The one to whom everything that happens on the suburban real estate market is too reminiscent of Chekhov’s “Cherry Orchard,” whose heroes yawn meet a late train, will certainly be disappointed. Today, villages located outside the city do not resettle for the summer, and not the dreamy Ranevskys live in them, but rather the enterprising Lopakhins, who are clearly aware of when, to whom and for what they paid.
And they live in comfort, wondering in the evenings, either to spread out solitaire, or to go smoke a cigar in the company of people from their own circle; an ordinary TV has long turned into a huge panel on the wall and thereby turns the room into a kind of auditorium. In modern cottage towns, there isn’t even bird milk. Continue reading