Traveling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things – air, sleep, dreams, the sea, the sky – all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it.
I was still living in Edinburgh through the whole of 1992. In the summer I made a fairly epic trip to Russia.
In 1991 I lived in Edinburgh, I learned to ski, and I made my first trip across the Atlantic.
In 1990 I did a bit of a European tour, living in three different countries and travelling to several more.
A year of living and working in the Netherlands, whilst doing my best to visit as many new places as I could get away with.
A collection of random musings from the land that time forgot, or at least I forgot, mainly because I hadn’t met Kas, so there was nobody to remember stuff for me.