It’s Spring 2013. I am staying in Florence, Italy with my boyfriend. We walk 17 miles a day round trip to get into the city from our hostel, because we are poor and don’t want to pay for the bus. We preform acro yoga to make the money for our cappuccinos each morning.
We walk into the Rainbow cafe and greet “Ciao.” then order our morning coffee. At one of the tables wrapped around a pillar we sit and enjoy watching the local faces come in. A dog is laying relaxed at their owners feet, allowing any who pass to give due attention. After returning the cups to the counter we leave a tip and journey on.
Walking through the streets of the historic district we notice an odd coating on everything, all the Vespas and cars and street stands are left dusty. Throughout the day we ponder what coating could cause that effect, the conversation keeping us entertained during the long walk home. We discover after our return to the hostel that it is sand.
Sand, that was blown from the Sahara desert across the Mediterranean ocean swirling down the streets of Florence to end up in a fine coating on my black leather combat boots. I am struck by how sand traveled across an entire ocean.
I want to walk the Sahara desert, I want to photograph the sultry curves of its landscape, and though I have never been there the sand of the desert rests on my boots.