Sergey Kozlov has already traveled four times to Armenia and surrounding regions. One day he left home with a camera, a tent and a backpack, with only 5,000 rubles in his pocket, and returned with a series of amazing portraits of residents of quiet Caucasian villages. Sergey shared his traveler lifehacks and talked about taking portraits of Caucasian residents.

About the winning photo

As is tradition, let's start with the winning photo. Tell us about the man with an infernal look who won the competition.

I also found his look interesting. This was my first trip, and, of course, one of the strongest impressions was a visit to the Khor Virap monastery, where I took this photo. In the photo he is not a bearer of religious rank, he is an employee of the monastery complex.

Armenia, Khor Virap monastery 2013 Photo: Sergey Kozlov

- What a mustache he has! Is this generally typical for those regions or is he the only such original?

I have never seen such a mustache! Their owner has probably already become a local legend, and this is understandable - he has a textured appearance, many tourists took pictures of him. Arriving in Armenia again a year or two later, I handed the print to the man. You should have seen these emotions, he was very surprised. Probably not many people bring him photographs.

- Did you specifically choose this background, with mysterious numbers?

This is the entrance to the church, just a column nearby; it was a very hot September day, strong shadows, and I, realizing that I had little time to shoot, chose a place with suitable lighting so as not to spoil the frame. I simply asked this person to give me some time for a photo. As soon as I did everything, he immediately went about his business. Unfortunately, it was not possible to communicate, because he was always dealing with some economic issues. He was distracted for just a few minutes.

About regions and grandmothers

Armenia Noradus. 2013. Photo: Sergey Kozlov

- You can see from most of the people in the photographs that they are not used to the camera. Do you somehow work with models?

No. When I'm interested in a person's face, I just come up and introduce myself; If they react to me in a friendly manner and the acquaintance continues, then I take photographs during the conversation. But often the interlocutor, seeing the camera in front of him, makes a passport face and spreads his arms at his sides. Of course, nothing good comes of this, so whenever possible I try to get some kind of reaction from the person, and while they tell me something about themselves or ask questions, at this time I press the trigger. In moments of dialogue, when a person is distracted from the camera, bright photographs are obtained.

I see a superstitious-looking Caucasian grandmother in your photographs. I would never have thought that it could be photographed so easily.

I wouldn't say that the photo was taken easily. When I arrived in Noradus, there was terrible autumn weather. It was raining heavily, and a chilly wind blew through the raincoat. The weather is generally amazing for a walk through the necropolis, of course. And so, under a leaden sky and a piercing wind, I enter a medieval cemetery. The old chapel creaks its door welcomingly. I went inside, and there were grandmothers knitting mittens and hats for sale and hiding from the weather in this broken chapel. I decided to join them so as not to stand in the cold. At the same time, I took pictures of how it turned out, in the dim light inside. Later, right in the chapel, I set up a tent so that there was some kind of shelter from the rain, and began to prepare for the night. At this time two boys came running. Seeing the tent, they were very surprised and rushed to ask their father if it was possible to invite a Russian tourist to spend the night. So they called me into the house. We ended up meeting the family and the next morning we went for a walk together. When tourists began to arrive and grandmothers showed up again, I, with the help of a local resident, tried to start a dialogue with them.

I asked to be translated into Armenian that I was just looking for a textured face and that it might turn out to be a good portrait. I would have taken a competition photo... It seems that the grandmothers were not very convinced. There was a moment when I literally ran after one of them. If someone had filmed me galloping through the churchyard after my running grandmother, then the question is who would have gotten the coolest shot (laughs). In 2016, I returned and took the opportunity to pass on her photographs through my neighbors. The woman was ill at that moment and did not leave the house. But I was lucky to meet another craftswoman whom I photographed knitting in the chapel again and gave the photographs into my hands.

- And how did she react?

Fine. She smiled and remembered.

- Were you happy, did you take the photo?

Yes. And, seeing the camera again, she kindly called me cholera.

Noradus 2016. Photo: Sergey Kozlov

- That's how it is!

Yes, it happened in different ways. And not everywhere people were willing to take pictures. For example, I found it more difficult to film in Gyumri - the reaction to the camera was sometimes quite sharp. Some politely told me “no” or simply turned around and left.

- The grandmother in the photo from Gyumri looks very friendly.

Yes, this grandmother very politely made me understand that I did not belong here. I saw her near these old doors. It seems she was waiting for relatives from the store. She didn't understand Russian very well. I tried to communicate with the help of her Russian-speaking relatives, who had already arrived by that time. And he even took five shots, after which they handed me a walnut that had come from nowhere, politely waved their hand and smoothly closed the door in my face.

- Nevertheless, you managed to take the shots.

Yes, but they have never sent me to hell so delicately.

Armenia. Yerevan. market September 2014. Photo: Sergey Kozlov

About Caucasian hospitality and stereotypes

-Have you gone on some kind of photo tour? How much did you spend on the trip?

No, there was no photo tour. Most often I traveled alone, mostly by hitchhiking. I drew up a route in advance that would be interesting and allow it to be completed within the allotted time. And there was often a company already on site. During the entire first trip, I spent about five thousand round trip, and three of them were spent on travel. I spent the night in a tent or with local residents, who often invited me to their place - in this regard, Armenia is absolutely amazing. Once in Karabakh, I was walking through an evening village, and a local resident came out of the first door I came across and asked: “Tourist?” - “Yes, tourist. From Russia". - And, remembering the autumn rains with a strong word, the owner immediately invited: “Come on, don’t spend the night on the street...”

Noradus. 2016. Photo: Sergey Kozlov

- Isn’t it scary to hitchhike with equipment and backpacks every time, separated from civilization?

No, it's not scary there at all. I also hitchhiked to Nagorno-Karabakh, and nothing bad happened. There was an indicative situation: I arrived in Stepanakert (a city in the Nagorno-Karabakh region - editor's note), this was not the first day of the road, and I was quite tired of the hundred-liter backpack on my shoulders. I got off the bus, went to explore the surroundings and came across a station market (the Caucasian market is a separate holiday altogether). One of the local old-timers looked at me and said: “It must be hard? Leave your backpack here, no one will take it." Imagine: leaving your backpack somewhere at the Kazansky railway station, for example.

Armenia, Goris, May 2017. This is a tramp. I liked his gaze - intent, thoughtful, looking into space. I approached, asked permission, and in response they handed me a glass of coffee. We took a few steps to the nearest street, sat down on a bench, talked, and filmed as we went. Photo: Sergey Kozlov

- And you left?

Of course, I took money, documents, a camera from him... And decided to trust random acquaintances. A few hours later I came back to this spot in the city center and found my backpack, which no one had been interested in all this time. With an understanding of one's own and that of others, everything is fine there.

- So the stereotypes about gloomy and angry mountaineers are pure fiction?

The so-called “disadvantaged” regions that people hear about more often are not limited to the Caucasus and Transcaucasia. This world is more diverse and, I think, friendly. I communicated with both Dagestanis and Azerbaijanis, with many people during my solo trips. The impressions are the best. There was never any open aggression. Minor troubles arose, but extremely rarely, and everything was resolved quite easily. Many people living there rejoiced at the lively interest in them

Armenia, Areni, October 2014. The village of Arzni is famous for its winery and annual international wine festival. Photo: Sergey Kozlov

Armenia, Goris, May 2017. Road worker. Their brigade stood on the side of the road; during the break, people rejoiced in the spring sun. I approached and asked permission to take the portrait. Somewhat reluctantly, he nevertheless agreed to take a few photographs. Photo: Sergey Kozlov

Armenia, Goris, May 2017. Seeing a large group of players with sharp gestures and passion in their eyes, I could not pass by. Such “lunch breaks” can last for hours, so I had time to take pictures. Photo: Sergey Kozlov

Many interesting characters arrived. Even Harold, who is hiding his pain, has already managed to appear on the Instagrams of our compatriots. Some of the fans arrived by plane, others came by train or car. And the Argentinean Juan Matias Amaya came to Moscow on a bicycle. The journey of 80 thousand kilometers took him five years. And this is not the end.

May 27, 2018 at 10:03 PDT 33-year-old Mathias has already traveled through 37 countries. If you meet him on the street, you won’t confuse him with anyone: a bearded man on a bicycle loaded with all sorts of things and decorated with a huge number of flags different countries. In 2013, Matias left the Argentine city of San Juan and still continues to travel around the world by bicycle.

Posted by Maty Amaya (@matyas.amaya)

May 22, 2018 at 9:43 am PDT Matthias previously worked for a pharmaceutical company. But at one point I discovered that I had become too selfish and greedy for money.

Posted by Maty Amaya (@matyas.amaya)

May 17, 2018 at 5:39 PDT “Not only was I unhappy with my job, I also felt empty inside. I was ready to exchange all material goods in order to live life to the fullest,” he said in an interview with Romeing.

Posted by Maty Amaya (@matyas.amaya)

May 15, 2018 at 2:11 PDT At first, Matthias told family and friends that he was leaving for 15 days. But after this time, he realized that this was not enough.

Posted by Maty Amaya (@matyas.amaya)

May 14, 2018 at 1:01 am PDT “At first they thought I was crazy for leaving everything to go on a trip. And now my family and friends thank me because I share photos and videos and they can learn more about other cultures.”

Posted by Maty Amaya (@matyas.amaya)

May 3, 2018 at 9:37 am PDT Matthias says his journey is not easy. In an interview with Sports.ru, he said that he left home with $200 in his pocket, stayed overnight mostly in nature, and was often helped by those around him.

Posted by Maty Amaya (@matyas.amaya)

Apr 6, 2018 at 2:20 PDT “I'm not in a position to choose, so I eat everything. I even had to eat ants, caterpillars and all sorts of other strange creatures.”

Posted by Maty Amaya (@matyas.amaya)

April 6, 2018 at 7:24 PDT During the trip, Matthias faced a lot of difficulties: once he ran out of water in the desert and didn’t drink anything for two days, slept on the streets of Europe in winter, they tried to rob him several times and even wounded him with a knife. Many times Matthias thought about returning home, but he kept going.

Posted by Maty Amaya (@matyas.amaya)

8 Dec 2017 at 3:12 PST And now, five years and 80 thousand kilometers later, the cyclist came to Russia for the World Championships. Especially in Russia, Matthias was impressed by the girls.

“In Russia it is very beautiful women, they are very different from those who live in my city in Argentina. Our women have black hair and eyes. I like blue-eyed blondes. When I arrived in Russia, I almost fell off my bike! Blondes are everywhere! This is paradise for me!” - Mathias said in an interview with 360 TV channel.

Russia is not the final destination of his journey. But where he will go next, Matthias has not yet decided.

Posted by Maty Amaya (@matyas.amaya)

Mar 15, 2017 at 12:23 pm PDT “I didn’t have a specific plan, I just wanted to leave home. I was supposed to leave for 15 days, but five years have already passed. I don’t often think about the future; I like to live in the present.”

Posted by Maty Amaya (@matyas.amaya)

Jun 17, 2018 at 6:58 am PDT “Right now I have three options. The first is to go to the south of Russia, then to Turkey, drive from

Death in the form of a Scania truck overtook a 33-year-old Gazelle driver at the 699th kilometer of the M-5 Ural federal highway.

The first information about the accident appeared on Tuesday, May 15, on the website of the Main Directorate of the Russian Ministry of Emergency Situations for the Penza Region. The report states that on the same day at 22:20, a message about a traffic accident was received at the control panel of the rescuer on duty at the Ministry of Emergency Situations of the Gorodishchensky district.

To find out the details, on the same day I called Anna Shupilova, head of the information support group for the activities of the Main Directorate of the Ministry of Emergency Situations of Russia for the Penza region.

“There was a collision between two vehicles in the Gorodishchensky district,” she said. - Unfortunately, there were injuries as a result of the traffic accident. To eliminate the consequences of the accident, the Main Directorate of the Ministry of Emergency Situations of Russia in the Penza region involved four people and one piece of equipment.”

The next day, May 16, the traffic police reports indicated more than detailed information: “According to preliminary data, on the 699th kilometer of the Ural highway, an accident occurred involving a GAZ-278858 car and a Scania heavy truck with a Bong semi-trailer.” To clarify this information, I contacted Yulia Kuligina, traffic safety promotion inspector at the State Traffic Safety Inspectorate.

She said that, according to preliminary data, the GAZ driver, a man born in 1985, ran into a Scania. The truck was driven by an older man, born in 1961. The injuries sustained by the driver of the van were fatal. He died on the spot. An inspection is underway.

This incident was actively discussed on the Internet. So, for example, on one of the public pages social network On VKontakte, an eyewitness to the accident published a photo from the scene. During personal correspondence, he talked about what he saw and provided a photo from the scene of the tragedy.

“The Gazelle crashed into a stationary Scania,” said Igor Fedorov on May 16 (at the request of the interlocutor, the name has been changed. - Author’s note). “I don’t know how it happened, but the Gazelle driver had no chance.”

In addition to eyewitnesses to the accident, there were also those who knew the deceased man personally. So, for example, on May 17, I contacted Lyudmila Lavrova, an acquaintance of the mother of the deceased.

"He was a great guy, a caring son and loving husband, - the woman said about the Gazelle driver. “We still can’t believe what happened.” Literally the day before the tragedy, I saw him and spoke with him. And then there is such misfortune. For his mother, this news was a real blow.”

I also managed to talk to a friend of the deceased, also a driver.

“The deceased’s name was Evgeny,” Vitaly Rybin told me (at the request of the interlocutor, the name has been changed. - Author’s note) during personal correspondence. - Still very young, 33 years old. A good sympathetic person, a great friend, a careful driver. Nobody expected this to happen to him. I have known him for four years, also a driver. Evgeny himself is from Penza, has been driving for more than 10 years, and worked for himself. He left home on a flight and never returned alive. He was only 33 years old. He earned money for his Gazelle himself, through his own labor. He is survived by his wife and daughter. We don't know yet when the funeral will be. Everyone is still in shock from what happened.”

Varvara Ustinova

Leaving St. Petersburg, Vronsky left his large apartment on Morskaya to my friend and beloved comrade Petritsky. Petritsky was a young lieutenant, not particularly distinguished and not only not rich, but also in debt all around, always drunk in the evening and often ending up in the guardhouse for various funny and dirty stories, but loved by both his comrades and his superiors. Arriving at twelve o'clock from railway to his apartment, Vronsky saw a familiar cab carriage at the entrance. From behind the door, even when he called, he heard the laughter of men and the French babble of a woman’s voice and Petritsky’s cry: “If anyone is a villain, then don’t let him in!” Vronsky did not order the orderly to talk about himself and quietly entered the first room. Baroness Shilton, a friend of Petritsky, shining with her lilac satin dress and her ruddy blond face and, like a canary, filling the whole room with her Parisian dialect, sat in front of the round table, making coffee. Petritsky in a coat and Captain Kamerovsky in full form, probably from work, were sitting around her. - Bravo! Vronsky! - Petritsky shouted, jumping up and rattling his chair. - The owner himself! Baroness, I'll give him some coffee from the new coffee pot. We didn't wait! I hope you are pleased with the decoration of your office,” he said, pointing to the baroness. - You know each other, right? - Still would! - said Vronsky, smiling cheerfully and shaking the baroness’s little hand. - Of course! old friend. “You’re home from the road,” said the Baroness, “so I’m running.” Oh, I'll leave this minute if I'm in the way. “You are at home where you are, Baroness,” said Vronsky. “Hello, Kamerovsky,” he added, coldly shaking Kamerovsky’s hand. “You never know how to say such nice things,” the baroness turned to Petritsky. - No, why? After lunch I will say no worse. - Yes, there is no merit after lunch! Well, I’ll give you some coffee, go wash and get out,” said the Baroness, sitting down again and carefully turning the screw in the new coffee pot. “Pierre, give me some coffee,” she turned to Petritsky, whom she called Pierre, after his last name Petritsky, without hiding her relationship with him. - I'll add more.- Spoil it. - No, I won’t spoil it! Well, what about your wife? - the baroness suddenly said, interrupting Vronsky’s conversation with his friend. —You didn’t bring your wife? We married you here. - No, Baroness. I was born a gypsy and I will die a gypsy. - So much the better, so much the better. Give me your hand. And the baroness, without letting go of Vronsky, began to tell him, interspersed with jokes, her latest life plans and ask his advice. “He still doesn’t want to give me a divorce!” Well, what should I do? (He was her husband.) Now I want to start the process. How would you advise me? Kamerovsky, watch the coffee - he's gone; you see, I'm busy with things! I want the process because I need my state. Do you understand this stupidity, that I’m supposedly unfaithful to him,” she said with contempt, “and that’s why he wants to use my property.” Vronsky listened with pleasure to this cheerful babble of the pretty woman, assented to her, gave half-joking advice, and in general immediately adopted his usual tone of dealing with this kind of women. In his St. Petersburg world, all people were divided into two completely opposite varieties. One of the lowest grade: vulgar, stupid and, most importantly, ridiculous people who believe that one husband should live with one wife with whom he is married, that a girl should be innocent, a woman should be bashful, a man should be courageous, temperate and firm, that you have to raise children, earn your bread, pay off debts, and all sorts of similar nonsense. These were the type of people who were old-fashioned and funny. But there was another kind of people, real ones, to which they all belonged, in which one had to be, most importantly, elegant, beautiful, generous, brave, cheerful, surrender to every passion without blushing and laugh at everything else. Vronsky was stunned only in the first minute after the impressions of a completely different world that he brought from Moscow; but immediately, as if he had put his feet into old shoes, he entered his former cheerful and pleasant world. The coffee never brewed, but splashed everyone and went away and did exactly what was needed, that is, it gave rise to noise and laughter and stained the baroness’s expensive carpet and dress. - Well, now goodbye, otherwise you will never wash your face, and on my conscience the main crime of a decent person, uncleanliness, will be on my conscience. So you advise a knife to the throat? “Certainly, and so that your hand is closer to his lips.” “He will kiss your hand, and everything will end well,” answered Vronsky. - That’s how it is in French today! - And with a rustle of her dress, she disappeared. Kamerovsky also got up, and Vronsky, without waiting for him to leave, gave him his hand and went to the restroom. While he was washing, Petritsky briefly described to him his situation, how much it had changed after Vronsky’s departure. There is no money. The father said that he would not give or pay the debts. The tailor wants to imprison him, and the other one also certainly threatens to imprison him. The regimental commander announced that if these scandals do not stop, then we must leave. The Baroness is as tired as a bitter radish, especially because everyone wants to give money; but there is one, he will show it to Vronsky, a miracle, a charm, in an oriental strict style, “genre of the slave Rebecca, you understand.” I also sorted things out with Berkoshev yesterday, and he wanted to send seconds, but, of course, nothing will come of it. In general, everything is excellent and extremely fun. And, not allowing his comrade to delve into the details of his situation, Petritsky began to tell him all the interesting news. Listening to such familiar stories from Petritsky in such a familiar setting of his three-year-old apartment, Vronsky experienced a pleasant feeling of returning to the familiar and carefree life of St. Petersburg. - Can't be! - he shouted, releasing the pedal of the washbasin, which he was pouring on his red, healthy neck. - Can't be! - he shouted at the news that Laura had gotten together with Mileev and left Fertinghof. - And he’s still just as stupid and happy? Well, what about Buzulukov? - Oh, there was a story with Buzulukov - lovely! - Petritsky shouted. “After all, his passion is balls, and he doesn’t miss a single court ball.” He went to the big ball wearing a new helmet. Have you seen the new helmets? Very good, lighter. He’s just standing there... No, listen. “Yes, I’m listening,” Vronsky answered, rubbing himself with a shaggy towel. “The Grand Duchess is passing by with some ambassador, and unfortunately for him, they started talking about new helmets.” The Grand Duchess wanted to show off her new helmet... They see our little darling is standing. (Petritsky imagined him standing with a helmet.) The Grand Duchess asked for a helmet, but he did not give it. What's happened? They just blink at him, nod, frown. Give it to me. Does not give. Freeze. Can you imagine!.. Only this one... what’s his name... wants to take the helmet from him... won’t let it!.. He snatched it and gives it to the Grand Duchess. “This one is new,” says the Grand Duchess. I turned the helmet, and, can you imagine, there was a bang! pear, candy, two pounds of candy!.. He got it, my dear! Vronsky burst out laughing. And for a long time later, speaking about something else, he burst into his healthy laughter, sticking out his strong solid teeth when he remembered the helmet. Having learned all the news, Vronsky, with the help of a footman, put on his uniform and went to appear. Having arrived, he intended to go to his brother, to Betsy, and make several visits in order to begin traveling to that world where he could meet Karenina. As always in St. Petersburg, he left home in order not to return until late at night. 22 ... After all, his passion is balls, and he does not miss a single court ball. He went to the big ball wearing a new helmet. Have you seen the new helmets? Very good, lighter. He’s just standing there... No, listen. “Yes, I’m listening,” Vronsky answered, rubbing himself with a shaggy towel. , demanded that the patient be examined. He seemed to insist with particular pleasure that girlish modesty is only a remnant of barbarism and that there is nothing more natural than for a not yet old man to grope a young naked girl. He found it natural, because he did it every day and at the same time did not feel or think anything bad, as it seemed to him, and therefore he considered modesty in a girl not only a remnant of barbarism, but also an insult to himself. “Yes,” he said. - But... The family doctor fell silent respectfully in the middle of his speech. - As you know, we cannot determine the beginning of the tuberculosis process; nothing is certain until the caverns appear. But we can suspect. And there is an indication: poor nutrition, nervous excitement, and so on. The question is: if a tuberculosis process is suspected, what should be done to support nutrition? “Take the trouble to sit down, princess,” said the famous doctor. - The Grand Duchess is passing by with some ambassador; unfortunately for him, they started talking about new helmets. The Grand Duchess wanted to show off her new helmet... They see our little darling is standing. (Petritsky imagined him standing with a helmet.) The Grand Duchess asked for a helmet, but he did not give it. What's happened? They just blink at him, nod, frown. Give it to me. Does not give. Freeze. Can you imagine... Only this... what's his name... wants to take the helmet from him... won't let him!.. He snatched it and gives it to the Grand Duchess. “This is new,” says the Grand Duchess. I turned the helmet, and you can imagine, there was a bang! pear, candy, two pounds of candy!.. He got it, my dear! and a sick girl, stopped by to find out about Kitty’s fate, which was being decided today. You can’t even get to your real daughter, and you’re caressing the hair of dead women. Well, Dolinka,” he turned to his eldest daughter, “what’s your trump card doing?”

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