Senelga offered rides.

Pavel, too, offered rides.

Senelga is being trained for jumping

Ira is a skilled rider, too.

A surprise envelope appeared in the mail box that the kids have discovered. It was addressed:
For KIDS
Babje

Inside the envelope, there was a mysterious map.

Following the clues

Time to celebrate and eat the treasures!

Lionja reading near one of the icons he is restoring for the church.

Bandit in deep reflection on the human paradox down there, he is thinking existence through a direct contact with the skies.

Inspired, Liouba spent a few hours designing her own treasure hunt:
Little village Babje
Big secret
For grown-ups only

A hedgehog dropped by for some milk.

Just like my re-awakening – or probably re-falling into the nightmare – last year in St. Petersburg, I found the transition from culture to civilisation too abrupt. One fine morning, we left Babje. We took the train from Spirovo to Tver, a bus from Tver to Moscow and at 3 am that night, Liouba and I were at the Shiremetievo airport to catch our flight to New York, a shuttle to Philadelphia, where my mother picked us up and drove us to Bryn Mawr College to meet her colleagues and my old fellow-students with whom she had an appointment. It seemed to me that it was several millennia after we had left Babje, it began to rain and by the nightfall of civilisation we were at mum’s home on time for the storm, whose wrath and lightening tore out trees, destroyed houses and cars and against which civilisation was helpless. We sat in the dark and listened to the night roar.