In the delicate burgundy of your chocolate undulates the discipline of old vineyards and imagined samurais. Among the stern landscape flows this river bearing an almond heart, blinded by the crystalline whiteness of the sun. The snow petals descend upon the hills and brighten the solitary moss. The wind, heavy, twists the stone-stiff branches of vines. On these resilient shoulders of the land, where...
I thought it was a myth. A romantic pairing we only got to see in the American movies. A conductor's gesture surrounded by voices whispering, the unfolding of night's theatrical curtain and the pitch-black restlessness of the sea. All mellowed by the moon coloured grains of sand. What am I talking about? Marshmallows and beach fires. Yes! They do exist and...
It was a dark, not so cosy night. The sky held chalky stars over our heads and we were all shivering with the cold fresh air. We had met only a few days ago but we felt like kindred spirits. Outside the tiny crude pub, we were hoping to experience a true moment of Irish openness and genuine atmosphere. And...
Roughed by time and scorched by the sun, decayed and aged by the persistency of the everlasting tides, here lies an elderly fishing port, tired, wrinkled, punctuated by a long silver beard and grey watery eyes. For decades that its skyscraper legs and crackling torso bear the weary load of fishermen's feet, semi-shredded ropes and improvised buoys, granting the access to...
I've always had the Great Pyramid of Giza on my plate. Unlike the pharaohs, I always tried to tear it down. Brick by brick. Grain by grain. Pea by pea. Patiently. Miserably. Secretly hoping that no one would ever notice that the entire amount of the food structure was still all there. That's how my mum thought my plate should be....
São Jorge, Azores. The (is)land of contemplation. Everything here has its own pace, its very own restrained inner rhythm. If someone tells you that you're five minutes from reaching your goal, don't believe it: multiply that number by another five. Time on this island just stands still. Like the steep hills that always look down on you from one side, indelible giants, Jurassic looking, that...
Paradise is made of salt. It has pink washed flamingos with long wings tipped in black. It is covered by marshland, Mediterranean hot climate bearing vegetation, shallow pools of clear seawater and a network of loam paths that lead you till nowhere. There's a vastness composed of silence and raw gemstone colours. Your eyes plunge into the milky rose alabaster and the fire-ignited...
Is it possible to be touched by beauty when looking at a rectangular flat table immersed in a shaded ambience? So deeply that your arms get the chills and the hairs on your neck get bristled? I'm at Musée Guimet in Paris, at the temporary exhibition dedicated to one of Japan's iconic figures, Rosanjin Kitaôji, experiencing House of Light, the installation...
Paris. It's unusually hot. Even for July. The sun hits you with fervour and you feel unable to breathe inside every muffled city bus. It's now six o'clock in the afternoon and we're walking towards the watery veins that cut through the bohemian chic body of this iconic city - first Canal Saint-Martin, once constructed under the orders of Napoleon to...
What will the local markets be like in a few decades? Or even in a few years? Will the neighbourhood little markets, aimed at specific niches, sprout and flourish in order to serve the concerns and tastes of those who only wish to buy tomatoes that smell and taste like real tomatoes from the garden, apples that are not unrealistic...