Dusk and birds over Salamanca

 Hello!

 This is my seventy-fifth post on this blog! Wow!

 It isn't going to be a very long or wordy post. I wanted to share some of my photos of dusk turning to night in Salamanca. I was walking along the road leading from my residence, which is on a pretty high level and has great views of the old town. 

 At that first glance at the rosy dusk falling over the Clerecía and Cathedral, with hundreds of birds swirling around like flies or dust motes, I was mesmerised. I just stood and photographed and filmed as night fell.

 As I put my camera away and sauntered down into the Salamanca night I felt so lucky to have such a good viewpoint just two minutes' walk from my residence - and to be staying in such a stunning city.

 Thanks for reading,

 Liz x

One night in Perpignan

 Salut!

 Welcome to a journey through beautiful, haunting Perpignan as the evening turns to night.

 Let's start at the centre of the universe, Perpignan Railway Station, where Dalí claimed to have his best ideas. These pictures are not photoshopped; the sky really was this colour. 

 There are often exotic shades of sky and a general electric atmosphere around this place: I'm convinced there is something to the centre of the universe theory.

 We then stride down the elegant, palm-lined Station Avenue and admire this ship carving in the fading light.

 Here we are by the river. Night is rapidly coming but we have a few more precious moments of velvety blue sky to admire the gold of the bridges and lights of Perpignan.

 Now we wash ashore by the Castillet. Darkness has arrived to cloak the ancient cinema and castle, and to dance with the lights in the water.

 At the Place de la Loge, the carved lady awaits us, elegant as ever, glowing in the artificial yet warm light.

 Here we are, at the Place de la République, where the Christmas lights form haloes around the lamps and the carousel stands silent and sleeping. Flames dance in the trees and fairies hide in the still water.

 Back to the Castillet where night has properly fallen and the sky is ink, impenetrable. The Castillet burns, strong and constant, a beacon in the depth of the night.

 Christmas snowflakes twinkle in the plane trees - not through their own electric lights, which are not yet lit, but from the streetlight, which lends them light like the sun gives the moon.

 As I wait for my bus, I bid a silent goodbye to the city which sleeps yet is so, so awake.

 Thanks for reading,

 Liz x