I couldn't help myself! I was dipping into some old travel stories when I got lost in dreams and memories. One of the joys of photography, is that when you study a place through your own lens, you remember details, feelings, smells, weather. I never seem to forget where I was and what I was doing. Sometimes, I can even remember the . . .
We had just arrived in Northern Brittany. Our first stop was to be a field on the edge of the Ile Callot. You get there by crossing a causeway at low tide. When the tide returns and the day trippers go home, there are only a few occupied houses and the wilderness left. And ourselves of course, camping out under the stars. We woke on . . .
"We come from the sea, Tim; our blood is salt, and strange tides ebb and flow within us all.” ― Neil Gaiman, The Books of Magic It has been a month by the sea. Quite literally the sound of the waves crashing on the northern shore of Brittany has been the soundtrack to our nights here. On the last evening the wind kicked up . . .
The cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears or the sea. Isak Dinesen I've been to some spas and the best thing about them has been the company of other women and how much fun that can be. However I can't imagine any spa to match the best treatment in the world; the salty magic of sea bathing. I'm not a big swimmer. OK I won . . .
The world blurs slightly and the living planet intensifies it's presence. Something draws the light and the focus. It enters the ear first, a buzzing maybe or a beating of wings. A scattering of dragonflies flutter across my closed eyelids. One of them, so self absorbed, hitches a ride on a floating leaf, and both of us . . .
Photography is fraught with cliches. You couldn't get through a day without re-creating most of them. Even so, I'm in France, in a field of poppies and I stand awe struck and think, why not? I'm guilty as charged when it comes to romanticising the natural world. Even though I don't enhance or photoshop at all. (I'm . . .
This inland path is meandering from river to river, through the Loire, Vienne, Creuse, Dronne, and Charente valleys. While there hasn't been a plan or even a guide book, we have a basic map of snaking blue rivers with their most beautiful banks highlighted in green. The simplicity of this and the element of surprise around every . . .
We never know exactly where each day will end; camping on a free range duck farm, parked on the bank of a leafy river, lapping up a rose scented village. The Loire Valley has won out over the west coast and it has turned out to be a magical meandering off the beaten track. We move slowly. . . .
It's late, the sun is filtering through the forest, pouring deep honey gold onto the path ahead. The quality and colour of light transforms everything. In the clearing a group of wise old trees stand in our path, disturbing the earth as their roots burrow to the surface. Camping forces you out into nature, back to basics; the smells and sounds. . . .
The main driving route to Europe from Ireland is a 20 hour ferry crossing from Rosslare to Roscoff in Brittany. Brittany is very like parts of Ireland with a strong celtic tradition and so we Irish often feel at home here. Our family spent many summer holidays in Carnac when our lads were young. From pottering around shallow pools when . . .