Here in Catalonia, where there’s such a debate taking place over the region’s future, it seemed all the more important—vital, even—to understand Girona’s past before I could begin to imagine its path forward.
An illustrated history of Girona.
Spain
Drawing connections in Girona.
For me, every connection is a tiny knot in the thousand fraying threads we carry with us. Every encounter is a part of the larger tapestry coming to life, slowly being woven into significance.
From Colombia to Costa Brava: Introducing a new sketching adventure.
If sketching the mural in Athens taught me anything, it’s that new ideas do indeed have a way of stretching our minds, just as windows are opened to the coming of spring.
The reel Camino: What does it mean to be a pilgrim?
Words and photos only tell so much – I love that this video captures sounds, too: the crunch of our boots on the path, the ever-present din of cowbells, and the cheers and claps that often erupt in front of the cathedral in Santiago.
The rhythm, the strength, the power: Falling for flamenco in Madrid.
Flamenco wasn’t on my list of things to see in Spain. But when a performance unexpectedly started at lunch one day in Madrid, I suddenly couldn’t imagine having left the country without seeing this.
One foot in front of the other: Walking the Camino de Santiago.
It’s been a few months now since I hung up my hiking shoes for the last time, but I was reminded of my questions about what it means to be a pilgrim again this morning after reading a powerful commencement speech by Nipun Mehta.
Riding on the Marrakech Express: Slow travel to Morocco.
Although a flight from Sevilla to Marrakech might’ve been easier, something told me it wouldn’t have allowed me to really feel and process the change in countries – not to mention the change in continents.
Deià-dreaming: Impressions of an island.
Some journeys feel more like a poem in their brevity, in the way they leave you with not so much a discernible storyline as a collection of images – fleeting impressions that stay visible in your mind long after you’ve left. My time on Mallorca was just that.
An introvert’s conversion: What Pueblo Inglés taught me about life.
Talking sixteen hours a day was hard for an introvert, but despite the many “brain traffic jams” (as one Spaniard put it), there was a flow to it all that felt pretty darn close to magical.
Putting on the ritz: At home in Madrid.
I’ve been grateful to feel at home in Madrid, to not only have my own room again, but a desk to write at and an armchair to read in, all while sounds of the city and afternoon sunshine waft in through open windows.
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