Moravia | November'14

Moravia - historical country in the central Europe, surrounded by Austria, Slovakia, Poland.

Wasn't the first time I was visiting Moravia; the first one, however, when I went to these two particular towns - Olomouc and Kroměříž. Moravia feels like - one-carriage trains, bakery, castles in small towns, towers, German language and neat streets.

Pretty, pretencious, slightly disturbing.

Olomouc

Half an hour in Olomouc next to the train station; upper levels of every single buildings are breathtaking, weather is really cold, people hiding in coffee places, not a single bank to be seen; cute, daring and, oh, that cat stole my heart.

Kroměříž

The walk through the whole city takes half an hour; Christmas illuminations are everywere - in November! - but Christmas market on the main square is grim and closed; same magnificent rooftops; thousands of great bakery shops - and not a single one takes credit cards. Damn.

Como lake and travel stories | October'14

When I was back home for the summer, I spent one of the afternoons walking along the river with a friend, and having one of those very particular summer all-in-nothing talks; being safely back home I tend to have the dangerous freedom of wondering through all the adventures I had and dwell on those to be. I told her a number of stories about my travel – all of them had in common disastrous circumstances, lots of missed transport means, mess and surprises of all kinds. It took her some time to stop laughing; she told me afterwards that I should write them down for the sake of all the other people who might make the same mistakes. I said - well, I actually have blog for that kind of embarrassing travel stories, but then, when I kept thinking about that, - how many of those embarrassing details do I really have here?

So, well, for a point of information: my travelling is always a mess; it looks all so nice on photos and in the stories, but I’m always late or too early, my trains are cancelled, planes break (seriously, happened in Dublin airport), I sleep on benches or don’t sleep at all for days, and my passport had been through all kinds of troubles. I still wonder if it means that I completely fuck it up or that I actually do it right, but at the very least I have a plenty to remember, and that counts. Plus, the brain is such a clever little thing – after a while we forget all the upsetting details and that’s where the stories become all funny and nice.

That’s why what I was going to write about a beautiful Italian lake is going to be a story about how we messed that trip up and how it didn’t manage to spoil a thing after all – before I will forget all the disastrous details again, I want them all here, weird and unfortunate and sweet as they were.

For a reference point - this is Como lake - absolutely worth
all the troubles.

The lake is called Como, and, as I said before, it’s beautiful. Generally speaking, it’s a giant upside-downed letter “Y” on the Italian north; its’ waters reflect the surrounding Alps and shores are ever full of towns and villages, all of them being connected by the transport system of ferries. The lake of Como is named after a town on its southern side, and the town of Como was actually where we were going. Why we were going there – well, my good friend from Belarus came to see me in Italy and was eager to go around as much as possible, while I didn’t find it in myself to let her go alone. As we were going to speak a lot of Russian anyway, one of my Russian-speaking university friends joined us at 8 in the Saturday morning on the train station. We – kind of – planned the whole thing the previous evening through the website of Trenitalia – Italian main railway company – and fancied ourselves being – kind of – prepared.

Como being only an hour far away from Milan, we were supposed to get from Pavia – my university

Lovely Trenitalia

town – to one of the minor stations in Milan, change there again to yet another Milan station and from there to go to Como at last – with two changes altogether, because taking direct trains is lame (and expensive). We were a bit worried because of the approximately 8 minutes which we had for each of the changes, but, surprisingly enough (notwithstanding Italian trains’ tendency to be late on regular basis), we were in time for the first change, took the second train and get off for the second change perfectly in time once again. Excitedly discussing our unusual luck, we checked out the number of the platform (1^st), went there, made selfie, waited for the train, and, as it came, boarded, being extremely proud of ourselves for the perfect timing.

Being already in the train, I checked the time and announced that we are “lucky indeed” – train came even earlier than it was supposed to.  Doesn’t really happen in Italy, I added. After a moment of silence somebody asked if it’s actually our train.

Well, it wasn’t.

A train going to Bergamo – another town in the Italian north region of Lombardy – came to the platform where we were waiting for our train to come, and, frustrated and panicking, we realised it as the train was already heading out of the city.

We took off on the next station, which, luckily, was still in Milan, and even better, the train we were supposed to take was making a stop on that very same station as well. We run to the scheduled

The selfie might have played it's role as well.

platform, waited there for quite some time; weather was shitty, taking into account how sunny and hot it was even yesterday; I was wearing shorts and complaining quite persistently; my friends were annoyed by me annoying them, cold weather being cold indeed and train being really delayed.

After something which seemed an eternity but was 20 minutes in fact, my friend left us to check the timetable boards in the main building. She came back all sunny and smiling and said - we are so fucked up; the train wasn’t there anymore. I took my turn to leave, double-checked the timetable board and approached one of the station assistant, who told me that the train had come 10 minutes ago to the 3^rd platform. “But we were on the 3^rd platform for the last 20 minutes” I said, being nervous and messing up Italian times and grammar. Nothing changed – the station assistant was quite persistent in saying that we “missed it” in the way mysterious and unknown. To save the time - the mystery of the disappeared train has actually remained a mystery. We took our time going around the station and exploring something which seemed to be one of the creepiest districts of Milan. The next train came in an hour; in the meantime we had some great time on a children playground nearby; I lost an euro by putting it into a non-working vending machine on the train station in a vain hope for a hot chocolate; we were freezing. At last the train came; we boarded and for a while even felt kind of sorry for parting.

He looked even sadder that day then he looks on the picture. The station was called Monza, but we prefered to call it Harlem - for some obvious reasons.

My lovely friend and guidelined for a proper treatment of playgrounds.

Freezing and greenish, we gave high-five to the giant hand next to
the train station in Como

If you think that that was it, you are wrong; the weather was gradually becoming worse; I took off my green sweater and put it around my waist, trying to warm my tights and looking like a weird, greeny penguin;

after we arrived to Como, we found McDonalds and hided there, eating cheap hamburgers (90 eurocents per piece!) and staying in the queue for the bathroom; I looked into the mirror and got frightened by the fat, greenish penguin I've seen there; at last, we came out and started a long walk around the lake.

Not just the lake, btw.

Definitely not just the lake

Surprisingly enough, on the train station a touristic infocenter
was opened. We were given this lovely map and lots of
instructions concerning the way to organise our time best.
Not that we let other people to organise us that easily,
but nice try, Como!

Right after I took first couple of photos and was changing the lens, my camera died, but I really stop complaining now; the thing is that we – two Russian-speaking friends of mine and a greenish, fat penguin that I was – had a great time, with all the delays, cameras not working, hamburgers being not enough, shorts being short and sun coming out from the clouds 10 minutes prior to our departure from Como in the evening – in fact, it got out just to hide almost immediately behind the mountains surrounding the lake all around. None of this mattered much; we didn’t just have Lake Como, we made it through to it, freezing and happy, and together. I could really use that hot chocolate I didn’t get on the train station, but instead I was going around the lake with a cup of a cheap tea from McDonalds, picking cherry tomatoes from the lunch box we took with us and it actually felt really good.

I have a passion to make photos of peple making photos; probably, that's why my camera is discharged so often and fast.(

The town with a yacht club is always a good town.

Another guideline from our dreamteam - how to effectibely cover people, who sit on the stairs behind you and spoil the landscape.

Now I wish I would take that ferry trip around the lake, but, probably, I will save that for a day not quite that foggy, and for a train which would come in time, and, probably, for some other people visiting me in Italy some other time. There is time for everything, and that was the time for being late, and messy, and feverishly happy. Fair enough.

There was a moment - when the sun came at out of the clouds at last, right on the edge of the mountain peaks; we were walking the old city at that moment, with the lake behind us and walls of the town’s Duomo running up on our left, all so magnificent, and clean, and huge. I’m writing about it because, you know, there was nothing like being right there at that particular moment.

So, after all – train might have disappeared so that we would have that moment together. It could also be due to Trenitalia, or it might have been an unsolved mystical mystery I sometimes feel so unhealthy interested in.

But, really, -

Such things make the journey and destination matter both, doesn’t it?

It definitely made ours’ to.

Lviv it | October'14

It has been a while, or at least it feels like this. I traveled a lot those days, but it somehow goes right through the fingers when it comes to writing things down; the beauty is in the process, you know, and sharing adventures and memories can sometimes hurt a lot. I epically failed the story about my trip to Bialystok in the middle of September (although, of course, I will never fail to remember), as well as the journey from Belarus to Italy through Poland and Czech Republic I had (don’t ask); however, now, being back from Lviv International Summit of EYP Belarus, I simply can’t keep quiet; at last, here are some stories about how we Lvived it so much.

(As a reference to the world of EYP you can always use the Article from March)

Firstly, some travel advises:

•          Don’t trust Ryanair, - especially if you have some transport to catch afterwards, - and make sure you have mobile numbers of the bus driver, if the transport you are to catch is the bus. That’s what happened to me in Krakow when I was changing from the plane to the bus at 1 am; Ryanair was predictably late, leaving me half an hour to reach the bus station in the center of Krakow and catch the bus – luckily, I managed to call the bus driver and find out that the bus itself was late as well. I mean, of course, having both plane and bus being delayed  is lots of luck for one person in the middle of the night, but it worked out, so, god, who cares;
•           Be ready to be the only one from the whole bus whom Ukrainian border control will decide to check out; remain calm, be nice and try not to look scared when you will see machine guns on their waists;
•           Arrive to the train and bus stations in advance. You can never know when the city will host football game or some other event, so the whole city will be stuck in a traffic jam;
•           Check the name of the airport; I’m sure, airport of Warsaw sounds persuasive enough, but, believe me, when you arrive there in the middle of the night and find out that Warsaw has two airports, it gets a bit messy;
•          Make sure you know the way to reach airports, train and bus stations, center of the city, etc. It was getting messier and messier as I was going through the night Warsaw looking for another airport;
•          According to the European Union regulations, you can have a reimbursement, if your plane was delayed for more than 3 hours. If you are late anyway, make some use of the time and pass three hours in a pleasant anticipation.

So, back to another European Youth Parliament adventure I had. After getting through all the troubles on the way to Lviv and before leaving it with the equal amount of troubles, I had the best time being

a journalist there. Such a good and properly busy time it was, that after leaving Ukraine I found around 10 photos only which would be really mine, and not my committee’s, chairpersons’, board’s or the ones from farewell party. I found out how I can properly write without endless procrastination, about the real potential of my magnificent nifty fifty lens, about the way to be both journalist and part of the committee, and all these professional achievements where nothing when compared to how great the people around me were. I also had two great surprises from the people I really love - a friend of mine and my cousin, who came to Lviv from Kiev to spent some time with us and made some unforgettable memories. I looked through endless pictures and I keep smiling for the people so far away but somehow so close; I smile because they were bright, brilliant, adventurous, brave, supportive and creative, and conversations with every single one of them brought me – of course, joy and happiness, but also – serenity.

Magnificent view of our main venue

The reason I’m writing about Lviv is because I fell in love with the city, with prices for food, with people around me, with my camera and – over and over again – with the feeling of unity and hope EYP creates.

I had a feeling of doing it right, and it was a great feeling to behold, especially on an event organised by EYP Belarus after such a break. I loved it, every second, and I had the feeling that people around me loved it as well, and I wouldn’t wish for anything more.

Same venue, different angle

Okey, well, may be, one more thing – as a member of a media team of the session, I wish

our great work will be greatly appreciated. If you haven’t don’t it yet, look at our newspaper’s issues, the video done by our supreme video-editor and follow the session’s page for upcoming photo updates.

Because the memories we create are burning bright, aren’t they?

Issue 1

Issue 2

Issue 3

Live from Lviv epidose 1

Live from Lviv episode 2

One of the few photos with me I have; perks of being a journalist and things

Photography | September'14

That's the story about photography as a way of seeing the world of one of the friends of mine.

Around quite long ago I met a girl – she was a friend of a friend of mine. We were 15 or something  – anyway, we were equally young, enthusiastic and amazingly obsessed with the world around. So, we were keeping in some pretty abstract touch for a couple of years, during which the girl steadily discovered that she had quite a talent for photography – she was doing some quite special photos with quite nothingness for a camera. When I was 17 and had a need in making some photos, I rememberedabout that girl of mine, and we met, and she took my mother’s camera stand, and outside of my house with her portable camera took some quite breathtaking pictures which I heartily love even now.

So after I had the whole photo shoot to be adored, followed everything she was doing for some time, and got really excited, I said something like “hey, whatever and however crazy will be the idea for your next shooting, I would be happy to participate”. I suppose it was weird at the time since we barely met before and spoke with regularity of every half of the year.

Nevertheless, the next summer she colored my face, went out of the city and created the whole new world out there with a piece of white tissue, three girls and a camera she borrowed.

After that we were meeting quite often, pretty much - every time we were inspired with something and wanted to share it with the world. Some time ago I fell for “Hurts”, so we made black-and-white photos with the body of my camera and the girl’s zenit lens. 

Two years ago it was music of Lana del Ray, and the story with this shooting is quite special, because we were allowed to stay in the very posh restaurant with our camera before the official opening. We were boasting a lot that time about how it was ours exclusively.

The same year the girl bought her very own camera with her very own lenses. We celebrated it by making photos in my father’s room. She was shooting from wardrobe – her new lens was fixed and that was the only way to get my face into the picture altogether. Don’t ask – it was great anyway.

This year we made Princess Leia shooting, which was a lot on my Facebook and which made lots of people think I’m really weird. The girl was making my make-up, she drew the picture of Darth Vader, she cooked cupcakes and improvised me a skirt out of the piece of white tissue which has already been mentioned. Couple of weeks ago we made the most hipster and amazing set of pictures  on a parking place of a big supermarket, and had a great fun in the meantime, being carried around in shopping carts.

Through all the years we spent together drinking milk creams, getting to locations, choosing inspiring topics and shocking people around, the girl became a really close friend of mine. We were making makeup in my car, sneaking into places we were not supposed to be, improvising, creating, having great deal of fun and nice cup of tea after every single meeting. And through all this years she never stopped surprising me.

There is something in the way she sees the world through lenses – something about light 

shadows, colours, air and god knows what else, but she makes her pictures breathe.

She supported me a lot in all the ventures I went through lately, and I’m taking a chance and all these pictures to tell her once again that she has been such an inspiration and breath of fresh air for me through these years; that her talent has grown to be something truly beautiful; that the way she sees the world around is astonishing.

We had quite of a story, which, however much I’ve tried to cover it, is impossible to be told at once, so I stop here with that video we made quite a time ago and which proved to be really hard to find.

When we sleep from Antennasgriga on Vimeo.

Enjoy!

With lots of love,

From me whom your pictures taught a lot.

Pavia | August'14

I had come back to lovely Italy to spend some time looking for a flat. So far all I can state only one thing – it had been one of the most heartbreaking experiences in my life.

I would be even happy to say that the problem is in all the shitty flats and all the stubborn, insensible owners – but it’s not. I’ve seen some pretty good ones; I’ve seen some, which were pretty breathtaking; I had some really good time going around the city, checking addresses and looking from the inside what we always judge from the exterior. It was great, really.

Yesterday, however, early in the morning, I called a man and made an appointment for 2 in the afternoon. A bit later he called me back and, after asking where was I at the moment, suggested to go now, so he can give me a lift by his car and save some of my time.

In the car we were listening to the new-age music, which was imitating rain. The man was in his sixties; we were talking about how he was growing up in the flat I was going to see, about ancient city walls of Pavia, his family and how I can’t make up sense with past tenses of some Italian verbs. He was holding doors for me, showing around, describing how the flat looked like 40 years ago.

By then I knew that I’m not going to take it, but I just couldn’t stop listening.

Before we parted, he showed me a storage room right beneath the roof at the top of the building. There was a desk there – something looking pretty old and classy; kind of a thing you would put in the corridor, with hangs for clothes and a little shelf for a phone. On the wood a little girl was drawn; she looked quite nostalgic and was covered in tiny net of cracks on the surface.

I didn’t ask, but I was told – that was a shelve in the corridor from 40 years before; when the man was yet a boy, he used to think about the drawn girl as his first love: she was right at the eyes level for a little boy, to talk to her and pretend to do the first kissing.

The girl looked sad when we left, I swear.

The man gave me a lift back as well; I was shaking hands with him and thinking that my chances to see him again are close to zero, but god, how touched I felt by his whole life.

I’ve seen plenty of such things. I’m not that much of an easy-going type, but I was talking and listening a plenty for the last days. I met children and grandchildren of numerous owners; I was attacked by their dogs and learned the name of other pets; I’ve seen family places with history and some new ones where history was yet to made; I’ve seen the inside of some families rich beyond the measure and heard their stories too. I’ve heard stories again, and again, and again, and just as I was overwhelmed, I was pushed to yet another house and meet some more people.

I feel touched by all of them, by something like a wind, which is rushing towards us as we pass against a person on the street. I always look back when I do so, and I can’t stop looking now. After all, it’s not just about the houses; it’s also about how both empty and complete I feel at the same time because of the necessity to choose.

I will choose, obviously, but I’m thankful for all the things people shared with me these days. I wonder if everyone feels the same I do while choosing the place to live, or meeting new people, or both, but I think they should.

We all are parts of each other, even when it’s just the wind we share by walking the same street.

There is a picture I made in the flat that remarkable morning with that remarkable man; it’s of the inner yard, where you can see a part of Pavia’s old city wall, which goes all around the city. You can’t see it from the street; this thing is a personal treasure for those, who can see it from their flats, while taking a morning cappuccino.

I’m posting It here as a form of gratitude and, even more, as a promise to remember every little story there is on my way; and, particularly, the one about the young boy and his first love being right on the eye level of each other in a corridor long gone.

Genova/ Genoa | Italy | June'14

Genoa was actually a second city we visited that day with my friend. The first one was a small beach Mediterranean town - Sestri Levante, - about which I don't have much to say; it seemed to be the perfect place to do nothing, look at the sea, eat focaccia and, judging from the atmosphere, probably, write poetry. 

So after spending half of the day in the same fashion (no poetry written, though), we moved to Genoa by a train, which represented Italian railway at its bests, covering 50 kilometers between two towns in an hour. 

Genoa felt so different, however, that it could just the same be 10 times the distance between relaxing Sestri Leavante and rushing, concentrated, messy Genoa. The city, just as the cliffs it's built on, seemed dangerous, sharp and complicated.

The weather was getting stormy; we had three hours to the train and spent them looking for la Lanterna - oh-so-famous, iconic lighthouse of Genoa. It looked quite close on google maps, but we lost our way at least twice on the way, got stuck on a sidewalk of motorway (well why not) and found Lanterna closed when we finally fought the rapid ascent which lead there. 

Being tired, a bit angry and a little bit rebellious, we climbed the fence which barrier staircase to the small yard behind Lanterna where the spotlight where installed. Our rebellious mood was rewarded by the terrible wind up there and an astonishing view - of the sea in front of us and harbor behind. I'm not even mentioning how beautiful the sea is, but the port, overloaded with containers, shipyards, stretching all over the eyesight, was somehow beautiful in its geometry. It felt wrong, though - occupying so much of the harbor that you could hardly see where it ends.

On our way back we were reading these information plates all along the road. It was a bit of a history of the city and a bit - of la Lanterna itself, but was stroke me was a random piece of information about Genoa. The harbor, being the huge commercial and passenger port, has taken the place of the sea, and separated the city from what gave it birth in the first place. 

It was becoming really cold now, and the wind was pushing us down the street. We spent some quality time trying to find a train station, went through a couple of particularly weird downtown streets and took the train a minute before departure.

My camera and phone had already died; we finished the food, and, being exhausted, were looking into the window. I was thinking about these words I read - how Genoa is the city, which almost lost its sea, and it was somehow disturbing and beautiful.

And not being sure if I want to come back, I will check the opening hours of La Lanterna all the same.

Here is to Genoa: the bright, difficult, struggling city on the Mediterranean cost, which almost let go what it breaths with.