Then, when we go back, tanned, happy, carefree, we're ready to be stoics again. We're ready to face the winter, the cold, the queues. It's Koktebel that makes all that bearable. The following day, another friend, Karen, takes us up onto a mountain just around the corner, overlooking the Karadag. The climb demands concentration.
Time is short.
We have to hurry to keep up with the sun and with Karen, whose nimble fifty year-old feet carry him lightly up through the rocks. Every so often, he calls a halt. The following day, exhausted, I wake up late. Vladimir Vladimirov is already laying table for breakfast in the garden of the old house under the mountain. I see that Vladimir has laid seven instead of the usual five.