In early winter an escape from our real life to Quebec City, carried on train tracks winding through sleepy towns blanketed in snow. Sketching and photographing strangers and fleeting homes. Stayed in a little hotel on top of a hill with a view of a street I can't remember the name of, in my mind it is called St. Marie. While it was light out a downpour of rain that would freeze at night like a backyard skating rink, walking nearly impossible on steep hills without an arm beside you to link with. Seeing a place for the first time gives an indescribable feeling, like exploring without a map, turning down side alleys when something (you don't know what) makes you feel like turning. Quebec was quiet, cold and empty, but beautiful. Tired after new years celebrations but awaiting some festival d'hiver the city we saw was a place in-between. But we trudged through the snow, and watched workers setting up a luge after sunset and a black river lit up with only the twinkling from a boat quietly going by. Passing by ancient-looking homes wondering who lives there with yellow lamps lighting their cozy living rooms and shelves stacked with books and quaint apartments next door that you joke about renting. Scenes from those days and nights have turned into dreams.
Sometimes an empty place is the best place to explore, it becomes more your own.