Warm autumn day. The last hours and minutes of the outgoing Indian summer. The weather is wonderful. The sun gives warmth to everyone. Children play … - Viktor Pinchuk

On December 3, 2010, from the Nativity of Christ, with a small camping backpack behind my back, I left the house, running away from the routine of pale gray days, which look like twins in a morgue. In the backpack — a monthly supply of oatmeal, a metal bowl and a mug, in the passport — not a single visa, in the head — dreams, ideas and a vague future.

The teacher asked wards what the meaning of life was. They began to put forward versions. Only the failing student, sitting at the last desk, was silent, staring stupidly down. When the noise subsided a little, the teacher turned to him: «What do you think about this?» — «I do not think about what is not...» — answered dunce.

The celestial omen shone the mind. The gate of the azure vault unfolded, among the clouds, in the halo of sunlight appeared the Lord, Hanuman the Most High. «I trust you with a responsible mission... — annunciate holy God — from this day forget about comfort and coziness, leave your whims and desires... Your Ego is gone, you do not belong to yourself, taking a vow to serve the muses. From now on, you are the wind of the Sudanese deserts, the fog of the New Guinean Mountains, the heat of Kenyan night and the tropical rain of the Indonesian archipelago...»