I didn’t know what to expect when I visited Cordoba for the first time. With Seattle being nearly my only experience of a big city my entire life, I had images of this, spotted with thoughts of what I’d heard somewhat under-developed foreign countries could portray.
When I landed in the Ezezia airport for the first time in March, I was shocked to find the concrete that surrounded me seamlessly. Prior to landing, the landscape which nuzzled its identity at me softly, was much different than the city-scapes I had been used to. Towering tall was concrete, clotheslines strewn, noted by unkempt sidewalks and broken roads. The city itself spans quite large, and finding solitude, room to breathe fresh air, or a place to stick your feet in the grass and rest under the shade of a tree, is unheard of.
To the everyday eye this view is a shock; it grinds on those who live here, and for those who don’t it’s a sight they often want to forget. For most here it’s a culture that has become accustomed and ignored.
However, among the seemingly claustrophobic tight walls that line the street, I find beauty, life, and history. Every crack, exposed brick, and weathered face, holds a part of a story that belongs here. We mustn’t ever forget the beauty that lies beneath the surface of seemingly demolished structure. Just like us, with ruin comes a story - comes beauty - comes life. These are the veins of the city, which run deep.
I haven’t had the opportunity to photograph much of Cordoba yet — after nearly 5 months of my time here, I just started taking my camera out to photograph the streets of the city - at the risk of looking like a tourist! Here are a few of the shots I’ve captured… more to come in the following month and beyond.