I was wandering around on a Sunday afternoon looking for something to occupy my ever restless mind when I stumbled upon this old mine site. It is not in use anymore. Not for decades. The powers that be designated the place a cultural heritage. It housed a cinema, theater, several trendy restaurants, the office of tourism, art galleries and homes for some lucky people who have enough cash to pay for the much sought after location.

But what caught my immediate attention were the old buildings. They are sights to behold. The workmanship, intricacy of design, the sheer volume are truly mesmerizing. Though they belong to the past, there is something about them that breathes modern, current and belongs. They are living monuments testifying to the hard but rich life of their ancestors. Pity that the weather was not cooperative and it was fast becoming dark and I didn’t have a proper camera with me, just my old pocket one. But still, I managed to take some decent enough shots of few buildings. I will be going back there soon to take proper photos.


Home Is Where Your Heart Is

…or some say home is where your story begins. In my case it is true. About your own personal story beginning at home I mean. Ironically enough I never had a home. We didn’t even own a house when I was growing up.  My parents were nomads. Like I said in one of my posts, our roots had been pulled out over and over again before they can even have a chance to settle and get hold. We never had a contingency to grow and flourish in a familiar soil. It is sad but true. C’est la vie.

Someone said to me that his home is me. It doesn’t matter where he is, as long as I am with him, he’s home. Sweet and romantic but I can’t pretend I understand. Like I said on the right sidebar of my blog page: if I could reach for something brilliant, that would be the home which been denied to me and the presence of the peace I’ve never known…