Skip to main content

Featured

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
Post a Comment
Read more

sour milk and old chestnuts



A low wind kicks up inside the metro, bringing that familiar sweet sickening smell. It is as if the halls and stairs are filled with cream every night, and stray cats swim here - in the morning there is no trace except for the sour corners and that lingering stench. Even the guitar player by the platform is out of key, off. The city has grown ugly, with indifferent faces that stare at phones like so many places in the world. History is ignored, statues are not glanced at. The old heroes become unfamiliar.

As a foreigner you get caught listening to that old chestnut time after time, "Once you get to know them, they are quite warm." But there are countless strangers, a river of them every day that you will never know, the ones who jack up the price when they hear a foreign accent, the taxi driver that takes the long way on purpose, the rotten apple at the bottom of the bag that somehow ends up in your fridge.

A beautiful old station that stinks. This is the Moscow I cannot un-see.
Email Post

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular Posts