Photo Essay

When I was invited to travel around the region of Basilicata, my first thought was, “Where’s Basilicata?” Even upon arriving at the airport in Bari, only a two-hour flight from London, I didn’t really know where I was or what to expect.

And while I’d visited Italy three times before, and seen most of the major cities, I didn’t expect to feel so immediately comfortable and welcome in the region. Each day, action-packed with cooking lessons and sailing and zip-lining and festival-going and eating and drinking (and eating and drinking some more), made me fall more and more in love with the region and its people.

There are some places in the world that are defined by their colours, or their lack of colours. The city of Cairo, for example, remains muted and dusty in my mind, its smells and sounds the predominant senses. Havana, on the other hand, was bursting with colour: fruit spilling out of cartons, graffitied walls, outfits of the brightest oranges and yellows and reds, and, of course, the cars. I couldn’t stop taking photos of it.

When I walked out of my hostel in Rangoon all those years ago, I couldn’t stop whirling around, taking in all of my surroundings. I felt overcome by my senses: the jangling of the sugar cane man’s bells, the smell of frying vegetables, the air so thick and humid I could open my mouth and drink it in. And the colours, too, drip-drying at the laundry and splashed across markets and swirled on the faces of those around me.

But what about in London?

The sun was shy during my stay in Paraty. One moment it would come out, round and inviting, turning the waves blue and the sand yellow. Just as your skin would warm, it would retreat, the ocean turning a black snarling thing again, the sand gritty and brown. Still I liked this place a lot, liked its charm and its maze of cobbled roads. I found a group of backpackers I had met in Rio and we sat on the beach come rain or shine. We drank sweating cans of beer and threw our barbecue scraps to the stray dogs who’d scratch and whine, driven crazy by the wafts of meat.

Do you know what they say about people who love the colour red? They’re impulsive, outgoing, aggressive at times. They have a strong zest for life. They tend to be extremely optimistic, but hate monotony and crave change. They are passionate and strong, full of vigour. They are restless. They can be too quick in their decision-making; one might call them rash, hasty. They are determined to get all they can out of life.

Last autumn, I had the pleasure of returning to one of my favourite European cities, Berlin. There are many things to love about Berlin: its nightlife, its history, its fashion, and, perhaps one of my favourite reasons for visiting, its street art. I’ve written about how I’m huge fan of street art before, and I think that it can be a beautiful contribution to a city, adding art, politics, culture, and social perspective to otherwise bare walls.