(No.4 of the Romanian series) Vama Veche. I saw it on the map first. A tiny dot before the Romanian coastal border. The images lining google maps showed a shopping street, people dancing on the shore, a fire, pubs, a hostel and a stretch of sea. Reading more, the common strain in most opinions was … Continue reading Acolo & a slanted ferris wheel – Vama Veche
Tag: UK
It was on my last time in Glasgow that I was sat on the Clyde under the Glasgow Bridge. I was staying at a friend’s who had to work in the mornings leaving me on my own. I didn’t know where to begin or what to do. It wasn’t my first time there. In fact, … Continue reading Glasgow Bridge – I was sat on the Clyde
Dearest darling, Consider this our first letter. I’ve often wondered – either walking alongside you or standing against a railing preventing me from jumping to you – if you were a woman or a man. When I walked next to you, you lead me on. I went where you went. You spoke. I listened. You … Continue reading A letter to the Thames
Stevenston Sea, between Largs and Glasgow. When I decided to get off the train midway, he was reluctant to follow. I promised to get him back in time, in time for the nothing he had planned for himself. For the something of mine. But before I could note the name of the sudden town, Stevenston, … Continue reading Stevenston Sea – A Sea of the Absurd
"Waiting is also a place: it is wherever you wait." The Handmaid's Tale, Margaret Atwood Noise is inevitable on trains. Quiet Zones are only an invitation to lesser noise. On an unusually warm summer night in Scotland, I was on what I’d like to call the noisiest train. The Scotrail from Glasgow was filled with … Continue reading Waiting at Ardrossan South Beach
It is a purple night. The coniferous trees are tapering to the sky in dangerous sharpening of tools. The canopied ones look like fleshy scythes. Kenilworth Castle is a mound of black. We walk down to Abbey Fields Park. Two parapet walls on either side mark the entry to the parking lot. There are other … Continue reading Abbey Fields
~ Written after leaving the familiar Bakewell ~ Some say it is in the familiarity of everyday that our soul lies. And if somehow, by some means you are detached from this familiarity, you feel a longing, an ache you wish you weren’t feeling. Losing a long kept job, finishing three years at university, marrying … Continue reading Familiar Bakewell
She removed herself swiftly from the cab in front of Canley Crematorium and began to jot down in words the following: ‘Entrance to Charter Chapel, Gardens of Remembrance and Cemetry’. The map at the very entrance caught her eye: of course, it wasn’t everyday that she came across areas marked ‘Weeping Willow’, ‘Book of Remembrance’, … Continue reading Canley Crematorium
It’s called the hidden gem of Warwickshire. But we find it easily- nestled on the A429, next to the International Warwick Riding School and a few miles away from where Edward Plantagenet was supposedly beheaded. We creep quietly with our cars, leaving tracks in gravel which is wet constantly by the constancy of rain. This … Continue reading Remains and Leftovers – Guy’s Cliffe House
I was one of those people who scorned at street graffiti being called art, now I am saved. But I am not going to call it Street Art or Wall Art or Contemporary Art, I’m going to call it Art. There is Art everywhere in Shoreditch – on a locksmith’s door, on a Punjabi restaurant’s … Continue reading Shoreditch, proclaim, proclaim, art.
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