Yalta, Selling Chickens

One lady was selling a huge pile of bar-b-qued chickens, that she had just dumped onto a table. She didn’t want me to take a picture of her display, so she chased me away, but thank goodness she didn’t notice the telescopic lens on my camera. In one store, right next to the cash register was a large abacus (to be used if the cash register failed, perhaps) which the cashier immediately put under the counter, so I couldn’t take a picture.

Yalta is a health and summer resort, and in the sun, it looks like it. There are miles of large nice-looking hotel buildings lining the hillside, and at least one church with onion-domes. As we left the ship, my backpack was carefully examined by a dour-faced Soviet soldier. When he found a copy of our “book” he looked perplexed. When I pointed to our picture on the back cover, he gave us a very big smile, and waved us on.