Letters to Barbara

Dear Barbara, This oval bay engulfs history and occupies one's dreams. The serpentine promenade from La Concha to Zurriola is covered with earthly tones and...

Dear Barbara, In 1944, an Englishman parachuted into Crete. By the time of his arrival, he hadn't published a book yet. Despite having already lived...

Dear Barbara, Hochlaki beach roars with ancient fury. This black-stoned beach seems to have existed before Nisyros itself. Here, you will always see waves. The...

Dear Barbara, On the first afternoon in Malta, the sea changes sides as if trying to hide all the shores of the Mediterranean Sea. On...

Dear Barbara, It's late spring in Amorgos. The car huffs and puffs uphill on the fierce road over the cliff. The damaged asphalt connects two...

Dear Barbara, Here, Poseidon has his back turned to the morning light. It is a daring statue that wakes up slowly, later from Gothenburg itself,...

Dear Barbara, The few trees of the island lean towards the south. The northern winds whip them all year long, and their trunks bend towards...

Dear Barbara, The moment the plane lands in Chisinau, the Moldovan passengers start clapping. It's as if something remarkable just happened. I then think of...

Dear Barbara, Geography brought me to Berlin -or was it politics? What's really left of a city when you don't remember what brought you there?...

Dear Barbara, The Italians pull their masks under the chin. The old bus rolls under the burning sun of Donoussa, and everybody is searching for...