This is a dangerous business, Frodo, to go beyond the threshold: it is necessary to embark on the road and, if you give free rein to your legs, it is not known where the Bilbo Baggins will carry you.

Finally, between the already boring rainy gray days, there was a warm autumn day. And it brought me somewhere between Shir and Mordor, and more specifically, to Lyubotin. To visit the local blue elves. They are here on the shops missing. Creatures are basically peaceful: they crap in the bushes, drink a local ale called hawthorn. But now they are full everywhere. In Kharkov, there is another subspecies, they dig something more. Whether the bookmarks are looking for, or want to get to the dwarves want.

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But the places here are simply magical: picturesque ponds, sprawling ancient oaks, a pretty church in Giev on the hill.

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Local trails after the rains all blurred. Road in the mud, bike in the mud, sneakers in the mud. Having passed through the old park, I went to the princely manor of Svyatopolk-Mirsky.
That's really really from rags to riches.
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From the main entrance there is a linden alley, and around - an apple orchard. Manor now, as after the invasion of the orcs. The glass is broken, the plaster is strewing, and something has already sprouted on the roof. And all this mess from the pedestal looks at the local Aragorn, he also got it - they beat off his hands. Dampness, silence and desolation - all this is sad.