August has been a voyage frenzy: work has sent me travelling back and fro to meetings in Munich, photoshoots in the darkest depths of Wales and writing about the Cote D’Azur. No complaints, but the time for my own short sojourn has been sorely missed.
Madrid is an imposing, grandiose yet rather regimented capital.
Mallorca is an interesting, contradictory place. It’s an island surrounded by azure-blue and crystal water, but offset by ravenous, dry and thirsty mountains. It’s populated by artisanal locals, farm hands and Brits-abroad in search of larger and watered-down, Anglified local culture.