Fourteen days ago, my flight landed at London Gatwick, and I spent the next 10 hours lugging my suitcase and bags through terminals and stations on my way to Preston.
It was a big journey, but the great adventure is only beginning.
I spent today wandering around the Preston City Centre, braving the blustering winds that have been sweeping the town for the past few days.
I walked past a car park that has a beautiful statue at its entrance. I passed the used-furniture-store-turned-cafe where customers can enjoy a cappuccino at somebody’s grandmother’s kitchen table, covered in doilies, surrounded by an eclectic array of antique lamps. I moved past the Indian food diner that always seems to be closed.
It’s a cloudy Wednesday afternoon. In a covered area outside Preston City Hall, near the local museum and library, I wandered through an outdoor market selling everything from mattresses to iPhone covers to inexplicably large panties.
I discovered a cozy Italian cafe in the middle of the shopping district that serves a deliciously moist chocolate cake, which I enjoyed after much confusion sorting out whose order belonged to whom.
Tomorrow, weather permitting, I’ll retrace my steps and take some more photographs of the city that is slowly, day-by-day, becoming more familiar and more welcoming.
PS – Hi Grandma.
A short post with a link to a considerably lengthier research piece I wrote for last semester’s investigative journalism course.
In brief: The article used the then timely Attawapiskat crisis as a starting point to look into the condition of First Nations housing across Canada.
Sources include various Canadian media, Statistics Canada, B.C. Stats, RIIC.ca, J-Source, Aboriginal Affairs and Northern Development Canada.
Read by clicking on the link below: