Photographing Cuba with just two rolls of film
I don’t know whether it was the heat or just a technical malfunction, but when the two batteries for your camera die on the first day of a trip around Cuba it’s the beginning of a nightmare.
Story 
The colours, symmetry and strangers of La Havana
Between two jobs I had an opportunity to travel to Cuba last summer. I did not want to go to any all-inclusive resort. After 2 or 3 days it was clear: I was going to shoot colours, symmetry and complete strangers.
Travelling through India belongs to the individual
Travelling through India belongs to the individual – moments and memories forged between country and self. There were of course happier times, life changing even.
Exploring The Kimberley
I wondered why or how I’d never been there before, let alone not even heard of it. I remember looking around the landscape deciding where I would build my future home, figuring out how I would manage to get a lifetime supply of food and water in there so I never had to leave.
Lost in Mexico
Where does it start and end? A landscape of blurred lines spanning sprawling density and a sparseness so vast that the echo of an echo has no answer.
Arab desert drifting and ‘the great national boredom’
It’s based on something called “Hajwalah” in which thrill-seeking young men would reach high speeds on public roads and then spin seemingly out of control, oftentimes weaving through traffic.
Confessions of a dirtbag traveller
When friends or family ask why the hell I would sell everything I own and move into a school bus to travel full time, this is the story I tell them. Of course, not every day living the life of a dirtbag traveler is as amazing as this one.
The Mongolian Horse Wrestler
With some of young horses, Ganbold decided to forgo his lasso and simply use his hands. Grabbing a front leg, he would get the horse to lose its balance before wrestling it to the ground.
In the exodus, I love you more
I left Iran nearly a decade ago. I left and moved to Australia—to the end of the earth—leaving much behind. And like all migrants, I miss the things I left behind: the taste of the air; the trees’ sweet smell; the song of the streets and of the crows at sunset…
