Slow travel, film photographs, and notes from the road.
Highway 1 empties out after October. The fog sits low over Bixby Bridge until noon, the parking lots are half empty, and the coffee at the little bakery in Big Sur actually tastes better when you are not in a hurry. I shot two rolls of Portra 400 and waited out the marine layer with a paperback.
The trick to Arashiyama is not a secret spot — it is a alarm clock. At six in the morning the bamboo grove is empty except for one old man sweeping leaves, and the light comes through the stalks sideways. By nine it is a different planet.
Everyone photographs the yellow tram. Fewer people ride it to the end of the line and then walk back through Graça with no map. That walk — past the tiled facades, the laundry lines, the old men arguing about football — is the part of Lisbon I keep thinking about.