A November in John O’Groats

Text & Photos: George Partsinevelos
Translated by: John Agrafiotis

Every November I feel the time heavy leaning on my back. … and I wonder if I will be able to give life to the rest of the time given to me.

I feel it leaving marks on my mortal body and on my little thought. And a bit of sorrow to remind me all the things I will not live. For all that will call me, to their hug but I will leave, one more time, I will leave far away.

But I wake up some mornings and I want to get rid of all these from inside me and walk peacefully down my own path.


Every November

I empty my thoughts and ride my motorcycle. The key turns slowly and the little time needed for the electronics to start the engine, looks to me like a century. The destination, a small dot on the map and this big desire that exists in me, stopped keeping my thoughts busy. This small dot stopped calling me. In my small life, I early understood that the destination is something deeper, something inner, and the more I get close to my inner self, the more thunderous is the discovery of my ignorance.

I will get on my motorcycle and I will wait the sky to give me a refreshing, autumn, rain. Only then, I will leave.

The first photo will come when the sky is clean. And I will stop writing. Let the photos do the talking.





How many times do you want to pass from here ?












“Journeys end”.
I don’t think it will ever end

This is sign telling that you have reached the end of the road. It belongs to a private company that has hired a photographer to take a picture of you but in winter they are closed. So there is only a stick left in the mercy of the winters, to stare at the Orkney Islands.

The last house

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