Back To The California Coast

Below is an extract from our Pathways book - you can learn more about the project and order a copy by clicking here.

Enamoured with foreign landscapes and the promise of escape, it is difficult to resist the romance of distant shores. Some of these yearnings may remain idle, little more than wanderlust-infused daydreams, while others are enough to see us journey into the unknown. Yet, as glorious as the new and undiscovered may be, once we have explored a destination (living like a local and venturing beyond the tourist trail), it’s not uncommon to find that there are certain spots we can’t help but return to. While first encounters are marvellous, following a pathway back to the familiar can be just as inspiring.

Photographer Virginia Woods-Jack has visited the Californian coast on many occasions, enthralled by its natural wonders and soulful inhabitants. Seeing her depictions of Venice Beach, with its laid-back surfing vibes, and the mellow scenes of the Encinitas area, it’s not difficult to imagine why.

From her first visit to these glowing shores, Virginia felt like she was coming home; somewhere she hadn’t been for a while that was familiar nonetheless. With the beauty of the scenes and the calm of the people observed remaining constant, each visit was a reminder of that first encounter – a chance to once again capture smiles, soft light and rolling waves. However, Virginia’s lens was also drawn to the subtle changes in the landscape, the shifts in mood and colour that arose with the turning seasons. Over time these changes helped bring the setting to life, elevating it from mere ‘holiday destination’ into something alive and ever-evolving. And so, with each return Virginia asked herself the same question – what would life be like if this was truly home?

It is by revisiting certain destinations that we are able to reflect on the pathways we have chosen: where we find ourselves, where we have been and who we wish to be. From here, far from the constraints of the everyday, we can do more than recall fond memories or sate our inner vagabond. We can instead focus on the minute, appreciate the altering patterns and perfection of nature and plot future journeys surrounded by a setting that remains strangely familiar. We know the scenes before us will transform before we return, and we might too – the sense of possibility forever promising.

Words by Yvette Edwards and photographs by Virginia Woods-Jack.

Sail Away

Words by Jen Harrison Bunning
Photographs by Tom Bunning

It’s curious that I’d never been curious about Sweden before. My Scottish father was seconded to Stockholm in the 1960s as part of his medical training and my Cotswolds childhood was peppered with Swedish notes: breakfasts of knäckebrot and Kalles kaviar branded smörgåskaviar (crispbread and caviar paste), evening feasts of my Australian mother’s take on svenska fisksoppa (fish soup) and afternoon snacks of Annas Pepparkakor (ginger thins). Aside from the odd delirium-inducing trip to IKEA, a passion for Wallander and late night cook-ups with friends making vats of that same fish soup, Sweden had somehow fallen off my radar.

It was a conversation at dusk over a whisky with my father that ignited a longing to discover the country that had helped shape my taste buds, and the place he had discovered at around the same age I find myself now. He regaled me with stories of the Stockholmers’ easy hospitality, long kitchen suppers, summer days messing around in boats and nights spent wild camping out on the islands of the archipelago, making the most of the Swedes’ law of Allemansrätten (the Right of Public Access). This sort of AAA pass gives any person the right to visit someone else’s land, bathe in and boat on any water and gather wild flowers, mushrooms and berries, amongst other things, from almost anywhere, so long as you’re suitably respectful of the owner’s rights. It sounded blissfully bucolic. But memory can apply a soft filter to the mind’s eye through which the past appears honeyed and mellowed. Added to this, we were finally visiting just on the cusp of winter, so I didn’t know quite what to expect from my first experience of Sweden’s quiet Baltic treasure, the archipelago islands.

Flying into Stockholm gave a tantalising first glimpse of the some 30,000 islands and skerries that make up the archipelago’s Skärgården (garden of skerries) and as we touched down I could hardly wait to get out on the water and start exploring. With a few hours to kill in the city it became apparent that you could ask any Stockholmer about the archipelago and their enthusiasm would have you heading straight down to the port and hopping on one of the many ferries heading east towards the Baltic Sea. Luckily that’s exactly what we were doing. So with bellies full of hip eatery Urban Deli’s recommended special of pea soup and pancakes (apparently the ruminations of the Nobel Prize for Literature Committee are conducted over this very meal) we boarded a Waxholmsbolaget ferry for the first stop on our archipelago adventure: Vaxholm.

You could go by road to Vaxholm, crossing the water at the bridge over Pålsund, but why do that when you can travel by sea? For year-round islanders the trip would be a very ordinary commute home, so naturally they stayed below deck in the warm for the hour-long journey. But as virgin voyagers we couldn’t resist zipping up our coats and venturing to the back deck for a blast of Baltic Sea air.

It’s easy to imagine these islands and waterways buzzing come July, filled with sailing enthusiasts, day-trippers and seasonal residents toing and froing from summerhouses. However, on a cold November weekday the water was calm and the air still, and as dusk fell the city’s lights winked and flickered in the distance. I could feel the grime of a London winter seeping from my skin; it felt cleansing, stimulating, a reprieve from the stresses and strains of everyday life. I was hooked already.

Disembarking at Vaxholm Harbour, cries of “Tak” and “Hej-då” rang through the cold air as islanders hurried down the gangplank and across the harbour towards warm homes (and steaming bowls of svenska fisksoppa, no doubt) and we headed towards the welcome sight of the Waxholms Hotell looming out of the dusk.

This splendid old fishing hotel was opened in 1902 by Augusta Karlsson, an extraordinary woman from Sweden’s southern district of Vetlanda. Augusta was a true archipelago entrepreneur who, having been orphaned in her early teens, moved to Stockholm to make a living. She worked as a maid, a seamstress and in catering on the railroads before turning her attention to boats. Here she went into business with the Waxholmsbolaget ferry company to purchase the Waxholms Hotell, becoming the General Manager – no mean feat for a woman at the turn of the century. With one of only three liquor licenses on the island, a thriving music scene and spectacular views across the archipelago, Augusta and her hotel helped put Vaxholm on the map. At the time of our visit the Waxholms Hotell was coming to the end of a refurbishment project, having recently changed hands for the first time in 35 years. After several decades of nautical inspired décor, the new owners were carefully restoring it to its original 1880-1920s glory, complete with a grand bar, fittingly named The Augusta for its pioneering founder.

Vaxholm itself has a rich seafaring past, famous for its role in defending Sweden from marauding would-be conquerors throughout the centuries, as well as its fleet of strömming (Baltic herring) fishermen. History enthusiasts may spend hours exploring its fortifications, citadel, museums and winding lanes, but Vaxholm’s wide-ranging charms include birch and fir woods for balmy walks, beaches for bathers and boutique shops, restaurants and chic B&Bs for pleasure-seekers and foodies. The islanders urged us to come back in the summer to revel in the archipelago party season, but for us hyped-up citydwellers it was the cold, grey skies, the rich autumnal hues, the closed sign of the ice-cream parlour clattering in the breeze and houses shut up for the winter months that signalled paradise.

Once filled with fishermen, farmers and sailors eking out a living from the islands and sea, the archipelago’s economy now feasts on summer residents and tourism, but come winter the population shrinks and today’s islanders need to be creative to keep vital lifelines open through the shorter dark days. We heard stories of local entrepreneurs including cheese-makers, craft beer-brewers, boutique B&B owners and even a mobile slaughterhouse that travelled from island to island to service farms and small-holdings. Enter one such creative soul, Captain Anders Borjesson – a charming grocer-cum-skipper who invited us onboard his taxi-boat for a private tour of the local waterways.

Passing along the strait with traditional wooden houses on one side and the imposing citadel on the other, we raced through narrow passages and weaved in and out of spiky skerries before reaching open water, where the real magic of the archipelago’s natural beauty revealed itself. This watery wonderland with its silvered rocks, windswept pines and grass-covered hillocks was breathtaking and we had it all to ourselves. Waterside cabins and summerhouses of all shapes, sizes and hues adorn most of the islands, from modest huts painted in the traditional Falu Rödfärg rust-red paint with their jaunty white-trimmed windows, to elegant pastel-coloured mansions. We came ashore at a white sandy beach on an uninhabited island and, filled with the Swallows & Amazons spirit of young children, raced up a small hill to find the perfect camping spot - the fire would go here, the tent there, we’d bathe in these shallow waters, and we’d forage for berries, if it wasn’t quite so freezing . . .

In summer it’s reputedly difficult to find a Swede in Stockholm as they all flee the city for their holiday homes, and with this natural paradise on their doorstep it’s not hard to see why. The Swedes take their summers very seriously and messing about in boats on the archipelago would be a serious treat under the Scandinavian sun. But for a couple of weary Londoners, puttering about on a very cold, quiet corner of the earth with its expanse of iridescent water, island havens, open skies and rich hues of green, copper and gold, it was the autumn archipelago and its calm beauty that captured our hearts and imaginations. And, just in case we needed any more persuading, as Captain Anders turned about for our return leg to Vaxholm we were offered one last treasure. A giant eagle perched atop its rocky maroon beat its wings once, twice, a third time, and made for the heavens, circling up and up into the low grey skies.

Returning to London, I waxed lyrical about the archipelago to anyone and everyone, including my permanently insouciant and well-travelled father. “Well, yes,” he said, “the Stockholm archipelago is a wonderful part of the world and you certainly should go back in the summer. But if you want a real Swedish midsummer adventure . . .” I poured us another whisky and let the storyteller take me on a road trip up the east coast, round the Gulf of Bothnia, across the Finnish border at Haparanda and on a tiny plane from Kimi to the transient sunshine state of the Arctic Circle where, “it was blazing hot, there were flowers everywhere and we partied all day and night long under a never-setting sun.” Time to get the map out.

Extract from Lodestars Anthology Issue 5: Sweden

Corsican Craft

Words by Kieren Toscan & Photographs by Renae Smith

It was October when we arrived in Bastia, Corsica’s northernmost city. The summer had already left on its annual journey south, taking with it the best of the heat and the bulk of the tourists; a draw I would argue was a win, allowing us to have the still-sun- kissed island all to ourselves. Alas, as a result there are fewer flights to and from Corsica at this time of year and this, combined with vagaries of airline delays, meant it had taken the best part of the day to fly from London. Nevertheless, rest and Napoleonic history were on my mind - even if they required further travel - so my wife and I left the airport to chase the softening glow of the sun west towards La Balagne.

Bastia to La Balagne is not far as the crow flies and, even accounting for the narrow roads that wind and unwind along the way, it should have taken little more than an hour to drive the distance, yet we found ourselves arriving well on the wrong side of two. Traversing the tip of the high granite backbone that runs almost the length of the island proved to be more than we bargained for. But this wasn’t a challenge of conditions, rather one of attention.

No sooner had we started our journey than the landscape began to show us glimpses of its harsh beauty, beckoning us to stop at every turn and marvel at its offerings. Partially covered in dark green, fragrant scrub - which makes up a biome known as maquis - the ranges and peaks seemed to fold over and into themselves, again and again off into the horizon, and grew more indiscernible as the sun receded, almost to the point of confusion. Was that another range? An angry bank of dark clouds making its way towards us? Or something else entirely?

It was harder still to keep moving once the ranges had parted and dropped away to reveal the deep blue of the Ligurian Sea, still sparkling in the early evening light. Bordered in parts by golden sand, topped with the occasional white cap, and finished with gusts of clean, salty air, the scene was one we had known would be bountiful, but was unexpected nonetheless - worlds away from the wintery London we had so recently departed. By the time we reached La Balagne we were wholly enlivened and rendered utterly refreshed, retiring with the travails of travels past a faint memory.

Given our glorious introduction to Corsica, we awoke the next morning greedily wondering what more it would gift us. The answer revealed itself as we arrived in Pigna, a small medieval village of sand-coloured buildings, blue shutters and cobbled alleys, perched on a hillside with expansive views towards the coast. It was here that we had the good fortune to meet some of the artisans of Strada di l’Artigiani - the Artisans’ Road - a serpentine, scenic drive between the villages of La Balagne, conceived in 1993 to help regenerate the region and promote Corsican heritage. Along this route one can find craftsmen and women creating everything from sculptures, ceramics, honey and wine, to leather goods, music boxes, wooden flutes and guitars. Part of the joy of journeying along Strada di l’Artigiani is found not just in the creations encountered but in the time spent with the artisans themselves after you’re welcomed into their workshops, where they reveal just how keen they are for visitors to understand a little more about them, their art and their island home.

Renae and Kieren's full article appears in the Lodestars Anthology France magazine. You can order a copy here.

Gothenburg Design

In September, photographer Marioly Vazquez ventured north, travelling to West Sweden’s Gothenburg for a taste of the city’s design, interiors and culture - as a lover of pastel hues and all things Scandi, it seemed wise to head to the source.

Long synonymous with textiles, Gothenburg has evolved into a creative hub, a place where old meets new, a mecca for those seeking pioneering design and furniture stores, classic fashion, postcard-worthy Swedish scenes, museums, culinary wonders, street art and local handicrafts.

Marioly’s trip took her from the city centre to picturesque Borås, Lidköping and Bjertorp Castle, and her images, collected over a long weekend, have us yearning for Scandinavian settings and climes. Displayed below, these photographs act as a guide to this wonderful, lesser-explored region - and we hope they inspire a little wanderlust!

The above images were taken around the streets of Gothenburg, and capture a fika break (the act of taking time to reflect and re-charge with the aid of coffee and cake) at Da Matteo. Below are images of the architecturally-delightful sauna in Jubileumsparken park … the combination of hot, cold and natural material doing wonders for body and mind.

Below, Gothenburg’s utterly luxurious Hotel Pigalle, a boutique hideaway inspired by Paris’ more decadent abodes and boasting the utterly ornate restaurant Atelier and Bar Amuse - spaces designed for foodies with a serious passion for interiors.

Above, lunch at Michelin-starred SK Mat & Människor, where chef Stefan Karlsson’s creations are made using the very best local and seasonal produce. Below, Pumphuset, which is also sure to delight design-focused gourmands.

Above, Bjertorp Castle, Sweden’s youngest art nouveau castle, whose restaurant is praised in The White Guide (Sweden’s guide to the country’s finest fare) - best followed with a spot of apple picking and jaunt to the Rörstrand Museum, which is dedicated to Europe’s oldest porcelain factories.

Above, pausing for a final night at Naturum Vänerskärgården - Victoriahuset, one of Sweden’s chicest hideaways. Below, a wander through the Swedish countryside, ending in Lächö Castle Garden, tended by Head Gardener Simon Irvine. Clearly there is much to adore when venturing to West Sweden. To find out more, be sure to pop over to the Visit Sweden website.

The India Magazine

We’re at home - like so many right now - and looking back at past projects while pondering what will come next. Before being forced to slow down like this, it felt like we were running from project to project (which was glorious in its own way), falling utterly in love with the country we were exploring, before being overtaken by wanderlust anew.

Thinking about the adventures we’re embarked on, the tales and work amassed, the people we’ve met, has been surprisingly comforting - it’s not often that we take the time to pause and remember, to be excited by what we have done, rather than what we hope to do next. It has been wonderful to take stock of the beauty and passion out there, and to be reminded that when this passes - which is shall - that travel, curiosity, respect and support will be vital.

We wanted to share the editor’s letter from our India magazine (which is still available here) , as well as a few photographs from the issue. Hope the colour and besotted ramblings bring a little joy.

Creating these magazines is joyous, a chance to see the world in extraordinary detail and share the work of contributors driven by awe, curiosity and a need to create. The process is both inspiring and unpredictable, with each issue taking on a life of its own, but I can’t think of any as delightfully eccentric or lively as India.

Or as demanding for that matter - for how do you capture a country this diverse? I considered producing two magazines - North and South - or focusing on a single state, yet ultimately decided not to meddle with the Lodestars’ status quo. We would, as always, offer vignettes, snapshots of India’s attractions, culture and communities, its myriad of ever-shifting personalities. For even if our focus had been narrowed, you simply can’t do India’s immensity justice.

Understandably, selecting this issue’s featured locations proved challenging. Our best hope was to offer a geographical spread, a window into worlds which, whilst they might seem remote, are still kith and kin to Mother India. But I also made some personal choices. For me it was vital that Darjeeling be featured. The gateway to the Himalayas, this is an India far removed from the sun-baked Rajasthan I’d explored - a place where great snows fall and time seems to slow. My grandfather, Alan, spent his childhood in Darjeeling, on Nagri Farm, a working tea plantation to this day, where he remained until Partition, a time of heartbreak and violence seared into his memory yet rarely discussed. You can only imagine the horror and pain this period caused for Indians. Alan had grown up looking at the mountains, too young to be aware of the political and social ramifications of his family’s presence, yet absolutely alive to the magnificence of the world around him.

I wasn’t sure how appropriate it was to share this story, especially when on the ground, but what’s surprising about India is how open everyone is when it comes to discussing history and how willing people are to share their stories and listen to those of others.

This country is generous to travellers. It is bewitching, tumultuous, electrifying, maddening and addictive. You will adore or despair of it, whatever emotion it draws out guaranteed to be extreme. Travelling here you nd that life’s nuances, its highs and lows, are on full display. There will be moments when it all feels too much, when your mind yearns for calm, but then you’ll see something that takes your breath away. India will sweep you up, envelop you, and leave you enraptured. Then you depart and all those experiences seem like a distant dream, so at odds with the ordinariness of your everyday. People ask me what I thought of India and I have to take a moment to remind myself I was even there. And then it all comes flooding back.

Alive as it is, this issue is slightly different. We’ve published something particularly photo-heavy; a magazine that will take you on a journey you feel rather than understand - one I hope allows you to respond to its pages the way you would to scenes on the ground. You’ll find within images of Holi in Varanasi, a lesser-known Goa, reclaimed fortresses, architectural marvels, beaches by the Arabian Sea, cosmopolitan madness, rural artisans, temple-dotted mountains and wilderness.

I feel even now, trying to describe a magazine that describes an impossible country, I’m failing somewhat, because India is beyond words. It is changing, harrowing, rousing, radiant and unparalleled. It is all things at once - constantly, unendingly - and more than I could ever say.

Annapurna Mellor

We chat to Lodestars Anthology cover photographer Annapurna Mellor about the joys of photography and travel - to see more of her work be sure to check out our India magazine here. 

What drew you to photography?

I never studied photography and initially I fell into it. After I graduated from university, I felt quite lost in my life and decided to travel solo around Asia for a year. I first went to Nepal to hike the mountain I was named after, and then continued through India, South East Asia and Mongolia. I started with a small camera which I didn’t know how to use outside of Auto mode, and throughout that year got more and more into shooting. I learnt techniques from other travellers and the photos I was taking got better and better. I had a blog at the time and family and friends back home started telling me I should do it as a career. My dad is actually a travel photographer too, so I think I have a natural eye from him which is perhaps how my images developed very quickly at the beginning. I loved the idea of being able to have a job where I could travel and tell stories of people and places around the world. Finding the incredible work of photographers like Steve McCurry and Alison Wright just inspired me even more. Of course, over the few years since then I have found out that this is a very hard career to make money from, and it isn’t just all about travelling and taking photos, but my love and passion for image making has always carried me through.

How would you describe your style?

I describe myself as a travel photographer because while I shoot a mixture of portraits, street photography and landscapes, I am always trying to portray a sense of place through my images. I want people to look at my photographs and feel like they are in a place; meeting the people, walking the streets. My work definitely has a documentary angle, as I’ve always been drawn to cultures when I travel and I love capturing people and telling their stories.

Has your style changed over time?

Yes, to a degree. I only started taking photographs around four years ago and I found very quickly that I mostly connected to photographing people and that is also what my audience responded to. Quickly my portraits have become what I am known for, and they are still my favourite thing to shoot. Overtime, my style has definitely become more refined and I think my skills as a storyteller have improved. In the beginning, I was just shooting things which I thought were beautiful, without much regard for how the images fitted together and how they might make a story. Now it’s one of the main things I think about when I’m shooting.

Has there been a particularly memorable shoot?

I’ve had some amazing opportunities to shoot beautiful places and people all over the world, and different shoots stand out for different reasons. My first big magazine assignment (for National Geographic Traveller) was along the English/Scottish Borders. It was a location totally different for me, and after having spent a few years living in Asia building my portfolio, I was nervous if I could capture the UK in a way which still felt like my style. I took my sister with me as my driver/model and we spent four days driving along the border. It rained constantly, we had to sleep in an unheated barn one night (in early February) due to a lack of any budget, and we ended up in a lot of locations I was supposed to shoot thinking ‘is this it?’. It was a really tough shoot but in the end I think I captured some images which really celebrated the beauty of the place, and it made me realise that sometimes challenging shoots end up being the most rewarding.

You've travelled the world taking photographs, do you have a favourite location or subject?

India is my favourite place both to travel and to take photographs. I feel a very strong connection with the country and when I’m there I feel very at home. As a photographer, it’s a paradise. The colours, the faces, the festivals and spirituality. I feel like I could spend a lifetime photographing India and there would still be more to see, more to capture.

Can you tell us about capturing the Lodestars Anthology India cover image?

That photograph was taken at the Pushkar Lake in Pushkar, Rajasthan a few years ago during my second trip to the country. Pushkar is a gorgeous little town between Jaipur and Jodhpur, and I spent almost a month there over the annual Camel Fair, capturing local herders and families on the dunes.

Some days, I would take time off and sit around the lake where it was very peaceful and quiet. Most of the lake is for pilgrims, who bathe in the holy waters, which are said to be tears of Lord Shiva. I was sat on the opposite side one day when all these women in vibrant dress walked past. I loved the contrast of their bright clothes with the white background of Pushkar town and the lake. Little unexpected moments of magic like this often happen in India.

You also run ROAM magazine, can you tell us about this project?

I started ROAM two years ago with my sister Athena. I felt like there was a lack of a platform which focused on storytelling and cultures, and too much travel media was becoming about the traveller not about the place. I wanted to change the conversation about travel, and create a platform to celebrate the work of travellers who seek out deeper cultural connections and off the beaten track places.

We publish photo essays, stories, interviews, guides and features from all over the world. We aim to delve into places a little more off the beaten track, or to highlight cultures you may never have come across. Imagery is a huge focus for us, and we love finding beautiful photography to illustrate the magazine with. We are contributor based, and have published stories from amazing photographers, writers and creatives from around the world. Our aim is eventually to make ROAM into a physical magazine, full of stories and beautiful photography.

What advise do you have for someone looking to begin a photography career?

Firstly, this is a really hard and unpredictable profession and you really need to love it with all your heart to want to pursue it as a career. If you do, then I think it’s really important to develop your own style and unique way of telling stories. This is what will make you stand out from everyone else.

To see more of Annapurna’s work, click here.

Food, Life and Love with Antonio Carlucio

Interview by Liz Schaffer & Photographs by Tom Bunning

Very sadly Commendatore Antonio Carluccio OBE passed away in November last year. We hope you'll enjoy reading this interview with him, first published in Lodestars Anthology Issue 4, Italy. 

Proudly declaring himself to be a cook rather than a chef (by his own definition a chef is professional while a cook does it for passion), Antonio Carluccio was the quintessential Italian about London. Driven by his zest for food, life and Italy, it was the passing on of wisdom that inspires much of Carluccio’s work. Arriving in England via Austria and Germany, where he worked as a wine merchant for almost a decade, Carluccio launched a fleet of eponymous restaurants, ran some of the capital’s culinary icons, became a BBC fixture and was awarded an OBE, which he retitled his Order Boletus Edulis - the Latin name for mushroom, his signature. Young at heart, Carluccio’s enthusiasm was invigorating; proof that life should be lived in the pursuit of pleasure, ardour and flavour.

Your background and training are quite unconventional. Can you tell us about this and how you came to be a cook?

I was born on the Amalfi Coast and was the fifth son of a stationmaster. [We were] transported up North where I grew up near Asti, then I moved a little further up and worked for Olivetti. At the time Olivetti was something fantastic but I didn’t like it very much and I was thinking I could holiday on the Riviera and [there] I met an Austrian girl and we fell in love. She came to work in Olivetti and when my youngest brother died in 1960 she said, “why didn’t I come to Vienna?”.

I cooked all the time because in Vienna to have the food my mother used to [make] I had to cook. I remembered what she was doing because in Italy when you are the young son you participate in everything.

In Vienna I started to cook what I knew. I didn’t know very much but I cook and cook and I’m sharing it with friends and frequenting bohemian cafes. You meet incredible people and I like art so I met Oskar Kokoschka and Max Ernst and we were sharing pasta. I was having fun and cooking all the time. It was only when I came to England in 1975 [and] I was still cooking, that my ex-wife [suggested], “why you don’t [enter] the best cook competition of The Sunday Times?”. I did and I was in the final but for me it wasn’t professional, I was a wine merchant, but funnily enough the press began to contact me. For them I was ‘the Italian’, flamboyant and believing in mushrooms and pasta, and so I was in the press.

At the same time my ex-brother-in-law Terence Conran, the owner of the Neal Street Restaurant in Covent Garden, asked me to run the restaurant and I said, “look I don’t cook, I don’t do administration, but I will be there doing the restaurant and running it”, which I did. Then came the BBC and I did quite a [few] food and drink programmes. My first Italian series was going to Italy doing twelve half an hours in all the regions. The other series was with Gennaro Contaldo but I did quite a lot in between and I was also writing books. I can’t stay doing nothing.

Do you think people are drawn to the Italian attitude towards food?

Italians live for food. When we were children going to school in the morning you’re already preoccupied by what you would eat in the day. It was the end of war time and the question to other children was “what will you eat for lunch?” and after the meal it was “what did you have for lunch?”, constantly. I remember in the afternoon, when you’re boys you do things, sometimes we were stealing a cabbage from the field and cutting it very, very thinly. Somebody [brought] olive oil, somebody a bit of vinegar and salt and pepper and we were making salad with bread. It was the best salad ever.

Is there an ethos or technique that sets your food apart?

I created a motto for my cooking, ‘mof mof’, minimum of fuss, maximum of flavour, and as such I don’t go to the lengths to elaborate on food because the most important thing is the taste. If you have the taste the look can be indifferent.

In fact we have items in Italy called brutte ma buone, ugly but good; fruit, even biscuits, that show you the possibility of the flavour. I dedicate everything to that which is obtained by regional food. Italy is famed for its 20 diverse regions.

What do you think makes them so distinctive?

Italy was unified in 1861 but I think in spirit each region is a country. You find culture in Italy from everywhere because each one was coming, the French, the Persians, everybody, to Italy. Even Alexander the Great was there. They united Italy in 1861 but there are different languages, different dialects, different customs. But they are united in thinking of the food as one of the best things.

They may be united by a love of food but is there still competition between the regions?

Between little villages! If somebody makes a dish someone in the next village will say, “ahh but I do it with this and this and this”. Immediately there is a conversation. I remember as a child if you were encountering somebody on road and it was lunchtime you would say, “do you want to have lunch?”. It was very simple. They would come home with you. So this is the attitude of the Italian, they really care. I always say that Italy has two or three million Michelin starred chefs, they’re all the housewives.

What do you love most about Italian cooking?

The Italians, what they have in front of others, the Germans, Austrians, English, French, is the attitude. I remember when we used to live in the train station my mother would say, “go downstairs and see if the trains are departing on time” in order to put the pasta in the water so that when papa was coming up the pasta was perfect. When you grow up with this sense of procedure and [significance] then you know food is important. She was really thinking to please other people because cooking for others is an act of love.

[Because of the various regions and diversity] I think that Italy has a more complete menu. There are 600 shapes of pasta and each can be done as a specialty with a special sauce, special ingredients. Italians want good taste and they’re prepared to use all those wonderful shops. In Napoli especially there were shops selling only pasta, and the pasta was loose, not in packets but in drawers, and all the leftovers were put into one ‘special’ and this is for pasta e fagioli - bean soup with pasta - which is wonderful, all bits and pieces. So they really have fun. While other nations have fun in eating the Italian has fun in thinking and imagining it.

What advice do you have for prospective chefs?

You have to desire food, not being greedy but being discerning about what you eat, and pay attention and love your food. If you don’t have those three things you stop cooking because there would be no point, it would just be a job, no fun. Food, it’s not only preparation but fun in eating. It’s good for the brain, for the body, the spirit, for everything.

Wanaka Wandering

Words & Photography by Angela Terrell

It’s immensely satisfying whiling away a week in Wanaka. Only an hour from Queenstown on New Zealand’s South Island and sitting on the shores of tranquil Lake Wanaka, this town merges arresting topography with holiday charm; its dramatic backdrop, the mountains of Mt Aspiring National Park, the perfect playground for an array of activities that would keep even the most demanding outdoor enthusiast content. During winter, nearby Cardrona and Treble Cone are ideal skiing destinations, but in summer, whether tramping, cycling, paragliding, kayaking, jet-boating or clinging precariously to a via ferrata, it’s a paradise for adventurers, photographers or those who find simply sitting and enjoying the serenity gratification enough.

Any opportunity to leave the city behind and explore nature is welcome in my books, but it’s the mountains that elicit the most visceral response. I’m never sure if it’s their immensity or their harsh and unforgiving beauty that appeals to me most, but going heli-hiking with Eco Tours was a marvellous opportunity to lose myself in a mountain wonderland.  

Soaring along the braided river and over serrated ridge-lines we swung down sentinel-like outcrops to three lakes hidden within the folds of the alpine terrain and impossible to see until we were literally above them. This is real hiking with no marked trail, the tussock grass providing stability and necessary hand-holds as we traversed the steep mountainside. The views were magnificent though; razor sharp mountains as far as the eye could see, glaciers glistening under the scorching sun and lakes illuminated in rainbow hues; the emerald, aquamarine and turquoise rivalling any tropical oasis. 

If helicopters aren’t your thing, the walk to Rob Roy Glacier is equally breath-taking. Starting from the carpark in the flats of the river valley you ascend (sharply at times) through cool verdant forest to the Upper Lookout sitting in a glacier-carved basin, the enveloping schist mountains softened by carpets of dandelions, terraces of cascading waterfalls and glaciers clinging to the mountain like buttery icing. Sitting by the torrenting stream it was hard not to feel a mild sense of unease; the wind rushing down its course ferociously loud and obviously reflecting the amount of water coming off its melting core, and I wondered what would happen if a wall of ice clinging precipitously to the mountain above carved off. In landscape this erratic and magnificent a sense of powerlessness is inevitable, although once reassured that the glacier was still a kilometre away (perspective is definitely a challenge in this environment) and any falling ice would remain in the arms of craggy gorges above, it was possible to enjoy the all-encompassing vista with a little more ease!

Closer to home the Glendhu Track around Lake Wanaka is perfect for walking or cycling. Starting in town (after first organising a wonderful picnic from Big Fig - slow food served fast is their motto) what started as a relaxed ride became rock-hopping over knobby hillsides, the hairpin turns a reminder that any loss of concentration could result in falling into the water glistening like Christmas tinsel below. But around every corner was a panorama well worth assiduous pedalling.

As weather is ever-changing in New Zealand, options for days where hiking wouldn’t be enjoyable is always advisable, driving to Blue Pools on the Haast road a great choice. Setting off on an inclement morning the scenery played a constant game of cat and mouse with the weather, moody clouds sheathing the mountains so they appeared as ghostly suggestions then breaking to allow bursts of sunlight that saturated hues and added to the dramatic landscape. Passing bucolic sheep-filled paddocks encased by craggy hills then Lake Hawea, the road hugging the shoreline like a velvet ribbon, we reached the Pools where walking through ferny undergrowth laced with skeletal tree-trunks we stood under moss-laden limbs of rainforest trees (the perfect umbrella) and admired water so clear it was possible to see trout languishing in its aquamarine depths.

Of course there’s one activity that tops the lot and costs nothing, and that’s sitting by Wanaka’s lakeside as the sun slips below the mountain tops and the water changes chameleon-like from orange to pink then purple to eventually black as the day’s heat softens. Ducks share the shoreline with people frolicking in the shallows and picnickers chat as they enjoy delights such as fish and chips from Eric’s or pizza from Francesca’s food trucks. Not a mobile phone in sight, laughter floats across the ripples and the spectacle is better than any screensaver, its simple beauty ensuring an overwhelming sense of contentment. Whether whiling away a week or moseying a month, Wanaka is a delight for all.   

Paramount House Hotel

Retuning to Sydney on my annual pilgrimage south there are certain things I need to do. Have a scoop of mint chock chip at Messina, indulge in a burger or two at Harpoon Harry, swim in the sea at Camp Cove, wander the Wendy Whitely Gardens, bask in all things Australia at the Unicorn and, because being a bit of a cliché is fun sometimes, be on Bondi for at least one sunrise. On my most recent journey back to The Great Southern Land however I found a glorious new activity to indulge in - swapping the spare-bedroom-meets-storage-room I normally claim in my childhood home for a Loft room at the newly opened and utterly gorgeous Paramount House Hotel. This brick and copper-adored structure, in ever-trendy Surry Hills and just a short amble from the transport hub that is Central Station, is a destination in it's own right. Across the road sit Longrain and Chin Chin, restaurants any gourmand would swear by, and within the building you'll find Golden Age Cinema and Bar (the ideal date location for lovers of all things a little bit retro), long-adored breakfast haunt Paramount Coffee and co-working hub The Office Space. 

Having once been the offices and warehouses of Paramount Picture Studios, the 29 room hotel, which took four years to fully restore, feels like it comes with creative history. The interiors are warm, almost earthy - there are plants throughout and natural tones and textures abound. You'll find polished concrete, exposed brick, floor to ceiling windows (in the Loft room at least), rich furnishings, a lift with the best wallpaper in town, French linens you long to secret away and a Japanese style bath made for soaking. The artwork has been curated by the nearby China Heights Gallery, while check in within the lofty lobby comes with a welcome drink - I've got nothing but good things to say about the the sour beery from Marrickville brewery Wildflower - and plenty of indie reading material. 

Paramount House Hotel is the work of Melbourne-based Breathe Architecture and you can really sense the love and attention that has gone into making it something distinctive - an industrial-chic hideaway you don't want to leave. And you don't have to. Check in, admire the set up, catch a film downstairs, listen to the sounds of Surrey Hills, raid the cheese and wine in the mini bar and bask in the brilliance of one of Sydney's newest additions.  

Rooms from $240  paramounthousehotel.com

Photos by Sharyn Cairns & Tom Ross

Rastoke, Croatia

Only half an hour from where the tourists gather at Plitvice Lakes National Park, is the little village of Rastoke. Peaceful, picturesque and nestled amongst the trees, you won’t find yourself tiptoeing around the crowds here.

Over thousands of years, cascades and waterfalls have been carved into the limestone landscape by the Sluničica River. As people settled in the area they built their grain-milling town using the water available around them. History is written on the walls here. Indeed, if you’re arriving from the coast or capital, you’ll likely drive through a number of abandoned villages and homes – all scarred by war, heartbreak and stillness.

Known for its authentic wood-shingled homes and cultural traditions, Rastoke is a place you come to relax after the bustle of Zagreb, the thrills of a Croatian coastal adventures, or the crowds that rightly flock to Split and Dubrovnik. You only need half a day here to soak it in and unwind – preferably in the afternoon so you can watch the town go about its day and settle in for a wonderful local dinner. Try the bread they still make with the local grains and river water – it’s been popular for over a hundred years.

These words and photographs are from Lis Dingjan, the founder of and photographer behind Nowhere & Everywhere, which merges travel and environmentalism. She has visited over 60 countries, actually likes green juices, jumps in every waterfall and thinks we could all spend a little more time on the open road.

Canoe North Adventures

It feels like a lifetime ago that we created our Canada magazine, but certain memories remain gloriously vivid. Travelling along the Keele River in the Northwest Territories with Canoe North Adventures was an utterly life-changing experience. Not only was it one of those rare chances to venture somewhere truly wild - the sort of place you might assume was impossible to find in our modern world - but it allowed me to meet the most astounding people, hear their stories and physically push myself in the most liberating way. It's been two years since I ventured north ... I think I'm due a return journey.

When travelling through some of the globe’s more remote locations you’re likely to have a moment of clarity. Miles from normality, you feel like you’ve found another world, a place where only your immediate reality matters. For me this happened on the Keele River in the Sahtu Region of the Northwest Territories. I’d been paddling in the bow of a canoe for ten days when, late on a sunny summer evening, the water around me became a reflected mass of rose gold clouds, the perfect mirror of the sky above. With no discernible horizon, it was as if I was travelling through a dreamscape where down was up and up was down; the surreal setting a reminder that in this world there is true, untameable beauty. And to uncover it, I’d recommend travelling north.

Along the Keele River you’ll encounter the kind of landscape they envisioned when they first thought of the sublime. It’s a setting that makes you feel small, dwarfed by the surroundings. There are mountains chiselled away by wind and rain, the last patches of summer snow clinging to their peaks, and marbled cliff faces seemingly painted into the scene. But rather than feeling overwhelmed, you’re honoured. It is difficult to find something so majestic, so much bigger than yourself. And here it is, not all that far from the Arctic Circle, a region where many landmarks remain nameless and a canoe is the most desirable form of transportation.

Copies of our Canada magazine are still available to buy here.

Que Sera Sera

Shedding a little light on what our contributors get up to outside the magazine. 

Que  Sera  Sera  documents  a  year  long  FA  Cup  campaign  across  England  with  full  access  to  the  stadiums  throughout  the  competition,  providing  a  looking  glass  in  which  to  view  the  modern  game  beyond  the  glitz  and  glamour.  The  series  is  now  being  turned  into  a  photo-book  with  a  kickstarter  campaign  in  collaboration  with  renowned  documentary  publishers  Bluecoat  Press.  It’s  currently  live  with  only  a  days  to  go  to  make  it  a  reality  -  kickstarter.com/projects/queserasera/que-sera-sera/

The  FA  Cup  is  one  of  Britain's  greatest  sporting  institutions. With  a  history  stretching  back  to  1871,  it  is  the  oldest  football  competition  in  the  world  and  still  possesses  huge  cachet  for  players  and  supporters  alike. Photographers  Joseph  Fox  and  Orlando  Gili  saw  the  FA  Cup  as  an  opportunity  to  reverse  the  camera  and  capture  fan  culture  from  the  top  teams  down  to  the  grassroots,  taking  you  on  a  footballing  right  of  passage from  the  perspective  of  the  fans.

Que  Sera  Sera  tracks  the  campaign  beginning  in  mid  August  during  the  extra  preliminary  rounds,  a  few  miles  down  the  road  from  Wembley  stadium.  Following  each  winner  into  the  next  round,  the  two  photographers  travelled  a  combined  total  of  more  than  3,000  miles  over  10  months,  taking  in  13  rounds  and  15  games  (including  two  replays), returning  full  circle  back  to  Wembley  for  the  final. Uniting  every  fan  across the  country  during  each  round  you  can  hear  a  hopeful  yet  resigned  chant  reverberating  around  the  terraces  ‘Que  sera,  sera,  whatever  will  be,  will  be,  the  future's  not  ours  to  see.’

The  series  of  images  build  up  to  provide  an  anthropological  look  into  Britain’s  obsession  with  football, at  every  level  of  the  game. It  questions  whether  the  country’s  preeminent  domestic  cup  competition  still  retains  it’s  magic,  in  the  light  of  competition  from  top  flight  football  leagues  and  the  European  cup competitions.

The Old Clare Hotel

Sydney has changed since I left for London seven years ago. It's still an utterly glorious harbour-side oasis adored for its coffee and cafes, and it still has beaches I yearn for on cold English mornings. But it has become noticeably cooler in my absence. The galleries that were little more than tiny, unknown establishments in my early 20s have flourished and spread, architects are taking greater risks, food is increasingly daring and festivals of light and creativity seem to be on everybody's minds. This may be the distance speaking, but I love what Sydney has become.

This change is most noticeable when booking into the city's hotels - and Chippendale's The Old Clare Hotel in particular. Constructed from two heritage-listed buildings (the original Clare Hotel pub and the Carlton & United Breweries Administration Building), this 62 room property, part of the Design Hotels collection, is the warm, light-filled definition of industrial chic. A place that honours its history, embraces Australiana and makes leaving its welcoming, elegant interior very difficult indeed

Within the hotel's walls natural tones abound, with each room (all subtly different in design) boasting high ceilings and massive windows. There's polished wood, exposed brick, marble tiling and gleaming concrete, with glass used in communal areas to invite the outside world in and draw attention to the bones of the original buildings - metal external stairwells transformed into pieces of art and brick walls mirroring the streets beyond. There are pendant lights and vintage furnishings (the dentist chair by reception sets to tone immediately), all of which nod the Chippendale's industrial past. Colour is added with the use of soft furnishings, which include cushions inspired by Australia's wildlife and wildflowers and throws you long to secret away. 

Once a lesser-known haunt coveted by locals and uni students (music posters from its earlier incarnation have survived, which look rather glorious beside the brilliantly retro central bar), the revamped Clare Bar is open to all, with many of the cocktails made from spirits produced by the local distilleries popping up across the city. A rooftop pool beckons on warmer days - the chaos of the city seeming particularly far away - while the attached Kensington Street Social restaurant is the ideal breakfast haunt. Those unwilling to leave the lushness of their rooms are able to sample the fare as part of the in-room dining service. The hotel is also right beside Spice Alley, perfect if you have a hankering for something Japanese, Malaysian, Chinese ... I could go on. This is Sydney street food and accommodation done right. Here's hoping my hometown continues to thrive.

theoldclarehotel.com.au

The British Journal of Photography: Creative Brief

Extract from The British Journal of Photography, December 2017 Journalist, photographer and lover of independent magazines, Liz Schaffer moved from Sydney to London in 2011, a city that “felt like the epicentre of all things creative”, she says. Combining her passions with an innate curiosity for travelling, she launched Lodestars Anthology in September 2014 with the England issue, subsequently dedicating each journal to the exploration of a single country, including Scotland, Italy, Sweden and Canada. Together with her team and ever-growing list of contributors worldwide, she has also recently released her first compendium book, titled Lodestars Anthology: Pathways.

What are the first steps you take when working on a new issue? It’s a fluid process – our country of choice [for the issue] and the contributors we work with play a crucial role in shaping the publication. Sometimes we select a country when a photographer sends through work that we simply have to publish – a ‘love at first sight’ reaction. At other times it’s a friendly suggestion or an awareness that we are yet to cover a particular corner of the globe.

Do you select photographers based on their location? I always strive to create content based on experience. So getting in touch with photographers and writers on the ground, those who know a destination like only a local can, is crucial. That said, over the years we’ve built up an amazing and invaluable network of contributors, so we also come up with pieces by attempting to match a photographer’s style with the perceived feel of a place, and then send them out to capture it. When doing this we want to give them as much time on the ground as possible; when shooting for travel you’re quite often at the mercy of the elements, making time and flexibility essential. A minimum of five days is ideal, but I’ll do all I can to make this longer.

Do you have any guiding principles about collaborating with people? As obvious as it may sound, a good working relationship is crucial. I am in awe of the work we are sent – images that do seemingly impossible things with light, reveal the magic of the wild or capture a community’s verve and vibrancy. I do my best, whenever possible, to let my photographers know their creative worth. It’s also important to be friendly and open. Magazines, especially independent ones, tend to be incredibly personal endeavours. Budgets are tight, the hours are ridiculous and a work/life balance isn’t always there, so being able to get on and laugh with those you work with, getting genuinely excited when their name pops up in your inbox, more than justifies the difficult days.

How has the focus changed for independent magazines? One of the trends I adore is the increased space and respect given to illustration and photography – it feels like a return to the sweep and scope afforded press photographers in the 1960s and 70s. There is less reliance on stock imagery and a growing appreciation for originality and tailored commissions, which goes hand in hand with the reimagining of the magazine as a moreish physical object. People have begun to collect again. It’s understood that the magazines that sell are those that invest in their contributors and offer amazing content – a sense of escape and wonder that only exceptional images and writing can allow.

Are there any photographers you have particularly enjoyed working with? I adore different photographers for different reasons but two people we have worked with on multiple issues, and asked to contribute to our new book, Lodestars Anthology: Pathways, are Tom Bunning and Renae Smith. Both have such unique styles – they clearly see the world quite differently. Tom can make any landscape magical and his ability to manipulate light and shadow is almost otherworldly. He also puts his subjects at ease like no one else and, as a result, what he captures is wonderfully authentic.

Renae has a much lighter look and there is a calmness to her work. Interestingly, I see their styles as direct opposites. But you need that with travel; an ability to capture the diversity of our world, and to do so in an original, honest way.

Extract from The British Journal of Photography, December 2017

Island Life

Words and Photographs by Emma Lavelle

Earlier this year, my feet began to itch and I found myself desperate to explore somewhere a little off the beaten track. My previous summer’s adventures in Iceland were still fresh in my memory and I craved empty roads, isolated hot springs and dramatic landscapes. With the budget tight I spent days searching for European destinations that offered everything I needed - and then I saw a friend's Instagram photo and knew instantly where I was heading: the Azores.

If you haven’t come across this island chain before, I'm not surprised. Situated smack bang in the middle of the Atlantic, over two hours by plane from Portugal, they’re pretty isolated. As hopping between individual islands isn’t exactly cheap (or easy) I concentrated on the largest isle, São Miguel. The perfect juxtaposition of the geothermal landscapes of Iceland and a tropical, Lost World paradise, São Miguel appears like a mirage in the grey Atlantic. Filled with cloud-covered peaks, hot springs, dense greenery and waterfalls, it's like nowhere else in Europe.

Hiring a car, my boyfriend and I based ourselves in the capital, Ponta Delgada, and split the island into easily digestible chunks to be explored over four days. Our adventures began in the island's west, driving up steep roads in search of the elusive views of the Sete Cidades Lakes. Elusive because of the relentless mist, not for the lack of places to pull over and admire the scene. The twin lakes lie in a gigantic volcanic crater and local legend says that they were formed from the tears of a blue-eyed princess and her green-eyed lover, shed when her father would not allow them to marry. On a clear day, the lakes do indeed appear to be different colours, despite actually being one body of water divided by a road. Also worth admiring is Vista do Rei, where the ruins of a brutalist concrete hotel greets you through the mist. Then there's the utterly sublime Boca do Inferno viewpoint, where the view of the crater, lakes and coastline in the distance is nothing short of spectacular.

A short journey from the lakes takes you to one of the island's most alluring hot springs, Ponta da Ferraria, which is the only São Miguel hot spring found in the sea. A pink path leads first to a modernist changing hut, then down to a black volcanic beach where a ladder descends into a rock pool. As waves crash into the pool, visitors can hold a rope to steady themselves, enjoying the change in temperature as cold water rushes in to meet the warm.

Looking for the perfect end to a day exploring the west of the island? Visit the small coastal town of Mosteiro to feast on the seafood that São Miguel is famed for. My top tip: always order the octopus.

We also make a stop at Furnas, a geothermal town situated inside a volcanic crater. There are two areas boasting hot springs here - Poça da Dona Beija offers a series of small, relaxing natural jacuzzis, but it’s Parque Terra Nostra that shouldn’t be missed. Situated inside these majestic tropical gardens is a huge yellow-hued geothermal lake perfect for swimming. Furnas also offers a collection of smouldering caldeiras and anyone interested in local cuisine should head to the lake to see how traditional stew is made by burying pots underground for several hours. The earth steams here and the smell of sulphur seems to rise up into the thick mist enveloping the mountains above.

The final hot springs of São Miguel are found at the protected Caldeira Velha, where you must venture along a harrowing road and wander through thick tropical forest to reach the pools. Climb the hill to find a couple of small wooden changing huts before plunging, admiring a small waterfall trickling down from the cliff above. 

Across the island lie a network of hiking trails; those that snake along the numerous crater lakes are perhaps the most dramatic but don’t underestimate how strenuous these routes can be. If you prefer to admire the scenery from the comfort of a car, the drive along the coastal road that winds along the east coast is unmissable. Perhaps the most perilous and slowest road to navigate on São Miguel, the views of the ocean and towering cliffs are as dramatic as they get.

How to end a trip to São Miguel? Whale watching was at the top of our agenda but, alas, high winds thwarted our plans. If you visit during calmer weather conditions don’t miss a chance to take to the sea as these Atlantic islands are one of the best places in the world to spot a wide array of cetacean species including sperm whales, blue whales and dolphins. Other highlights for landlubbers include visiting the tea and pineapple and plantations, the latter featuring on almost all of the island's restaurant menus.

São Miguel is like nowhere else in Europe. Hot springs, luscious  forests, towering cliffs, crater lakes, tea plantations and cascading waterfalls all collide to create an otherworldly landscape. My advice? Take a punt on an island not yet on the tourist trail - for there’s something rather magical about having a hot spring in the forest all to yourself. 

Be sure to check out more of Emma's work here

Rambling in the Lake District

Words and photographs by Athena Mellor

“I wandered lonely as a cloud”, proclaimed Wordsworth on rambling in the Lake District. Yet how often do you see just one single cloud? While a lone cloud may grace the skies on a clear day, more often than not clouds wander lonely yet together, drifting steadily east or west, north or south. Normally I am that sole, brave cloud drifting along - alone yet never lonely. But this time I was joined by another on my ramble. Two stoic clouds running up hillsides in one of my favourite English locations, the Lake District, on a bitterly cold January morning.

The Lake District is a hill-walkers dream. I am quite certain that it would take more than a lifetime to ramble every trail it has to offer, to explore those that are yet to be discovered, and to admire every view. But I will try anyway. Indeed, there are certain places that, no matter how often I visit, never become boring. The very nature of nature is that no two days spent outside are the same - the changing winds and seasons, the different cloud formations and sunbeams. And then there is seeing somewhere you have seen multiple times through new eyes - the eyes of someone who is experiencing it all for the very first time. This happened when I took my younger sister to the Lake District and we spent two winter days in jumpers and walking boots, hiking to hilltops and running down mountains.

Winding roads of Cumbrian gold; fluffy white clouds dazzling the sky and fluffy white sheep gracing the fields. We were en-route to Blea Tarn; I was in the driver’s seat squealing every time a slightly more confident driver squeezed between us and the drystone wall on the other side - with less that an inch between both. We laced up our boots on arrival, added a couple of layers, swung cameras over our shoulders, and wandered down to the waterfront. Blea Tarn is a small body of water nestled beneath high peaks. If you’re lucky, you may see a clear reflection of the Langdale Pikes in the tarn. But on this particular day, the wind was sending ripples through the water and the reflection was non-existent - but the scene remained beautiful nonetheless. This place always seems peaceful - there is no phone service, few other walkers and nature is allowed to flourish. Protected by the National Trust, Blea Tarn will always be the place I tell people to go when they first visit the Lakes and the place I will constantly return to, until I’m 90 I hope - with tea and biscuits, a picnic blanket and a good book.

The next day, I had something more adventurous planned. From the village of Ambleside, we headed up and up and up through thick yellow grass and alongside crumbling drystone walls, past Low Pike then High Pike where the wind viciously whipped the bare skin on our cheeks and tugged exasperatedly at our hair tucked beneath woollen hats. We were walking and talking incessantly like only sisters can do, until I realised that we might possibly be quite lost... By this point the wind was relentless, and trying to manoeuvre a map to a readable position was impossibly difficult as the sky seemed determined to steal it away. Our hands were like icicles and with difficulty speaking I had to admit to my little sister, who had trusted me wholeheartedly with route-planning, “I have absolutely no idea where we are.” So together we traced the line we were supposed to walk and realised we had taken a completely different but parallel path. We made a plan to descend away from the wind as quickly as possible, and then hurtled down the hillside as the icicles in our hands defrosted and our spirits rose once again; greedily consuming the beauty of the surrounding landscapes before it was time to head south once more.

There is something I find so alluring about the Lake District. Perhaps it is in the combination of homely, welcoming landscapes that become unforgiving in a single gust of wind. Or it may be the way the air whispers soft tales of times gone by, or thoughts of the writers and poets who have sat on these banks and taken inspiration from these hills. When I am here, I want to close my eyes and absorb all that beauty and hope and the fragility of nature - but these landscapes cannot be taken away. And so all I can do is come back again and again until I am 90 - to sit on these grassy hilltops with tea and biscuits, a picnic blanket and a good book.

You can see more of Athena's work here @athenamellor and here wildandwords.com.

Spanish Shapes

It may be an utter cliche but, well, it's true - photos really do say 1,000 words. We thought that with this post we'd keep things simple and let the photographs of Tom Bunning speak for themselves and, while the combination may seem odd (Andalsuian ponies and the roads of Mallorca), we clearly just have a thing for Spanish shapes. You can see more of Tom's work here - and in the pages of Lodestars Anthology of course!

"Keep close to Nature's heart ... and break clear away, once in awhile, and climb a mountain or spend a week in the woods. Wash your spirit clean." John Muir

For more of Tom's work visit www.tombunning.com.

Mount Takao

Photo essay by Lucy Saunders.

The climb up Mount Takao offered a beautiful escape from the 36 degree heat of Tokyo (when people say summer in Japan can be humid, they're not lying) and the surrounding trees (illuminated as they were by dappled sunlight) provided welcome patches of shade. That said, even at this height the heat was blistering - which no doubt played a part in making the mountainside appear entirely isolated. It felt peaceful, almost timeless. There was a quietness that felt worlds away from the bustling city I had left only hours before.

I saw in the distance, swooping in the trees, a swish of white, like some mountain spirit celebrating the sun. Bug catchers were dancing around the tree trunks with their nets, sliding down the steep mountain slopes or clinging to branches as if it were second nature. I watched them for hours, enthralled by their agility, and they paused to show me their collections - beetles, butterflies, cicadas and moths presented in carefully selected boxes, handled with the upmost care.

There was something particularly beautiful about being in such a treasured, spiritual place and watching locals move through the setting as if it were entirely their own. Everyone I spoke to seemed to know one tree species from another, the name of each insect, where they sleep and exactly how to hold and care for them. They were also careful to ensure that they gave something back to the land each time it was kind enough to bestow a treasure upon them. Shrines and temples were found along my walk up Mount Takao and at each you could stop to pray - following the advice of smiling locals - taking part in an ancient Shinto practice that felt as old as these mountains. 

Shintoism is Japan's indigenous religion - one that, rather than following a set ruler or doctrine, focuses on the concepts of purity and respect. There is a deep admiration for nature and its power, with the natural world being the domain of kami, deities that can take almost any form and add a sense of order to our somewhat chaotic world. They may be in a tree, stream or the mist itself.

These spirits watch over the humans of the city below, as they always have. And although it may seem to be a strange concept at first, when you sit and embrace these surroundings you can't help but sense that nature is somehow watching out for you. Being in a natural location this powerful had a very interesting effect. You come to appreciate your place in the world anew. Indeed, even when I descended Mount Takao and returned to the man-made brilliance of Tokyo I couldn't help but notice little pockets of natural beauty and, pausing to acknowledge their power, found that Japan felt more and more like home. 

You can see more of Lucy's work on her website: www.lucy-janephotography.com or over on Instagram @lucyjanesaunders.

Handcrafted Maine

It's no secret that over at Lodestars Anthology HQ we are obsessed with fine print, beautiful words and exceptional photography - if we can find all this in a single publication (one that celebrates creativity, community and the landscape), then our adoration is going to be next level. So, not surprisingly, we were delighted to discover Handcrafted Maine, a new coffee table book that profiles 22 craftspeople, producers and creatives who call Maine home. Focussing on the stunning natural setting as much as their featured personalities, the book is a wonderful inducement to travel, consider the land and possibly even get your own project up and running. Handcrafted Maine is written by Katy Kelleher - who, as a writer and editor, specialises in stories about creators, culture and food sustainability - and photographed by Greta Rybus, who hail from Buxton and Portland respectively. The tones are soothing, workspaces brim with colour and detail, the coastline, farms and woodland entice, and even the coldest of winter scenes will have you yearning to venture to this unique, north-east pocket of the US. The writing is honest and insightful (it's wonderful to come across pieces that look at the challenges associated with creative living, as well as the unparalleled joys), and the entire publication is something you want to savour over copious pots of tea. To understand more about Handcrafted Maine we had a chat to Greta and, as you can imagine, fell even more in love with this stunning project (and those it features).

What inspired you to create this book?

The editor of the book, Jan Cigliano Hartman, had the idea for the book and began working with publishers at Princeton Architectural Press. She called me about the project several years ago and I immediately wanted to be a part of it. I had recently moved to Maine from the west, and I was really struck by Maine’s culture of creativity and resilience. Jan brought writer Katy Kelleher on to the team, and she is an exceptional storyteller. Together, we spent a year or two planning, developing, researching, and refining the concept of the book. We broadened the idea of 'craftsman' from just artists to other producers and creators, including farmers, wilderness guides, chefs, and fishermen. We wanted to include people who use creative mindsets to work with the land or the sea as well. We then spent a little over a year visiting people around the state, Katy writing and researching as I took the photographs. The book was released in July 2017 and it’s been really heartening to see the welcoming and enthusiastic response to the book.

Do you have a particularly memorable shooting experience from this project?

Working on this book was a beautiful adventure and like all good adventures, it left me with some great stories. Maine is an enormous state; we drove hundreds of kilometres and spent entire days in the car to reach the more remote locations. Sometimes we’d pull over during a long late-summer drive to pick wild blueberries on the side of the road. We both got seasick while going out to sea in extreme January waves while documenting lobstermen at work. Wilderness guide Jen Brophy of Red River Camps taught us how to correctly paddle a canoe and I went ice-skating with the beer makers on the pond at Oxbow Brewery after photographing the brewing process.

What do you enjoy most about shooting in Maine?

Maine is a place with four very distinct seasons. The winters are harsh and long, the spring is bright and verdant, the summer is mild and savoured by both tourists and locals and the autumn is brilliant with colour. The extremity of our seasons requires a certain mentality: this challenging place rewards grit and resilience and a responsiveness to land, sea and weather. In my work as a photographer in Maine I often document strong connections between humans and the natural world. People either make their livelihoods around the environment or find inspiration in the landscape. Like a lot of people in Maine, my own work is really informed by the natural world, but it’s also really informed by the people in my local community. I am able to survive as a photographer here because there are so many people in Maine who are doing innovative and interesting work - and I often get assigned to photograph them!

Has working on this book changed how you view Maine and its creatives?

Working on this book deepened my appreciation for Maine and the people that work here. I also got to understand how special the creative economy is in Maine. This state has a deep connection to art that is woven throughout its history: writers like E.B. White and Edna St. Vincent Millay, painters like Winslow Homer and Marsden Harltey, and entrepreneurs like L.L. Bean all based their creative enterprises in Maine. Those traditions have never left Maine and it’s a part of everyday life here. Painters still flock to Monhegan island to paint en plein air. You can buy lobsters  directly from the lobstermen on coastal wharves. You can walk into any bookstore and see entire shelves filled with books by Maine writers. Most Maine highways, like Route 1, are dotted with art studios open to the public.

The book gave us an opportunity to have deeper conversations with the people that continue these traditions, while forging new innovative paths within their craft or field. We wanted to create a book with a lot of substance, so we made sure to [capture] both the beauty and struggle of creative work. We talked about the freedom of being self employed and financial burden of operating creative business. We discussed the how racism and sexism can impact artists. We documented the satisfaction an artist feels when making something truly unique, and the joy of creating in a landscape like Maine’s.

You can see more of Greta's images here - and order a copy of Handcrafted Maine by clicking here.

"Creativity isn't just about painting or building or writing ... creativity is forging new pathways. It's coming at a problem from a new direction. It's building bridges where you see chasms. A creative is someone who conceives of a new solution. A maker is someone who turns that solution into a physical reality." Katy Kelleher, p. 22. 

The New Zealand Magazine

We are pleased to announce that our ocean, wilderness, adventure, design, food, art and wine filled New Zealand magazine will be arriving back from the printers later this week - which means that everyone who pre-ordered with have their little bundle of printed wanderlust sent out to them over the weekend. We can't wait to share our latest project with you - the work of many wonderful writers, photographers and illustrators from across the globe. In the magazine we chat to chef Peter Gordon and actor/wine maker Sam Neill, kayak around Abel Tasman National Park, sip wine in Nelson, cycle from the alps to the sea, discover the food and beaches of Auckland, find the perfect cup of coffee in Wellington, encounter Kiwis on Stewart Island, seek out calm corners shrouded in history, learn to be mindful, sleep in luxury under the stars, tackle the Great Walks, return home and get swept up in Queenstown's calm - and that's just a few of the adventures found upon our pages!

You can order your copy (as well as back issues and subscriptions) by clicking here. For now, here is a sneak peak of some of our New Zealand pages - happy reading (and travelling too)!

"We ventured inland across the Alps, through the beech forests and rugged schist ravines of the Haast Pass - once an ancient Māori greenstone trail - emerging into what appeared to be an entirely different country."

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"Not only do artisans and small-batch producers buy each other’s work, they often trade goods based on what’s available. Art for firewood. Jam for flour."

"There really is no place like home. I’d just had to go to the other side of the world and back to get here."

"Ideal for anyone yearning to go off-grid, parts of Fiordland have never encountered a human visitor - but perhaps that’s where its beauty lies, in its inaccessibility."

"This is a beach for solitude, for long walks, and for washing the city away; where heartache and hustle are given up to the waves."

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