Tag Archives: Travel

Uist

The water here is bluer than the holiday brochures of Mediterranean all-inclusives and Caribbean cruises. Even better, there are more sheep, too. So, I couldn’t help but gasp aloud as we rounded the next bend and another bay appeared glittering with bright turquoise water, the sand underneath a pristine white. The land that the waterContinue reading “Uist”

Why Walking is Important

Visiting a new place is scary, but here are some top tips to make the most of your travel experience.

That is what every trained media professional or influencer will tell you when trying to show you the beauty of a place through rose-coloured glasses, in which they show themselves on top of a mountain or walking through a bright, bustling market. The “but” obscures the actual process of arriving in a place and being faced with the fears and insecurities that come with being a foreigner, and the fact that you are usually being perceived by all those around you. Or that’s what my mind tricks me into thinking.

The truth is, people will look but won’t remember. The glance you think is judging you is extremely temporary before the person continues on with their day, since they are thinking of their own issues and tasks that need doing instead of considering your clothes, origin or when you last showered. It really is that simple.

The Art of Access: “Into the Wild’s” Critiques of Power and Visualising Geographical Knowledge

Sean Penn’s “Into the Wild”, based on Jon Krakauer’s book about the life of Christopher McCandless, begins with this poem. The words echo throughout the two hour long visually stunning journey of Chris from College graduate to lonely nomad, huddled inside an old Fairbanks City bus. It describes the pleasure found in nature, away from human intrusions and structures, away from capitalist habits and responsibility and taxes.
The film’s cinematography communicates these pleasures and evokes empathy from audiences seeking escape from societal power structures, namely capitalism and neocolonialism.

Stockholm

The clicking of my camera accompanies my walk down a copper-coloured alleyway with a glass-blowing merchant on my right and a green shuttered townhouse on my left.

The street is cobbled, but no rumblings can be heard, as no cars would dare venture down these narrow side streets. They remain confined away from the central pedestrian areas of Gamla Stan, an island that makes up much of the city’s old town that could be mistaken for somewhere in France, Italy or Austria. Renaissance meets medieval meets old sandstone architecture in varying shares of red, orange, yellow, and the sun shines in burnt tones onto the walls. I am surrounded by four—and five-story blocks making up a labyrinth of alleys and wider people-filled streets with postcard stands and cafe chairs spilling onto the cobbles.

The Art of Noticing

There is a sticker on a lamppost that reads “get lost”. The lamppost hasn’t been cleaned in a number of years so the sticker calls out to those who view it, as a blinding yellow circle. I listen.

There is a bench dedicated to a woman from her husband after her death five years ago and I sit there and wonder what she looked like when she was alive and if she would have liked to have a bench dedicated to her. Maybe she would have hated it. Maybe she wanted a plaque on a birch tree instead.

Bergen

It rained.
It rained the whole time.
But the smell of rain made it worthwhile.
After possibly the most beautiful train ride in the world, I stepped off the train into the deluge outside, in search of my hotel.
In Bergen, Norway.
The city is located on the west coast of Norway’s Bergenshalvøyen peninsula and with it being surrounded by mountains it felt very much like another world compared to the fairly urban centre of Oslo I had just come from.

Copenhagen

So here I was. Copenhagen. A city I had dreamed of visiting ever since my mum had told me stories of the architecture and the danish way of life and Hygge. I was finally here as my third stop on my month long Interrail trip.

With my monstrously heavy rucksack in tow, and stepping off the train I had last boarded five hours ago in Hamburg, the towering wooden ceiling of the antique Central station with its chandeliers reminded me more of a cathedral than a station. The air outside was warm and filled with the smells of cars and hot dogs from the steaming stands near the bike racks filled to the brim. This was the city of cyclists after all. Cycle lanes were bigger than most road lanes.

Junquillal

Visiting a new continent entirely on my own is not how I thought I’d start my summer. I also didn’t think that I’d be shovelling sand on a beach and seeing an Olive Ridley turtle with my own eyes, but here we are.
Junquillal, Costa Rica. 
When I took my first step off the bus after a fresh bout of rain that left the dark asphalt steaming, I did not expect such a small village to emerge from the greenery on the roadside.

Edinburgh

Dimly narrow passages lead to cobbled yards; large green squares encased by great glass restaurant frontages; quaint shops adjoined by speciality coffee shops bustling with students and beach goers watching swimsuit clad individuals run into the freezing North Sea, make Edinburgh what it is.

A city.

But is it really?