Now I am truly rich, and this treasure will not be able to take away from me either the villains in the dark alleys or the ubiquitous tax authorities… - Viktor Pinchuk

Once, when I was a teenager, with a backpack behind my shoulders, in shabby clothes and a hat with wide fields, went down from the highest, as it seemed to me, Crimean mountains, to where in the lowlands rural children grazed a flock of sheep. The shepherd boys surrounded me from all sides, mistaking for a wanderer and started asking... I told them about the world trip, African cannibals, described aborigines traditions and much more. The chappies listened as enchanted, opening their mouths from amazement: they have never been beyond the neighboring village. However, the fifteen-year-old narrator in those days was not yet a traveler, I deceived them... and I also deceived you: this story is fiction.

Anecdote from the photographer. Once a certain airline decided to conduct an advertising campaign: on the central streets of Simferopol, agents offered passers-by air tickets to Mongolia for 10% of the real cost. Of the 1,350 respondents, only one person expressed a desire to go to the land of the steppes — a homeless person at the station, but, unfortunately, he had neither a passport nor money.

Death will come for me somewhere in the African jungle. I hope the negatives will be handed over to their homeland, and someone will make a posthumous exhibition. But another option is also possible: my photographic films will be hung on a palm tree by the native people, celebrating some local holiday, and they will smash coconuts with my camera.