I am sitting at my kitchen table looking out the window at a view that continues to fascinate me, despite its totally mundane nature. The view is of an abandoned house, rather typical here in Portugal, and from this angle I see the more picturesque side of this particular ruin—an aging stucco wall, tiled roof, an artfully weathered blue shutter and some sort of hearty plant growing in a crack in the stone and plaster. This house is scarcely eight feet from the window, sitting across a narrow alley which runs past three inhabited houses (ours included) and at least seven ruins, before passing two barns, some chicken coops and then entering fields and olive groves. The ruins surrounding our house have been abandoned for decades, and such silhouettes are a common site all across this small Iberian country—they are in cities like Lisbon and Coimbra, towns like picturesque Aveiro and in villages like the one I currently call home.
The Ruins
The Ruins
The Ruins
I am sitting at my kitchen table looking out the window at a view that continues to fascinate me, despite its totally mundane nature. The view is of an abandoned house, rather typical here in Portugal, and from this angle I see the more picturesque side of this particular ruin—an aging stucco wall, tiled roof, an artfully weathered blue shutter and some sort of hearty plant growing in a crack in the stone and plaster. This house is scarcely eight feet from the window, sitting across a narrow alley which runs past three inhabited houses (ours included) and at least seven ruins, before passing two barns, some chicken coops and then entering fields and olive groves. The ruins surrounding our house have been abandoned for decades, and such silhouettes are a common site all across this small Iberian country—they are in cities like Lisbon and Coimbra, towns like picturesque Aveiro and in villages like the one I currently call home.