James Getgood

Perm 36 Russian Gulag

I stepped off the bus and into the endless grasslands of the Urals. Although it was only mid-September, an icy wind sweeping across the open fields of Russia’s Perm Krai blasted me. The bus driver jabbed his finger towards a village in the distance, slammed the doors shut and sped away.I zipped up my lightweight jacket and soldiered on towards the ramshackle village of Kuchino. It had been little more