The walls know

Some folks like to read the handwriting on the wall. Personally I like to see the bigger picture. The bigger the better.

And so, whenever I travel, wherever I travel, I’ve like to take photos of what’s hanging on, draped over or painted across walls. Listen, the medium is the message, pal and being a trained observer I miss nothing. Nothing!

For instance, on a bicycle tour of the Erie Canal I happened to wander into the men’s room of a small tavern. Talk about being judgmental!

They aren’t nearly as judgmental in Florence. Wine, women, song….did I mention wine? Bacchanalia is a thing of the spirit in Italy.

All I’ll say about this is that this is how revolutions begin.

I came across this ad pained on the wall of an ancient village in the Dalmatian Islands. I still don’t know what the lady was selling, but I was sold.

Apparently the only way to be truly happy in the old railroad town of Smith Falls is to imagine that you are somewhere else.

Still haven’t figured out what that little thing on two wheels is supposed to be, but I will say that they are very, um, complicated people in Montreal.

Ah Greenville. They don’t call it the Paris of The South for nothing.

Which is not to say that Greenville has anything on Asheville.

Beer, bikes and Barack Obama. Is Ottawa a great town or what?

They try not to take life too seriously in Reykjavik.

The City of Really Big People On The Bay.

He did sell very nice seashells by the seashore though.

I’ll drink to Dublin.

There’s a reason it’s one of my favorite towns.

All of this is so GNV.

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