The first view of Number 28 Barbary Lane is a magical thing. Mary Anne Singleton is almost like Alice going down the rabbit hole, as she enters the leafy courtyard and the mystery of her future vanishes. Maupin’s words build intrigue, weaving a fable of San Francisco, compulsive for adventurers and dreamers alike.
See more Postcards From Barbary Lane here, and more posts about Tales of the City on this page.
And house lights up. My funky loft, based on the apartment house in Armistead Maupin’s Tales of the City series is no more. That’s all folks! Bye bye, Barbary Lane.
It’s difficult leaving an island like Santorini, particularly if you’re returning to the smouldering shops of Manchester. I will never complain about 35°C again. Everything they say about it is true: it’s impossibly beautiful, and seems to get more breath-taking every time you turn a corner. We had a garden apartment with a sea view, like a little Barbary Lane with a sun terrace and jacuzzi on the roof. There were lazy days soaking up the rays and nights were spent in the stylish cave-bars and restaurants which cling to the cliffs, watching the cruise ships and shuttles glowing far beneath us like deep-sea creatures in the dark. You could be forgiven for thinking you’ve woken up on the set of Mama Mia, and the sunsets looked like something out of a movie. I left my heart in San Francisco, but my flip-flops belong to Santorini.
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© My artwork, photography and music are copyright Mark Wallis 2015
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