BORDER - A journey along the edges of Russia by Maria Gruzdeva

BORDER is a project supported by IdeasTap & Magnum Photos Photographic

Award. Gruzdeva is also the recipient and a winner of other competitions, including the Gabriele Basilico Biennial Award and was named as one of the 30 Under 30 in the Arts category Europe by Forbes in 2016.

BORDER

photographic study of Russia’s most remote and often undiscovered areas.

Exploring the connection between the disturbance of territorial boundaries and identities, Maria Gruzdeva finds elements representative of national identity and collective memory and asks questions about physical and emotional belonging.

Landscapes and people portrayed and documented in Gruzdeva’s photographs and travel diaries, become part of a unique archive, a combination of researcher’s and a photographer’s rigorous investigation.

Maria Gruzdeva mostly works on long-term projects underpinned by extensive research.

граница

BORDER is more than merely a geographical expedition, but a comprehensive

Maria Gruzdeva BORDER a journey along the edges of Russia

BORDER

is a journey along the Russian border, the longest national border in the world, which spans over 60,000 km. This book will take you on a unique trip from the warm regions of the Caucasus to the extreme cold in the North - to the Russian temporary ice base Barneo, drifting in the Arctic Ocean in proximity to the North Pole; from Kaliningrad Oblast – an exclave of Russia, its westernmost territory, to the eastern territories at the shore of the Pacific Ocean.

11

11

Abkhazia

13

Abkhazia

13

as NATO or the Red Cross are frequently encountered on the roads. Immediately beyond the border are the resort towns of Pitsunda and Gagra. Bizarre bus stops – Soviet-era relics, the early handiwork of sculptor Zurab Tsereteli – dot the roads.

Strangely marine-themed, they tend to be decorated with images of octopi, shells, whales and other sea creatures. We stopped off at a beach in Pitsunda. The sea was infinitely blue and teeming with translucent

Thursday 17 February, Sochi – Abkhazia Today I flew in to Sochi Airport and immediately set out for Abkhazia – I was due to meet my guides at the border checkpoint. Once you cross the border you immediately find yourself in another country. The Abkhazians have their own language and their own alphabet. Signs and street names tend to be trilingual (AbkhazRussian-Georgian). Vehicles marked with the insignia of foreign organisations such

29

as NATO or the Red Cross are frequently encountered on the roads. Immediately beyond the border are the resort towns of Pitsunda and Gagra. Bizarre bus stops – Soviet-era relics, the early handiwork of sculptor Zurab Tsereteli – dot the roads.

Strangely marine-themed, they tend to be decorated with images of octopi, shells, whales and other sea creatures. We stopped off at a beach in Pitsunda. The sea was infinitely blue and teeming with translucent

Thursday 17 February, Sochi – Abkhazia Today I flew in to Sochi Airport and immediately set out for Abkhazia – I was due to meet my guides at the border checkpoint. Once you cross the border you immediately find yourself in another country. The Abkhazians have their own language and their own alphabet. Signs and street names tend to be trilingual (AbkhazRussian-Georgian). Vehicles marked with the insignia of foreign organisations such

29

jellyfish. It being February – hardly high season – the beach was largely empty.

Nonetheless, music was playing in the local café, its strains coalescing with the din of the waves. And not a soul around. There was something magical about it all.

We soon arrived in the town of Sukhumi.

My eye was caught by Freedom Square, and the burnt-out husk of the Council of Ministers Building – a monumental Stalinist pile that was shelled and set alight during the war of 1992-1993. Before the building stood a statue-less pedestal. Locals explained to me that, in wartime, the first damage to be inflicted on monuments is usually a “head-lopping”, after which they’re progressively destroyed until only the pedestal remains.

That aside, the city is quite beautiful.

You might come across a few shattered buildings, but, generally speaking, everything is clean and tidy. Crowds stroll along the sea-front and relax in the cafés.

Nearby is Brekhalovka, a small square where local men – young and old, common and not – gather for games of chess and conversations about the important things: politics, life, and the fate of the world.

You could see the outlines of orchards, the fruit trees planted with an unmistakable orderliness. I began photographing one of the kolkhozes. Before the main building stood a pedestal topped with a bust. It had suffered the same fate as virtually every monument in these parts: the head was missing. The building itself was magnificent, and architecturally grandiose.

Balconies, columns, arches – it had the works. Symmetrically planted palm trees flanked the grand entrance. Back in the day, a lot of love and energy must have gone into the design of these places. The interior of the building now looked like a stage set, the staircase overgrown with moss and vines hanging down from the upper floors. This degree of dereliction is largely an upshot of the Abkhaz-Georgian war of 1992-1993. Areas once home to Georgian communities now stand entirely abandoned. Incidentally, the local houses are architecturally fascinating – twostoried with external (rather than internal) staircases. The activities of everyday life are predominantly confined to the ground floor.

On the first floor, meanwhile, is a hall of sorts. As locals have explained to me, this tends to be used for celebrations and wakes.

On these occasions, the ground floor’s living areas are bypassed altogether, with guests or mourners making their way directly upstairs.

The closer we got to Gali, the more frequently we spotted street signs in Georgian – this despite the fact that the population consists largely of Mingrelians.

The Gali District is particularly deprived and volatile. Visitors tend to avoid staying overnight here and do their best to leave before nightfall. Driving into town, we passed the ruined edifice of a children’s

Friday 18 February, Gali Today we set off for the Gali District, adjoining the border with Georgia. We passed vast orange-hued fields – tobacco and tea used to be grown here – as well as abandoned kolkhozes (collective farms) that looked like they might have once been welloff. We spotted these sizable structures, perhaps communal living quarters or administrative buildings. Some were so ruined you could hardly see them from the road.

31

jellyfish. It being February – hardly high season – the beach was largely empty.

Nonetheless, music was playing in the local café, its strains coalescing with the din of the waves. And not a soul around. There was something magical about it all.

We soon arrived in the town of Sukhumi.

My eye was caught by Freedom Square, and the burnt-out husk of the Council of Ministers Building – a monumental Stalinist pile that was shelled and set alight during the war of 1992-1993. Before the building stood a statue-less pedestal. Locals explained to me that, in wartime, the first damage to be inflicted on monuments is usually a “head-lopping”, after which they’re progressively destroyed until only the pedestal remains.

That aside, the city is quite beautiful.

You might come across a few shattered buildings, but, generally speaking, everything is clean and tidy. Crowds stroll along the sea-front and relax in the cafés.

Nearby is Brekhalovka, a small square where local men – young and old, common and not – gather for games of chess and conversations about the important things: politics, life, and the fate of the world.

You could see the outlines of orchards, the fruit trees planted with an unmistakable orderliness. I began photographing one of the kolkhozes. Before the main building stood a pedestal topped with a bust. It had suffered the same fate as virtually every monument in these parts: the head was missing. The building itself was magnificent, and architecturally grandiose.

Balconies, columns, arches – it had the works. Symmetrically planted palm trees flanked the grand entrance. Back in the day, a lot of love and energy must have gone into the design of these places. The interior of the building now looked like a stage set, the staircase overgrown with moss and vines hanging down from the upper floors. This degree of dereliction is largely an upshot of the Abkhaz-Georgian war of 1992-1993. Areas once home to Georgian communities now stand entirely abandoned. Incidentally, the local houses are architecturally fascinating – twostoried with external (rather than internal) staircases. The activities of everyday life are predominantly confined to the ground floor.

On the first floor, meanwhile, is a hall of sorts. As locals have explained to me, this tends to be used for celebrations and wakes.

On these occasions, the ground floor’s living areas are bypassed altogether, with guests or mourners making their way directly upstairs.

The closer we got to Gali, the more frequently we spotted street signs in Georgian – this despite the fact that the population consists largely of Mingrelians.

The Gali District is particularly deprived and volatile. Visitors tend to avoid staying overnight here and do their best to leave before nightfall. Driving into town, we passed the ruined edifice of a children’s

Friday 18 February, Gali Today we set off for the Gali District, adjoining the border with Georgia. We passed vast orange-hued fields – tobacco and tea used to be grown here – as well as abandoned kolkhozes (collective farms) that looked like they might have once been welloff. We spotted these sizable structures, perhaps communal living quarters or administrative buildings. Some were so ruined you could hardly see them from the road.

31

guards, who were on their break at the time. Designed for 8-10 people, the tent is equipped with a potbelly stove, a table and a television. It was pretty hot inside – everyone was wearing white T-shirts and camouflage trousers. The guards were busy on their computers and phones but really perked up when I came in. They were curious to know what had brought me here, curious about why the topic of borders should be of interest for a young girl like myself, and why far-flung spots like this one should appeal to me. As for the guards, they’d now done around three years’ service here. They were very open, joking around with me and laughing with a sincerity that lit up their whole faces – particularly their eyes. But when I asked them, “What, do you want to go back already?”, they grew ill at ease and sullen – storm clouds darkening a clear sky – and answered that they’d not seen their families for over two years…

hospital, a pretty mosaic adorning the façade of its main building. Then there was an obelisk bearing the inscription “HouseMuseum”2 – with nothing of the kind in sight.

The region is dangerous on account of its high criminality; fire-fights and bomb blasts are part of everyday life here. The military serves as a deterrent power. The border guards are based in a building used by the UN until 2009 and still painted in white and pale blue, both inside and out. All the curtains stay closed even in daytime. There’s no china in the canteen, just aluminium bowls, enamel mugs, and – amazingly – a backdrop of music from Love Story.

Later, and now clad in bullet-proof vests, we proceeded by armoured vehicle to a tent outpost right on the border with Georgia.

Locals don’t pay any attention to APCs – they won’t so much as look round when one drives past. You sense it’s just a habitual thing for them.

The outpost is on a hill; the bridge-spanned river below serves as the border between Abkhazia and Georgia. All day long, a horsedrawn cart trundles back and forth across the bridge, transporting letters and parcels.

It’s a very simple set-up. A Georgian flag is clearly visible on the other bank.

I went into one of the tents to see the border

1 Abkhazia is a partially recognised state on the east coast of the Black Sea. It has been a self-declared republic since the war with Georgia in 1992-1993.

Recognised as an integral part of Georgia by the UN Security Council, it is regarded as an independent state

by Russia and three other countries.

2 House-museum – a house, later turned into a museum of an outstanding individual who used to live there.

33

guards, who were on their break at the time. Designed for 8-10 people, the tent is equipped with a potbelly stove, a table and a television. It was pretty hot inside – everyone was wearing white T-shirts and camouflage trousers. The guards were busy on their computers and phones but really perked up when I came in. They were curious to know what had brought me here, curious about why the topic of borders should be of interest for a young girl like myself, and why far-flung spots like this one should appeal to me. As for the guards, they’d now done around three years’ service here. They were very open, joking around with me and laughing with a sincerity that lit up their whole faces – particularly their eyes. But when I asked them, “What, do you want to go back already?”, they grew ill at ease and sullen – storm clouds darkening a clear sky – and answered that they’d not seen their families for over two years…

hospital, a pretty mosaic adorning the façade of its main building. Then there was an obelisk bearing the inscription “HouseMuseum”2 – with nothing of the kind in sight.

The region is dangerous on account of its high criminality; fire-fights and bomb blasts are part of everyday life here. The military serves as a deterrent power. The border guards are based in a building used by the UN until 2009 and still painted in white and pale blue, both inside and out. All the curtains stay closed even in daytime. There’s no china in the canteen, just aluminium bowls, enamel mugs, and – amazingly – a backdrop of music from Love Story.

Later, and now clad in bullet-proof vests, we proceeded by armoured vehicle to a tent outpost right on the border with Georgia.

Locals don’t pay any attention to APCs – they won’t so much as look round when one drives past. You sense it’s just a habitual thing for them.

The outpost is on a hill; the bridge-spanned river below serves as the border between Abkhazia and Georgia. All day long, a horsedrawn cart trundles back and forth across the bridge, transporting letters and parcels.

It’s a very simple set-up. A Georgian flag is clearly visible on the other bank.

I went into one of the tents to see the border

1 Abkhazia is a partially recognised state on the east coast of the Black Sea. It has been a self-declared republic since the war with Georgia in 1992-1993.

Recognised as an integral part of Georgia by the UN Security Council, it is regarded as an independent state

by Russia and three other countries.

2 House-museum – a house, later turned into a museum of an outstanding individual who used to live there.

33

Krasnodar Krai

93

Krasnodar Krai

93

95

95

113

113

North pole Barneo

159

North pole Barneo

159

291

291