A Bikini and a Wedding

I love the beach. I love the sunshine. I love achingly blue, cloudless skies. To me, a sunny day just feels "right." 

I don't know that much about music (in spite of the years of piano lessons--sorry, Mom), but to me a sunny day feels like a composition in C major.  And my friends will tell you that I try pretty hard to live my life as much as possible in C major.

Still, every now and then a moody, overcast day can seem wonderful.

Like, for instance, this misty winter day on West Lake in Hangzhou, China.

West Lake and the surrounding gardens have drawn visitors since the Sui dynasty, more than 1,500 years ago.  It was such a favorite of emperors that during the time of the Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms, Hangzhou was made the capital of China.  

Each garden has been carefully constructed to tell a story; no element appears by chance.   The individual gardens are referred to as "scenes," with names like "Dreams at Galloping Tiger Spring," Clouds Scurrying over Jade Emperor Hill" and "Precious Stone Hill Floating in Rosy Clouds."

Even on a cloudy day, the Guozhuang Garden is hauntingly lovely. 

I'll always love the sun, but I suppose that even 

a day in B flat minor can be awesome.

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It's a Poor Craftswoman Who Blames Her Tools

I'm having a little camera envy.  Most of the photos I've posted on this site were taken with either an old (I'm talking 1970's-old) Nikon film camera (film!), or with a 2005 6-megapixel Casio point-and-shoot digital camera.  


They're not too awful, right? Especially for an amateur who didn't pay nearly enough attention during her photography lessons at Camp Tapawingo when she was 12.


Still, I find myself spending an inordinate amount of time looking at other people's photos and thinking, "if only I had that Canon DSLR, or that new Nikon D3100" or "with a gigantic telephoto lens I could take really good pictures".  (For some truly astonishing travel photography, check out one of my favorite sites, The Vagabond Adventures of Lucie, Lauchlan & Bow Wow.)


I know better.  Really.  It's not the camera that makes a great picture, it's the person holding the camera. Ansel Adams or Matthew Brady could have taken a Pulitzer-prize winning photo with any old Instamatic.  I am saving for a round the world trip...I shouldn't spend money on a new camera, when I already can take pretty good photos with what I've got. Right?  Please, tell me I'm right.

On the way to Glenorchy, South Island, New Zealand

In an effort to talk myself out of an impulsive and expensive trip to the Amazon.com electronics section, I decided to pick out a few of my favorite travel photos, to persuade myself that I should be satisfied with what I already have.  Here are a few samples.

Belen, Peru

South Island, New Zealand

Athens, Greece

Outside of Maun, Botswana ("the good road")

Tasman Sea, South Island, New Zealand

Somewhere along the Zambezi River

I'm pretty sure that I know which of these is my favorite, but I'll let you decide: which one do you like best? Click on the comments link below to cast your vote.  I'll be waiting to see which one is your favorite.


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Oh, Little Town of Bethlehem (Peru)

Looking out the airplane window, you can see nothing but trees for hours. We are on our way to Iquitos, a city deep in the Peruvian rainforest reachable only by air or water.  Finally, finally I am going to see the Amazon River.  

Leaving the airport, the air was hot and sticky, but nearly two decades in Texas has made me an expert on hot and sticky. Iquitos was actually pretty mild in comparison.

I wandered around the main square in Iquitos, dodging moto-carros (Peru's version of the tuk-tuk) and taking in the colonial architecture.  I was impatient to board the boat and let the Amazon carry me deep into the jungle.  I had seen all I needed to see of Iquitos.

Ten days later, tired, damp and exhilarated all at once, we returned to Iquitos. Because of a schedule change, we had several hours to spend there.  Truthfully, I was not excited.  Our guide suggested that we take another, "special" boat ride, to see something amazing.  I was pretty sure that nothing in Iquitos was going seem "amazing" in comparison to what we'd seen in the last week and a half.  As usual, I was wrong.

We piled into a small launch and headed upriver to the section of the city called Belen (which, incidentally, means Bethlehem).  It was only 
minutes into the ride that my jaw dropped.  This is what we saw.

Wondering what you are seeing?  Belen was built right on the riverbank--a riverbank that floods as much as 30 feet every year, with the water remaining in flood stage for months.  Homes are built either on stilts or on rafts that rise and fall with the floodwaters.

The only way to travel in "the Venice of Peru" is by boat 

We watched as this little boy, no more than five or six years old, struggled to manage his long dugout canoe

Water taxis

A floating convenience store--"Walmart" our guide said.

Usually two families live in these floating homes lacking electricity, running water or sanitation.

Washing clothes in the muddy water.  Looks like young love in the background.

I have no idea.  The mayor, maybe?

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525,600 Minutes (with apologies to "Rent")

What do you suppose is  photographed more than anything else besides brides and babies?

I don't know for sure, but I'm betting on sunsets. 

They happen every single day of the year, in every country, in every part of the world.  Even near the poles, the sun dips below the horizon for at least a little while.


Every single day of every single year--sunsets ought to seem routine to us. So why is it that they seem so magical?   



 Sunset from our tented camp in Zambia

Near sunset on the Amazon in Peru

As seen from our river home, the Arapaima

Another beautiful evening on the Amazon

As seen from the back of a Land Rover in Botswana, while sipping a sundowner

It was at 38,000 feet over the Pacific that it occurred to my terribly sleep-deprived brain, that sunsets don't happen every day aloft--the sun is always setting, every minute of every day.  Perpetual sunset. Pretty cool. 

Of course, it is also perpetually sunrise, but that is a whole other set of photos.

Related post: Sometimes It's Better to Go Left

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I'm NOT Going to Swim with the Sharks

Some people tell me that I'm very brave for traveling to exotic places.  I respectfully disagree.  Really, I'm only semi-brave at best; remember, I did not eat the snake on a stick in Beijing.  What follows is an incomplete catalogue of things I was not brave enough to try.

Here is a bridge I declined to cross in Peru

Here is the Mahogany Duck I did not order in Wangzhou

Here is the low-water crossing I did not cross in South Texas

Here is the spot in the Amazon where I did not swim with piranha

And here is the place I most definitely did not bungy jump in New Zealand.

I know what you're thinking: "What a wimp".  Mea culpa.

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30 Days of Indie Travel-Fear








Sometimes It's Better to Go Left

Sometimes people who like to travel get restless if they are home too long. Home just seems too ordinary--same old, same old. Last week, I was restless. Time for a change of scenery: Paris, maybe.  Problem is, I'm not going anywhere for a while. Time for an attitude adjustment.  


I took the same old 8.8 mile route I've taken a dozen times this summer (training for the half-marathon--only 7 more weeks, Yikes!) But this time I took my camera with me and left my stopwatch at home.  It had rained hard the night before for the first time in months.  


After two miles on the gritty sidewalk of a four-lane divided street, I descended the stairs to the Salado Creek Greenway.  If you don't know  what a greenway is, I should tell you that it is a lovely name for a flood plain or drainage ditch.  In this case, the city has created a nice, mostly level path through part of it, making what was really otherwise a nuisance into a pleasant place to walk or bike.  But make no mistake, it's a ditch.


When I got down the stairs, I went left instead of my usual right, off the paved trail.   This is what I saw less than 50 yards beyond the stanchions of the highway.

Behind the lens of the camera, I tried to see "same old, same old" as a visitor would, and I was amazed.  This is still steps from the highway, deep in boring old suburban San Antonio, Texas. Huebner Road for those who know it.

Back on the paved path, I saw these stone cairns.  Maybe they marked where someone had buried a pet, or perhaps someone had just idly stacked some rocks.  But I know if I had been in a foreign country, it would have seemed like a fascinating bit of  local culture, and I'd have paused to wonder and take a photo.

I must have been pretty quiet as I was thinking those not-really-very-profound thoughts, because look who came up to see what I was up to.  Again, steps from the path.  It was getting better by the minute. "Same old, same old" was turning out pretty great.

In my now altered state of mind, this metal bridge and wrought iron fence became architecture just begging to be photographed.  And I saw the ordinary live oak tree below as a newcomer might see it, a gnarled old specimen arching over the path.

I was about 6 miles into the walk at this point, my spirits were lifted, and I swear I actually felt lighter on my feet.  So much so, that when I came to this electric tower, I thought it was beautiful enough to photograph--who needs the Eiffel Tower when you've got this?  

By that point, I was clearly deranged.  I still need to go to Paris.  Just not right this second.


Related posts: Making the Ordinary Extraordinary,  525,600 Minutes (With Apologies to "Rent")


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What Happens if I Just Use My Fingers?

In my artistic pursuits, I have tried many media--charcoal, pencil, watercolor, acrylics--with various degrees of success. But lately, I've been having an unnatural lot of fun drawing on my iPad.

It's just like finger painting, but for grownups.  And without any mess.

So, what do you think?

I'm thinking it's pretty cool.

Related posts: More iPad drawings 

                             What the Heck is a Dilettante, Anyway?

                               

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