El Puerto de Santa Maria

 Rebecca W Morris and Matteo Delred

A writer and photographer capture thoughts and images at each stop of the Cádiz Cercanias Renfe trainline

I start the day missing my family.

An old British couple 

who dress like the approximation of what a British couple would dress like 

are sat with their son or daughter and their partner.

They are pierced and dyed and tattooed and shaved - the beauty of two worlds colliding. 

The black against the pressed chinos, the glint of silver through cartilage against the linen white shirt, the cardigan draped over fragile shoulders - 

that delicate loving union, the familiar hushed tones.


I enjoy being invited into someone’s world -

From afar. 

Then I can know how i feel caked between their colours. 

Tracing fingers through ink, 

wondering if it was your hand that made it, 

touched the paper. 

I missed the details at first as I so often do. 

I like to let the overall idea wash over me - 

But he took me back and I looked closer. 

I like to look again to see if I can know you better. 

The beauty of discovering the other. 

I like to step slowly around the edges 

without the noise and echoes of chatter. 

I paint the picture with you. 

Interacting and communing with footsteps,

artefacts and materials.

In between you and the world of trees and the people that were here before me.


Percussion canon fires in an ancient castle.

Tinny sounds from a small screen in a courtyard. 

The birds you can always hear, but the sounds are imitations.

They rise above but do not bring meaning or context.

So many noises that could be made but so many reproduced from others.

The unique sound of oneself is so hard to locate. 

And plastic strips slap on stone.

Alien wails and dove coos.

I feel it vibrate beneath my feet.

We sit and wait for the end.