on reading and writing blogs

Are you still reading blogs? I’m thinking about the small blogs that share personal favourite books and playlists, everyday moments in photos, the blogs that make you feel you got invited to somebody’s home and have a cup of tea while talking about the café around the corner, your latest trip to the Baltic Sea…

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Großer Garten

It was a bit surprising to arrive after a one and a half hours drive along back roads, copplestone streets through little towns and past a long lake at the Großer Garten. It was our destination, that wasn’t the surprise. It was parking next to other cars with a Berlin number plate in a seemingly…

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Forest and desert people in Udabno, Georgia

The landscape’s curves turn hilly and soft when we leave Tbilisi. Udabno means desert and is the place we want to go to. In golden late afternoon light we follow four-wheel-drive tracks into the semi desert. As soon as the power poles are behind us, the vast land stretches in front of us. Is Mongolia…

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Imaginary Travels to Tuscany from home

Let’s practise some alternative ways of travelling while staying at home. San Gimignano Go through your archive, look at pictures of places you’ve been and remember the stories, the air, the tastes, the light. I remember our drive from Monte A Pescia to San Gimignano after lunch through a hilly, cypress-framed countryside. We walked along…

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First and last days in Montaretto and Cinque Terre

Sind es nicht oft die ersten und letzten Tage, an denen man am intensivsten sieht, an denen man in aller Dringlichkeit fotografiert? Das Neue, Schöne und Unbekannte fällt bei der Ankunft auf – ich sehe die Spiegelungen in Fenstern, die Lichtstreifen im neuen Schlafzimmer, die Wandmuster, die Farben aller möglichen Fotos. Isn’t it often the…

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We keep coming back to Ireland

Start to write this instead. Much of my writing is done as a way of avoiding writing. (Anne Enright: My writing day on The Guardian) We keep coming back to Ireland, Jen and I. Staying inside the Bridgehouse we drink tea, eat ginger cookies, try to write stories and read books by Deirdre Madden, Anne…

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summer memories

“An ordinary life was an obscure life, if we can extend the meaning of obscure to mean covered up by dailiness, glorious dailiness, shameful dailiness, dailiness that is difficult to figure out, that is not always clear until a long time afterward. Obscure: not readily noticed, easily understood, or clearly expressed. Which is a pretty…

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