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This woman and her husband live in Tbilisi, the Republic of Georgia’s capital city. They are a part of a small Russian population still living in Georgia in the post-Soviet era, and they live in the very same, tiny house where they’ve spent most of their lives together.

If you were to walk the streets of Georgia today, especially in the capital of Tbilisi, you would see a nation rebuilding itself: crumbling building are being rebuilt and restored; new boutique hotels are welcoming tourists from all over the region; and government programs are encouraging the development of a new digital economy to entice younger generations to settle here and grow the country anew.

But for the elderly, like this lovely woman and her husband, little has change in their lives over the past 30 years. Most have only a small pension to live on, and with few programs to help them, they have become this growing nation’s new class of the aging poor.

An elderly Armenian woman walks slowly and alone through this grand and empty Soviet-era bus station―an eerily emblematic scene of modern-day Armenia.

Today, 30 years after the demise of the USSR, the modernist Soviet-era architecture still defines the landscapes of most Armenian cities―geometric, utilitarian structures that stand like monuments to the populations meant to inhabit them.

But after 70 years of Soviet rule following the Armenian genocide of World War 1, there are now fewer than 3 million Armenians living in their homeland, over a million of whom live in the nation’s capital, Yerevan. In other cities and towns throughout the country, like the city of Vanadzor where this photograph is taken, the population is half of what it was in 1976 when the construction of this bus station was completed.

Today there are over 11 million Armenians living world-wide. Less than a quarter of them live inside their homeland.

Unfortunately, many Armenians still smoke way too many cigarettes in a day, and, unfortunately, even though this is a very nice man, he’s not helping any.

This woman lives in Vanadzor, the capital city of Lori province, and this is her shop near the city centre. She doesn’t pretend to be an expert on cleaning products, this is just a good line of business for her that doesn’t need a clever pitch or a hard sell. All she really needs to make it work are two things: products and personality ― and she’s got both.

These two women are sitting together inside the back entrance of their 4-story walk-up apartment building, and at this moment the two of them are just a little too tired to walk up. In another 30 minutes they’ll have their legs back, but for now this is the perfect time for a visit.

The territorial conflict between Armenia and Azerbaijan is entering its 11th month of ceasefire. While tensions continue to persist, they are on the other side of the country and far from this quiet street in the city of Vanadzor.

There may not be any real danger here, no threats of violence or signs of unrest, but this fine man ― a lieutenant colonel in the Armenian army ― continues to guard the streets each day. He carries no weapon and commands no fear. The comfort he provides is the gentleness of his presence and the kindness in his heart.

The city of Goris is nestled comfortably in the Goris River Valley of south-eastern Armenia, and the surrounding hillsides are covered in limestone spires that keep a watchful eye over the city’s 20,000 inhabitants.

Centuries ago, the spires were themselves the original city of Old Goris ―cave dwellings were carved into the hillsides and the spires stood like residential towers of the ancient city.

The spire and caves that surround the city and line the countryside neighbourhoods are still in use today, often housing small farm animals or used as simple storage huts for feed and tools. And here, in the Goris River Valley, the cemeteries of the old city have even become the cemeteries of the new city. The more things change…

This man has set up shop at the end of the street near a cluster of houseware and lighting stores. He himself is offering a wide variety of items for sale, from sausage grinders to pipe wrenches to plumbing repair fixtures for your bathroom sink and toilet. If you need something specific that he doesn’t have, he will find it for you by tomorrow.

He lives in the Georgian city of Batumi on the eastern shores of the Black Sea. It is one of the most popular tourist destinations in all of Georgia and people come here from all around to enjoy the beautiful Black Sea shores and friendly Georgian hospitality. And for this man, he is just trying to enjoy his retirement, but like most seniors in the country he still needs to work to supplement his pension and support himself. Today has been another long, hard day of hoping for a sale. He’s tired now. Tomorrow will be better.

This man has parked his old UAZ Bukhanka off-road van just outside the bus station parking lot and has set up this auto parts and repair shop for other owners of these beloved Russian-made vehicles. He sets up shop here every day. Parked beside him is a man who sells rusty old wrenches from the hood of his Lada 1600, and a couple of other guys who also run repair shops from their vehicles, one of whom even has an air compressor in the back seat in case your tires are running flat.

Here in the Republic of Georgia, and especially right here in this small city of Akhaltsikhe, these old Russian vehicles can last forever if you know how to look after them. And if you don’t, these guys are your best friends.

Like many cities and towns in Armenia, the city of Kapan is still waiting to discover the 21st century. Most of life looks much the way it did fifty-odd years ago and were it not for the fact that so many buildings and neighbourhoods have long been abandoned it might also feel as though little has changed. But that would be mistaken.

While Armenia’s capital is a beautiful, thriving, city, most of the country has been suffering from a slow, quiet decay that has almost become a way of life here: family homes are often attached to crumbling buildings; food vendors open and operate their stalls in half abandoned markets; and store-front shop keepers are sometimes the only ones left on the street who open their doors at all.

There is more than enough blame to go around for how Armenia got this way. Time and war and corruption have all had a role to play, but they are not the whole story, and for that matter, nor are these photographs. There are so many beautiful things about this country and its people. This is just the way things look from here.

In the northern Armenia province of Lori the small town of Odzun is home to about 4000 people and give or take a 15-minute bus ride to a hand full of other towns scattered along the Debed river―all of which seem to be a collective time-capsule from the 1970s USSR.

Out here most things have not weathered well ― buildings and roads and vehicles are all in some state of disrepair, but the people who live here continue to repair them, and life in these small towns perseveres.

Odzun is not an industry town. There are no government jobs or official gainful employment other than a few shops along the main road. But most people have enough land to grow crops to share or raise livestock to sell in the community, and somehow everything just seems to work. Rooves get repaired, the buses keep running, and food finds it way to the table. Maybe things have not weathered well here, but life seems to have found its groove.

A time-capsule may not be the right metaphor for this part of the country. Nothing here is really standing still, it just looks that way. This time-capsule keeps on ticking.

If you were to travel Armenia from the very north of the country at its border with Georgia, all the way down to the southern end of its territory at the border crossing into the Zagros mountains of Iran, you would be in the town of Agarak at the bottom of the country, and this would be the very last house you would see.