I LOVED TO TRAVEL. Fortunately I have stored away enough pictures, smells and sensations over the course of the years to enable me to leave Berck far behind on days when a leaden sky rules out any chance of going outdoors. They are strange wanderings. The sour smell of a New York bar. The odour of poverty in a Rangoon market. Little bits of the world. The white icy nights of Saint Petersburg, or the unbelievably molten sun at Furnace Creek in the Nevada desert.
