If there is something more incredible, magical and enchanting with its mysterious appearance on this planet called “Primorye”, then it is only “Amgin” - a waterfall that captivates hearts and steals peace forever.
Part 1 (The road to a dream.)
4 o'clock in the morning. We are fully assembled, load our Pepelats (Toyota NOAH), pick up the last member of the expedition and leave the stuffy, gray city, leaving all our problems and vain affairs behind. There is only the road and the unknown ahead.
The engine is picking up speed, the wheels are turning the planet beneath us, and we are moving towards a dream, encountering dawn, extraordinary landscapes and various kinds of villages running past us along the way.
At 11.30 our expedition team arrives in the village of Kavalerovo. A short stop, inspection of a local landmark rock, photographs for memory. We make our next stop in front of Dalnegorsk, at the pass: we warm up a little, have a snack, not a luxurious, but still a nice lunch, freeze at the photographic views of the mountains and hit the road again. Back on the road, on a road that goes beautifully through the city along the mountains, and then shamelessly loses its asphalt surface and dissolves in the heat and kilometers of dust.
“Oh heavenly powers!” For an hour we are shaking, melting from the “smile of the sun” and breathing the dust of this very, endlessly long road! But soon, our road presents us with rewards for our torment; we go to one of the most wonderful places (a place where we will return). It was a large beach in Oprichnik Bay, which stretched 3-4 kilometers in front of the village of Kamenka. Without hesitation, we turned towards it, and, leaving our “pepelats”, like children, rushed to swim in its vast, clean, divine, albeit cold water! Ah, it was a wonderful outlet from the endless highway, a magnificent place, but a mysterious waterfall awaits us, let's go friends, let's go, next stop Terney.
The dirt road continues until Plastun, where it is re-clothed with asphalt and, in such a pleasant form, spreads all the way to Terney, after which the asphalt disappears forever.
17.00 – Terney. The last civilized place on our way, then the taiga, animals, the unknown and dreams! We take some things from the store, fill the full tank of the Pepelats with a gravitsap, pour some spare fuel into the canister, and, wishing ourselves good luck, we set off along the crazy path of the taiga, in search of adventure in the kingdom of the Black Shaman!
 Kamenka, sea, Kostik |
 fairy gnomes and my sister |
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Part 2 (Meeting with the Black Shaman)
The morning of the next day revealed beautiful sunny weather and good mood for us. Good Morning Taiga! Good morning Sun, Good Morning dear friend! Great things await us today!
There was another camp located next to us, these were students from some geography department and they were having some kind of practice in these parts. It turned out that the guys have been living here for two months now. Probably, at night we disturbed their calm and peaceful life with our shamanic music, but no, they come into contact with us and tell us that they liked our Art performance, especially our bongos (African drums) became dear to them. We also learned from them that we were on the right path and the “shaman” was not far away.
We leisurely have breakfast and prepare for the march. And so, armed with a camera and taking a few necessary things, we set out lightly to visit the Amginsky waterfall.
Having walked a little through the forest, we are faced with a long descent, although someone tried and made something like steps, but after the rain it will not be difficult to climb up from them. Having descended, we go out to a small river, to the same middle Amga, at the head of which the mysterious waterfall is located. We begin our journey up against its current.
The nature in these places is simply fantastic, metamorphoses and various images appear before us all the time. Either these are fabulous goblin hidden in the fallen trees, or the head of a wolf, carved from the rock of the canyon, is watching us. Regarding the canyons, I would like to say separately, I have never seen anything like this before, these are huge, beautiful rocks, located along both sides of the river, building their majestic kingdom for several kilometers.
And suddenly a falling thirty-meter stream of snow-white water appears in front of us. What we see is breathtaking; we stand spellbound, contemplating the indescribable beauty. A stream of wind is born in its frontal part, filled with millions of droplets of divine water and invigorating cold, which falls on anyone who tries to approach it from the front and look into its eyes. But this doesn’t stop me, and I break through to him directly. Before I even have time to go into the water, I find myself wet and frozen, but I don’t want to retreat, and I rush to him. The water is not just cold, it is icy, plus the wind from it, all this creates some kind of northern cocktail. Getting close to him, I fall into his rapid, falling wave. The drops hit my body like hailstones, but it doesn’t hurt me, on the contrary, I feel amazing! How many emotions, how much energy this waterfall gives, and the taste of its water is simply intoxicating! O God, how limitless and unsurpassed are your creations!
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In total, we spent four long days traveling, half of which was the road, but the rest of the time we discovered a new world for ourselves. A world that left me hoping to return to it again and explore its mysterious places in more detail. This means new adventures await us!
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 dance |
 Metamorphosis - spider |
 calm |
I recently wrote about a similar journey, and now I’ll tell you where it all started)
So, the year 2009 passed. We quietly and peacefully rode endurics in the surrounding forests, but one day this was not enough and an adventurous decision was made - for the first time in our lives, we would ride motorcycles outside the Moscow region.
I only have a B license, I have very little experience driving a motorcycle, but I have the desire, so let’s go.
Sudden decisions are the most correct.
So Cap and I took sleeping bags, tents, rugs, bought a road atlas from Soyuzpechat and hit the road.
The goal was to travel around the Moscow region to all neighboring regions.
We left Sergiev Posad towards Pereslavl-Zalessky. Due to the lack of the required category in the license and the reluctance to communicate with the traffic police, before the post near Shchelkanka, in Pereslavl, we go sharply to the right, through some vegetable gardens, dachas and paths. We get our motorcycles and ourselves very dirty, but after crossing some half-abandoned railway,
And having visited the destroyed church (we actually decided to visit everything interesting that would be along the way),
We meet a wonderful ford on the Kips River (or Trubezh, they are nearby), in which we wash off.
After driving a little on the asphalt, we again drive into the fields and rush towards Yuryev-Polsky.
There are interesting artifacts in the forest:
Then, somewhere in an open field, I catch a nail in the rear wheel (this is a talent), I understand that something needs to be done, and at that time I had not yet taken spare tubes with me. Well, nothing, I drag the motorcycle to some nearby fancy farm (where Opole dairy products are made), and in the meantime Cap is wandering around the area in search of a tire shop.
I take off the wheel, take out the camera, give it to Cap, and calmly “sunbathe” in the sun. Simply put, I'm frying in my own juice)
In the meantime, he goes to the city (which is 30 km, by the way), there, with the help of local scooter drivers, he finds some kind of tire shop, where they will seal everything I need. As the locals told him, the traffic cops there are especially vicious, so I put on the wheel and drive to Vladimir, along the bypass road.
In Vladimir we eat, have a little hooliganism, jumping down the stairs, we see a traffic police car, they are yelling something at us, but we unanimously decide that we don’t want to communicate with them in any way, we calmly get away from them through curbs and ravines towards some then a pine forest, and we leave the city.
We are going to Gus-Khrustalny. But we have no experience, we don’t know how to calculate time, so we arrive in the city late at night.
At night the city looks like a ghost - no lights. Just a black hole with strange shadows. No movement or life. Everything just died out. And fog, fog all around, both on the road and in the city.
We found the Meshchera hotel and checked in.
In the morning, looking out the window, we realized we were at a meeting of the Ministry of Emergency Situations. So that's what kind of people were buzzing last night))) Well, good)
The roads there are gorgeous. Pine forest, sandy paths - we even just drove along them next to the main road out of principle.
We stopped in the town of Symbol for souvenirs, but didn’t buy anything, because... glass is incompatible with enduro riding.
But we took pictures of all this beauty.
We stopped at Spas-Klepiki and took a photo near the plane. He very vividly reminded me of Kubinka, the military unit, the town of Prozhektorny, and other surrounding areas there.
There are generally good places there. There is somewhere to drive.
We are driving through the forests towards Ryazan.
Before Ryazan we again drive into the fields and rush at full throttle. The paths are good.
In the fields in front of Ryazan there are some strange asphalt circles. What this is, I don't know.
We passed the traffic police checkpoint at the speed limit and with a brick face, no one there paid any attention to us.
Before entering the city we couldn’t resist and went to the Oka River.
In the city we find some cafe, eat leisurely, and again continue on to Mikhailov.
The closer to Mikhailov, the fewer forests and more fields, the more space.
Somewhere along the way we meet local motorcyclists)
Near Khavertovo we see a stele dedicated to fallen soldiers. Apparently, there were very hot battles with the Nazis.
Then I notice some large church in the distance, and we rush towards it.
It looks very majestic. And I notice that there are some strange hills around the church. It turns out that there used to be a whole village here, which was apparently destroyed during the war, and these hills are the remains of houses.
There we met some gothic tourists in a car, and the girls in them began to meow loudly))), when they saw my helmet (it was airbrushed in the style of Tom the Cat). But I didn’t even answer them, I was so amazed by the enormity and ruin of this temple. In which, by the way, someone dug holes in the corners. Probably treasure hunters.
There we also met biker tourists from Chelyabinsk. And these were almost the first motorcyclists of the entire trip.
In the city itself there is poverty and devastation.
But the places are beautiful.
After having a snack at the first cafe we came across (which, judging by the prices, is the very center of the glamorous life there), and walking around the city, we went to the hotel.
The only one in the city. In which, fortunately for us, there was a garage. Because I wouldn’t dare to put motorcycles on the street there. They will take you away.
In the morning Tula was waiting for us.
On the way there we enjoyed the scenery.
In Tula itself, of course, we were in the Kremlin, in the museum of samovars, gingerbread, weapons and other things, but these places are relatively famous, so there won’t be many photos)
Unless this sea piece of iron struck me)
Then there was a long drive to Kaluga. We wanted to refuel, but in front of the gas station there were fat traffic cops grazing, whose appearance did not inspire confidence in me, and we drove past. Who knew that this was the last gas station before Kaluga. Along the way we overtook truckers and drove quite quickly, at full throttle - we thought there would be more gas stations. True, one of the long-range drivers turned out to be a goat - he did not allow himself to be overtaken on an empty highway for a long time, and when I finally revved up my 250cc engine, he sharply increased the gas, pushing me into oncoming traffic. Which almost cost me a head-on collision with a jeep. True, I just automatically took it even further to the left and, without slowing down, simply drove around it on the oncoming side of the road. After this, I decided that 450cc was not enough for me, and changed my opinion about some truckers.
As a result of full throttle, somewhere 10-15 km before the city, I finally got up and had to buy gasoline in some village from the only owner of a modern car there. He, of course, lowered the price, but I didn’t care - just to get to the city.
On the way, we again stopped at some ruins.
Which again had holes in the corners. Apparently, someone was looking for gold again.
In general, we came across a lot of destroyed churches along the way.
There we met Max on the plastic, who gave us a tour of the city.
We hung out at the dancing fountain, drove around the city, and spent the night peacefully.
And in the morning we had to wash ourselves in the river and wash our smelly equipment)
We drove there who knows how, through some successive fields, villages and cowsheds)
Old Kaluga road.
After spending the night with my brother, who lived so happily along our route), we moved on.
Tver didn’t impress us at all, so we quickly passed it and moved on.
In the village of Rozhdestveno we were met by another motorcycle rider, Grinya (by the way, a famous person - this is not the first time he has taken prizes in rally raids, for example, in the same Viking Rally).
In one place, I think across the Sestra River, we found a suspension bridge.
So this scoundrel, not knowing how to swim, nevertheless rode through it on a motorcycle. But I didn’t take it on foot, like all normal people. The boards cracked and bent, but, fortunately, everything turned out okay.
And then we, slowly, at full throttle, along the grader, jumping on bumps and losing things, the three of us headed to Ustye, which is located on the shore. Where we spent the night in a tent. Finally it came in handy, for the first time ever.
After that, we decided that we would no longer take a tent if the format of the trip was “major” - to hotels and restaurants.
It's beautiful there in the evening. Warm, quiet and calm.
And early in the morning I got up, and while these two lazy people were sleeping, I cooked buckwheat porridge according to my recipe - one can of stew is placed on one handful of cereal. As it turned out, this was exactly the combination of ingredients that everyone liked)
Well, then we slowly got ready and went by ferry to the other side.
And we got something like this:
The total mileage was about 1700 km.
It was Friday evening. I, Mark O'Neill, have just arrived at my family nest, namely, at the estate of my family, which has belonged to them for a hundred years now. This is a large and cozy house near the lake, built by my great-great-grandfather Harvard. Harvard was an old man with quirks. In his youth he was a desperate cowboy, and when he got married and settled down on earth, he acquired a passion for exploring the watery depths of our lake and organized a laboratory to create an apparatus that would allow breathing under water. His collection of inventions is still kept in our house, in his laboratory, which none of his descendants raised the hand to remove. But, unfortunately, Sir Harvard O'Neill drowned while testing his next invention. Fortunately, his body was recovered from the bottom of the lake, and now he rests in the family cemetery behind the garden, between the grave of his beloved wife Pilar and a certain Rodriguez Felipe Fernandez. Since then, it has become a tradition that in our family someone must be involved in maritime affairs. That's why my uncle and I are in the US Navy. The house was large and was constantly being added to and modernized, with the exception of the laboratory. It was inherited and was indivisible. This meant that it belonged to our entire large family, everyone had their own square meter in this house. And everyone knew that when he walked the path of his life, the days of his old age would pass in this house. Therefore, now only our grandparents lived in the house, and young people came here to take a break from the bustle of the city, that’s how I am now.
It was Friday evening. Having had dinner with my dear old people, I wandered around the house in search of something with which to kill the time before bed. I don’t remember how, but fate brought me to the attic. By the light of one dim light bulb, I sorted through the belongings left there by many generations of the family. There were a lot of interesting things here, papers, drawings, photographs, and when I was completely tired and was thinking about going into the arms of Morpheus, my attention was attracted by the cowboy boots lying in the very corner of the wooden chest. These were once magnificent handmade boots. They were covered with a layer of dust, the skin was rough and faded, the sole had come off in some places, but still I wanted to try them on. I put on one boot and it fit my feet just right. While pulling the second one, I encountered some difficulties. I was prevented from enjoying the fitting by some paper stuffed into my left boot. I took it out of there with irritation and was about to throw it away, but I noticed that the paper was of old quality, thick and yellowed with age. Forgetting about my boots, I unfolded the sheets of paper. I saw yellowish sheets from the old Harvard diary and a map of the shore of our lake. I started reading. The story written by Harvard was unique. Grammatical errors coexisted with terrible crossing out of large and small phrases, some words were erased under the influence of time. But still, I got the gist...
Chapter 2
Excerpts from Harvard O'Neill's diary (spelling, punctuation and author's notes preserved)
We knew that the gang of Rodriguez Felipe Fernandez, or popularly simply Greedy Rodriguez, would come to this lake.
I am grateful to the beautiful Pilar for telling me about Rodriguez's plans. Pilar, a sultry woman... That's why she's Spanish... Serves food in Big Brad's saloon... and not only food, but also her body... and some information.
How lucky I was to visit her a week ago. Pilar told me that the legend about the gold of the conquistador Francisco Fernandas, which he once stole from the Indians... is not a legend at all. And that his descendant Greedy Rodriguez finally found the ancestor’s map and recruited people for the campaign... he hopes to find gold... Pilar saw the map and was able to describe to me where this event will take place.
Pilar is a beautiful and smart woman... Mmmm... but of course she agreed with me that if I take the gold from Rodriguez, she will receive her percentage.
It seems that she also agreed with Rodriguez for some percentage, but since I found out his plans, I think that... the percentage was small... and Rodriguez lived up to his nickname once again... and then I gathered faithful people who
……… We gave a head start to a gang of Spaniards and headed along the indicated route half a day later...
We didn’t follow him into the mountains... Sly Fox said that they had one road - back to the lake. They couldn’t get through the pass to the other side of the mountains, and they didn’t take much food or water with them. This means they will come down here to the lake... Here we will wait for them. This is where the battle will begin.
Oh, if we recapture this gold! Then I can build a house, settle down on the earth, and not rob banks and stagecoaches, in order to somehow live and entertain myself...
Our six settled down in a small forest near the lake. Jonathan cleaned to………………
by the evening of the second day we noticed them. Five horsemen descended from the mountains. Yeah... When leaving the city there were eight of them.
……Greedy Rodriguez and his henchmen approached the shore of the lake. They dismounted and began to water the horses and themselves. And here it is the moment of truth!!! Box. Cast iron. Heavy. So Rodriguez and Old Juan put it on the sand and opened it. Gold!!! I didn’t see him, but I felt... This is the moment when nuzhonodje.........
We silently rushed towards the Spaniards. They noticed us. But it was too late... only Rodriguez, Old Juan and Diego Vasco managed to jump on their horses. The other two were shooting into nowhere, trying to catch their horses, which, frightened by the shots, were already racing in different directions. A firefight ensued... We managed to get close. Rodriguez lost one friend on foot. My Colt got hot from the shots...
Sly Fox fell... the dog Rodriguez was a sharp shooter... I will not forget that to him.
Here Old Juan fell. The arrow hit him right in the eye. Stop!!! Where did the arrow come from??? Neither we nor the Spaniards had arrows... Piii.........
A dozen Indians fell out of the forest... jumped out... With all their might, they crashed into our firefight, which, as it turned out, was sluggish. I recognized the leader as Gekek, the young son of the leader of the local tribe. As the legend says, it was from this tribe that the conquistador Francisco Fernandas confiscated gold. The battle with the Indians was more fun...
Arrows seemed to be flying from everywhere... My horse fell. I had to shoot back because of her carcass. Thank you, my horse, you saved my life again. Yeah... Against the backdrop of a new danger, my guys and the remaining guys from Rodriguez had to unite. This is good... at least for a while I knew that they wouldn’t shoot me in the back... In vain!!! Shoot Jonathan. He went into hand-to-hand combat with the redskin, and some Spanish pig helped the Indian by shooting Jonathan in the back... But I did not allow the Indian to enjoy this gift of fate for long. My well-aimed shot took off half of his chin......
But thanks to our joint efforts, there are fewer Indians.
And now the shooting went in different directions... Everyone fought for themselves... Oh, Diego Vasquez got a tomahawk in the head... An unpleasant sight... Diego without half of his face, he was not a handsome man anyway... The air smelled of gunpowder. The arrow almost hit my hand, getting stuck in the leather of my jacket.
Somehow, unexpectedly, the shots began to subside... the flow of arrows decreased... And dried up
……………the three of us were left. Me, Greedy Rodriguez and an Indian boy of about fifteen. We stood opposite each other, and everyone understood that the one who did not have time to lay the floor would die.
The boy understood this more clearly than we did. We had Colts, and he had a bow... no arrows. He understood that his minutes were numbered. But still, with shaking hands, he tried to remove the arrow from Old Juan’s eye. We must give him his due... He had a lot of courage... he could have run away... The boy and I were not interested in Rodriguez... We had to first find out which of us would die... and then finish off the guy......
The Indian stopped trying to free Juan from the arrow and stared in horror at the shore... at the chest! The expression on his face made us forget for a while about our intentions... We turned in the direction of this look......
The chest was slowly being pulled into the lake. The sand went away and went away... the water came and came. It seemed as if an invisible hand was slowly pulling him into the blue depths. I even heard the rustling of sand and the whispering of water... I will remember this music forever.
Greedy Rodriguez once again lived up to his nickname. With some Spanish curses, he rushed to the chest. The sand pulled his legs... he fell... he crawled... but the sand dragged him into the abyss even faster than the chest, although Rodriguez managed to grab onto it... I did not help the Spaniard... gold is gold, but life is more valuable...
The Indian guy's name was Gabegabo, that is, Ever Standing. He lived up to his name... when the chest and Rodriguez were swallowed up by the lake, Gabegabo hardly took out the arrow and even inserted it into the bow.
I thought, I thought... That now only I know where to look for gold... and the boy.
Kill him? No, I don’t kill women and children, unlike Rodriguez’s dog!!! Reach an agreement!!! And I agreed.
We buried the dead together. Surprisingly, there were no injuries. Although there is nothing surprising. All were sharp shooters and brave warriors. We buried the horses. They caught two horses that had galloped away from the gaping Spaniards. We collected the weapons... I noticed the place and drew a map. Tomorrow, together with Gabegabo, I’m going to the city.
It's been almost a year since that day. I am getting married. I'm marrying Pilar Garcia. Gabegabo became my son... Now his name is Gabriel O'Neil. Now he is studying at a parish school... I’m thinking of sending him further to study in the city... a capable boy.
The irony of fate... It was on this day ten years later that the lake gave up the bones of Greedy Rodriguez. Well... despite everything, he was a desperate cowboy. Pilar loved him. Our first son... his son. I buried him behind the house I built near the lake. I paid tribute to the ashes, after all, thanks to them I have a wife, a son, a house by the lake and a dream... a dream that one day I or my descendants will find in the depths of the lake... Indian gold.
Chapter 3
I sat in the attic and tried to comprehend what I had read. After all, it’s not every day that you learn that the founder of your family, a respectable resident of the city, whose portrait still hangs in the city hall, was a desperate cowboy who robbed banks and stagecoaches. And your great-grandmother, a respected Lady, who instilled moral principles in her children and grandchildren, was a girl in a saloon. It's not every day that you find out that your illustrious relative, Admiral Gabriel O'Neill, is an Indian boy. And where does the Spanish blood come from in our family? It’s not every day that you understand why someone in a family is always required to learn seamanship, while everyone else must be a professional diver. And why you should never sell your house.
The main thing is that the family legend about gold is not a legend at all, but the truth. And that it is up to you to find him. This is gold for which the Spaniards from the gang of Greedy Rodriguez, and the desperate cowboys from Harvard O'Neill's detachment, and the Indians led by the chief's son laid down their lives. Maybe this was not the most battle in the history of the Wild West, but it was definitely decisive in the fate of these guys...
Option 1
In this version, the well-known metaphor “diamond in dust” was taken as an associative basis. This image is understood as something very valuable (usually in an abstract sense) in a person or some situation, phenomenon, which people could not (or did not want) to consider or see.
Introduction by the game host: “ Imagine that your life (both already lived and the future) is a kind of dusty path. Here dust can be understood as vanity, numerous current affairs, routine, responsibilities, etc. (Unfortunately, in life it is impossible to completely get rid of this “dust” by choosing exclusively “clean” roads. Although, it is worth noting that over the years, the life path of one person becomes even more “dusty”, and the life path of another, on the contrary, is cleared of nasty “dust”). What “diamonds” do you think you missed without noticing in this dust? (Probably, “diamonds” here, first of all, should be understood as certain possibilities). And what “diamonds” do you want to find in the dust of the upcoming path? What are you planning to do to ensure you don't miss these "diamonds" and notice them?».
Participants can express themselves out loud or in writing, while remaining within the framework of the proposed image. They can also draw a schematic image of their “Dusty Path”, marking the same “diamonds” in it with various icons.
The game can be evaluated if the participants themselves agree that their judgments will be evaluated. The assessment takes into account the originality, accuracy, comprehensiveness, and adequacy of the images of “diamonds” and “dusty paths” that were presented by the participants.
Option 2
In this version, a situation is played out in which the participants in the game are prisoners of some enchanted castle (or something else like that) trying to escape from it. During their escape, they must be extremely careful to pass the sleeping dragon (or other guards) along a narrow corridor covered with fine dust. If the steps are careless, the rising dust will fall into the nostrils of one of the fugitives - he will sneeze and wake up the dragon.
So, one of the players must walk a certain distance (indicated by the game leader) (for example, from one wall of the room to another wall). He has a bell on his outstretched hand. However, he can only take a certain number of steps. Steps should be as large as possible. To do this, the leader must measure the number of such large steps in advance.
The most important condition is caution. If the bell rang, it means that the “fugitive” sneezed from the rising dust and woke up the dragon. If this happens, then all the fugitives who have already passed through the “corridor” return back and again try to escape from the “castle”.
The bell does not have to be in the hands of the “fugitive”. The bell can be hung: on the visor of the cap that every fugitive must wear (this can be an “invisibility hat”); at the end of a stick that lies on the “fugitive”’s shoulder, etc. You can also use not one, but two bells.
The presenter can also specifically make the bell ring. To do this, he can make the “fugitive” laugh, unexpectedly clap his hands, distract him with some words and phrases, etc.
Multi-stage intersection
Presenter's introduction: " Every person's life is a journey. If the paths of two people meet, then this can be called a crossroads. There are thousands of crossroads along the life paths of each of us. With some people (with their paths) our paths cross very often. At the same time, our paths often cross at another level (most often, a higher one), because both the people themselves and the relationships between them are developing. Surely, each of you has repeatedly crossed paths with the people who are here, and each time these “crossroads” were at a higher level. Remember these intersections and these levels together, highlight and discuss them, and also try to imagine at what level your next intersection will occur».
In other words, the facilitator invites participants in pairs (it is desirable that these pairs include people who have a fairly long and varied experience of communicating with each other) to discuss (remember) their past “crossroads” and analyze them by stages, levels (how the relationship developed) . The same can be done in relation to the future. It is necessary that the pairs be interchangeable (for example, 5 minutes in each pair, pairs also change five times).