Yesterday I was catching up with a good friend from Hawaii. Feeling nostalgic for this incredible chain of islands, I dug out some randoms from trips passed. Happy Friday!
Sitting in lawn chairs in the back of the trucks is somehow legal here. A little bit scary on the nighways...
Is this a pro in the making, or what??
The Mokes are one of the most beautiful places in the world!
I think that until you see a city wake, until you experience the first light make its way along the streets and up the buildings, until you see the first store keepers opening the doors and sweeping the sidewalks, until you see the first person sipping an early morning espresso, until you see all those little things that a city does as it wakes, you will never truly know a city. You will never know what makes that city different and unique from another. Throughout my travels, when I have known that my time will be short in a city, I make a point of sharing a sunrise with her. I walk her streets, taking in the sounds as she groans and stretches out the kinks from the night. I listen to the birds come alive, the street traffic, the bike whiz by, the laughter between shopkeepers. I smell the dew from the night, the fresh blossoms and the musky river, the baking croissants and coffee brewing. I take in the gain in momentum, the horns and pedestrians, the anticipation of the day. And then it's gone. Somehow the sunrise became the day, and that magical moment in between is lost until tomorrow. It's a gift to experience a city, to feel a city. It's a gift to see it through a foreigners eyes.
One of my favorite sunrise cities was Zurich, another was a small village in Northern Italy. But my all time favorite is Paris. Hands down. My favorite city in the world, mentioning her name makes my heart flutter. I was lucky enough to walk the Louvre at sunrise. Even though I had my camera, I think most of the images were catpured in my mind. They are engrained, and when I go looking for them, they come alive and I feel the warmth of the morning sun, the dry gravel pathways beneath my feet, the trees lined before me billowing softly in the wind, the statues glowing in the golden light, far off the first of the cars honking... and the Louvre all to myself.
This is one of my all time favorites of the tower.
I love good food. In fact, besides photography equipment, that is where the majority of my funds go. Good food and fine wine. I love the millions of flavors of cheese, from nutty to pungent to fruity. I love the sound of biting into an apple or a carrot, I love bread fresh from the oven. More than anything, I love when flavors dance together and create something new that surprises my palate. I love snacking, I love sitting around eating course after course with good people and lots of laughter. I love picnics and packed lunches on road trips. I love the smell of a sizzling bbq. I absolutely adore trying new foods in other countries, ecstatic to find ones I love and disheartened that I can't get them at home. I just love good food. Period.
The problem is that good food doesn't always happen. I discovered this when touring Java with my brother a few years ago. Sticking to the remote parts in search of waves, most of the places where ate resembled the back porch of someone's home (in fact, I think they were back porches of someone's home!). The spice tolerance of the Javanese was out of this world, so without fail, I would end up with a plate of white rice. Returning to Bali felt gluttonous. Any sort of food you wanted at great prices. Pizza for 2 dollars or a sirloin steak for 3.
The next time I went to Indonesia, we headed east to Sumbawa, stopping in Lombok for a sunrise surf session. Some friends suggested meeting back at a restaurant on our way out, a cool place way up on the mountain. I wasn't expecting much, having understood that once you leave Bali, food variety and quality takes a drastic turn. I was surprised, to say the least, when we pulled into a beautiful open-air restaurant with relaxing music, stunning decor with cushions galore, and an aroma that instantly made my mouth water. The menu was a bit of a teaser of what was to come, but it did not let me down in the least. This salad was the beginning of one of my favorite meals in Indonesia. How could it not be with this view?
Take the bad and the good when traveling... and savor the gems in between. This day was a vibrant emerald.
A warm photo for a rainy day. Sicily sunset.
Last summer I was lucky enough to spend 5 weeks exploring Southern Italy. I had contacted various Agriturismos in advance that were interested in exchanging free accommodation for my photography services. Agriturismos vary quite a bit, but are basically bed and breakfasts on a working farm, which in Italy, translates to vineyards and olive groves! Bonus! The Cabbiavoli Castle in Chianti was a favorite of ours (and Julia Roberts), close enough to Florence, Pisa and many other quaint villages to explore on day trips. Le Camicie was an exquisitely restored farmhouse perched on the Tuscan hillside amidst vineyards, and only a stone's throw from the infamous Montepulciano and Montalcino. Il Casale, also in Tuscany, and Serre Di Parrano in Umbria, both restored farmhouses, were surrounded by fields of sunflowers and castle hilltop villages. Mesogheo, an hour and a half outside of Rome at the base of the Camposaro Mountains was truly a wonderful experience. Masseria Salamina, in the Puglian "heel" of Southern Italy was like no other; set in an olive grove with trees dating back 400 years, this Masseria was breathtaking. We were spoiled at Baglio Lauria, an ancient Franciscan monastery set in the Sicilian countryside near the Greek ruins of Agrigento and again at Baglio Spano, a restored wine cantina near Marsala. The rolling vineyards and hilltop castles in Chianti, the endless fields of sunflowers and the cobblestone villages of in Umbria, the ancient and unforgettable city of Rome, the rugged coastline and whitewashed walls of Puglia, and the very traditional and unique land of Sicily... it is impossible to choose a favorite.
This video was made from phone video clips. Enjoy the montage!
Like many women, I dabbled in vegetarianism. It wasn't for any particular reason. Red meat didn't repulse me. It wasn't necessarily for health reasons. One day I just decided that since I ate such little meat, that maybe I'd try to eat even less of it... like none. For me, this lasted about 5 years. I don't really remember the day I started, but I very clearly remember the day my vegetarianism came crashing down. Actually, a more appropriate description of my end to vegeatarianismo would involve a romantic interlude with an Italian man in a tiny village called Chiavenna, nestled in the valley above Como Lake. This glorious man who converted me in an instant was at least 80. And so very wonderful.
The late afternoon sun was dropping quickly, and most of the tiny village was still dozing for their afternoon siesta (I know that's Spanish, but I can't remember the Italian version!). It was freezing, and yet I was determined to capture as much of this spectacular scene as I could before that soft, yellow light only found in this part of the world disappeared for another day. Winding around each corner was so exciting, I wanted to explore each and every narrow little alley in the village! But, we were also very hungry (I think I inherited this low blood-sugar thing from my father, and those who know me don't want to be around when it dips too low!). Just our luck, or be it fate, there was one store open, selling fruit and olives and grappa and cheese. The old Italian man called us over, seeing how cold we were, ushered us inside and was quick to offer a tasting of grappa to warm us up. The liquid fire warmed up my tummy in an instant. As I stood there, taking in the small store, I noticed a frayed black and white photo of the store owner and George Clooney. George towered over the old man, his arm draped loosely across his shoulders and a warm grin on his face. By their interaction, it was apparent they were friends and this was one of George's regular haunts when he was at his villa down the valley. It was warm inside, and I could smell a duskiness, probably from the huge rounds of cheese, fresh bread piled in baskets, garlic hanging from the ceiling, fruits piled neatly in various containers, no doubt all grown within 5 kilometers... and of course, the unmistakable smell of cured meat. As I took in the scene, this very special place that was so authentically Italian and reeked of tradition and passion, the old man told stories in his old Italian dialect. He spoke of the grappa and his brother in law that made it, he spoke of the cheeses and how they are aged in caves, which ones came from his own goats milk. He spoke of his life and how it has been spent entirely in the same valley. He said it with pride and a smile that made his eyes sparkle. And then... he grabbed my hand and brought us into the back room where he kept the salami and rounds and rounds of cheese. He cut into rounds of cheese bigger than a tire, peircing the thick skin and letting us be the first to ever taste them. Every piece was a gift that he presented as such. And then he pointed to the salami and his excitement heightened. Saving the best for last, he couldn't wait for us to taste his biggest accomplishment, his home-made salami. How could I possibly refuse? I knew my days of vegetarianism were over as I relished slice after slice of the best salami I've ever tasted (and still to this day). I savored every moment spent in that tiny Italian store. I knew it was an experience I would cherish the rest of my life. This old man opened his heart and his store and his life to us, no questions asked. And we gave it back in return. I can't think of a better way to give up being a vegetarian!
Last Fall, I had it in my head that I was going to start shooting video. I loved the idea of having family movies to look back on. Although I adore photos, there is something about a moving image that truly captures the essence of it all, whether it be a sound or a gesture or a series of movements. Our annual Baja pilgrimage was the perfect opportunity for this venture, the only problem was that I didn't have a video camera! The next best thing- my blackberry phone! Holla!
When looking at some of these clips with my brother, we literally were holding our stomachs in pain from laughter. From the old school portable karaoke machine that an old Mexican man wheeled up to the taco stand to the loudest motorbike in history to catching someone unaware when they didn't know they were being filmed. It's those moments, those real moments, that make life such a special place.
Over the weekend I was sick. Sick enough that I didn't have the energy to get out and enjoy the sun, but not sick enough to keep me from going stir crazy in my apartment. So I decided to teach myself how to use Final Cut Pro. Within minutes, I realized I was in way over my head. But having watched enough Law and Order to drive me loony, I didn't have much else to do. So I dug out the old movie clips and tried my very best to create something that did the trip justice. I have a long ways to go, but I think it's a good start!