Making games and breakdancing in the former USSR: The story of Contre Jour
The small caravan comes to a stop about 30 minutes from town. Outside the cars, the thick, moist air is heavy with the smell of earth, grass and manure. It's been drizzling for days, but the ground here is merely damp. Nothing left for puddles; the soil has snatched up all the water for itself. Two horses, tied together by one ankle with a short leather strap, graze on the rich green lawn half a block away. Closer, some chickens scratch along the edge of a lush vegetable gard