“We looked at the yellow sea and waited for the food to be brought. The restaurant was located on a terrace above the beach. The city, built by Russian colonialists, was piled higher, doing its best to pretend that it did not notice that it was standing by the sea. The beach, squeezed between the restaurant and the port, turned out to be small, the rest of the coastal strip was deserted, and only piles of garbage decorated it. The city turned away from the yellow waves, rushing into the mountains. A long time ago, the Russian conquerors drove the ancestors of the current townspeople out of there and distributed them here, in the valley, in furnished houses on straight long streets. Cluttered embankments, assorted extensions, covering the regular facades beyond recognition, signaled the weakening of the Russian grip and the sliding of the aborigines into the familiar lopsided environment with blank walls, clogged courtyards, with distrust, hostility, and most importantly, with fear of the endless expanse of the sea...”