Icelandic Autumn
Autumn is here and Iceland feels magical.
Iceland emanates a certain feeling through Autumn. You can hear its voice in the wind howling through the trees.
The leaves draw their last breath and smell like an ancient home, whispering words only few can hear.
The light fades day by day. But the long dark still seems far away.
There is a stillness that creates motion. A shift inward. As it is only through the stillness and the silence, offered by a place like this, a lone island in the cold far north, that you can truly listen to what's within.
Photographic Diary - Hiking at the Fagradalsfjall Volcano in Iceland
The earth shakes and rumbles under the Reykjanes peninsula with many indications pointing that another volcanic eruption is imminent. Whether that happens or not, the Fagradalsfjall volcano is one the best places for a daily adventure/hike, and it can be done easily from Reykjavik.
Hiking at the Fagradalsfjall Volcano
Words: Evelyn Edward
Images: Odysseas Chloridis
The earth shakes and rumbles under the Reykjanes peninsula with many indications pointing that another volcanic eruption is imminent. Whether that happens or not, the Fagradalsfjall volcano is one the best places for a daily adventure/hike, and it can be done easily from Reykjavik.
The volcano itself is about an hour's drive away from the city, but with lots to see along the way it won't feel like a long drive at all. Four of us from the HI Iceland team set off on a sunny Sunday evening to make the most of the long summer days and make our way up the volcano.
Getting to Fagradalsfjall is a relatively smooth journey along paved road- on our way, we stopped at Lake Kleifarvatn to watch swimmers brave the cold water, as well as Seltún geothermal pools, where water boils from the ground and sulphur stains the ground orange yellow and blue. With the drive taking you through diverse landscapes from snowy mountaintops to grassy plains and moss-covered, rocky landscapes, it feels like you have touched down on another planet.
While the flow of the volcano has slowed down now following its eruption in March 2021- there is no hot rushing magma or crater explosions- it is perhaps even more impressive to see the smoldering lava and let your imagination run wild with what lies under the tall dark rock.
In preparation for the summer high season the infrastructure surrounding the area has had to adapt rapidly- please note there is now a car parking charge- and several routes to viewpoints have been signposted. These vary in length and difficulty- we opted to head up a large hill with a zig-zag path marked out. While fairly easy underfoot, there is a lot of loose gravel that can slip you up- make sure to bring shoes with a good tread.
We trekked our way up to the viewpoint (following Path C towards Langihryggur), slowly but surely while the sun slid behind the mountains. As we got higher we could see more of the valley than before- the lava rock went on for miles, a black, sprawling mass upon the rocky landscape. When we arrived at the top (comfortable but slightly out of breath) we had the best view of the lava steam rising through the cracks in the rocks, creating a contrasting soft white layer over the land. We stood there for a while, taking in the scenery.
On the way down we faced amazing views of the ocean and all the way over to Grindavik- the small fishing town that faced three weeks of earthquakes before the eruption. The sea was so calm and the area so quiet that it was almost hard to believe that hundreds of meters below us, the earth was violent with energy, shifting and reforming itself.
Iceland is a country with a constantly shifting landscape- whether it's the extreme seasons, weather or geographical changes- and we saw that on a mass scale on our trip to Fagradalsfjall. And who knows- with more and more volcanic activity being recorded in the Reykjanes peninsula, the next Fagradalsfjall could happen sooner than we think.
Photographic diary - Ukraine, Lviv March 2022.
Pavel woke up trembling from what seemed like it would be a regular night's sleep, trying to find his documents, some cash and pack his bag with shaking hands, at the first hours of Russia's invasion at Ukraine from the bombs falling around Kharkiv.
Pavel woke up trembling from what seemed like it would be a regular night's sleep, trying to find his documents, some cash and pack his bag with shaking hands, at the first hours of Russia's invasion at Ukraine from the bombs falling around Kharkiv.
He spent the next ten days on an underground shelter, waiting for an evacuation caravan that could take him and other Ukrainians out of the city. He could hear the blasts and feel the tremors of the bombs falling above but had no idea what was happening as it was too dangerous to get out.
The lack of fresh air, sunlight, and the humid conditions of staying underground for so long, damaged his respiratory system.
His bag-pack is now carrying his only possessions. He knows that he might never be able to return home. Kharkiv is leveled to dust and heavy fighting in the city, continues to this day.
I met him in Lviv, as we stayed at the same host through Couchsurfing. He was a lucid dreaming instructor before the war erupted. With dreams, friends, plans, a home.
Now he is stuck in limbo. Like the world of dreams he is so greatly inspired from, he is stuck in an in-between phase. He can't leave Ukraine but neither can stay, as he no longer has a home. On his horizon the only thing that dawns and sets are shades of uncertainty. With nowhere to go, no place to call home, only wait until this ends, only wait until he wakes up from this nightmare.
Lviv, March 2022.
Photographic Diary - Dawn in New York
An early-morning photograph from the streets of New York that made me think about the importance of venturing off our comfort zone.
Dawn in New York.
Almost two years have passed since this August morning in the city that never sleeps.
I tried to stay true to Frank Sinatra's words and managed to get only an hour of sleep before embarking on what was going to be a 5-day, once-in-a-lifetime journey from New York to New Orleans, documenting @thestartupbus, a crazy half hackathon, half road trip experience.
Almost two years have passed since that warm August morning and so much has changed. The pandemic put dreams, plans, jobs, and traveling on hold.
I still remember the excitement I felt that morning. This "flutter" you feel in your stomach before doing something new, important, and frightening like having to speak in front of an audience. Your heartbeat increases and your mind sprints forward to what's about to come as you try to prepare in front of the uncertainty that awaits you. But unlike the uncertainty most of us faced this year, this is a good kind of uncertainty. It's a sign that tells us we have reached a threshold, after which we leave our comfort zone and expand, learn and develop.
We should crave more for this feeling, I think. I almost forgot this emotion during this year. But the recent trip to Eastern Turkey at an ESC Erasmus+ program to help and protect sea turtles reminded me of it.
The excitement of the upcoming journey was there of course. But so was a form of intense uneasiness, one that I am not used to before traveling. This year's lockdown was dull, but the daily routine in the familiar environment of Thessaloniki also offered comfort and easiness.
But the trip to Turkey knocked these feelings off the table - and for good reason. Traveling once again into places and people unknown with the commitment to stay and work there for a considerable amount of time, away from the comfortable, soft, and easy-going life that the Greek summer offers brought the old stomach feeling back.
Almost two years have passed since that warm August morning in New York and so much remains the same. The need to explore, experience, and expand our cognitive horizons maybe got muted but it's still there craving to taste more. The old stomach feeling seems to always be right. It shows up before something important like it's trying to tell us that we are heading into open waters and promising new lands of knowledge, new friends, images, tastes and smells.
It states that we are growing and that we will not be the same after this upcoming experience - we will be better.
Trust the ol' the stomach feeling. It's here to guide you, not frighten you.
Photographic Diary - The Siren
I often wonder about how myths and legends came into being. What did people of the past see, experience or hear to forge the folklore mythological tales of gods, nymphs, monsters and such beings?
I often wonder how myths and legends came into being. What did people of the past see, experience or hear to forge the folklore mythological tales of gods, nymphs and monsters?
Some of the most renowned creatures in Greek mythology (and not only) are the Sirens. Dangerous beings who lured passing sailors with their mesmerizing songs and voices and ultimately making them crush into the saw-tooth rocks of their island.
The hero Odysseus was curious to hear their song, and so with the advice of Circe he had all of his sailors plug their ears with beeswax and tie him to the mast of the ship. He ordered his men to leave him tied tightly there, no matter how much he might beg. When he heard their beautiful song, he ordered the sailors to untie him but they bound him tighter and eventually managed to escape the range of their song. According to some tales, the Sirens were fated to die if someone heard their singing and escaped them, and that after Odysseus managed to pass they therefore flung themselves into the water and perished.
Through my wanders in nature I have also seen myths taking shape and form.
It was a hot and humid summer night. The full moon shined brightly and its pale light illuminated everything it touched. The water’s surface made all kind of shapes and patterns as the waves moved in a rhythmic motion. It felt like we were swimming in silver, it was an otherworldly scene.
All it took was a friend’s silhouette against the moon to make the myth come alive. I grabbed the camera and a 35mm lens. I started photographing in slow shutter speeds to capture the motion of the waves. As my friend moved close to me it felt like I was washed ashore the sirens’ island. She was now approaching me to see the prey that her songs had to managed to lure in.
Photographic Diary - The Phoenix
Greece offers amazing vistas for landscape photography. But to capture them in their full glory you' ve got to be able to get up early. And when you do, you get rewarded with not just beauty but wisdom as well.
I have been thinking lately about why some of us like to wake up early in the morning. "Seize the day" and similar quotes offer some explanation but I think it's something deeper than that.
I mean, why would someone get out of a warm, cozy bed at 06.00 a.m., dress up, get out into the freezing morning cold and drive or walk all the way up a mountain?
Is it masochism? Obsession? Is it the feeling of seizing the day like so many quotes have stated? Maybe yes, maybe no, maybe some, maybe none.
What I've realised though is that every time I manage to get up so early I get rewarded with scenes of sublimeness and occasionally with a short ray of wisdom.
A few days ago I got to witness one of the most stunning sunrises of this year. Despite the jaw-dropping vista in front of me I found something else, quiet unexpected appearing up in the horizon.
It is there, between the moody clouds of
the early morning hours that some form of magic seems to happen. Just when you start to truly feel the cold, to question the reason why you got up so early and look back behind you, thinking to go back to bed, it happens.
A vibrant circle of fiery red appears above the mountains on the horizon, setting fire to everything it reaches.
Your eyes go berserk with all the beauty they are witnessing. Light, shape, movement, they all merge to create scenes of fantasy.
Your mind tries to fathom what your eyes are seeing but it can't. Not fully at least. And it is there you realise that some of the most beautiful things we can witness are like this because they can't be fully understood. And that's how they should probably stay.
Let’s connect
Man of the Sea
He loved her and she loved him.
I've always loved the sea.
Coming from a family of fishermen, some of my fondest childhood memories are close to her.
I remember my grandfather bringing home octopuses and sea bass which he had just caught with his speargun. My mother would cook them and we all gathered around an old plastic white table to eat. Sweet, simple but beloved moments.
Many times my grandfather would take me with him when he went fishing. I remember sitting on the sand and waiting for him to come out of the water. He could swim for hours. It was as if he was in his element there.
One day I asked him:
- Aren't you scared of being there all these hours? The sea is dangerous.
- The road to the sea is more dangerous than her. He replied.
Years later, I thought that the sea probably acted as a portal for him.
A portal to another dimension, probably more beautiful and affectionate than the ours.
The water embraced his body offering a sense of comfort and coziness. The buoyancy took away his weight making him fly. The already inordinate admiration and love he had for animals further increased as he observed the aquatic creatures around him.
He seemed like a hero to my eyes.
A man who had a deep connection with one of the most mysterious environments on our planet. The sea scares most of us. But it never frightened him.
He was one of the" old ones " as we say in Greece. A man who knew how to do everything with his own hands. After all, he had built the whole house in the village by himself.
He had no fear for the natural world and remained active and vigorous until the last years of his life.
I felt a vast sadness when he passed away. He was the first family member I lost and so I felt the newfound feeling of emptiness left by the death of someone you love.
I still feel sad sometimes. Sad because I didn't have time to enjoy him in my mature, adult life. Because he didn't get to see the kid become a man. To see me become what he believed I could be.
I know a part of him lives inside me. And that another lives in the element he so dearly loved. Water.
I still see him sometimes when I go to the sea.
Looking at the endless blue horizon, my mind thinks that he’s somewhere out there, swimming.
Swimming, exploring and marveling the wonders of the aquatic kingdom.
As I lay on the warm sand, I hear his voice in the soft howling of the cool summer wind: "Look at what I caught" he says, and I get up excitedly to see.
I open my eyes and realize it was a game of my imagination.
A gap between my chest is suddenly created.
But I look before me, the vast deep blue and a few seagulls gliding playfully in the wind currents.
The waves, their white foam and the rhythm at which they burst on the shore.
A cool breeze blows and gently touches me on the shoulder. The void fills up and a slight smile appears on my face.
I see him.
I know how he is in all the elements of the world he so dearly loved.
I know he's with her.
I know he’s at the sea.
Photographic Diary - City terrace
The nights we live for.
City Terrace
A barbecue with friends on a terrace overlooking the city as the sun goes down.
The primordial, raw pleasure of feasting with others around a fire.
Some alcohol to make the worries go away.
These simple but meaningful moments make time fly away and force us to forget the past or future as they teach us to appreciate what's around us in the present.
It's moments like these we live for.
The Scotchman - Photographic Diary 1
A short story behind one of my favorite photographs from Scotland.
