Getaway

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.

Meditating with the Buddha

Outside a building, just a little apart from the rest of the temple, I spied two pairs of empty shoes. From within came a throaty singing so familiar to 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.

The buddhas chanting

I can only imagine the rest of the tourists were scared off by the grand staircase, a structure that dares you to even try and climb it. That’s the only explanation as to why the temple was so quiet.

Beneath the Buddha

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.

The me I met in Rome

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.

An evening in Paris

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.

Places I’ve been (in Scotland)

The bright eye of the sun peeks through twisted branches, setting but not quite hidden behind the hills. Rusted traintracks curve into the distance, straightening out through a steep valley below.

The train into Switzerland

Oh my god the colours…

The turquoise water, the blinding green grass, it’s almost unsettling how pretty it is. Almost artificial

The blue sky blues

I’m in Cinque Terre at the moment, an insanely beautiful series of coastal towns joined only by harsh, winding hilltop walking trails (and trains, but shhh that’s not as cool.)

Staying in hostels, a story for awkward weird travellers

The internet says that you will always find someone to talk to in a hostel. The internet says it’s the easiest thing in the world, even if you’re socially awkward, even if you’re an introvert. You’ll never be truly alone, they say.

pencilcraterbox

Good things.

travel writing