Back To You

Claire has recently departed after an amazing two weeks in Scandinavia. Based in Malmö (where I currently reside) but also featuring a 4-day visit to Stockholm and a couple of day trips (perhaps night trips would be a more fitting phrase) to Copenhagen and its surrounds. In due course of our travels many photos were taken. With me equipped with a trusty point-and-shoot Konica film camera, and Claire with her Canon digital camera as well as her (smart) phone, we were armed to the hilt.
On looking through the accumulated snaps, a certain trend became rather apparent. And what was meant as documentation of two friends exploring three cities, ended up looking like Claire just followed me around in a rather stalkerish manner - a generous chunk of the images are of my back, or me in various stages or turning around. Perhaps there is now enough material for a 'Florence strides forth' tumblr or some such lunacy. But here let's keep things to only the choicest cuts.
My photos are due to be collected next week,and should hopefully even out the disproportionate number of Claire stalking Florence photos.

All photos by Claire Cooper.

PLACES: Drottningholm / Copenhagen / Drottningholm / Frederiksborg  / Stockholm / Frederiksborg /



Travelogue part I










  
Museu D'Art Contemporani De Barcelona / fruity furniture, La Rambla del Raval / beach loungers, Barceloneta / mosaic work, La Pedrera rooftop terrace / on the cross harbour cable car / interior courtyard, La Pedrera / Jardí Botànic de Barcelona / street scene, Barri Gòtic / Barcelona from the cross harbour cable car. 


A few of my favourite photographs taken with my trusty Konica point and shoot in Barcelona. More to follow.

At the Hotel Peninsular


While in Barcelona we stayed at the Hotel Peninsular, a typical one-star hotel just off the main drag of Las Ramblas. It offered all the mod-cons of a classic one-star hotel - sparse rooms, thin walls, a cornflakes continental breakfast - but the interior was highly unique. The building was originally a convent of the Augustine Order, and the rooms were previously monks' cells. All open out into the rather fantastical interior courtyard, with hanging plants, tiled floors, and wrought iron balconies running around each level.
One afternoon, after a morning of wearying but fulfilling touristing, we sat in the empty courtyard drinking a couple of Barcelonan beers, soaking up the peacefulness and planning our next attack on the city.
Staying in a place like this is what I search for in every trip that I make - I want to stay somewhere so completely remarkable that it reiterates the fact I am in a different country, experiencing different things.
In the photo above I am  standing in a small alcove next door to our room, ready for my first day of exploring, Barcelona guidebook loaned out from the library (overdue) in my hand.

These photos are the first batch Kris has sorted through from his digital camera. I am still waiting for the pictures off the roll of film I took. I was rather restrained with camera usage, not wanting a lens to continuously be obstructing my impressions and views of places. I tell myself I didn't come all the way to a foreign city just to photograph it. Some things have to be experienced first hand.

A couple in Barcelona

Jack Nicholson and Maria Schneider at La Pedrera, during the filming of 'The Passenger', Michelangelo Antonioni, 1975.
Have just returned from an amazing 4 day sojourn in Barcelona, wandering the streets, cooling off with 'Majorcan Milk', and finally being able to experience Pierre Bismuth's work 'Postscript/ The Passenger (OV)' at Barcelona's Museum of Modern Art. Also mingled with tourists for the chance to be inside Gaudí's 'La Pedrera', trying to do some nonchalant Maria Schneider posing on the rooftop terrace but instead just ended up getting in the way of hardcore German tourists. 50 or so people holding up their cameras in the air simultaneously was rather like watching interpretive dance.


It feels right that one of my first adventures to a different European city should be the one featured in my favourite film. Basically I just wanted to stroll around Barcelona like these two.

Blå bilder




Eugene and Chris Carr fishing off the rocks / the queue of people waiting to board the ferry from Rangitoto / Kris surveying the landscape while walking towards Islington Bay, Rangitoto / reclining rods on the wharf near Okahu Bay, Tamaki Drive. Taken with a Konica C35 EF.


After months of dulling grey Malmö skies, which seem to have seeped into my head and clouded my memories of my trip to Auckland like a heavy fog, things are looking up. The Spring equinox has come and gone, officially opening the season, and with daylight savings beginning tomorrow evening and positively balmy temperatures of 14 degrees, blue skies and long light evenings loom ahead of me. And finally, showing some photos of my 6 weeks in New Zealand doesn't feel like looking at Oz from the greyscale of Malmö's Kansas.

Though the actual weather in Auckland left much to be desired (daily surprise rainfall, blustery gales,constant cloud cover) I cannot help but associate the holiday with the colour blue, spending days clambering over rocks of Rangitoto, having 2 hour swims in the sea two times a day, fishing around the rocks at Matakatia and failing to catch anything, following the bays around Tamaki Drive, kayaking on the sailfish built by my uncle and grandfather, or rowing in the dory before it mysteriously vanished from the beach one morning never to be heard of again. Fate to this day, is unknown.
I could never live anywhere that wasn't near the sea. Swimming in the rain is one of the best feelings, and so is swimming in the early morning.

Looking at these is making my feet itch, wanting to take my new Marni for H&M swimsuit down to the beach for a dip. I now have three pairs of togs, and all of them are blue. Must be something subconscious about wanting to blend into my surrounds.

Malmö - grey city





Photographs taken around Malmö by Kris and I at the beginning of December. Taken with our new Konica C35 EF camera - picked up at a 2nd hand store (that kind of new), making a pleasant change from the safety net that is documenting in digital.
Above are snapshots of various local landmarks and such - Margaretapaviljongen in Pildammsparken; the Rose Fountain in Folkets Park; our street - with a couple of those windows being our apartment; Kris taking a constitutional in Pildammsparken; Kronprinsen - covered in a mosaic of millions of tiny blue tiles; and a self portrait riding the elevator at work.

I am intrigued as to see how the roles of film we took whilst holidaying in New Zealand turned out. (And if my photography skills have improved to a commendable level).While the camera seems to cope admirably with the greyness of a wintery Malmö, I am not sure how it has done with the overbearing brightness of New Zealand in full summer swing (maybe it was fortuitous that it rained almost the entire time we were there.)

You can find the rest of the roll on Kris's flickr.

Village










































Wandering around the Helgummanen fishing village on Fårö. Small wooden cabins filled with wooden bunks and wool blankets, miscellaneous tin objects, small rocks and pieces of glass, sea shells. I liked the use of driftwood as makeshift wall brackets, and the stones weighing down the lids on the dinghies, which tourists had used to spell out their initials, like I used to do with the rocks in the crater of Mt Eden.

I loved the juxtaposition of natural materials in the grain heavy timber, the different rich shades of varnish each cabin had, and the walls created by layering flat slate rocks on top of each other. The small cluster of sparely but sturdily built shacks reflected the village's sparse rocky surrounds and muted colour palette - greys, browns, greens and blues.

A lighthouse on a grey day



It was the only day which was overcast that we cycled out to Fårö's lighthouse. The road winds through a rather dense forest of tall pines, creating a closeness with the tall trees and the low sky, I think I forgot at some points that I was on my way to see a building which beckons travellers from the vast expanses of the open sea.

We stopped off en route by Fårö's only supermarket, purchasing a carton of milk from Gotland,  a couple of smoked flounder from the smokehouse nextdoor and a selection of freshly baked rolls from the nearby bakery for a small picnic on the beach.

Next to the smokehouse was a small flea market and book stall, in a rundown wooden shed with a dirt floor - piles of unsorted books piled on trestle tables, listing bookshelves and mildew afflicted cardboard banana boxes. I surprisingly found an english copy of Goldfinger amongst the mess, for 5kr.

The lighthouse was surrounded by a low wall and a small outcrop of buildings. One can't go up to the light house as the area inside the wall is private property. The greyness of the sky and sea was reflected in the lighthouse structure itself, as well as the grey rocks below it, but it wasn't that gloomy, depressive grey that low clouds usually bring. The entire scene and atmosphere suited the weather much more so, than the swimming pool blue coloured skies of the days prior.

After lunching we lay in the sand dunes, using our jerseys and cardigans as makeshift pillows, as adventurers are wont to do (or so I like to think), and dozed lightly. After a while I wandered down to the shoreline, and discovered a dead seal. Some sea creature had eaten it's eyes. I didn't take a photo of it.




  

At Kutens Bensin






































At Kutens Bensin, Fårö. Or as it's also known 'Creperi Tati'. It lay on the other side of what was possibly the largest sloping road on Fårö, and I inwardly cursed it's location as I peddled furiously up what became known as my nemesis hill; I filled with dread and defiance every time it loomed ahead of me, but the promise of relaxation, crepes, and a jukebox asking to be played was enough incentive. (let it be known I conquered this hill every time.)

We went there twice, first for dessert, and the next day for dinner.
The exterior is all overgrown weeds, rusted cars (one was meant to be the car Bonnie and Clyde were shot to death in, I never found it), and miscellaneous signs, watched over by an american flag atop an impossibly tall flag pole. The interior was a hodge-podge of Americana and Swedish nostalgia, wooden beams, formica tables, mismatched chairs; the kind of place where every inch of wall space seems to be covered by a photo, catchy slogan or retro knick-knack, and everything felt worn and lived in, in that comfortable, nostalgic way.

Sitting inside on the first evening, I had a classic chocolate crepe, while Kris ordered a 'Summer evening smile', I believe it was called, with saffron ice cream and dewberry jam. We drank cold Coke out of glass bottles (coke does taste better in glass bottles, you know), read old Swedish magazines and spent two hours taking turns playing the jukebox.


On our return trip with had dinner outside amongst the blue painted garden furniture and rusted refrigerators. The dinner galettes were all named after actors and musicians of the 50's and 60's - the Marilyn's, the Jimmy Deans, the Presleys and so forth. My Galette was called the 'Hopper', after Denis, naturally, and was brimming with chorizo, parma ham, potato, cherry tomatoes and cheese, and accompanied by a crisp, dry apple cider. I read a Goldfinger paperback I discovered earlier in the day at a small book stall set up in a shed next door to the supermarket and the fish smokery.

Fantasy Island (part I)



Multiple views of Isola Bella, a fantasy island full of intricate Italianate gardens, laconic leucistic peacocks and housing the Palazzo Borromeo. Grandiose isolation, as all isolation should be. 

The 1986 travel photo of well-dressed pensive-looking man in front of Isola Bella could easily be mistaken for being 25 years later, I'm sure. Sometimes attire is not indicative of a time period at all.

Cotton Anniversary


































Portrait after having lived for one year in Malmö, Sweden. A small milestone!

Efter tolv månader i Sverige, har jag nu:

- mastered enough of the Swedish language to articulate my thoughts to Swedish friends and acquaintances in both sober and less sober states of mind, attempted to read my first Agatha Christie in Swedish, written short pieces of text about ABBA, Twin Peaks, and my old flat in Auckland, followed American TV shows by reading Swedish subtitles, watched an Ingmar Bergman film without subtitles, however the extent of my comprehension of that film is highly debatable.

- become a fully fledged cyclist about town, no other mode of transport can compare to the bicycle, especially after one has learnt the necessary cycle etiquette and rules, thus avoiding any awkward cycle faux pas or potentially hazardous accidents.

- been offered full time employment as a library assistant at Malmö Högskolas Bibliotek, the huge success after months of job coaching, awkward phone calls, applications I didn't understand and seemingly pointless business networking. Good things, do apparently, take time. Was told I had 'made a great impression and had really good references', so those must be the secrets to employment.

- not cut my hair for 12 months. It is at present the longest it has been in my life. The goal is to leave it that way at least until I can successfully explain to a Swedish hairdresser what I actually want in a hair style.

- travelled to more cities than I ever have before. Copenhagen, London, Glasgow, Berlin so far and counting. With the incoming funds from the above mentioned employment, hopefully this year the list will continue to expand.

- read an impressive number of  classic books, taking advantage of Malmö public library's excellent English fiction section. Titles include Rebecca, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Steppenwolf, The Remains of the Day, Pan, Nineteen Eighty-Four, the short stories of Truman Capote, all of Raymond Chandler's Philip Marlowe novels. I hope this reading trend will continue, with high literature in English and low brow pocket detective fiction in Swedish.

- experienced my first northern hemisphere winter, and in turn seen my first snow. A truly magical experience, and now, after many snowfalls, the wonder of it still gets me in a bit of a tither and I feel the need to uselessly announce the fact that snow is falling. These thoughts and feelings are documented in a short text about my first impressions of snow.

Rocky's Livs





Mooning around Malmö - autunmal excursions with Alex during her brief 4 day visit over the weekend (the same weekend MFF win the Allsvenskan football league and some city-wide hooning commences) saw us getting up to the usual sort of mischief. Bike rides out to the piers at Ribersborg, sea swans, larking about in the leaves at Pildammsparken, trawling through second hand shops full of tie-dyed t-shirts and scores of Letraset. Galleries and gallery openings, record shopping with novelty 7"s. Stumbling across hilarious shops names and the Malmö branch of Rocky's Superette. Homemade pizza and the best falafel in Malmö.
Who needs to see the sights of Malmö when you can view them in miniature form at the Malmö-themed mini golf in Folkets Park?

By Rail


Last weekend my parents travelled back to Auckland from Wellington by steam train. I wish I had done that before I left New Zealand. What a majestic beast.

BERLINGERING











five days in Berlin, wandering around, catching trains and trams, eating cheap pizza and drinking cheap beer.
i want to make my photographs into a set of postcards, or an accordion book, somehow a digital memory of it doesn't quite seem adequate.

Warm Grey / Cool Grey






Collection of movable type in trays at the Spitalfields Market, Alexander Calder in motion at the Tate Modern, overbridge at the Midland Railway, Carnival of Food at Indietracks, portrait and tiled fireplace in foyer in Glasgow.

Today the sky is exactly the same grey as it was in these photos, and a light smattering of rain falling. All in all a good day to watch Poirot and read James Bond. Which sounds rather backwards, in a way. Accompanied by an increasing playlist of songs to play next Wednesday at the bar beneath my apartment.