The last time I wrote, I had been on Vancouver Island for just over a month. The summer of surfing and serving that unfolded was incredible, a success on every level. In October I left, confident that I could once again uproot.
An escape out to an island in the open ocean serves as a reminder that time flows through this land in different ways. Here it’s often the feeling of what you don’t see that moves you most.
Life lately has been entwined with letting go, grabbing on to and braiding again the strands to which I’m attached.
I’m still writing that essay. I can’t wait to tell shorter stories with a simpler language.
One Sunday morning, I received a text message from a friend asking me if I wanted to attend a Persian wedding party that evening. It turned out to be a Kurdish engagement celebration.
Photographs from the nazi concentration camps at Auschwitz (a germanization of the Polish town name Oświęcim) that I visited today.
I got to do a five-day workshop with David Alan Harvey in 2009. It transformed my approach to photography of course, but I could have never anticipated how powerful its effects continue to be three years onwards.
I am back in Stockholm and I am still writing my thesis. I had the best two-month return to the field I could have hoped for. Now I live again between library and residence surrounded by reddening autumn leaves.
I enjoyed a seven hour stopover in San Salvador on my flight away from Perú. […] One of the highlights of these few hours of exploration was stumbling upon El Rosario church in Parque Libertad.
Between February and June, José went around Lima trying to convince musicians from his favourite Peruvian psychedelic cumbia bands from the 60’s, 70’s and 80’s to come together as one and give new life to their percussive anthems.
It was almost six in the morning and the market in Capachica was already starting to bustle. People were slowly arriving, slinging large bags of produce or hauling carts of merchandise. It was drizzling and rainy season mud seemed to be caking up everything: tires, boots, dog hair. Our shared taxi van from Puno was parked on a side road, waiting for a few more passengers before continuing to Llachón.
Sunday afternoon and the first day of an enormous Pacific swell.
The recommended route to Machu Picchu: by bus and on foot. Machu Picchu is beautiful. It takes your breath and stirs your mind. Anyone passing through Cusco should try going and even better if you’ve got the means and time for…
A last minute July 28 escape from Lima to Oxapampa for Peruvian Idependence Day.
Here you have it, the logistical summary table of my transcontinental bus travels in South America in the last year. In two trips, I covered almost 12,000 kilometers of road over a total of more than 220 hours.
I never expected that the most happening thing I’d find in La Paz on a Saturday afternoon would be a full-blown K-Pop (Korean pop) dance competition.
What am I eating? I try to embed mention of food into my travel posts but since I happen to have a number of past restaurant colleagues with short attention spans, I have to give them a proper food post once in a while as a carrot for them to keep visiting.
To the west, long white salt flats and over snowy peaks, Chile. North, across the barren expanse, the Bolivian altiplano. To the South, majestic Mt. Chañi of Jujuy province in Argentina. And east, an enormous nearly full moon just rising over the hills.