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somewhere over the rainbow (and other stories)

  Exactly two years ago I found myself flying through a corner of a rainbow, and landed in Oaxaca, Mexico. It was the last film festival I traveled to, a brutal and sweet experience in the harshest of realities, trying to wrap my arms around the slipperiest industry and failing magnificently. Surrounded by fresh faces and eager eyes I ran from the rooms and into the street time and again, wandering off with the camera in my bag as a companion. I took pictures of a blind man that sang on the same corner every day, of wedding parades, of an old woman waiting to see the dentist.  Literally somewhere over the rainbow, I met the ugliest answers to questions I had been dragging my feet towards for years. Cramming the most delicious food into my mouth, joking at the nightly rooftop cocktail parties, grinning like the Cheshire Cat it was all coming to an end. Actually, it had ended before it even started though - and on the plane back to New York and finally Moscow the bone-crunching undertow
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whistling through the graveyard


Not far from Red Square on a Sunday afternoon, the streets are close to empty. Lazy traffic is sloshing though the muck and the puddles. There is no smell of Spring in the air, just ozone and diesel, maybe some cheap perfume. I wander into a fancy shopping center, realizing that on the third floor there is a little room where bands rehearse, a place I visited back when there were other expats I knew that played instruments. The roof is a long, elegant half cylinder of steel and glass. It looks like the bones of a mechanical whale, perfect and motionless.

There are restaurants on every floor, and stores chock full of watches that cost more than a car. No one is here, not a single person, just a handful of security guards and some waitresses with empty expressions. My footsteps echo in the space, and they crane their necks to me. I am just looking for the bathroom, not some overpriced lunch. It is surreal to see a place that should be busy like this. Instead I am in a museum, a private time capsule, a graveyard.
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