Cosmonauts day - missed it

Yuri Gagarin's first flight into space still has a fantastic resonance - I found myself looking at endless news footage on YouTube from April 1961; lots of early colour footage, space machines riveted together out of bent sheets of metal; and big telephones.  Then saw this, about the Kremlins celebration gala last week. And so wish I could have been there. 

more beautiful people

Found myself at a cocktail reception yesterday evening. Organised by Christies, the event was presumably aimed at promoting the art auctioneers to Russian art collectors again - a sign that the financial crisis is seen as on its way out here. Slightly miscellaneous artworks on the walls by Andy Warhol, Cindy Sherman, Claude Monet, Ilya Repin and Lucien Freud among others; but mainly I was staring at all the beautiful people (and the scrum of photographers).

My problem being that I never recognise celebrities on my own home-ground, let alone Russian ones. So no idea who these women are, just love/want their poise and style.

Meanwhile I showed my lack of class by wearing jeans, getting VERY over-excited at the Chanel No.5 goodie bag and going on to Moo Moo* for dinner.


* Moo Moo/ му му is one of two main chains of buffet-type 'cheap-n-cheerful' Russian food restuarants, decorated in a 'Russian village'/ cow motif style. The other is 'Mongolian style', called Elki Palki/ёлки палки.

.... and more

This woman begging was on the same corner as me. The smart looking women beyond her are not in the photograph to signify the huge divide between rich and poor in post-Soviet Russia. Well, they might be, but mainly they are searching in their bags to find some change to give this woman; walking past her and then, when they have found their money, returning.

more faces

finding that metro feeling

feeling foreign

Since coming back from London I have felt quite dislocated, like part of me is still in the UK. This is not homesickness  - although of course I miss my friends and family a lot - but more a kind of exhaustion. I am suddenly noticing again the difficulties of being a foreigner and no longer just enjoying its novelty. I don't even mean the problems of not being able to speak the language (which still embarrasses me). This is much more about always being aware of even the most ordinary everyday routines, of nothing ever being possible to take for granted because you never quite know exactly what is going on. And that is tiring.

I assume that some sociologist or anthropologist has studied the phenomenon of being a foreigner, there are probably stages just like growing up or bereavement, in which case I think I am currently moving to stage 2: 'Just wants an easy life'. Except, of course, I don't or I wouldn't be here. And it does mean I have started to take loads of photographs again; have got obsessed with trying to capture faces and interactions, both of individuals and in crowds, with all the added complications that brings of not being seen to obviously take pictures in the packed and jostling Moscow metro.