Yes! My New Website is breathing its first official breathe ... and I’m loving it.
It’s all about the life that I live here in Europe, the places I go, the people I meet. It would be so good to see you there.
Di
Thursday, September 02, 2010
Sunday, July 05, 2009
From my Sunday ...
We biked over to the new (rented) house today. We have the key to take measurements and coming back, through the park nearby, I couldn't resist stopping to take this photograph.
My beloved old black bike is there in the foreground and this is one of the many beautiful city parks Antwerpen has. I miss the wild rugged wilderness of New Zealand but have to confess that sometimes, these parks are almost enough ...
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
Busy ...
23 celsius at 11pm and mosquitoes in the know are partying down at 'the' mosquito club ... Di's ankles.
Work today, a good day but for the rivelets of sweat running, everyone checking their pants and skirts as they stood up from hot plastic seats, soaked by the lack of fresh air as we trammed, trained and laboured our way through these 30 celsius days in the cities.
Living in Belgie, one becomes unaccustomed to such heat, the lucky ones are already on holiday at the beach. Summer holidays have begun and today I noticed the trains and trams had already halved their passenger loads.
I've been processing photographs and just loved this image.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Genova
And so it begins, I fly out in 11 days heading for Genova ... my favourite city in the world.
This photograph was taken at Camogli, not so far from the city itself. I hope to swim there with Pippa, an old friend I used to visit the beaches of home with. I think this will surely become our northern hemisphere beach, although it will be so very strange not to have my old labrador - my constant New Zealand beach, lake and river companion, with us in this new place. I'm sure she would approve though.
The best thing about leaving is surely the tangible deadline ...
I have to have Istanbul finished.
I have to have tidied up my photography exhibition in the city and I need to have a book outline for the next in-between project.
The 'new, getting old fast' website has had its corrupted module rewritten and I am packing a whole lot of paper notes because I prefer to read paper over laptop screens. I have interviews and all kinds of other things and an 8 day period alone for loading that website and kick-starting it finally ...
All of this and I don't want to think about the fact that the real estate agent and the owners of the house decide whether we're 'it' today.
Okay, back into Istanbul.
We're expecting 30+ celsius all week, only broken by thunderstorms at the weekend ...
Tot straks.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
It's midnight and still over 20 celsius.
Our apartment is top floor with a flat black roof that attracts ALL the heat you can imagine. We open our doors in the night and the mosquitoes congregate to party at our place. My ankles are testament to this wild party still happening now ...
When I was child, my parents would load the 4 of us into the backseat of the old Holden stationwagon at midnight and let us swim within the high beam of the headlights at Outram Glen. Failing that, we might walk over to the school next to home and midnight swim in the swimming pool there - the safer option I'm sure, although I still have two brothers and one sister.
Life was so much simpler back then.
So ... it's one of those impossibly hot summer nights here in the flatlands - no a/c at our place.
Little Miss 4 had her 5th birthday party today, early so that her kindy friends could come before summer holidays begin. It was a wild day that left everyone except her completely and utterly exhausted at days end.
She's a 4th of July girl, more celebrations to follow.
Our apartment is top floor with a flat black roof that attracts ALL the heat you can imagine. We open our doors in the night and the mosquitoes congregate to party at our place. My ankles are testament to this wild party still happening now ...
When I was child, my parents would load the 4 of us into the backseat of the old Holden stationwagon at midnight and let us swim within the high beam of the headlights at Outram Glen. Failing that, we might walk over to the school next to home and midnight swim in the swimming pool there - the safer option I'm sure, although I still have two brothers and one sister.
Life was so much simpler back then.
So ... it's one of those impossibly hot summer nights here in the flatlands - no a/c at our place.
Little Miss 4 had her 5th birthday party today, early so that her kindy friends could come before summer holidays begin. It was a wild day that left everyone except her completely and utterly exhausted at days end.
She's a 4th of July girl, more celebrations to follow.
A period of breath-holding ahead ...
Slowly our 3-bedroom apartment here has filled with people, there is this continuous ebb-and-flow of family and friends, one that sees Gert's two children coming and going between parents, my daughter and her daughter moving in, Gert and I here since we began, and many many delicious foreign guests and so it is that we combine to fill this place to overflowing oftentimes.
We have a delicious 15 metre balcony but the wrong climate to make much use of it, with the frustration of many mosquitoes who fly in and breed exceptionally well in the warm weather. We have a rooftop view too and an extremely reasonable rent however ... the peasants have been revolting, in every way, and there has been a call for change.
Jessie spotted this very cool old house, with more bedrooms, bathrooms and a garden!! for the same price as our apartment which translates as stunningly reasonable, mostly because there's no car-parking or garage. Perfect for this car-less family who use old-fashioned black bicycles and public transport.
Jessie and I went with Little Miss 4 and fell in love which then meant we had to haul Gert into the process. Haul because it could be said that Belgians are, in general, reluctant movers, especially when compared to the kiwis I know ... but this is mostly explained by the tenancy agreements and difficulties of making a house move.
I took him back to the house this morning.
He fell in love too.
It's 3-storeys high, has atiny steep staircase that is normal for these narrow high old Belgian houses and then there are all these quirky ... yes, quirky is the word that most fits this house ... all these quirky rooms that we can easily fill with people and stuff. New central heating using gas, 2 bathrooms, a cellar, and lots of windows for the light I'm so in love with.
Best of all, the ground-floor is an open-plan series of lounge through into living space, into dining room area and straight on out through double-glass doors into one of those pocket-size Belgian gardens, so full of possibility that I can't stop smiling. Or left to the kitchen, with a real laundry room and a big sink, so missed in this apartment of ours.
The only question mark over the move is when we have to move in by, as it could mean paying rents on two places and that's no-ones idea of a good time.
We hear on Monday or Tuesday ... but we're so in love with the place, so very in love.
I'll let you know.
Note: and as observed by Paola, there's room for a dog in this house that's so close to one of the big city parks ... ;)
We have a delicious 15 metre balcony but the wrong climate to make much use of it, with the frustration of many mosquitoes who fly in and breed exceptionally well in the warm weather. We have a rooftop view too and an extremely reasonable rent however ... the peasants have been revolting, in every way, and there has been a call for change.
Jessie spotted this very cool old house, with more bedrooms, bathrooms and a garden!! for the same price as our apartment which translates as stunningly reasonable, mostly because there's no car-parking or garage. Perfect for this car-less family who use old-fashioned black bicycles and public transport.
Jessie and I went with Little Miss 4 and fell in love which then meant we had to haul Gert into the process. Haul because it could be said that Belgians are, in general, reluctant movers, especially when compared to the kiwis I know ... but this is mostly explained by the tenancy agreements and difficulties of making a house move.
I took him back to the house this morning.
He fell in love too.
It's 3-storeys high, has atiny steep staircase that is normal for these narrow high old Belgian houses and then there are all these quirky ... yes, quirky is the word that most fits this house ... all these quirky rooms that we can easily fill with people and stuff. New central heating using gas, 2 bathrooms, a cellar, and lots of windows for the light I'm so in love with.
Best of all, the ground-floor is an open-plan series of lounge through into living space, into dining room area and straight on out through double-glass doors into one of those pocket-size Belgian gardens, so full of possibility that I can't stop smiling. Or left to the kitchen, with a real laundry room and a big sink, so missed in this apartment of ours.
The only question mark over the move is when we have to move in by, as it could mean paying rents on two places and that's no-ones idea of a good time.
We hear on Monday or Tuesday ... but we're so in love with the place, so very in love.
I'll let you know.
Note: and as observed by Paola, there's room for a dog in this house that's so close to one of the big city parks ... ;)
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Poetry is how the air goes green before thunder ...
Poetry has nothing to do with poetry. Poetry is how the air goes green before thunder. Is the sound you make when you come, and why you live and how you bleed, and the sound you make or don't make when you die.
Gwendolyn MacEwen
Gwendolyn MacEwen
Authenticity is a daily practice. Living authentically means cultivating the courage to be emotionally honest, to set boundaries, and to allow ourselves to be vulnerable; exercising the compassion that comes from knowing that we are all made of light and darkness, strength and struggle; and nurturing the connection and sense of belonging that can only happen when we let go of who we are supposed to be and embrace who we are. Authenticity demands wholehearted living and loving—even when it’s hard, even when it hurts, and especially when we are wrestling with the shame and fear of “not being enough.” Mindfully practicing authenticity during our most soul-searching struggles is how we invite grace, joy, and gratitude into our lives.
Brené Brown, Ph.D.
Borrowed from Kathy.
A new phenomena took over while I was out of New Zealand and wandering ...
Twenty/20 cricket.
Martin, the ICC's man in Belgium, first talked of it when we were driving to and from Flanders Fields, then yesterday Pakistan won the world cup.
Yesterday it so happened that I was travelling between Brussels and Antwerp with a Pakistani who has lived in Denmark these last 40 years. He told me of Pakistan's win in the Twenty/20 World Cup.
I stopped at the night shop on the way home after a long day at the office, picking up an ice cream.
I had to congratulate our Pakistani shop owner there too.
New Zealand didn't do so well in the competition and suddenly there I was, running into every person from Pakistan I knew ...
Talking of cricket makes me nostalgic for the childhood sounds of a good match drifting out from a transistor radio on a hot sunny day or the roar of my sports-mad dad, mum and brothers as they followed some cricket match on the television.
A cricket match over in 3 and a half hours ... I never imagined that possible.
Twenty/20 cricket.
Martin, the ICC's man in Belgium, first talked of it when we were driving to and from Flanders Fields, then yesterday Pakistan won the world cup.
Yesterday it so happened that I was travelling between Brussels and Antwerp with a Pakistani who has lived in Denmark these last 40 years. He told me of Pakistan's win in the Twenty/20 World Cup.
I stopped at the night shop on the way home after a long day at the office, picking up an ice cream.
I had to congratulate our Pakistani shop owner there too.
New Zealand didn't do so well in the competition and suddenly there I was, running into every person from Pakistan I knew ...
Talking of cricket makes me nostalgic for the childhood sounds of a good match drifting out from a transistor radio on a hot sunny day or the roar of my sports-mad dad, mum and brothers as they followed some cricket match on the television.
A cricket match over in 3 and a half hours ... I never imagined that possible.
Monday, June 22, 2009
One of those days ...
I was smiling, I swear I was and then in the process of searching out this image for this post, I realised I had just given the printers a tiny file by mistake and tried to stop them printing the 30x45cm print ...
It's been done, 2 hours after delivering it to the 24 hour service people. The Belgians were efficient and it couldn't have happened at a worse time.
Never the mind, I was here and smiling after a long dark night of the soul (or 3), snacking on a lunch of the wickedest things ...
Bagels from the British Store (where I hung up an advertising poster finally) with a splash of the most delicious Azienda Agricole Monte Gualberto Grati - extra virgin olive oil from Tuscany,with a sprinkling of natural sea salt from Portugal, listening to Viktoria Mullova from Russia and thinking life was okay.
The NGO paid my invoice, the Belgian VAT (btw here) people immediately whipped 250euro of it from my account. I have ordered the prints that I've had outstanding while waiting for my invoice to be paid. I have sent Belgian chocolates to the young guy who is slowly but surely recovering from his terribly injury suffered more than 8 weeks ago now.
The really excellent olive oil, salt and olives came from Oliviers & Co here in Antwerpen city. The woman was lovely and guided this creature who knows what she likes but lacks the details of olive oils and salts. I can't recommend the shop highly enough.
I mailed off 3 photo cds and and have two more here and I'm settling down to begin work on the thousands of Istanbul photographs that overwhelm me every time I open a folder.
My new website is undergoing its rewrite and I'm hopeful about moving to it within the fortnight and so I'm writing and preparing to load more over there, and then there's NGO stuff and a photo gallery to load in Brussels tomorrow, while I'm there photographing a meeting for the exhibition in August.
Hmmmm what else, there's always more .. the housework hasn't been done and it's already after 4pm and I was hoping to write an article for Cafebabel about work.
Oh, and there was most delicious photography session at a Jewish gathering yesterday. It was a privilege to be there and for those who are surprised, I've never not liked the Jewish people, I merely take issue with extreme right and centre right Israeli politicians and soldiers who are doing so much harm to the Palestinians.
I have good friends who are Jewish and l love taking part in Shabbat because both times I have found it quite heartbreakingly beautiful.
Just to be clear.
Friday, June 19, 2009
Genova and Bach and Me
These last few days, I've been trying to capture the Genova I fell in love with while staying in Italy last year ...
There was a paragraph where I tried to describe the quietly sublime beauty of a Sunday morning spent alone in that city I love.
I wrote: Sunday, my first day alone and the city is emptied for football. Slipping and tripping through the air comes the sound of the most exquisite violin ... drifting from some open window. Delicate notes that create this perfect sound for an afternoon spent lying on a bed reading. I am lazy on this first day spent as a solitary creature, alone in a strange city where I know no one.
I wanted that music but stopped short of shouting from my open window to whichever neighbour was playing the music.
I came home and forgot it about mostly, just pulling the memory out in moments peace.
Yesterday I was in FNAC, thinking I might like one book to celebrate this month's pay cheque when I had this idea about making a fool of myself and asking about a delicate solo violin ...
The shop assistant listened and then said 'Bach!'.
She took me over to a listening post and she was right. If this isn't the music I heard then it's close enough to delight and carry me back into that place in time.
Below you can hear something of the music on the cd titled Bach 6 Solo Sonatas & Partitas, Viktoria Mullova.
There was a paragraph where I tried to describe the quietly sublime beauty of a Sunday morning spent alone in that city I love.
I wrote: Sunday, my first day alone and the city is emptied for football. Slipping and tripping through the air comes the sound of the most exquisite violin ... drifting from some open window. Delicate notes that create this perfect sound for an afternoon spent lying on a bed reading. I am lazy on this first day spent as a solitary creature, alone in a strange city where I know no one.
I wanted that music but stopped short of shouting from my open window to whichever neighbour was playing the music.
I came home and forgot it about mostly, just pulling the memory out in moments peace.
Yesterday I was in FNAC, thinking I might like one book to celebrate this month's pay cheque when I had this idea about making a fool of myself and asking about a delicate solo violin ...
The shop assistant listened and then said 'Bach!'.
She took me over to a listening post and she was right. If this isn't the music I heard then it's close enough to delight and carry me back into that place in time.
Below you can hear something of the music on the cd titled Bach 6 Solo Sonatas & Partitas, Viktoria Mullova.
Pearl S. Buck - a truly creative mind
The truly creative mind in any field is no more than this: A human creature born abnormally, inhumanly sensitive. To her…a touch is a blow, a sound is a noise, a misfortune is a tragedy, a joy is an ecstasy, a friend is a lover, a lover is a god, and failure is death. Add to this cruelly delicate organism the overpowering necessity to create, create, create — so that without the creating of music or poetry or books or buildings or something of meaning, her very breath is cut off from her. She must create, must pour out creation. By some strange, unknown, inward urgency she is not really alive unless she is creating.
Pearl S. Buck, novelist, Nobel laureate
Pearl S. Buck, novelist, Nobel laureate
Anne Michaels, Extraordinary Author and Poet
We forget the power of the small act of love. We forget how powerful that is. Often, we feel hopeless in the face of history, in the face of economics, in the face of these large forces, but really the small individual act can be incredibly powerful.
Anne Michaels, author of Fugitive Pieces.
Fugitive Pieces is one of my top 5 favourites books of all time.
It is simply that good and that beautiful.
Anne is astoundingly intelligent, well-researched and her poetic prose makes me melt.
Laura, the wise and beautiful Laura to be more precise, linked to this interview with Anne Michaels.
Simon brought news of another book by Ms Micheals, titled The Winter Vault , you can imagine what I'm looking for next. Her poetry book in The Weight of Oranges is just as exquisite ... just btw.
Anne Michaels, author of Fugitive Pieces.
Fugitive Pieces is one of my top 5 favourites books of all time.
It is simply that good and that beautiful.
Anne is astoundingly intelligent, well-researched and her poetic prose makes me melt.
Laura, the wise and beautiful Laura to be more precise, linked to this interview with Anne Michaels.
Simon brought news of another book by Ms Micheals, titled The Winter Vault , you can imagine what I'm looking for next. Her poetry book in The Weight of Oranges is just as exquisite ... just btw.
1.40am ...
You know, I get that I don't have a respectable reliable career, I'm a photographer, even worse - I love wandering. I veer off into conversations where I mutter about light, 'Did you see the light?!' is relatively commonly heard but by crikey, it's a highly stressful up-and-down world that I inhabit.
Gert comes home with stories from work, elections are stressful times for example, and friends look at my travelling life sideways, not seeing where the challenges might lie but seriously, if I were to blog the story of my life as a self-employed person, as a Di creature, I might just make the hair of some stand on end.
These are days where I am exploring free and grand adventures and networking versus paid and marketing (still waiting on my flyers.). It's about somehow not working all the time and stopping to breathe. It's about my heart jumping around in my chest most days and it's about all my doubts that I can make this work so that the Belgian government gets its many slices but leaves me with some, and don't even ask me about New Zealand.
Maybe I should rename this blog 'Di's Nice Blog' where her truths are selectively told, writes this smiling woman.
It's just that some days are so incredibly difficult and others are charmed.
But that's life, isn't it.
I had just had the biggest drama unfold here in the last hour. Those involved might laugh at me for finding it big but it's too complicated to write of and anyway, I rarely tell 'those' stories.
Sleep deeply.
It's late here and I'm in Brussels in the morning.
Gert comes home with stories from work, elections are stressful times for example, and friends look at my travelling life sideways, not seeing where the challenges might lie but seriously, if I were to blog the story of my life as a self-employed person, as a Di creature, I might just make the hair of some stand on end.
These are days where I am exploring free and grand adventures and networking versus paid and marketing (still waiting on my flyers.). It's about somehow not working all the time and stopping to breathe. It's about my heart jumping around in my chest most days and it's about all my doubts that I can make this work so that the Belgian government gets its many slices but leaves me with some, and don't even ask me about New Zealand.
Maybe I should rename this blog 'Di's Nice Blog' where her truths are selectively told, writes this smiling woman.
It's just that some days are so incredibly difficult and others are charmed.
But that's life, isn't it.
I had just had the biggest drama unfold here in the last hour. Those involved might laugh at me for finding it big but it's too complicated to write of and anyway, I rarely tell 'those' stories.
Sleep deeply.
It's late here and I'm in Brussels in the morning.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Evening Feast On Flanders Fields ...
Yesterday was one of those remarkable 15 hour days spent wandering out on Flanders Fields. Some of my favourite Belgians live there and it was lovely to see them again.
The official ceremonies were over by lunch-time and we adjourned to my favourite restaurants in the area - The Cheese Museum .
The New Zealand government Minister and various Zonnebeke councillors led by Freddy, one of the best guides on Flanders Fields, then left on a bus for a tour of the fields where 1000s of New Zealanders were killed fighting for the Commonwealth, in this instance for Belgium, during the first world war. Almost 50,000 dead were lost and buried in horrendous mud in a very small are of land next to the restaurant. Freddy described it as a silent city of 50,000.
The series of battles that make up the Battle of Passendaele went like this: More than any other battle, Passchendaele has come to symbolise the horrific nature of the great battles of the First World War. In terms of the dead, the Germans lost approximately 260,000 men, while the British Empire forces lost about 300,000, including approximately 36,500 Australians, 3,596 New Zealanders and some 16,000 Canadians from 1915 to 1917. 90,000 British and Dominion bodies were never identified, and 42,000 never recovered. Aerial photography showed 1,000,000 shell holes in 1 square mile (2.56 km2).
It's rare that tears don't rise as you follow Freddy's directions and look out over the small area where so many dead soldiers still lie in unknown unmarked graves.
We moved on over the battlefields and through cemeteries, pulled back to a past that governments today persist in returning our 21st soldiers to ... no lessons learned that I see, beyond targeted assassinations of those some countries deem to be risks and the pinpoint targeting of sites to be bombed boasted of by some armies although almost 100,000 Iraqis have been killed in Iraq, with the death toll of American soldiers there since 2003 now standing at 4311.
This site seems to tally with sites I found elsewhere.
Tour of the battlefields over, Martin and I ended up in the grounds of the Chateau, otherwise known as The Memorial Museum Passchendaele 1917 , dining out on the loveliest bbq food with the most interesting people.
It was a good day out.
The official ceremonies were over by lunch-time and we adjourned to my favourite restaurants in the area - The Cheese Museum .
The New Zealand government Minister and various Zonnebeke councillors led by Freddy, one of the best guides on Flanders Fields, then left on a bus for a tour of the fields where 1000s of New Zealanders were killed fighting for the Commonwealth, in this instance for Belgium, during the first world war. Almost 50,000 dead were lost and buried in horrendous mud in a very small are of land next to the restaurant. Freddy described it as a silent city of 50,000.
The series of battles that make up the Battle of Passendaele went like this: More than any other battle, Passchendaele has come to symbolise the horrific nature of the great battles of the First World War. In terms of the dead, the Germans lost approximately 260,000 men, while the British Empire forces lost about 300,000, including approximately 36,500 Australians, 3,596 New Zealanders and some 16,000 Canadians from 1915 to 1917. 90,000 British and Dominion bodies were never identified, and 42,000 never recovered. Aerial photography showed 1,000,000 shell holes in 1 square mile (2.56 km2).
It's rare that tears don't rise as you follow Freddy's directions and look out over the small area where so many dead soldiers still lie in unknown unmarked graves.
We moved on over the battlefields and through cemeteries, pulled back to a past that governments today persist in returning our 21st soldiers to ... no lessons learned that I see, beyond targeted assassinations of those some countries deem to be risks and the pinpoint targeting of sites to be bombed boasted of by some armies although almost 100,000 Iraqis have been killed in Iraq, with the death toll of American soldiers there since 2003 now standing at 4311.
This site seems to tally with sites I found elsewhere.
Tour of the battlefields over, Martin and I ended up in the grounds of the Chateau, otherwise known as The Memorial Museum Passchendaele 1917 , dining out on the loveliest bbq food with the most interesting people.
It was a good day out.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
The chicken pox have landed ...
Flanders Fields, 23-27 celsius expected, packing and running out the door ... 7.30am.
Government ministers, vip lunches - today seems like it might be an okay kind of day.
And ta-dahhhh, little Miss 4, almost Miss 5 is a white and pink spotty itchy mess this morning.
Never a dull moment at our place ...
Government ministers, vip lunches - today seems like it might be an okay kind of day.
And ta-dahhhh, little Miss 4, almost Miss 5 is a white and pink spotty itchy mess this morning.
Never a dull moment at our place ...
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Cafe Stanny, Antwerp
I had passed by Cafe Stanny on the train as I travelled to and from Brussels city, and I have slid by it via the Number 8 tram so many times but I had never quite managed to step off and visit its red and welcoming friendliness.
Today, I had no destination in mind, I was simply escaping a really bad day and so there was nothing to lose as I climbed off Tram 8 with my small travelling laptop.
Cafe Stanny's lunch menu is diverse enough to offer something for everyone, with soups, breads with a range of fillings and things I can't quite remember. I chose a most divine bacon and onion omlette for lunch and it came with a soft brown heavily-grained bread that was delicious.
The music indicates good taste (an important criteria when wandering, laptop in hand), the atmosphere, now that it is summer, is open door with benches both inside and out. The staff were friendly and the decor lovely - appealing and a tug on the strings of memory for this kiwi so far from home. A deep blue bar/counter with stools, and stools along the high tables at the two large windows in the front.
Back in winter, I remember being attracted to the warmth of Cafe Stanny's red exterior and the promise of its fogged up windows, clients bicycles piled up outside calling to me in but I was rushing, always rushing through that stretch of the city between here and there, I never made time to detour a little.
Cafe Stanny's is lovely, a new favourite of mine but come see for yourself.
It's at Stanleystraat 1, 2018 Antwerpen, located on the Tram 8 line and close to Berchem Railway Station ... seen from the train on the left side as you pull into the station (I think).
You can't miss the red.
Today, I had no destination in mind, I was simply escaping a really bad day and so there was nothing to lose as I climbed off Tram 8 with my small travelling laptop.
Cafe Stanny's lunch menu is diverse enough to offer something for everyone, with soups, breads with a range of fillings and things I can't quite remember. I chose a most divine bacon and onion omlette for lunch and it came with a soft brown heavily-grained bread that was delicious.
The music indicates good taste (an important criteria when wandering, laptop in hand), the atmosphere, now that it is summer, is open door with benches both inside and out. The staff were friendly and the decor lovely - appealing and a tug on the strings of memory for this kiwi so far from home. A deep blue bar/counter with stools, and stools along the high tables at the two large windows in the front.
Back in winter, I remember being attracted to the warmth of Cafe Stanny's red exterior and the promise of its fogged up windows, clients bicycles piled up outside calling to me in but I was rushing, always rushing through that stretch of the city between here and there, I never made time to detour a little.
Cafe Stanny's is lovely, a new favourite of mine but come see for yourself.
It's at Stanleystraat 1, 2018 Antwerpen, located on the Tram 8 line and close to Berchem Railway Station ... seen from the train on the left side as you pull into the station (I think).
You can't miss the red.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Sometimes ...
Sometimes I wonder what I'm doing, attempting to make a career out of photography ... it doesn't pay well, the hours are long and actual paid work is irregular with people preferring the free stuff.
Sometimes I think about getting a haircut and a real job, and then something nice happens.
Jessie just told me that another of my photographs was featured on Etsy.
We've decided to put the owls up tomorrow with some other new/old photographs, and the ngo has all but paid me for last month. Cash in account and I will print everything for everyone tomorrow ... sorry for the delay.
Sometimes I think about getting a haircut and a real job, and then something nice happens.
Jessie just told me that another of my photographs was featured on Etsy.
We've decided to put the owls up tomorrow with some other new/old photographs, and the ngo has all but paid me for last month. Cash in account and I will print everything for everyone tomorrow ... sorry for the delay.
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