Dublin was seriously all it was craic-ed up to be (see what I did there?) in terms of music - I was always passing some gorgeous singing on the street, or finding incredible spontaneous music in bars. This photo is inspiring me today as I try to keep plowing through a busy week - this girl is pounding the pavement too, sharing her music with the masses on Grafton Street. I don't know her, but I love her. Also, her voice was beautiful.
Wind. I knew my bicycle wheels were creaking on the road, I knew my breath was loud and heavy, I knew the cattle nearby were calling out, but all I could hear was the wind off the water. I continued to trek along, my little bicycle wheels turning with all their might up the gravelly path. I hadn't seen anyone for a while since I'd passed the only real bar on the island, where I certainly would stop in later for a pint and some music.
I saw a house up on my left. It was striking, for lack of a better word. It was in the middle of nothing but field and rock. It was two stories tall, a dark wood brown, casting an auspicious long shadow in front of it. It's windows faced north, out onto the water down below this hill. I had to stop my bike to take it in properly. I breathed and looked and everything was quiet but the wind. A million thoughts ran through my mind. Who lived here? Why? How did they get here? How did I get here? The sight was otherwordly, although it wasn't anything compared to what lay ahead. It was in that moment, in the shadow of the tall, stark house, that my mind began to quiet and I began to hear myself again, my clearest innermost voice, through the wind.
to be continued....
In Ireland, it's easy to see why the inhabitants believe in fairies...
I took these photos on my first day in Spain. I had no idea what to expect from this country; my friend and I had picked three cities on a map and said "We'll go here." Barcelona, Sevilla, Madrid.
Barcelona stole my heart the moment the cabbie dropped us off in front of our flat in Barceloneta, with it's bright blue front door and narrow staircase up to our cozy home. Barceloneta is right by the beach, and the streets are fairy-tale like and full of character. One of the most beautiful things to me about the streets was the hanging laundry. The bright colors blowing in the sea breeze added an extra element of beauty and timelessness.
When I was hanging my own laundry on the lines off our balcony, the wind snuck up and stole one of the towels provided by our landlord. It flew up and then down - right onto the laundry lines of the flat below us. Sarah and I debated what to do - should we go try to knock on the door and attempt Spanish with the neighbors, or just wait and see if the landlord will get mad that we lost his towel?
Before we left the flat to go find some food, I peeked down again at the neighbor's balcony. The towel was now pinned to their laundry line. I felt hopeless, and wondered if I should leave a ten Euro note for our landlord along with our keys, and what is the Spanish word for "towel?"
Later, after a night on the Ramblas, we climbed our staircase (slowly and with some effort, the fault of good local red wine), trying to be quiet to not wake the neighbors. The towel was hanging on our front door, warm and dry from the sun. I felt so relieved and silly - maybe it happens often in breezy Barceloneta, that neighbors are always drying each others lost laundry. I don't really know - but I was grateful to these unknown people that I would get to keep my ten Euros as we headed on to Sevilla...
"Just look at all the happy things that happen by accident."
-Polly Paulusma, "She Moves In Secret Ways"
I didn't set out to take this photo - I was simply falling behind my friend Sarah on a walk in Sevilla. Everything was enchanting - the doors, the windows, the tiny twisting streets - and I was frantically taking pictures of all of it. Sarah ended up in several of my pictures from this walk, but this one really captures the spirit of our trip: mystery, wonder - and a little bit lost.
Here I am peaking through a beautiful spiral in the architecture of one of Venice, Italy's many bridges. I was peering in on a gondola ride down one of the quieter canals, away from the crowds. Venice can be completely overwhelming with tourists, but it's moments like this one that prove it's one of the most magical places on the planet.