United National Movement, Batumi, Georgia

BIG

I heaved my cold, sweaty body off the night bus this morning and walked across the border where I took a local minibus, or marshrutka, into Batumi.

I had the whole day ahead of me, and, full of optimism from the ease of portraiture in Turkey I reckoned I could easily pack in ten good shots, especially seeing as I started so early. This wasn't the case, however.

Walking around the market stalls in Sinop two days ago practically everyone I asked was willing, nay, keen to be photographed. It was a photographic utopia. Their cooperation was almost elating and walking around, approaching people and chatting was a real pleasure.

So as I approached my first victim subject I probably had a wee smug look on my face- 'this is so in the bag, I might as well not bother'. Yet no sooner had I arrived than the man swished his hand across his body as if to say 'jeb off you pillock'. Or I think that's what he said.

Right, no worries, there's a woman selling bread over there Everyone knows these floury types love a wee snap. Same thing. But at least she cracked a shy smile.

Then I got to wondering, perhaps the fault lies with my execution of the whole process. Perhaps I'm striving too much for the 'exotic'? For example, I walked past countless young Georgian men today, smartly dressed, sunglasses, flip-flops yet I particularly scoped out the guy with the gold teeth, the woman with the weather-beaten face.

I could argue that I'm simply picking out the most characterful faces in the crowd, but I could equally argue that some element of my subconscious wants to relay the unusual, the foreign or the typical Caucasus to my chums on Facebook.

Right I best stop there before I get stuck betwixt my buttocks. I'm too ethical for my own good.

I'm so ethical, it's almost unethical.