Composition in Valletta

A little poem I wrote a while ago.

 

Ancient walls the canvasses

for shafts of light

and beams of sound.

 

Streets leading you

(corks under the table when necessary)

and chasing around corners.

 

Wine by the glass

more wine?

Also olive oil.

 

Naked eyes and also through a screen

sunsets witnessed and ignored.

Searching (probably for a bathroom.)

 

Have you tried the rabbit?

The mussels are good too.

Buses and horses past tables on the pavement.

 

Shrines to the fallen light the way

justice will not be silenced

they will be remembered.

 

Talk more than skin deep

listening for a while too.

Where is Malta again?

 

I’m ready for some more travelling.

 

 

Photo Journal: MALTA

Some photos I took in beautiful Malta, quite simply one of the most photogenic places I have ever been.

All shots are on Kodak Ektar 100 film and were taken using my beat-up old SLR.

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My travel companion was also pretty photogenic.

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Below St Elmo’s Fortress in Valletta.

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Waiting for the perfect wave.

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Valletta.

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Above the cruise ships in Valletta harbour.

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Honey-coloured stone is everywhere in Malta.

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Mdina old town.

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Mdina

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Mdina

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Dingli cliffs sunset.

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Golden Bay.

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Exploring above Golden Bay.

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The sunset at Dingli cliffs.

Malta

Valletta, Malta

26/10/17

 

Ancient walls the canvasses

for shafts of light

and beams of sound.

 

Streets leading you

(corks under the table when necessary)

and chasing around corners.

 

Wine by the glass

more wine?

Also olive oil.

 

Naked eyes and also through a screen

sunsets witnessed and ignored.

Searching (probably for a bathroom.)

 

Have you tried the rabbit?

The mussels are good too.

Buses and horses past tables on the pavement.

 

Shrines to the fallen light the way

justice will not be silenced

they will be remembered.

 

Talk more than skin deep

listening for a while too.

Where is Malta again?

Balkans Road-Trip

I took my camera on a recent trip around the Balkans. Visiting nine countries in two weeks, we saw some truly beautiful places. Here are a few snapshots.

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The abandoned bobsleigh track in the hills above Sarajevo.

This photo also nabbed me an honourable mention in a photo competition. Pretty cool.

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My travel companions, Ryan and Kiki, checking out a pretty great lake at Plitvice Lakes in Croatia.

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A roadside picnic in Bosnia. An amazingly green country.

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The waterfalls are also pretty great at Plitvice Lakes in Croatia.

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This was the view from our place in Mostar, Bosnia.

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The Montenegrin coast is rather nice. We travelled to the islands in the bay with a rather sketchy but very friendly local guide.

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The rather majestic Kotor, Montenegro.

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Close to Thessaloniki, Greece.

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Some of the many strays we found. We had to exercise all of our self-control not to come back with several extra passengers.

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Sofia, Bulgaria. Surprisingly green and decidedly church-filled.

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We finished our trip in Serbia. The final sunset in Belgrade was rather wonderful.

I can’t recommend the Balkans highly enough. Though the amount of grilled meat I ate may have stretched my stomach to the limit, the culture and landscapes (not to mention cheap and cheerful prices) of these small nations made for an incredible trip.

Post Wanderlust Blues

Which destinations are on your list at the moment? Where next? What are your plans for the next holiday? Have you been to x place? Have you been to y? Where should I go next?

These are questions I ask and answer a lot. Holiday plans seem to take up a lot of space in my mind, not to mention my internet history. I have spent a lot of time searching for cheap flights to this place or that in the past year. I even now have frequent flyer miles accounts. How grown up.

One of the things I’ve always enjoyed is travelling. It’s not like I’m travelling for the first time or anything. It’s just noticeable how much of my time and energy is spent thinking about getting away, seeing this or that amazing place, getting an amazing deal on a flight, or just ticking places off my list. Basically being somewhere else.

The opportunity to travel so much in the last year has been a complete privilege and I am so fortunate to live in a place with many possibilities, but I’ve been thinking a lot recently about my desire to invest more in being here, now, and investing more in the community and place I’ve been put. This is one of my prayers for this year.

Wanderlust is something I’ve experienced over the past few years and I’m not convinced it’s a bad thing. It’s a wonderful refresher to move somewhere new, to see God’s goodness from a new perspective and in a new community, but I’m not sure it’s always good either. I don’t think it’s healthy to spend all my time and money seeking to be in as many places as possible. There are more important things.

I pray that travel takes the right place in my life and in my thinking; as something I love, which I do regularly, but which doesn’t stop me investing in community here, nor lead me to seek meaning and identity in a list of countries visited or places seen.

The Wood Between Worlds

“He was standing by the edge of a small pool – not more than ten feet from side to side – in a wood. The trees  grew close together and were so leafy that he could get no glimpse of the sky.  All the light was green that came through the leaves: but there must have been a very strong sun overhead, for this green daylight was bright and warm. It was the quietest wood you could possibly imagine.”

In a rush of warmth and familiarity it came back to me, the same words and sentences I had read as child evoking the most calm and contented feeling. Where was I, who was I, when I last turned these pages? One of my favourite things about books is how they can serve as miniature, paper-filled, time machines, reminding us of things that have changed, as well as things that never will.

Reading the chapter in C. S. Lewis’ ‘The Magician’s Nephew’ where Digory (the eponymous nephew) travels for the first time out of our world into the ‘wood between worlds’ served to take me back to several times I’ve read this book. The idea of a calm, silent wood serving as an in-between place in the spaces between myriad worlds fascinated me. When I’m stressed, I often long, as I’m sure many do, to escape to such a place, lying down on the grass and falling asleep beneath green-leaved trees. Of course, it’s a very English vision of a peaceful getaway, but I’m very English so it appeals!

Since moving to Prague maybe I can understand the idea of a place between places better than before. My normal has changed, multiplied, since moving. Going home feels very normal, as does coming back to my new normal of work and friendships in Prague. I didn’t expect that. I thought going ‘home’ would be a relief, a welcome return, a restful experience. At times it was all of those things, but it was also, surprisingly and reassuringly, normal. I guess I have lived in England for twenty five years of my life; things are bound to have remained relatively unchanged in the course of four months.

Yet it wasn’t normal as it had been before because work, church, house and ‘stuff’ were here in the Czech Republic. It’s amazing how quickly I have started to feel comfortable here. I guess getting the bus to work each day, interacting with the same people, even dealing with the same dodgy customer-service, has made a routine like any other.

Between these two new normals I think I would like a wood. Somewhere to cosy up in and retreat to. The allure of an idealised countryside has a strong pull on me, as it seems to on the English consciousness as a whole. Rolling hills, a moss-covered forest floor, a National Trust tea shop… I think this desire to escape is also a symptom, for me at least, of busy working life and a desire to do lots and fill my time to the brim. If only I could simply slip on a magic ring (as Digory does) and flee the burdens of this busy life.

Yet C. S. Lewis makes this wood more than just a beautiful place, it is somewhere where you quickly lose all ties to the world you have left.

“The strangest thing was that, almost before he had looked about him, Digory had half-forgotten how he had got there. At any rate, he was certainly not thinking about Polly, or Uncle Andrew, or even his Mother. He was not in the least frightened, or excited, or curious. If anyone had asked him ‘Where did you come from?’ he would probably have said, ‘I’ve always been here.’ That was what it felt like – as if one had always been in that place and never been bored even though nothing had ever happened.”

Sometimes I long for this too, or so it seems. To just be free of fear, excitement, curiosity, burden, events even, would be so much easier. Just give me a nice book, cup of tea and wood between worlds. But what would there be to escape, to enjoy, to achieve there. I’m tempted much of the time to just jack it all in and run to my bed, comfy and warm and free from danger. Yet I know that I have been put here for a reason, for God to work his purposes in, for his glory and my good. The place between normals isn’t as good as the normal, the run-of-the-mill, the stressful and busy.

Give me normal, as long as I know the wood is there. It’s in the pages of the book I’m reading, the simple pleasure of sleep, a nice cup of tea, Netflix. It’s in snatched ten minutes and lazy Saturdays. It’s ultimately and completely in heaven, though the metaphor is decidedly flawed when stretched to that extent. May my desire for escape and rest not lead to me fleeing normal, but to my enjoyment of that peaceful wood when I glimpse it.

Bruxelles

It’s interesting and harrowing walking through the streets of a place like Brussels.

How does one quantify that feeling of unease? Is it an underlying racism? Am I more uncomfortable in ethnically diverse places? Do I have a crippling fear of concrete?

I hope not, yet something made me feel very uneasy as I arrived there compared to home, compared to Prague. Is it simply unfamiliarity? Is it the woman begging at the tram stop? It was certainly the possibly prostitutes who cheerfully said ‘Ca va?’ to me not far from my hotel (and outside designer shops no less).

I hope and pray I met some friendly Belgians and that I am being judgmental but I’m not sure.

Brussels is a real breathing, begging, sinning place, not simply the heart of a utopian new Europe/the demon beloved of UKIP (delete as appropriate). There are people there who have never, and will never, leave. People who call it home. People who wish they didn’t.

It is a challenge for me to remember that so often the places we visit as tourists have a life that we don’t see, sufferings and heartaches that are hidden out of the sight of fleeting visitors. This is something I have begun to realise about Prague as I have spent more time here. This rawness seemed much closer than I expected in Brussels. May my eyes stay open, may I pray and do what I can for this city, may I not put on my tourist blinkers once more.

On a lighter note, Brussels also has a most frustrating metro with many tram stops seemingly fiendishly hidden. But maybe that’s just me. The fact that I accidentally stroked a guy’s head on the metro probably didn’t help.

Admittedly, not Belgium’s fault.

Ahem.

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Nice towers.

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Fantastic waffles (yes, it’s under there somewhere).

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The Atomium.