Aswan For over two thousand years people have stood where I’m standing now. And yet […]
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The song sounded soulful but also a little sad. The man’s voice, with a tremor likely absent in his youth, addressed the crowd as though we were but one.
One person. A girl. A friend. A home. I couldn’t quite be sure, losing words as they…
It was the second time I’d stood on the banks of the Vltava River in Prague, watching the
Who needs cobbled streets and medieval mysteries when you can have psychedelic colours, wonky lines and hearts full of passion?
The year is 1945 and ash, smoke, poverty and despair rise through the rubble of Europe.
You have to put yourself in my shoes.
Boots, really, with thick rubber soles to keep out the cold and to keep a foothold on the ice. Boots that worked hard and worked fast, striding between commuters in a winter-worn Budapest. Five feet, six inches above them, a troubled mind tangled through what it had just seen.
A man casts a glance over his shoulder before arching back and casting his line into the water. The street chatter and rush hour traffic drown out the subtle splash but from the look on his face, you’d think he stood alone in the countryside, miles from anyone, miles from anywhere.