Exile in Rua da Trás
At some point in my life, I found myself “exiled” in Porto — a little nod to one of my favorite Rolling Stones albums, which, along with Héctor Lavoe and Teo, was part of the soundtrack of that time.
Something inside me longed to walk again through those streets where, years ago, I bought my first analog camera : a Nikon L35.
It was a time for travel; borders were opening again, and after months of lockdown in volcanic lands and a heartbreak, my northern roots were craving trees, soft earth, and silence.
I rented a tiny studio on Rúa da Trás, and it was magical! With the sound of seagulls as my soundtrack, I made peace with my inner demons, discovered the art of enjoying solitude, talked with strangers, got lost in the hill streets, went on adventures, and “played with the sense of time” alongside strangers.
I was working remotely and already had a digital refuge from my solitude. So, when I was outside the computer, I didn’t want a screen to keep me company — I wanted to fully experience being alone.
I decided to carry only an analog camera and push my introvert self to feel comfortable being unknown, watching how life unfolded in this part of the Atlantic. By that time, I had started practicing yoga and meditation consistently, and somehow I discovered I was comfortable with silence.
I fell in love with the rhythms, the light, and the colors of Porto. After spending the summer moving along the coast of Spain, I decided to return — but I’ll leave that story for the next post.
I hope you enjoy these frames of a city and a period of my life when I felt love, loss, and gratitude for the psychedelia of life.
