emily84:

Trieste, Italy. Piazza Unità d’Italia, by day and by night.

Simply breathtaking.

At the Hotel Door
I was going out through the door of the Albergo Savoia Excelsior in Trieste when a man simultaneously entered. We bumped into one another, our bags and luggage got mixed up, and we both apologized. He was a theatrical-looking character, with a camel coat slung over his shoulders—perhaps one of the opera singers from the Teatro Verdi. When we had disentangled ourselves he stood there for a moment, motionless.
'Where are you from?' he said. 
'Wales.'
'Wales! How wonderful!' 
Oh you splendid liar, I said to myself, you’ve never heard of the place. There was a pause. I laughed, and so did he. He shook my hand in both of his. We lingered for a moment and parted. When I think of Trieste, lust, and love I often think of him.

At the Hotel Door

I was going out through the door of the Albergo Savoia Excelsior in Trieste when a man simultaneously entered. We bumped into one another, our bags and luggage got mixed up, and we both apologized. He was a theatrical-looking character, with a camel coat slung over his shoulders—perhaps one of the opera singers from the Teatro Verdi. When we had disentangled ourselves he stood there for a moment, motionless.

'Where are you from?' he said. 

'Wales.'

'Wales! How wonderful!

Oh you splendid liar, I said to myself, you’ve never heard of the place. There was a pause. I laughed, and so did he. He shook my hand in both of his. We lingered for a moment and parted. When I think of Trieste, lust, and love I often think of him.

Fair enough 
Would they be casting their votes as Jamaicans, I asked the Kingston Rastafarians, in the forthcoming elections? The idea horrified them. ‘Tell your Queen Elizabeth,’ they said, ‘that the suffering Ethiopians assembled here from the corners of the earth, yeah verily from the four corners, it is written, the seventh year of the seventh epoch, yea verily the time has come, Abja!—tell her that we are aliens in this land, and cannot vote in elections imposed upon us by our oppresors. Fair enough?’

Fair enough 

Would they be casting their votes as Jamaicans, I asked the Kingston Rastafarians, in the forthcoming elections? The idea horrified them. ‘Tell your Queen Elizabeth,’ they said, ‘that the suffering Ethiopians assembled here from the corners of the earth, yeah verily from the four corners, it is written, the seventh year of the seventh epoch, yea verily the time has come, Abja!—tell her that we are aliens in this land, and cannot vote in elections imposed upon us by our oppresors. Fair enough?’

opentone:

Douarnenez 2004 (by thipic)
Douarnenez, Brittany, France

opentone:

Douarnenez 2004 (by thipic)

Douarnenez, Brittany, France

At a Breton Window
My small daughter and I looked up from the waterfront of Douarnenez, in Brittany, to see an old woman smiling down at us from an open window. She had a shawl around her shoulders, her face was infinitely wrinkled, and her smile was so kind that it seemed to be reaching us from different times altogether—from before the Fall, perhaps. ‘I want that lady,’ my small daughter said.

At a Breton Window

My small daughter and I looked up from the waterfront of Douarnenez, in Brittany, to see an old woman smiling down at us from an open window. She had a shawl around her shoulders, her face was infinitely wrinkled, and her smile was so kind that it seemed to be reaching us from different times altogether—from before the Fall, perhaps. ‘I want that lady,’ my small daughter said.

notesfromabroadblog:

afternoon light

notesfromabroadblog:

afternoon light

After Peron
General Peron’s dictatorship of Argentina had ended, but in the plush fin-de-siecle cafe I chose for my lunch in Buenos Aires his presence was still palpable. Around me gaggles of elderly women were sipping Cinzano with soda water and nibbling biscuits, nuts and bits of flabby cheese, but in the dimmer recesses of the room various lonely men were deep in the contemplation of La Prensa. When I asked my waiter if there were still many Peronistas about he nodded darkly but wryly, with a flicker of his thumb, towards those several gray solitaries in the corners, who certainly had a brooding conspiratorial look to them but were probably, in fact, looking through the small advertisements for second-hand canoes.

After Peron

General Peron’s dictatorship of Argentina had ended, but in the plush fin-de-siecle cafe I chose for my lunch in Buenos Aires his presence was still palpable. Around me gaggles of elderly women were sipping Cinzano with soda water and nibbling biscuits, nuts and bits of flabby cheese, but in the dimmer recesses of the room various lonely men were deep in the contemplation of La Prensa. When I asked my waiter if there were still many Peronistas about he nodded darkly but wryly, with a flicker of his thumb, towards those several gray solitaries in the corners, who certainly had a brooding conspiratorial look to them but were probably, in fact, looking through the small advertisements for second-hand canoes.

keepcalmandtraveltheworld:

Dresden, Germany

keepcalmandtraveltheworld:

Dresden, Germany

I was in a stingy mood
In the ill-lit pedestrian tunnel that goes under the Elbe at Dresden I heard ahead of me the strains of a Viennese waltz, played by a pair of Gypsy violinists. I was in a stingy mood, and resolved to give them nothing. As it happened there was nobody else in the tunnel at that moment, so when I emerged into the open I dug a few coins out of my purse and re-entered the tunnel. Melodies from the Vienna woods were still sounding in its twilight, and the Gypsies were not in the least surprised to see me back. They had read me like a book, and were expecting me. I put my coins in their violin case, and they both bowed courteously, without a smile. I bowed back in admiration.

I was in a stingy mood

In the ill-lit pedestrian tunnel that goes under the Elbe at Dresden I heard ahead of me the strains of a Viennese waltz, played by a pair of Gypsy violinists. I was in a stingy mood, and resolved to give them nothing. As it happened there was nobody else in the tunnel at that moment, so when I emerged into the open I dug a few coins out of my purse and re-entered the tunnel. Melodies from the Vienna woods were still sounding in its twilight, and the Gypsies were not in the least surprised to see me back. They had read me like a book, and were expecting me. I put my coins in their violin case, and they both bowed courteously, without a smile. I bowed back in admiration.

distantheartbeats:

I got some beautiful aerial views of Doha as I was flying back to the UK, and I had to take some photos. I’m pleased with them.

Because I was flown out all expenses paid to Doha (for the Gathering the Tide book launch), when I went home for a week (which I paid for) I flew from there because it made more sense. Unfortunately, that meant that on the way back, I had to fly Bahrain-Doha, Doha-London, London-Edinburgh. It took nineteen hours including waits and I was exhausted by the time I let myself into my flat.