Slowly, almost as if my plans had taken on a life of their own, one thing began to lead to another, and now I somehow find myself preparing to spend five weeks in Spain. To say I can’t wait is putting it lightly.
It was the geometric tiles I found myself drawn to the most—for the way their patterns repeated themselves, extending graceful rows of diamonds, squares, triangles and flourishes across the city.
Tom (or Mr. Tom, as he’s often referred to) wastes no time in getting started: “Adventure involves ignoring safety advice, going somewhere you know nothing about, and getting lost.”
As fearful as I was about the unknowns awaiting us in London, I walked away from their fairytale cottage feeling ever so slightly reassured we would make it–nature has a way of doing that sometimes, doesn’t it?
The roots seem a tangled mess–it’s difficult to believe they’re part of a living, breathing organism. Everywhere you look, there’s only water and mangrove trees–no real shore to speak of.
His name is Predrag Petrović—Pepi for short, he tells me. A potter from the island of Iz, just off the Dalmatian coast, and I’ve traveled nearly a thousand miles to meet him.
Suddenly, we’re chasing the sun, re-tracing our steps through the old town, taking photos of the same scenes we’d captured hours earlier—only this time, it’s like someone said, “Let there be light.”
No matter how normal a journey it was to the station, the moment I crossed the line, I was suddenly in a bygone era when travel was an elegant affair to dress up for.
From the Pont de l’Archevêché in Paris to the Rialto in Venice, there is hardly a famous bridge that hasn’t been claimed by couples eager to profess their love to the world. An old railway bridge in Cologne is no different.
It’s been over two years since I visited the Thai capitol with my mother and our family friends, but the colors and textures of the city still make for a great escape from the greyed-out monochromaticness of London.