Monsoon puddles on the street, an auto rickshaw waiting, and a grand temple towering over the crowd.
Me, an ancient cannon, and the fort ramparts under a heavy grey sky.
The trip crew, all smiles with the grey monsoon sea doing its thing behind us.
Two of us on the fort walls, a rusty cannon in front, the crashing sea for company.
The monsoon sea all churned up - grey water, white foam, endless roar.
The little white lighthouse on the ramparts, standing guard under stacked-up rain clouds.
Waves smashing right below the ramparts - this old cannon still has the best seat on the island.
Misty sea and old fort rooftops below - come on in, the view's this way!
Up top with the fort walls, a tiny chapel and the churning sea all behind me.
Crashed a street wedding - the groom's golden turban definitely deserved a photo with us.
Wandering a hall of carved arches and worn pillars - old stone everywhere you look.
Same echoing colonnade, new pose - you can almost hear this place's old stories.
Rock walls carved in giant swirls - like waves frozen mid-motion, all hand-hewn.
Peering down the barrel of a sea-facing cannon, its crest still carved on the side.
A little snail racing the waves across the shore rocks - slowest commute on the island.
Inside a moss-dark old building in the fort - barred windows, carved stone, quiet everywhere.
Rain clouds over the fort: a chapel on the ramparts, green cliffs, and the sea having at it.
Sea spray in the hair, three grins, one selfie - the wind was clearly winning.
Beach selfie with the boys - empty sands, grey skies, and someone's victory arms.
New photo essays a few times a year.
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