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When I was a young kid, I guess I would have been around ten years old, I saw Peter O’Toole for the first time. Piercing blue eyes under a shock of angelic golden hair. He was clad in white robes and was involved in some extremely adventurous escapades in the desert. Lawrence of Arabia, of
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“Twenty dollars for a carriage. Just twenty dollars. For the little one. For your daughter. It’s a long walk.” We have barely managed to pass the entrance gate before the onslaught begins. Our first impression of Petra, is a shoddy scramble for business. It will get worse than this as we proceed further into the
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It’s the nearness that astonishes me. Mythical names. Biblical names. Names that possess an otherworldliness that separates them from reality. And yet there they are now, right before my eyes as I survey the landscape: Jericho, Jerusalem. Across the Dead Sea, close, but just beyond reach. On the drive down from Amman, the driver, Mohammed,
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I’ve seen many photographs of Calatrava’s City of Arts and Sciences and it’s always the beautiful compliment of architecture and engineering that strikes me. The two can often oppose one another, but this work had always seemed, from photographs at least, to have achieved a respectful balance, perhaps due to Calatrava’s own mastery and understanding
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Saerlig Store Elgfare. Very High Elk Risk. Heading out of Oslo, it was this roadsign that really made me aware of my surroundings. Of the strangely claustrophobic amount of empty space around me. Barely an hour out of the city and already we were moving through a landscape that was vast enough to support a
