I’m sitting on a rough ledge, dusted white and overlooking a sheer drop. The sun is warm against my back, which is a truly unexpected kind of hug, especially here in the U.K. Wind roars past in frantic gusts, drowning out the periodic buzz of the crickets. When I catch the sound, like the spokes of a bicycle spinning as they catapult someone across the world, I think about the twisting roads that snake around these endless, sloping mountains, and how perfectly terrifying they would be to race along.Read more "Getaway"
Outside a building, just a little apart from the rest of the temple, I spied two pairs empty shoes. From within came the throaty singing so familiar in this place, and the harsh beat of a steel drum. My curiosity was peaked, and so, cautiously, I slipped off my own shoes and stepped inside.Read more "Meditating with the Buddha"
I can only imagine the rest of the tourists were turned away by the grand staircase, a structure that almost seems to dare you to even try and climb it. That’s the only explanation as to why the temple was so quiet.Read more "The buddhas chanting "
There’s something in the statues eyes, in the way they aren’t looking down at me but rather down at himself, as though thinking. It tells me this is for the now, for the me sitting here today, not some historical remanent of when religion was a booming, all powerful business.Read more "Beneath the Buddha"
This could very well be the story of how I learned all about myself in Rome (which I did), or how I became more brave and more confident (which I did not). But, well, this is not that story. This is the story of how I literally met a man with my name, and quite a few other things of mine as well.Read more "The me I met in Rome"
The first thing I did in Paris was take a photo of a baguette. Or, more specifically, an ageing man holding a baguette, hooking it under his arm as if that’s what the nook on the other side of your elbow was always meant for.Read more "An evening in Paris"
Oh my god the colours…
The turquoise water, the blinding green grass, it’s almost unsettling how pretty it is. Almost artificialRead more "The train into Switzerland"