Color in the Icelandic landscape, following the fellowship through middle-earth, Estonian floral arrangements, and the eternal mystery of Transylvania.

Eight years ago, on the 6th of September, Allie and I were married under a small waterfall in Iceland. We went back this year for the first time since. It was a last-minute decision, and we didn’t tell many people, our close family mostly. Like our wedding, it was a quiet joy. We spent every second together, as we have for so many years. The way it all began, unbeknownst to us at the time, is how it would continue, like one long line from then to now. This time, it was different in Iceland but unmistakable nonetheless. We hopped in a van like the old days, took some photos I made into a small set, and did our best to shut out the rest of the world. I could say I missed that week in Iceland, but that week wasn’t too dissimilar from any other week. I still see her every day, take photos of things that interest me, and, for the most part, keep the rest of the world at arm’s length. We’ve prioritized curiosity, creativity, and teamwork, and I’m happy to say that I couldn’t have dreamed of a better life or partner with whom to share it.

Other than that, I also shot a small conceptual project in Estonia. I called it Where They Keep the Flowers, and it’s simply a set of photos full of flowers. Most of them are small bouquets placed outside of people’s homes, in pots on windowsills, hanging from hooks, etc. I noticed how prevalent they were in a few neighborhoods of Tallinn, and I thought it would make for a charming set. I hope you enjoy it.

Siddhartha. Unfortunately for me, and I imagine for the book as well, there is maybe a little too much talk about it. I enjoyed reading it, it’s beautifully written, but I think it suffers from all the chatter. This book is often described as life-changing. If you’re not a big reader, the parts in this book that are said to be so impactful may be just that, but personally, I didn’t get that. Not to say the book is devoid of meaning. In fact, I’d say the opposite. There are countless lines, even paragraphs that eloquently express some deeply human tendencies, struggles, and desires. I think I highlighted more passages in Siddhartha than most other recent reads. Does that make it life-changing? Not really. Does its inability to “change my life” mean much? Of course not. I just think people put this book on too high a pedestal, that’s all. I had a good time with it, but I should have known to keep my expectations in check.

The Fellowship of the Ring. Mini rant incoming. According to a strangely large group of people on the internet, it’s preferred to skip large portions of this book or maybe even the whole thing altogether. People say that it’s a book about walking, that nothing meaningful happens, and that there are some insufferable characters. These opinions affected me so much that I considered never reading it, never to sully my lifelong love of the Peter Jackson trilogy. I didn’t want to hate the source material for what I consider movie masterpieces, and I feared that I’d be stuck slogging through something impossibly drawn-out and boring, as many say it is. Thankfully, my curiosity got the best of me, and I read it. My sense is that those people I mentioned just don’t read much, and that’s ok. Maybe they liked the movies and wanted more? Maybe someone else read it to them when they were young? The Fellowship of the Ring reads as books read, and I think that’s most people’s problem. Books are slow, don’t include soundtracks, and Viggo Mortensen is unfortunately nowhere to be seen. Yes, there was walking, but what I feared would be fifteen pages of footsteps through vividly-described fields turned out to be a few sentences to serve as necessary context. Was Tom Bombadil an annoying character? Actually, again, I thought the opposite. Had the movies never existed, I would have thought of his character as one moment of adventure-fantasy among many other moments. I understand why he wasn’t in the movie, but that doesn’t make reading about him inherently pointless or bad. This book is renowned and beloved for a reason, and that didn’t start with Peter Jackson, so if you’re both a LOTR lover and a lover of reading, and you’re scared of what may come, don’t be. It’s fantastic. Obviously, right?

Upgrade. The first time I read Blake Crouch was in Lisbon, 2019. His novel Dark Matter was recommended by Allie, and I read it in one sitting. I loved it. Then I read his next book, Recursion, which I also enjoyed, maybe a bit less. Since then, I’ve been excitedly waiting for the next one, and, wouldn’t you know it, Upgrade landed in my online library just last week. It took me a few sittings to finish it, and while I didn’t dislike reading it, I didn’t exactly like reading it either. Upgrade feels made purely for the big screen. Crouch’s other novels would make for interesting movies as well, but they never felt like that was their prime motive. While his previous two novels felt deeply rooted in sci-fi grandiosity, Upgrade feels more run-of-the-mill action-thriller, and in a very similar vein to preexisting works (one being a movie of the same name…). Overall, Upgrade was ok. If you want a popcorn… book(?), this will do the job, but it’s no Dark Matter.

Photo: Luke Cartwright

This month, I want to highlight a photographer, yes, but I want to specifically home in on this one photo. I think there’s something so classically cool about it. It’s understated in all the right ways. The mixture of the off-white and blue go so well together, the framing is great yet unobvious, and the subject matter itself never ceases to pull me in. This photo was shot by Luke Cartwright, and it was actually his submission for September’s Community Assignment, prompt: hands. I think he nailed it, but not just with this one. All of his work is subtly beautiful and well worth checking out. Give him a follow and tell him I sent ya.

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The strangest, most memorable things happen in Romania, and I need to remember that. Here’s the story of our arrival. Stream-of-consciousness, strange, bear with me:

After a 5am flight to Warsaw, a four-hour layover, and a flight to Romania, we arrived in the city of Cluj-Napoca. If you recall, landing in Tallinn came with some not-so-savory news regarding luggage, and I’m happy to report that this time was nothing like that. In fact, we saw our bags being unloaded as we exited the plane, so all was well on that front. With bags in hand, we made our way to the rental car counter to pick up our reserved car. We paid for 24 hours with a hefty one-way fee, as it was probably the easiest way to get to where we were going, Brasov. Cluj is in the northwest of the Transylvania region, Brasov is in the southeast, and they are about four hours apart. Well, the man at the counter asked for my passport and drivers license. No problem. He smiled, then he asked for my international drivers license. My heart sunk into my stomach. I don't have an international drivers license, and last I checked, I didn’t need one in Romania. I was here in 2018, and we took many a road trip. He assured me I needed one. I wanted to know, "since when?" He gave me the date of the Romanian Revolution. Before I could say anything, he added that around 2019, they started to crack down due to a major accident involving a tourist who didn’t possess an international license. Hell.

He apologized, and we apologized, no problem. We’d just ask about other options. Will anyone rent us a car? "Sure, these guys might turn a blind eye, but they don’t have an office where you’re going." Lovely. What about a train? Yes, there’s a train, but it’s a forty-minute bus, a three-hour wait, and a nice long train, eight hours, arriving just after midnight. This was after a sleepless night (we work on US time) and eight previous hours of travel. Disgusting. I’m demoralized at this point, not only because of the unknown remainder of travel time, but because without an international license, we wouldn’t be able to drive anywhere, and that’s a pretty big draw for Transylvania. Brasov is great, but I’d like a little mobility. So, while my brain melts outside the rental office, Allie checks, of all things, Uber. It costs about the price of our now-unattainable rental car, so we go for it. Wholly expecting no drivers to accept, someone does so in under five seconds. We walk outside, and there he is, asking if we’re ready to go.

Groggy and confused, we hopped in his car, and we headed to Brasov. Let the adventure begin. Immediately, the guy starts asking questions. Allie and I are exhausted, trying to find a lull in the conversation to close our eyes, but he just seems so interested. We talk for a while. He asks if he can smoke his e-cigarette. He asks if we have a charger for his e-cigarette, we don’t. He stops at a gas station for more e-cigarettes. Then he’s on the phone with someone through his headphones, intermittently talking to us. He asks if we know of a popular Romanian alcoholic beverage. We say yes, but I honestly didn’t know for sure. A few minutes later, he says he needs to stop at his apartment to pick up said beverage for us. Confusion ensues. No, no, you do not have to do that. He does, leaves us in the car somewhere outside of Cluj, and returns with a clear, unmarked bottle of liquid. He hands it to me and I say that we’ll try it later. We’ve been traveling, we’re tired, and I don’t want this for so many obvious reasons. Would this have been different in almost any other circumstance? Probably, but hey, the guy's our Uber driver.

About halfway to Brasov, after a few long intervals of silence, I realize that he’s still on the phone. It’s been hours. All of a sudden, I hear our address, in full. Alarms sound in my head, and that’s on top of all the other alarms like the one still ringing out from the mysterious bottle of alcohol(?) in my lap. Now I’m thinking that maybe he’s going to take us all the way to Brasov, and someone else is either following behind to rob us, or worse, and Uber wouldn’t have any record. Or maybe he’s planning an elaborate heist for a future date? I’m slipping in and out of sleep at this point, unreasonably paranoid, and then we arrive. He jumps out of the car, and with a big smile he thanks us for the journey, grabs our luggage from the trunk, and asks if we can take a picture together.

We did, then he gave us his number in case we ever need help, if we ever get stuck anywhere, or if we have any problems with anyone, in his words. He smiled and said goodbye, made sure we got into the building and drove away. How have I processed this event? I have not. Was this man just a genuinely kind stranger, or should I be expecting to wake up face-to-face with the stranger on the phone? Maybe he was talking to his grandmother? How do I have so few answers? The only thing I can say is that Romania has long been the place where my strangest stories were born. The silent shepherd who emerged from the mist with a single lamb in his arms, the brown bears fighting in the middle of the road, the bee-keeping man who lives in/sells honey out of his German WWII truck, what is this place, man? Anyway, that's all for this month. I hope you enjoyed this issue of Recollect. If you did, or if you didn’t, let me know. Hit the black box below to send me an email with your thoughts. I’m all ears. Thank you for your support. I’ll see you next month unless I turn into a wolf or something, I don’t even know.