I had just clicked the camera when an elderly woman came running out of the house screaming.
She demanded to know by what permission I had taken a photograph of her house. She certainly had not consented to this act. There we were, in a snow-covered Siberian hamlet. The place appeared to be desolate. The wooden houses set back, looked too flimsy to withstand the harsh climate.
The eeriness resembled a spooky Hollywood drama. The sudden emergence of this woman broke the silence and sent shock waves through the system. Josif, my translator, tried to reason with the woman. Offering an explanation of a UK visitor capturing the Siberian scene on camera only exacerbated the situation. I was now a foreign agent. As we walked away, Josif was chuckling to himself. 'This is Russia, brother!' he said.
