The diary

I washed my hands and walked back out in the sunlight, back to the table in front of the smokehouse, where she sat... looking at me with my diary open in her hands... "That is some stories there, Frits" She said

The old chapel

Back many centuries ago the herrings were plenty here, and people would come from afar to fish, buy and sell, celebrate and all the things nobody talked about, but in the small chapel, that was build out here - and is still here.

Waiting for my daughter

Some days I wait, as if phones didn't exist, and I couldn't check Facebook and Twitter, just wait, sit and watch the places, take out my watercolors and pass the time

Leaving the old houses be

It used to be a place for gunpowder, I was told. It is still there, even though the old guns are long gone. Now it serves more peaceful purposes, but build so well, and in a way that it can adapt to changing realities

Houses smoking fish

Walking out of the small town and heading on along the trail I looked back, smokeries reminded me how much a house can tell you about the life of people there

Refuel

Hot in the small fishing village, I put my backpack down, They were selling ice cream here

Places for watching birds

The first drops of rain hit as I approached a bird watching tower all made in wood. It looked empty and I could need a cup of coffee. I climbed the stairs and found a need sheltered little space, where I could put down the backpack and make myself a cup of coffee on my stove, watching the birds and waiting for the rain to pass.

Smokeries in a fishing village

The harbor is far out on the end of a long bridge. In the village, that is not much more than a line of houses, many of them formed mainly by their huge traditional fish smoking chimneys

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