Leaving the old houses be

It used to be a place for gunpowder, I was told. It is still there, even though the old guns are long gone. Now it serves more peaceful purposes, but build so well, and in a way that it can adapt to changing realities

Houses smoking fish

Walking out of the small town and heading on along the trail I looked back, smokeries reminded me how much a house can tell you about the life of people there

Refuel

Hot in the small fishing village, I put my backpack down, They were selling ice cream here

The legend of holy woman turned to stone

They were in danger, too much danger to be handled, but she found a way out, the story goes, she turned both herself and her sixteen children into stone

Hiking towards the lighthouse

The lights still turns, but nobody is guided by them anymore

Hiking between coastal rocks

I had reached the ancient rocks, they felt solid, and even older than both the sand and the limestones I'd passed on my way

Walking past traditional art

The tiny houses on the wooden sticks looked faded in the sun, but faded in ways, as wood do, that kind of make it even more beautiful

The huge empty harbor

Walking along the huge harbor, there were so few boats it seemed like a party that never happened

Painting watercolors in the rain

The first drops of water soon hit the paper, I tried to lean forward, covering it as much as I could, while continuing to paint, but soon gave up and just let the rain join in as it liked to

Bridge by the sea

First I walked over it, then I stopped, liked the solid feel of the small bridge, way to solid for the short distance it had to span