In the “Cudablin” project, we send completely different people on trips at our expense! Polina Czech and her friend visited Karlovy Vary. The girls completely immersed themselves in the atmosphere of the 19th century – they abandoned the Internet, electricity and entertained themselves only the way people did more than a hundred years ago. What is it like
— read the report!
I woke up. One hand reached for the phone, the other pulled on the crinoline. “No phone!” — 19th century in the yard.
We spent about forty minutes deciding whether we could take a camera with us: documentation VS cleanliness of the experiment. I wanted to clarify this issue with OneTwoTrip, but then I remembered that I only have pigeon mail at my disposal.
— Ay! “And I turned on the light in the bathroom,” says Anya.
— 2:1. You are for electricity and telephone, and I am for swearing. So far I’m winning.
— It’s still hard when you know that something like this exists. Telephones, electricity, internet…
— Navigator, buses… It feels like the task about selling mineral water was much simpler. But what can you do? But I leafed through several stories and books during the time on the plane and made a list of what the intelligentsia was doing.
— I?
— Feeling like nothing.
Laughed.
— We’ll have to get out. Maybe we can talk about painting while I lace you up?
A few minutes later we left the hotel: dressed in historical costumes, discussing Picasso and Mucha (it doesn’t matter that they are not from those centuries), and heading to their first bohemian breakfast.
Kitty went with her mother and with the Moscow colonel, who was cheerfully flaunting his European frock coat, bought ready-made in Frankfurt. They walked along one side of the gallery, trying to avoid Levin, who walked along the other side. Varenka, in her dark dress and black hat with the brim turned down, walked with the blind Frenchwoman the entire length of the gallery, and every time she met Kitty, they exchanged a friendly glance. (Tolstoy L.N. “Anna Karenina”)
Everyone is staring. They wring their necks straight. Someone stumbles, giving way. Enchanting sensation.
The restaurants are still closed, so we stop to get some bruschettas at the market. The man behind the bench lavishes compliments in broken Russian.
— Seat-seat! Not money! – he says as we hand over the banknotes.
We look at each other and settle down at the only seated table. The owner of the kiosk brings us coffee and breakfast one by one, giving us smile after smile.
— Do you think this is how he serves food to everyone?
— I doubt it…
We go to the promenade along the Karlovy Vary galleries. Although it would be more accurate to say “Carslbaden” – after all, in “our” century the city was called that way. We buy special mugs for mineral springs – we don’t feel any queues, as everyone makes way with interest in front of the rustling skirts. The water in most springs is hot, but not scalding. We avoid the ninth – it is for constipation.
The Chinese brethren ask to be photographed, but we refuse: if you draw portraits, that’s for a sweet soul.
— So, we walked through the galleries, treated ourselves with water, and discussed those present. Next what?
— And then we climb the mountain and walk through the forests.
— In dresses?
— Do you think that in the 18th century ladies wore jeans?
On the way back she laughed and played pranks even more. She broke a long branch, put it on her shoulder like a gun, and tied a scarf around her head. I remember we met a large family of blond and prim Englishmen; All of them, as if on command, followed Asya with cold amazement with their glass eyes, and she, as if to spite them, began to sing loudly. (Turgenev I.S. “Asya”)
— Anya, wait! Let’s slow down a little! Well please!
Both had their own cardio trainer – Anya had a rigid corset, I had a huge crinoline and heels. But she threw the hem of her dress over her arms so boldly that I walked behind, clutching the hoops under her skirt, and was jealous.
Most people climb this peak by electric lift – but the nobles had never heard of such a thing. We turned onto more and more narrow paths along the pedestrian serpentine, aiming downwards with every step. We didn’t even understand where exactly we were going—the trails weren’t marked on the paper map. It seems that we have our own climbing diary: with blackjack and crinolines.
— How did they climb like that before?!
—They had men accompanying them, with whom they clung hands. Or servants with fans…
— I definitely wouldn’t refuse a servant…
But finally we reached a beautiful view of the castle (or rather, a stylized hotel), and our sufferings were paid in full. They got tired and sat down on the bench. Incredibly beautiful.
We sit and smooth out our skirts. Russians pass by and, hearing our speech, turn off their path.
— You might ask, why are you doing this?! — the girl looks sideways at us.
— This is the task. Live a day like in the 19th century. Here we are in suits, without the Internet…
—But why?—asks a woman standing nearby.
— So that you can tell your subscribers later. Bloggers are first offered several directions, and then tasks.
— Ah, bloggers. — the girl pursed her lips. — Mom, let’s go, they’re bloggers.
And they left.
I turn to Anya with a laugh.
— “Ah, bloggers.” Sounds like “Ah, holy fools.”
—Yeah. A little crazy.
We had enough of the views and went back for some cool and much-needed lemonade.
And already in the city I see an inscription that immediately sparks my imagination.
— Anh, let’s go to the casino?!
They passed a series of magnificent rooms filled with courteous waiters. Several generals and privy councilors were playing whist; young people sat lounging on damask sofas, eating ice cream and smoking pipes. In the living room, at a long table, around which about twenty players were crowded, the owner was sitting and throwing a bank. (Pushkin A.S. “The Queen of Spades”).
I imagined myself in a saloon. Cards are flying around, the croupier’s hands are moving and moneybags are making more and more bets. I saw Pushkin’s Herman, who played Nikolai Rostov to smithereens, or, as a last resort, scenes from “Poor Nastya.”
After an afternoon nap in the salt cave, a massage and a healing swim, we put our dresses back on to finally make the day more interesting. The eyes were burning, the step was widening, just to get to the casino as quickly as possible.
I’m not a gambling person: so much so that I wasn’t even curious to visit such a place. But any opportunity to find an interesting story – and I’m already running forward faster than Traken’s horse.
And so we enter the hotel – during the parade, the fluffy skirt barely fits into the door. The guy at the reception smiles perplexedly, but greets you. We open the treasured door.
What is this?!
A bunch of slot machines, two empty tables with poker in the farthest corner, one single lady behind a one-armed bandit – unlucky, judging by her face – and an employee who was even more surprised by the opened door than by our appearance.
It was a fiasco.
I felt deceived, as if instead of soup the plate was filled with water from a local river.
What kind of machines could there be in the 19th century?! And we can’t play poker together!
Disappointed, angry, with our hands down, we trudged to the nearest cafe to eat away the stress with sucrose.
—What else can we do?—a friend asks. — What else is on your aristocratic list?
— Balls, but I looked at the poster and no parties are expected, orchestra concerts, but they are only next weekend… They also went to visit each other, but we didn’t meet anyone that day. In short… everything is sad.
— Yeah.
I wanted to fall into my hands and lie like a baby right under the cafe table.
Inside the circle, the dancers were spinning wildly. They were circled, paired up and pulled out with a chain by the son of a comrade prosecutor, lyceum student Koka Kornakov. He conducted the dances <…>. And everyone applauded, and this moving, shuffling and noisy crowd was given ice cream and soft drinks. (Pasternak B.L. “Doctor Zhivago”)
In any unclear situation you need to go to street musicians.
The evening promenade began with the guitarist, who hummed and thanked us for the money left more than played. They wanted to stand next to him so that they would give him more money for our costumes (the nobles were involved in charity work), but his attempts at playing a string instrument were too sad.
We walked another five hundred meters and met him. A saxophonist playing in front of one of the galleries.
There were beautiful, wrought-iron shops around, all directed in his direction. Tired, still sad after the failure with the casino, we sat down on one of them to relax a little.
How he played!
I didn’t even notice how I started shaking my head contentedly to the beat of modern songs played in a new way.
One look at the empty gallery was enough for my legs to give out. I went behind the saxophonist, behind the columns, hiding from dozens of eyes. And she started dancing.
Gradually becoming bolder, I waltzed around the entire gallery, catching the smiles of the audience and my friend. And then she joined me. Strictly speaking, we don’t know how to dance – but it didn’t matter at all, because we laughed, played tag, waltzed and twirled.
This was our debut at the impromptu ball.
When we were returning home at night, another group of Russians caught us and asked why we were doing this. Explained.
— That’s right, show everyone what it was like in those years. Show Russia. Aristocracy! — the elderly lady smiles.
“Eh, imagine how great it would be if everyone dressed like that,” another suddenly says dreamily. — Now I would like to see Carlsbaden in the evening, with a cane and a companion…
— We are proud of you, girls. We are proud!
We returned to the hotel happy. I didn’t want to pick up the phone at all.
Text and photo author: Polina Chekh (@pochekh)
Preview photo: Unsplash.com
