Photography
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Southbound Again: Wine Into Water
It’s getting pretty hot now. The dashboard temperature gauge blinks up to 37 on the drive back across country and we are hearing whispers of a Mediterranean heatwave which could at the very least break the 40 barrier in the coming week, so the vaulted ceilings and tall windows of our next apartment are a welcome sight. This place must have been a truly grand townhouse in its day. Built in 1735 and not converted to apartments until 1980, it’s our guess that the original owners, a family named Roques-Guilhem, had the 18th century equivalent of big bank accounts. The airy living room is a blessing: since leaving Paris two…
- Europe, France, History, Independent travel, Photography, Travel Blog, Walking, Wildlife, World food
Carcassonne And On: Wine, Music, Food, Wine…And More Wine
Walt Disney is said to have loved this place so much that he modelled the castle of Sleeping Beauty on it. Up there on on the hill it looks like everyone’s idea of a fairy tale setting, with its perfectly cylindrical turrets pointing upwards so precisely that it’s tempting to look out for Rapunzel letting down her hair or some other damsel in distress calling out for help in the hope that her knight in shining armour appears over the horizon. The damsels, though, are tourists, and so for that matter are those coming over the horizon. Carcassonne is a town of two halves however you look at it. The…
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Black Bulls, Roman Ruins And A Missing Ear: From Aix To Arles
It was a waiter in Aix who first gave us the idea. “If you love Aix”, he said as he put down our sparkling golden beers on the table, “then please go to my town, Arles. It is even more beautiful than Aix”. Well, it’s going to have to go some to achieve that, but maybe we should give it a go – why not? And so we hatch a new plan. Counter intuitively, all the websites tell us it’s quicker to make the journey between the two towns by taking one train down to Marseille and another back up country to Arles, which feels a bit like going from…
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Fountains & A Festival: Avignon & Aix
Aix-en-Provence is known to some as the “city of water” and to others as the “city of a thousand fountains”, both nicknames stemming from the numerous natural springs dotted around town. In fact, there were once more than a hundred fountains here, though probably not a thousand, and nowadays something like 30 remain. Losing ourselves in these quaint streets, emerging from beneath plane trees to bright sunlight and from narrow alleys to open squares is utterly delightful; Aix is so very attractive, a lovely, welcoming town. Each of the fountains in Aix tells a story, each has its own character, but perhaps the most quirky is Fontaine Moussue, the “mossy…
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Southwards To The Lavender Fields: From Paris To Provence
If one of our hopes for this adventure was to find quaint provincial towns with ancient and historic centres, then as we carry our backpacks from the bus station through the winding narrow streets to our apartment on the third floor of an ageing town house, we are overflowing with the feeling that we’ve hit the jackpot straight away. Welcome to Aix-en-Provence, where the squares are oozing splendour in the hot afternoon sun while the ancient plane trees which line its boulevards offer shade to anyone with a bit of time to spare. The bells from the clock tower resonate down the tight streets as we find our way to…
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A Brief Stay In Paris: The Journey Begins
If like me you’re a lover of train travel, a trip on Eurostar always feels special. Maybe it’s something to do with us Brits being islanders, but the very thought of boarding a train in one country and leaving it in another is one which is full of excitement and possibly even romance. However we’re just a little bit gutted to find we’ve been allocated the only seats in the carriage which aren’t next to a window – somewhat bizarrely, this is the THIRD successive Eurostar trip where this has happened. Given that there’s 90-odd seats in a carriage we are either seriously unlucky or we’re missing the clues when…
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Michaela’s Favourite Photographs #14. Sometimes The Simple Things
Versailles, France, 2015. And here we end this short series of some of Michaela’s favourite photographs, with a shot of beautiful and stunning simplicity. Leaving the glorious palace to explore the sumptuous gardens, the rain started to fall with extraordinarily bad timing, just as we stepped away from the sanctuary of the grand building. And yet the rain brought a gift: clear, dainty raindrops clinging to leaves and flower heads throughout the gardens, nowhere more perfect than on this delicious pink rose.
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Michaela’s Favourite Photographs #13. When We Are The Mystery
Sunderbans, Bengal, India, 2017. Way beyond the end of the road network, far beyond the concept of cars, out into the world’s biggest mangrove swamp where our temporary home was to be a mud hut amongst the wild and mysterious terrain. The only means of transport was small, cramped, low slung boats across the water. Here, in these far off corners, the real mystery was us: what were these two pale skinned people doing right out here where white man is a rarity? As you can see from the faces of our fellow passengers, we were a source of friendly amusement. Elsewhere around the villages, tea sellers like this lady…
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Michaela’s Favourite Photographs #12: Village Party
A mountain village north of Foça, Turkey, 2012. It might have been a funeral, so we held back, not wishing to intrude on whatever this private village gathering was. But they called us in, beckoned us to join the strange procession in which every member of the village was playing their part. Invited to dance to the music, cans of beer thrust into our hands, the smiles of these mountain dwellers told us we were going to be part of the celebration. The event was in honour of Mohammad, a young boy passing from youth to adulthood: in essence, a party to celebrate his circumcision.
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Michaela’s Favourite Photographs #11: First Light
Tafraout, Morocco, 2016. I have to admit that this one is more my favourite than Michaela’s: I love it not just for itself, but also for what it represents. Out on the edge of the desert, the nights were cold, our breath clearly visible in the crisp morning air as we took breakfast. Within a few short hours the temperature had rocketed and the days were so hot. As we rose early one morning and braced ourselves against the cold, the first light of the day crept down from the tops of the mountains, sunshine creeping down the slopes towards the town…
