I spent the summer in Crimea on a simple formula. Weekdays I sat on projects. On weekends we left for a new place. Three months like that.
Museums, the fleet, a film
Balaklava came first. A former secret submarine base cut into the rock. Cold War, quiet "sharks," nuclear missiles. The guide speaks in an even voice, and around you is the concrete that once hid a navy.
On Russia Day we were in Yevpatoria: concerts, fairs, family clutter on the promenade. A couple of weeks later we caught Sevastopol City Day. A parade there, and fireworks over the bay.
The Black Sea Fleet Museum runs from sailing ships to cruisers, battle models, admirals' medals. That same evening I put on "Battle for Sevastopol," about the sniper Lyudmila Pavlichenko. The day assembled itself. I did not direct it.
Horses, a paraglider, stones
We rode horses up to the Valley of Ghosts near Alushta. The stones change face if you shift in the saddle or wait for other light. On foot they are a pile of boulders. On horseback they are a route.
In Koktebel I sat in a paraglider. The instructor flies the thing. I hang and look down. About four hundred meters. Bay, cliffs, a thin strip of shore. Not a feat. A chair in the air.
Jazz and wine
The Koktebel jazz festival: an open stage, the sea behind the musicians, decent acoustics. I am not a fan of the genre. The evening still sat right.
I walked into Massandra as a skeptic. Crimean wine, in my head, was a suitcase souvenir. The sommelier laid out muscats, ports, vintage bottles. After the line I had to put the skepticism back in my pocket. The drinks hold if you know what to ask for, instead of grabbing a bottle at the till.
An open-air symphony at Chersonesus. Ancient ruins, classical music, sunset over the sea. On paper it is a postcard. On the ground I just sit and leave the phone alone.
Tarkhankut
I wanted to swim at Tarkhankut. Clear water, an underwater sculpture museum. In those days there was fighting near the cape. I cancelled the trip. I never reached the sculptures under the water.
GitHub
The meanest thing that summer did not happen at the cape. I opened GitHub without a VPN. Crimea is on the list of super-sanctioned territories. They cut the account for good, even if the login was once and by accident.
I lost repositories, issues, pull requests, the whole work history. Then I wrote to support and proved it was a one-time visit, not a new life from the peninsula. They gave the account back. The habit of dropping in "for a second, no VPN" is gone.
AWS and Google Cloud from Crimea behave the same way. For remote work a VPN here is not an accessory. It is the door into your own code.
Photos
I came back with the fleet in my head, muscat on the tongue, and a careful hand on the GitHub button. Three months was enough for the work and for the peninsula. Tarkhankut can wait for another time, if the cape is quiet.
