Making our first book, Lodestars Anthology Pathways, was an absolute joy, a chance to revisit some of the wonderful destinations and characters we have encountered while making the magazine over the years. Featuring the photographs, words and illustrations of some of our wonderful contributors, we faced the same challenge we always do – finding space for all the beautiful work shared with us. Sadly not every image we receive can make it onto our pages, because there simply aren’t enough. So we thought we’d share some of the unpublished Pathways images with you here. Can you imagine how hard it is to pick your favourites?!
As we waited to reluctantly board the sleeper train back to London, I struck up a conversation with a stranger outside the station. “You sure have had the best of it – the weather has been wonderful. It’s never like this,” he told me. I suspect that perhaps it was a ploy, something he and others tell tourists. After all, if you had all of this for yourself, would you want to share it?
Australians, whether we’re fully aware of it or not, have an interesting relationship with water. It is a fickle friend; unpredictable and ever-present, either as a wishful thought or smile-producing inducement to frolic.
Our arrival into Malmö was heralded by clear skies and sunshine. This, the third largest city in Sweden, feels rather like elegant Stockholm’s tousle-haired and carefree younger sibling. It’s a cauldron of old town grandeur, modern architecture, lush parks, winding streets and even a beach complete with 19th century open-air swimming baths.
There were stone statues called Jizō – believed to protect children and travellers – and mountaintop clearings that revealed peak after peak cascading into the distance, their hues shifting with the sunlight.
It was here, basking in the summer sun and in awe of the setting, that we pondered the Paris we’d seen and the food spots that had left us full, content and, if anything, a little lethargic. As we prepared to leave this wondrous city a final coffee was clearly in order.
It’s strange how faraway shores can make us long for home, and how home, when we get there, can be the reminder needed to travel further, be in the moment and see a place for what it is. We’ll never experience all that our homelands have to offer – time is unfair like that – but wouldn’t it be wonderful if what we encountered helped us to pause and appreciate the world’s immensity? Even as passersby.
As a photographer I often see my surroundings in visual and geometric ways – the law of thirds, vanishing lines and the captivating infinity of the horizon. Along the trail this is especially true. The sun beats down with hard, uncompromising light for most of the day, while the gently diagonal palm trees create a sense of scale against the merging sea and sky. Naked concrete pylons, upon which the railway’s many bridges once sat, remain scattered like solid, vertical sculptures.