Konyukhov Fedor how I became. “How I became a traveler” Fedor Konyukhov. Reviews of the book

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For reasons unknown to me, I was born not for an easy life, but to enjoy it through overcoming difficulties.

Fedor Konyukhov

Chapter 1
Matachingai, the way to the top

Solo climb to the top of Mount Matachingay

Height – 2798 meters above sea level

Mysterious peaks

I have long been planning a solo ascent to some peak. I chose the mountains of Chukotka, Matachingai. And when the icebreaker “Moscow” introduced the ocean transport “Captain Markov” into the Gulf of the Cross, breaking the ice with its mighty stem, even then I was not disappointed in my decision.

This is the highest ridge in Northeast Asia. Snowy peaks disappear into the clouds, it seems that Matachingai is securely closed from human eyes. This attracted me, I was convinced that I must definitely make the climb and see these mysterious peaks. And everything that will be revealed to me will be displayed in my paintings to show people.

Already on the second day after mooring the “Captain Markov” at the pier of the village of Egvekinot, I climbed a nearby mountain about a thousand meters high to warm up. I made my way to the very top and from there I saw the magnificent Etelkuyum Bay with Egvekinot. Set up a bivouac and started drawing. After the first lines appeared on a blank sheet of paper, I felt that it was blasphemy to draw the dazzling white contours of mountains with pencils. Literally everything was white - from the foothills to the peaks; there was no reminder of the color black. Overwhelmed by this whiteness and silence, I closed the album and went downstairs.

The beginning of the way

In the morning I left Egvekinot and went to the foot of Matachingay: I loaded the all-terrain vehicle with climbing equipment, a tent and food supplies for several days. Local residents expressed some concern about my idea of climbing to the top of the ridge alone, but I didn’t want to hear anything about taking anyone else with me. I was warned that at this time the snow on the peaks was unreliable, and they advised me to go only at night, when the frost holds the cornices. And I will follow this advice.

From here you may never return

I decided to climb the main ridge and follow it to the highest point of Matachingay. Today I started climbing. There is a lot of snow below. It was hard to walk. Hot. And as soon as I stopped, I immediately began to freeze. I rose about two hundred meters and entered the fog, accompanied by fine snow, and felt that I did not have enough strength and calories to work at a fast pace.

The fact is that I have not yet rested from the previous expedition (in the Laptev Sea), where I was skiing with Shparo’s group. On a polar night with low temperatures, we skied 500 kilometers along the hummocks of the polar sea. I remember before, when I was going on any kind of hike or expedition, I prepared thoroughly - I trained, gained weight. But now, over the years, the desire to prepare has dulled. And there is no time. For the last few years I have been constantly on hikes or expeditions. I am not at home in Wrangel Bay for eight or nine months.

I decided to rest, made myself comfortable under the eaves and said to myself: “Still, Chukotka is incredibly beautiful.” He spoke in a whisper so as not to disturb the pristine silence. I refreshed myself with biscuits and waited until night fell on the ridge and it was possible to continue the ascent.

The snow was falling quietly, the stones became slippery, I walked in great tension, knowing that mistakes were unacceptable. The frost intensified, the fur mittens were warm, but without them my hands instantly froze. I had to constantly cut down the steps: with one hand I drove the bracket to fasten the logs into the ice, then, holding on to it and maintaining balance, I worked with the ice ax. The muscles in my legs became numb from tension to the point of colic; stability was difficult. The sharp pricks of ice floes splashing into the face from under the ice ax complemented the unpleasant sensations.

A blow with an ice ax, another blow... The step is ready. I didn't look down. It’s best to look at your feet or up - there stretched an ice ridge, sharp as a knife blade, covered with a thick gray veil of Chukchi fog.

The thought flashed: should I go back? After all, I risked a lot. But another thought forced me to continue climbing: I must feel the mountains, without this a series of graphic sheets about the peaks of North-East Asia will not be possible.

Many people think that an artist creates canvases while sitting in a warm studio. Not everyone is like this! I get my graphic sheets differently, my works are events that I have experienced and felt, these are my thoughts, my perception of the environment.

Thick snow began to fall, so I climbed to the top of Matachingay blindly - the ridge itself led ahead. Steel cats have ceased to be a reliable support. Every step, more often than usual, I chopped the support step. The blue ice angrily threw away the ice ax and did not want to succumb to its blows.

I stopped more and more often, rested my head on the ice ax to catch my breath and relax my back muscles, then again furiously pounded the steps. He worked like this for about eight hours until he came to a small stone ledge. On his side the ice was softer and more pliable. By morning I had hollowed out a niche in it and made a roof out of a storm jacket. The makeshift house was insulated by thick, endless snowfall.

I boiled half a mug of tea on the primus stove - saved the gasoline, since I took very little of it due to the decent weight of the backpack. He drank it uncooled. The darkness in the house put me to sleep. As soon as you closed your eyes, a treacherous warmth spread throughout your body and you felt light and calm. “Don’t sleep,” I ordered myself, “otherwise you may not return, you will forever remain here, on the ridge of Matachingaya. There's a lot left to do down there!"

He ran his hand over his mustache and beard, collected a handful of icicles that had frozen to them and put them in his mouth. But they caused even greater thirst. “The devil took me to these mountains,” I thought, “there were three expeditions this year. Old fool! And everything is not enough for you. When will you live like other people? Scolding myself in every possible way, I firmly decided never to climb the mountains alone again, especially in the north. True, I have given such vows before.

I threw off the jacket covering the entrance to my ice cave, looked at the ridge of peaks - the mountains looked like they had stepped out of Roerich’s paintings. I took out my album and pencils and started sketching. I stopped self-flagellation, with each line came the confidence that I was doing everything right: climbing mountains, walking on the ice of the Arctic Ocean, chasing Eskimos on dogs in Chukotka... “No museum, no book,” said Nicholas Roerich, “will give the right to depict Asia and all sorts of other countries, if you have not seen them with your own eyes, if you have not at least made memorable notes on the spot. Persuasiveness is a magical quality of creativity, inexplicable in words, created only by the layering of true impressions. Mountains are mountains everywhere, water is water everywhere, sky is sky everywhere, people are people everywhere. But nevertheless, if you, sitting in the Alps, depict the Himalayas, then something inexpressible, convincing will be missing.”

I made several sketches with colored pencils, and what I didn’t have time to do, I marked with words: where is what color. And he continued the main work - climbing to the top.

Affirming the "spirit of man"

A wary, sensitive silence reigns here. Even the wind had completely died down, everyone seemed to be in anticipation of something. It's creepy.

I stand indecisively, there are several hundred meters to the top. I say to myself: “Well, Fedor, are you ready? Naomi Uemura had it harder.”

I often repeat these words. After all, Uemura is an ideal for us travelers; he constantly affirmed the “spirit of man.” And now, being here on the ridge of Matachingaya, I can more acutely understand the loneliness that the Japanese traveler experienced.

He is no longer alive; on February 12, the climber climbed Mount McKinley, whose height is 6193 meters, and did not return to base camp. Uemura climbed this highest peak in North America for the second time - McKinley was first conquered by him in the spring of 1970.

Before Uemura, no one had attempted to climb this peak in winter. But he did it! The last time the climber was spotted was on February 15 on a slope at an altitude of 5180 meters. But then his trail was lost, and he never got in touch again. On March 1, a message appeared in the press: “US Search and Rescue in Alaska refused to continue further searches for Japanese traveler Naomi Uemura.”

This man had restraint and inner strength, he said: “Death is not an option for me. I must return to where they are waiting for me - home, to my wife.” And he added: “I will definitely come back, because I need to be fed at least sometimes.”

The Last Journey of Naomi Uemura

What do you call this feeling?

At three o'clock in the afternoon a large snow cone opened up. Here it is, the top, a few meters left to reach it. And only then did I feel cast-iron fatigue throughout my body. He stopped, took out a piece of sausage, and began to chew, looking around. The picture is familiar, familiar: the peak is like a peak, stones peek out from under the snow and ice. I've seen this many times. But still there was a feeling of joy that I had reached my goal. Next to this joy, displacing fatigue, another feeling grew. It poured warmth into me, warmed my soul. What do you call this feeling? Pride? Happiness? Feeling of your own power? May be. In any case, now I was confident that I would be able to create a series of paintings, “The Peaks of Matachingaya.”

For some reason, I remembered the autumn of 1969, when I, as a cadet at the Kronstadt nautical school, climbed onto the boom topmast of the training ship Kruzenshtern.

When I received my leave from work in the city, the first thing I always did was go to the embankment on the shore of the Gulf of Finland. From there there was a view of the port, all crowded with ships. Plumes of black smoke and white steam erupted from their chimneys and smoothly rose to the gray Baltic sky. Under the endless horns of tugboats and the steady loud roar of large ships that were weighing anchor or entering the port, I walked along the embankment and inhaled the fresh sea air mixed with various aromas: citrus fruits brought from the island of Madeira, spices from India, Siberian wood. I watched in fascination as the holds of ocean-going steamers were unloaded and loaded. Boxes, bales, and some equipment flashed by.

But most of all I liked admiring the silhouette of the sailing ship Kruzenshtern. It had been standing at the pier for repairs for several years, its masts proudly rising above this bustle. One day, with my heart beating with excitement, I approached the ladder of the bark and hesitantly began to climb onto the deck. The sailor on watch noticed me - a young guy with a thin face. I immediately liked him for some reason. “I want to see your ship, can I?” – I asked quietly. After carefully examining me, he replied that it was possible.

I was overcome with joy. Nature smiled along with me - the sun came out from behind the clouds, illuminating the deck with light - a rare phenomenon in Kronstadt. I felt that the sailboat accepted me.

The deck was littered with ropes and cables, chains and sails. It was impossible to take a step without touching something. And in this strange environment, which seemed like chaos to me, people were working - they were repairing running rigging.

Emboldened, I asked the watchman to allow me to climb onto the yards. “Find what you want,” he answered, laughing. “When you graduate as a sailor, come and work with us.” And then you’ll climb on them so much that you’ll get sick of it.” But I insisted, and the watchman said to come at night.

That day my comrade Anatoly Kuteinikov was the company orderly. He woke me up, as I asked him, at 00:00. It was dark in the cockpit; midnight was the time to go AWOL. I jumped off the bunk on the second tier, put on my pants and pea coat, put on my shoes and left the cockpit, only hearing Tolik carefully close the door behind me. I immediately smelled the coolness of the night, overhead, between the stars, the moon was shining. In one fell swoop he climbed over the fence and rushed straight along the stone pavement to the port.

Seeing that I had finally arrived, the watchman clarified: “Will you climb?” “Yes, of course,” I answered and headed towards the railings. I began to climb up, climbing higher and higher between the tangled ropes, all the time checking whether they would support my weight, and trying not to lean on the rope steps. Walking meter by meter, feeling the air getting colder, the visibility getting wider, the yard and gear being smaller, I finally reached the topmast - the highest part of the mast.

The starry night surrounded me. The deck remained far below, the outlines of the ship and the rigging on which I had just climbed disappeared into the darkness. The lights of Leningrad were visible in the distance. I turned towards the sea and imagined myself during a storm, working with sails at such a height.

"This is life!" And then I sang my favorite song:

“The trade wind sings like a flute in the rigging,
It hums like a double bass in inflated sails,
And the clouds have amber plumes
They flicker on the moon and melt in the sky."

Could have lost everything.

But at the top of the mountain there is no time to enjoy victory. We still have to go down. Whirlwinds of snow blew in and forced us to hurry. The descent was harder than the ascent. I couldn’t fit my leg under the cut-out steps. I had to cut additional supports.

I started my descent along the slope, straight to the basin. I zigzagged along the snow crust and approached the glacier. Here I decided to go down a different route: I wanted to quickly get to my camp at the foot of Matachingay. And it was a mistake: I lost time and equipment, and I could have lost everything.

It seemed to me that the snowy tongue of the glacier stretched not far, and the angle of inclination was only about 45 degrees. He took a step, then another. But that was not the case, the crampons did not fit well into the compressed snow, so we had to force them into the crust. My legs got tired quickly. The narrow glacier couloir ended in an unexpected failure, I slipped, fell on my back and began to slide into the abyss. Attempts to hold on did not yield results - the backpack was in the way. With the clamp tightly clamped in my hand, I rested on the ice. But she crawled along him with a grinding sound.

The backpack tried to turn me upside down. I threw the strap off my left shoulder, and the strap on my right fell off on its own. The backpack fell head over heels, scattering its contents. My weight decreased, and I pressed the tip of the staple against the ice with such force that I finally began to lose speed and was able to linger on the very edge of this ice springboard. “Here I come,” I said to myself.

Now we had to cope with a more difficult task - not to fall into the abyss, but to try to get out. I carefully took out the ice ax from behind my back and drove it into the ice. I checked whether this unreliable support would hold up. He pulled himself up the slope on it and began to climb towards the scree, towards the boulders blackening in the distance.

While I crawled, pressing my stomach against the cold snow, I never looked around. But when he got to the first stone embedded in the ice and sat down on it, his head began to spin and his hands began to shake. I looked longingly at the low sky and the white veil covering the mountains and the abyss. For the first time I felt the eerie and endless hostility of silent spaces.

It was scary, I was ready to completely limp, which is certainly not good when you are alone in the mountains. It seemed to me that I would never again find myself in the cozy world of people. Thoughts about people pulled me out of my state of despondency, I tried to pull myself together, slowed my breathing, then took a deep breath and exhaled several times. This helped calm my nerves. I thought that everything could have turned out much worse.

Climbing the mountain, I expected to reach the camp in three days, that is, to be at home, in a tent at the foot of Matachingay, on May 8th. Now, left without rope, spare clothes and food, it was necessary to think of a new plan. The most reasonable thing is to return along the road that led me to the top. But it was not easy to find her: the snow covered all the tracks. If you follow the new path, it will certainly pass through creeks along which avalanches often occur. At this time of year they rumble here one after another. But the path would be shorter, I could gain about twenty hours. To go or not to go? Walking is madness; only chance or my lucky fate could save me from avalanches. Don't go - freeze here. It was impossible to hesitate: the wind was getting stronger, “flags” made of snow appeared on the ridge of the mountain.

At a quarter to five I began my descent through avalanche areas. And by eight something happened to my legs. I couldn't take a single step. This is probably because I was in an upright position for several days, even sleeping while sitting. He lay down on his back and put his feet on an ice ax stuck in the snow. Feel better.

The polar twilight smoothed the outlines of the rocks, and visibility deteriorated. There was a slight wind blowing. During the half hour of my forced rest, about five centimeters of snow fell. I decided to bury myself in the snow and spend the night under it. I already had such experience of overnight stays when I rode dogs with the Eskimo Atata. We happened to sleep in the open air in thirty-degree frosts. And now it was only about fifteen below zero.

The image of Atata appeared in my memory. A native Arctic Eskimo, he had facial features similar to European ones. I dare to assume that in Moscow, dressed in a civilian suit, he could be mistaken for a Russian. However, the streets of Moscow are not the surface on which he would like to walk, since Atata is a hunter. And his wife, Ainana, is one of the most attractive and capricious purebred Eskimos in all of Chukotka.

Hunter Atata was forty when we met. He turned out to be an experienced man, having wandered a lot through the snowy expanses of the Arctic. It was Atata’s stories about walrus hunting, snow-white tundra, and dog sleds that prompted me to get carried away and ultimately embark on a long and risky journey several years ago across all of Chukotka.

I threw the hood over my head, buried my face in my knees, and hid it from the falling snow. It became warmer. Before that, I changed my wet socks and put them on my chest under my sweater to dry. And those that he had been carrying all day wrapped around his belt, he quickly put on before they cooled down. I didn't feel the cold. The bliss of relaxation was disturbed only by wet socks on my chest: water flowed from them in streams down my body. But my arms and legs were warm, my fingers were moving - I could sleep. I thought that I wouldn’t go numb in two hours.

The excitement of the mortal danger and the annoyance of losing the backpack began to subside. I was hungry, and I regretted that I hadn’t eaten even a crumb of bread from lunch. I searched my pockets, hoping to find at least a piece of biscuit, but they were empty. It is not surprising that I felt lousy, and irritation reached such a degree that only the woman I loved or a bar of chocolate and biscuits could console me. I would prefer the former, although I doubt I could really do it justice.

I made a tactical mistake: I should have anticipated such a situation and put a small amount of food in my pockets. Cursing my own stupidity, I tried to reassure myself with the thought that the meager reserve in my pockets would not have changed anything. Although I acted like a real idiot. No matter how strong and energetic a person is, you still cannot neglect your body in the mountains. I had to eat regularly, even though I didn’t feel like it, drink something hot - and I saved gas! He also fell into the abyss.

And I also thought about my wife and children. After all, I promised them that I would stay at home in the spring. Spring has come, only I’m not with my family, but far in the north. And now my crumpled body is crushed by the snow, and my soul is tossing about, like a kite on a thread, carried into the skies by a freezing wind. I felt good and calm under the snow, but my thoughts could not calm down. They flew first to home, then to friends, and then returned to the mountains.

Kayur Atata. From the series “Life and Life of the Peoples of the North”

In danger

I fell asleep, but I didn’t sleep long, about an hour. I woke up with the feeling that something was wrong in the mountains. It is difficult to explain what caused the alarm. But I woke up not from the cold, but from fear - from an inexplicable premonition of trouble. If I were lying in a tent, in a sleeping bag, I would be too lazy to get up. And then he opened his eyes, raised his head, and looked at the mountains. The snow stopped falling, the wind died down, and the peaks were clearly visible. Everything was calm, but the “sixth sense,” my guardian angel, continued to warn.

I quickly got up, shook off the snow and hurried to leave my favorite place. I looked around. Will something happen or is the premonition just teasing me, depriving me of rest? I took a few steps up and heard a slight click behind me. A crack ran through the snow cover of the mountain, and suddenly the entire upper part of the snow-covered slope began to move. The snow rushed down. The avalanche grew quickly and rushed straight into the gorge. Now everything has been covered by swirling whirlwinds. The roar of the avalanche that had just slipped from under my feet was reminiscent of the roar of an express train rushing through a tunnel. The broken silence was repeated by repeated echoes, and for a long time grinding, explosions, and whistling were heard. All this taken together gave rise to a cannonade.

Symphony of the mountains! The famous English mountaineer George Mallory said: “A day spent in the Alps is like a magnificent symphony.” And he, as if foreseeing the dangers of an attempt to conquer Everest, gave his biographer a reason to write that “a day spent on Everest may turn out to be more like a gigantic cacophony that will end in dead silence.”

Mallory found purely aesthetic satisfaction in the mountains. He loved the mountains with that love that drowned out everything and absorbed all of him - first his soul, and then his body. He was the first to pave the way to the highest peak in the world - Everest. The climber compared: “What happens to us is no different from what happens to those who, say, have a gift for music or drawing. By devoting himself to them, a person brings into his life a lot of inconvenience and even danger, but still the greatest danger for him is to devote himself entirely to art, because it is the unknown, the call of which a person hears within himself. To leave that call means to dry up like a pea pod. So are climbers. They accept the opportunity given to them to rise to the top, following the call of the unknown that they feel within themselves.”

George Mallory was part of the first three expeditions to Everest in the early twenties. On June 8, 1924, he and the still very young climber Irwin were determined to conquer the giant mountain.

They disappeared forever in the fog surrounding the peak... Only nine years later, at an altitude of 8450 meters, Mallory's ice ax was found. Whether he reached the top with his young friend, and what was the cause of their death, no one will ever know. Perhaps they were caught in the same avalanche that had just slipped from under my feet, and the echoes of its roar are still echoing over Matachingay. I imagined what was happening on Everest, if here, at low altitudes, white death destroys everything in its path.

Part of the Anadyr Bay of the Bering Sea off the southern coast of the Chukotka Peninsula. Administratively it belongs to the Iultinsky district of the Chukotka Autonomous Okrug.

Roerich, Nikolai Konstantinovich (1874–1947) – cultural figure of Russia of the 20th century. Author of the idea and initiator of the Roerich Pact, founder of the international cultural movements “Peace through Culture” and “Banner of Peace”. Russian artist (creator of about 7,000 paintings, many of which are in famous galleries around the world), writer (about 30 literary works), traveler (leader of two expeditions in the period 1923–1935). Public figure, philosopher, mystic, scientist, archaeologist, poet, teacher.

Uemura, Naomi (1941 - presumably February 13-15, 1984) - Japanese traveler who walked extreme routes in different parts of the world. He made many trips alone.

Double Headed Mountain in Alaska. Located in the center of Denali National Park. Named in honor of the 25th President of the United States, William McKinley.

Four-masted barque, Russian training sailing vessel. Built in 1925–1926 at the J. Tecklenborg shipyard in Germany, when launched it was named “Padua”. In 1946, due to reparations, it became the property of the USSR and was renamed in honor of the famous Russian navigator Admiral Ivan Fedorovich Kruzenshtern. Home port – Kaliningrad. The ship has repeatedly made transatlantic and round-the-world expeditions.

The wind blows between the tropics all year round, in the Northern Hemisphere from the northeast, in the Southern Hemisphere - from the southeast, separated from each other by a windless strip.

Mallory, George (1886–1924) - English climber who attempted to climb Everest (Qomolungma) back in 1924. According to the generally accepted version, he died on the way to the top. There is also an assumption according to which he died during the descent (in this case, he, and not Edmund Hillary and Tenzing, should be considered the conqueror of Everest). His body was found in 1999 at an altitude of 8155 meters by Conrad Enker during a special expedition to Everest.

How I became a traveler Fedor Konyukhov

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Title: How I became a traveler

About the book “How I became a traveler” Fedor Konyukhov

The book “How I Became a Traveler” is ageless. It will be interesting to read for both schoolchildren and adults. This is a stunningly colorful guide for those who dream of seeing our world in all its glory, for whom the word “travel” is the call of the soul and the meaning of life. The legendary traveler Fyodor Konyukhov shares his vast experience, talks about the most amazing places on our planet and the secrets of interesting travels. This creation fills you with a thirst to explore the world and inspires you to make new discoveries.

The author admits that his thirst for adventure and travel arose in childhood. At the age of 15, Fedor decided on his first crazy act - he crossed the Sea of Azov on a small fishing boat. It took him seven days to reach Kerch, and then in two weeks he returned home along the coast. Words cannot express the horror the parents experienced upon discovering their son was missing. After this incident, Fyodor realized that he shouldn’t “joke” in this way, but this sea trip gave the guy a new impetus to understand his life - he finally understood what it was worth dedicating it to.

The book “How I Became a Traveler” is the story of Fyodor’s growing up and manhood, an example of fantastic determination and fearlessness, and, as a result, the transformation of a romantically inclined boy into a professional and wise traveler. On the pages of this work you will see how Fyodor Konyukhov sailed across the oceans, conquered mountain peaks and poles, crossed hot deserts and eternal snow, met with pirates and gradually discovered the world bit by bit.

The value of this work is that the author not only shares his experience, but also reveals the “anatomy” of travel: why they are needed, how to properly prepare for them, what surprises can come along the way and how to quickly cope with them. When you start reading this book, you understand what it means to follow your dreams. This is not only romantic thoughts, but also hard work, numerous sacrifices and the strength to overcome any obstacles.

This work consists of several exciting stories - the most interesting and educational moments from Fedor’s many travels. For example, in the chapter “Whales and Cookies,” the author tells what the consequences of a collision at sea between a small yacht and a huge whale can lead to, and in the story “Conversation with a Bear,” Fyodor Konyukhov points out the dangers that may await a researcher at the North Pole. The work also includes chapters introducing the general patterns and rules of travel - “What do travelers eat” and “Why do we need travel?”

This work was published in the series “Nastya and Nikita” - an educational cycle where young readers will find stories and fairy tales, poems, biographies of famous people and documentary essays about our country.

On our website about books, you can download the site for free without registration or read online the book “How I Became a Traveler” by Fyodor Konyukhov in epub, fb2, txt, rtf, pdf formats for iPad, iPhone, Android and Kindle. The book will give you a lot of pleasant moments and real pleasure from reading. You can buy the full version from our partner. Also, here you will find the latest news from the literary world, learn the biography of your favorite authors. For beginning writers, there is a separate section with useful tips and tricks, interesting articles, thanks to which you yourself can try your hand at literary crafts.

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This book is about how to find yourself and your path, your poles and peaks, about the search for integrity and freedom.

"My travels. The Next 10 Years" is a collection of diary entries from 1995 to 2005. The book tells about Russia's first solo trip to the South Pole and ascent to the highest point in Antarctica. About conquering the five highest peaks of the world and completing the program of climbing the highest peaks of the seven continents - “7 Summits”. About the world's longest sled dog race, the Iditarod, which in Alaska is called the Great Race. About participation in two of the most prestigious and difficult single round-the-world sailing races in the world, Vendee Globe and Around Alone, as well as a solo passage on a rowing boat Uralaz across the Atlantic Ocean in 2002. About the Great Silk Road expedition across the steppes of Kalmykia.

This book is about how to find yourself and your path, your poles and peaks, about the search for integrity and freedom. Not being a professional athlete, Fedor Konyukhov participates in the most difficult and very different races. He sets himself the goal of reaching the end, and not of coming first. Each time he chooses routes on the edge, and sometimes beyond the limits of the possible, and each time he promises himself that this is the last time, but instead he challenges himself with new and new challenges.

Konyukhov Fedor, Konyukhova Irina
Editor: Artem Stepanov
Publisher: Mann, Ivanov and Ferber, 2015
Pages: 352 (Offset)
Weight: 608 g
Dimensions: 215x170x23 mm

I try not to come across as a grump, you know, in the “grass was greener back when” kind of way. But sometimes all sorts of thoughts come to mind...

My youngest and I are reading a book by Fyodor Konyukhov (Nastya and Nikita publishing house). And there the famous traveler writes how in his youth his grandfather, a sailor, often told him about his sea voyages and adventures, how he went on an expedition with Sedov. According to Konyukhov, these stories had such a strong effect on him, which essentially determined his future fate.

And so I thought, in our time, how often do we or our grandparents tell children something? So, in detail, without haste. But no, nowadays everything seems to be running, in a hurry. And children are increasingly on the Internet, on social networks...

If there had been an Internet earlier, that generation would probably have been there too. But he didn’t exist then, there were no computers, accounts and likes, demotivators and Instagram... And my grandfather’s stories were like all this, only better.

But a simple leisurely story is far from the same as exchanging a few words over dinner, reading a notation or reminding you to take a shift... well, if you know what I mean. It was possible to push the heir in the right direction, to captivate him with something, to build priorities and values. No, it’s probably possible without all this, but it’s difficult.

In short, just like that, grandfather’s stories were replaced by groups on social networks. If Fyodor Konyukhov had sat in these groups, would he have become a great traveler?

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Pros: Good quality book. Kids are interested!

Kolodiy Polina 0

A book about the incredible courage of an incorrigible dreamer. Exciting, inspiring and educational. It will be interesting for both children and adults. I recommend it as one of the best books!

Advantages: The book “How I Became a Traveler” briefly but very interestingly tells about the author himself, about his childhood, about the choice that faced him: becoming a sailor or an artist, about how he decided to check the correctness of his choice, which, by the way, Not everything people can do in their lives. In an easy and accessible form, he wrote about some of his adventures, about his secrets and knowledge, which helped him win competitions and even save his life. My son really liked the chapter about the “floating cookies”, about pirates, and about the conversation with the bear. And most of all, he laughed at lard, and told his grandfather that he was not eating it correctly, since Fyodor Konyukhov advises eating lard not in the morning and afternoon, but before bed, so that you have strength in the morning. Disadvantages: None Comment: Thin, light, with good design and illustrations

Pros: Very simple and easy book with beautiful illustrations. If there are special words in the author’s story, a small transcript is immediately given under the text. Disadvantages: Some may find it too small) Comment: I bought it for my city nephews to develop a love of reading, nature, hiking and traveling. I really liked how the narrator tells the stories as if they were little hikes, with equally little practical explanations. And I read and understand how many difficulties are hidden behind these easy stories, because these are entire journeys! It’s great that you can write about complex things so simply. The book does not load and is very inspiring.

Out of pure curiosity, I bought more for my daughter. The language is easy, simple, almost colloquial. My daughter became interested and read it quite quickly, then asked to buy his other books. I'm pleased - a great book to get a teenager interested in reading.

Kucheva Maria 0