosmonauts, who after returning from space, tired of long overloads, were brought from Baikonur to restore their strength. I, the ubiquitous child, quickly became friends with the hotel staff, who took care of me as my son, arranging improvised excursions to local attractions. The old resident of the hotel, Uncle Semyon, a janitor with a 30-year experience, told me in a "big secret" that the walls of this mansion were remembered by Yuri Gagarin, Herman Titov and Valentina Tereshkova. "My dearest woman, by the way, and very modest in my life!" - Uncle Semyon recounted, remembering with warmth the eminent hotel guests. Fantasy Uncle Semyon knew no boundaries. In the hotel lived the general favorite of the staff of the elderly mongrel Belka - folded bitch - albino with a pointed but very expressive muzzle. Uncle Semyon whispered to me "the most important state secret", having first taken with me the obligation of non-disclosure: "This is the same Squirrel that flew into space with the Arrow!" I was struck to the core of this news, although the worm of doubt continued to gnaw my childish Consciousness: "And where is the Arrow?" "We buried her a year ago," Uncle Semyon answered unperturbedly. "Do you want me to show you the grave?" I did not look at the grave of the heroic dog, at last, having believed in the legend of the "1960 space odyssey". At the same time, I began to treat Belka with such reverence and trembling, which, probably, would not apply to Valentina Tereshkova, whether
