Category Archives: On the road

We meet again, London.

london, street photography, michelle viljoen, papercitylife, england, bus, woman on a bus London holds a special place in my heart. The last time I was here was before I flew over to the States for what would be my second trip to the USA. It was just before I met Jacob. Who since meeting him for the first time in the snow outside of his apartment three years ago is now like my New York family.

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Moving and life on film

michelle viljoen, south africa, papercitylife, street photography, new york, film photography, cape town on film, analog street photography, sea point

Over the last couple of days I packed 6 years of my life into boxes. I tossed about 60% of what I had accumulated, and gave away some more. I thought moving would feel more surreal. Apartments hold so much history, relationships, friendships, the good, the bad and the ugly. How would it feel to pack that all away?

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The Road to Kirkwood

Outeniqua, pass, mountains, 4x4, south africaIt was 05:00 when I loaded up my car and made my way to Camps Bay to pick up Chad. I had barely slept and we had an entire day of driving ahead of us before we would reach Kirkwood. The guy at the Engen made us two coffees while we searched the store for snacks. Most road trips being like this. An anticipation of adventure if you will. Or just the excitement of leaving routine behind. It’s only after the first three or so hours have passed that you start feeling a bit lighter. When the landscape goes from suburbs, to mountains, to fields as far as your eyes can see.

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Missing: New York

A photo of a woman, michelle viljoen, street photography, black and white, nyc, New YorkI’ve been back home for a couple of weeks now, but it feels so much longer. It feels like New York was ages ago. I miss the cold streets, the walk along the Pulaski towards the 7 train. I miss the banter with the guy at the bagel shop while he makes my standard morning order. One everything bagel, toasted, with a bit less cream cheese than usual. That’s how he remembered me. The foreigner who asks for less cream cheese.

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