travel, modern and traditional, around the world, understand the culture, historical monuments, natural scenery, the charm of tourism, marine tourism, mountain tourism, popular tourist attractions
Nicky Loh is a photographer with Reuters working in Taiwan, whose specialty is news, sports and feature photography, who's interested in documenting traditional art forms such as Chinese opera.
On his employer's blog, he writes of having had an assignment to cover the 2010 Taiwan International Tattoo Convention in Taipei which, while not newsworthy per se, offered him a good opportunity to produce colorful photographs.
He describes how he decided to set up an impromptu studio in one of the empty booths of the convention, and do portraits of women with fully tattooed backs.
Not only beautiful artwork, but also very attractive women...so a "twofer" as they say.
One of my favorite online news provider is Global Post, not only for its cutting edge news reporting and analysis, but also for its frequent "off-the-beaten-path" features such as the one of Turkish transsexual brothels by Nicholas Dynan.
It also periodically publishes Full Frame which features photo essays and conversations with photographers in the field (including myself).
The Turkish transsexual brothels which, we are told, can be located in the busiest streets of Istanbul, and are the work place of some of Istanbul's transgender and transsexual sex workers.
To the best of my recollection, only one attendee of the Foundry Photojournalism Workshop in Istanbul last June presented work relating to transgender issues. Pedro Gomes, who attended my multimedia class, produced Esmeray, an audio slideshow about a transgender feminist-sex worker-actor.
A few days before the start of the Bali: Island of Odalan Photo~Expedition ™ , I drove to the eastern shores of the island to photograph the traditional salt making in Kusamba.
I spent a couple of hours with Dewa Yoman Sanat; a traditional salt-maker (or more accurately, salt gatherer) in Kusamba. He guesses his age to be close to 70, and he works at gathering salt everyday under the scorching sun. On cloudy and rainy days, he remains home as a hot sun is needed to evaporate the seawater which leaves a thin film of salt, which is then gathered by Dewa.
He and his wife, Jero Sekar, who also helps him in this back-breaking work, have 7 grand children...none are understandably interested in continuing the salt making tradition. Dewa said that he gets about Rp 5000 (about 50 cents) for every 10 kilograms of salt.
The catastrophic flooding of the Indus is considered as Pakistan's worst natural calamity, which has ruined almost every infrastructural aspect that connects the country together — roads, bridges, schools, health clinics, electricity and communications. The destruction is also estimated to set Pakistan back decades, will weaken its feeble civilian administration and add to the burdens on its military.
The New York Times has recently featured Tyler Hicks' compelling photographs of the disaster in Pakistan's Floods, as the one above of two young girls quenching their thirst at a water pump in Sukkur. It's said that 20 million people have been affected by the floods; a number of people equal to the population of New York State.
According to the New York Times, a joint study from Ball State University and the University of Tennessee, puts the total cost of the flood damage at $7.1 billion. That is nearly a fifth of Pakistan’s budget.
I sense an apathy amongst the Western and Islamic nations to assist Pakistan in its difficulties. Is it because of the widespread perception (or knowledge) that the Zardari's government is riddled with corruption and cronyism, and thus may divert some of the aid? Or is it Islamophobia? Or is simple donor fatigue after Haiti? I tend to think it's all of the above and perhaps more.
And while I'm on the subject, is it only me who now increasingly relies on foreign cable news like China Network Television (CNTV) and RT (the Russian 24/7 English-language TV) for in-depth international news??? The added bonus of course is that these stations have no interest in Glenn Beck and the repellent clowns of his ilk as does CNN, MSNBC, et al.
The Tiziano Project presents the journalistic efforts and personal accounts of Iraqi citizens living in the Kurdish north, along with stories produced by their professional multimedia journalism mentors.
An extremely well-made multimedia project, it includes stories such as those on the Yazidis, nomadic mountain-dwelling Kurds, a pigeon keeper, a muezzin, a klash maker, and many more.
The mentoring team consist of Jon Vidar (one of the talented instructors at the Istanbul Foundry Photojournalism Workshop, and a freelance photographer who developed self-assigned projects spanning six continents, including work in Iraqi Kurdistan, Southeast Turkey, Rwanda, and Brazil), Victoria Fine, Grant Slater and Chris Mendez.
Rose has been photographing since 2005, and only gone digital two years ago. She hasn't gone through any formal photographic education per se, but attended various short workshops, and those set by Arizona Highways. Rose won an award at a juried show for one of her photographs in 2009. She's also an accomplished diver, and before the photo expedition was on a diving vacation for a couple of days in the north-west of the island.
So far, it appears the fire-walkers at the end of the Kecak dance performance we attended in Ubud was a favorite subject for the group members. Rose managed to capture one of them kicking a blast of glowing embers (above).
One of the shoots I organized during the photo-expedition was at the house of a wayang kulit (shadow puppet) master, where we were treated to a private performance The wayang kulit is an extremely important vehicle of culture, serving as carrier of myth, morality play, and form of religious experience rolled into one. Here, the master is moving one of his shadow puppets during the performance.
Here's a Balinese villager who was attending a night odalan in Bitra village. The temple anniversary was one of the most interesting we've been to during the 2 weeks photo-expedition. Not only did it involve the requisite day-time religious prayers and offering in an exquisite forest setting, but it included performances of Barong and Arja dances.
Rose captured a dancer during an evening Legong performance at Ubud's palace. The performance included various dances, such as the Gabor, Baris, Kraton and the Taruna Jaya.
It's all over the blogosphere...Canon announced the EOS 60D, a sort of “replacement” for the 50D. According to the reviews, the 60D body is plastic, and uses SD cards instead of the CF.
It's certainly built for video. It has a pop-out, tilt-and-swivel rear screen which, even if it's Canon’s first on an SLR, would just drive me insane. Video can be shot at different sizes and speeds. 1080p is available at 24p, 25p or 30p frame rates.
According to WIRED's Gadget Lab, its 18MP sensor (like the LCD panel) is the same as in the 550D or Rebel T2i, its AF system comes from the 50D and the 63-zone exposure meter comes from the 7D. So it's dubbed the "Frankencam".
It will go on sale in September for $1,100 body-only.
Matt Allard is a Team Leader- Cameras for Aljazeera International based out of Kuala Lumpur covering Asia/Pacific and the sub continent, and has produced a movie documenting the changing culture of geishas. Due to the world financial crisis, even well-entrenched traditions have had to adapt in Japan, as elsewhere, and geishas in Kyoto have had to follow suit.
Matt used a Canon 7D, 5Dmk2 and 7 lenses to shoot this assignment. The lenses used were a Canon 70-200mm f2.8 IS II, 50mm f1.2, 135mm f2, 24-70mm f2.8, 100mm Macro f2.8, 16-35mm f2.8 and a Tokina 11-16mm f2.8. All interviews were shot on the 70-200mm. All the audio was recorded on a Zoom H4N using either Seinnheiser radio or shotgun mics. It was edited using FCP and ran on Aljazeera English on the 19th August 2010 around the world.
Also from Matt Allard is this movie depicting the same modern day girl transforming into a Geisha in Kyoto, Japan. It was made using a Canon 7D and a 5D Mark 2 using a Canon 100mm f2.8 Macro and a Canon 16-35mm f2.8. The ambient light and the angles used by Matt are just perfect...the colors are beautiful.
After a good night’s sleep and knowing you have a nice day of moving from A to B to C ahead of you, it is always nice getting up early. Well, actually, it is never really nice to have to get out of bed before sun-up, but even so we all woke up in a pretty sunny mood, probably helped by the fact that we had already packed the night before and did not, like on so many other occasions, have to hastily jump into the shower, get dressed, pack, jump in the car, leave, and go back again at least four times for forgotten things. All the while rushing a mobile breakfast usually composed of cold (or too hot!) coffee, a banana and some sweets.
Instead, we managed to have a leisurely breakfast of toast, marmalade, eggs, coffee, freshly picked fruit, juices and more coffee. So leisurely indeed that we of course left one hour late and Jairo had to drive like a maniac to get us to Neiva airport just on time to find out our flight was one hour delayed. The ride itself was actually quite relaxed, the kids slept most of the way, as did Karin, and Jairo and I exchanged small talk. Jairo drives a Kia 7-seater van of American proportions, and the ride was smooth as silk up till the final 20 minutes when we tried to make our way through a Neiva in the last phase of the San Juan & San Pedro festivities.With men on horses everywhere, most of them too drunk to even stand up, let alone ride a horse through dense city traffic, buses with tourists from all parts coming in for the final fiesta and clogging all main arteries of the town.
We were lucky Jairo has actually lived here for 20 years before moving to San Agustin and he knows the place like the back of his hand. He skilfully manoeuvred the large van through the hectic chaos of cars, trucks, buses and horses, taking lots of little back roads I would never have taken if my life had depended on it. Jairo actually got us to the airport within the minimum of 45 minutes before take-off, all the time reassuring us we would still have time to have lunch before our flight. He helped us unload our 3 heavy bags, 2 backpacks, 2 laptop bags, one baby-bed, and an explosion of toys, colouring artefacts and all the other paraphernalia one tends to hoist along when traveling with kids. Of course he turned out to be right; our plane was delayed (“as always happens”, he said before smiling and saying his goodbyes) and we actually managed to have a local version of steak, which was amazingly nice and tender considering it was airport grub, before we got on the turboprop back to Bogota.
Here, everything went easy, apart from the fact that Noa and I went for a second round of coffee for Karin and me and we almost missed our connection, again… Luckily the lady behind the counter remembered us from the week before and we jumped on the bus as it was making its way to the plane. I have actually come to like our way of traveling; there is always something completely off in our planning and we usually get into trouble or completely lose our way, in the process running into all kinds of nice and interesting people and places. I can imagine though that anybody traveling with us would go completely bonkers.
We arrived in Pereira about 2 hours behind schedule (not our fault, the second flight was simply delayed) and after Karin had had a nice fight with the car rental people about the fact that we were not prepared to pay a four-day rent for what actually turned out to be a 3-day trip, we were finally on the road around 6pm. Darkness set in and yet another of those things you always tell other people not to do happened; driving after dark in a new country. But I’ve gotten used to that as well; we’ve made our way through the depths of night in Lima, in Peru’s southern Andean regions, straight through Sao Paulo, in the upper north of Brazil, and in various parts of Patagonia, usually without GPS devices, and always getting lost before finding our way back again. Up till now nothing deadly has happened to us.
Same thing in Colombia, and I can add that at least in this part of Colombia the roads are perfect, mostly well-lit and with clear signals showing the way to where one wants to go. Sometimes there are so many signs that it will make you dizzy, but then there is always a nice neighbour (in our case usually a gas station employee) that will happily show you where to make the next turn. We made it from Pereira to our new hotel, a very nice and typical coffee-farm-hotel named Combia, in about one hour, despite the dark and a very limited map to go by. Colombia is good Fly-Drive Territory, if you can manage the Spanish language and are not afraid to ask your way around.
After a long day we hit our beds almost instantly and slept like the little babies some of us still are, waking up 8 hours later to a new day in a new land…
Armenia and surroundings
The Coffee Triangle, as this part of Colombia is called, is a lush and fertile area with a mild, benign climate, good for producing some of the best coffee in the world. Funny thing is that it is quite difficult to actually find a good cappuccino, or even an espresso, as most people are not really used to drinking “fancy” coffee and usually just take a “tinto”; black filter coffee, thinned with hot water and sugared up to hurt your teeth. Some come with milk and both taste like sweet hot coloured water, nothing like Juan Valdes makes you believe people enjoy over here. So, when the owner of the hotel came to us and asked us to please leave any suggestion we could think of, I could hardly keep my mouth shut.
After a simple but hearty breakfast we got into our car and started driving back to Armenia and right behind it found a sign saying “canopy”…
During our last trip in Brazil my daughter Edie had already shown great interest in rappelling, as well as in huge natural water slides, and other such things that make me super-scared something might happen to her. As a matter of fact I lately find myself projecting many of my childhood fears on my daughters, as they begin to discover the fun parts of our numerous trips. As a teenager I decided that I would not let fear hold me back from doing anything, and I spent several years crusading against my fears of things like heights, failing in general and being publicly ridiculed. I went for a 65m bungee jump that almost killed me, set up a travel company in Peru without any prior experience, and even tried speaking in public. The last, to my shame, is really not my forte...
Still I thought I had it nicely worked out and that I had managed to kick myself into being a cool guy, not afraid to take on a challenge or two and free of unnecessary internal blockades. The opposite isn’t true, but I must say I am having a hard time not panicking a little each time Edie climbs a tree or Noa dances around on a plastic chair. My wife Karin and I have discussed this often. She was raised with a no-fear policy and skied black slopes and beyond before she could speak a full sentence, so she understandably has some issues with my ‘all of a sudden’ somewhat conservative nature. She feels, and rightly so, that we should not project our fears onto our children and should let them discover their own boundaries. I agree with her, of course. So, when we saw the sign and Karin looked at me with that inquisitive look of hers, I said: “what the hell”, and made a sharp left.
14 speed-flights between towering trees and hulking bamboo ladders later we were back where mother earth prefers to have us and I was soaked. With adrenaline still screaming through my veins and hair standing out in all directions, the next group of that went up for their first climb looked at me with some puzzlement. I could not care less; I was alive! Karin, Edie and Noa had had the time of their lives and the kids would keep asking us for days in advance when we could go and “fly” again.
I say fortunate because, while cockfights are gruesome and certainly bloody, they offer glimpses into a tradition practiced on the island (and elsewhere in the world) for ages. All animal rights activists and many other lay people consider it a horrible blood sport which ought to be banned. In Bali, cockfights are known as tajen, but have been forbidden since 1981 since it's considered gambling. Notwithstanding, it continues to be practiced as a ritual to expel evil spirits, and feverish gambling by bebebotoh (always men) is the norm when it occurs.
The area where the cockfight occurred was full of men, who were engaged in gesticulating and yelling their bets according to the color of the roosters. In the middle of the circle formed by the crowd, the bebebotoh were stroking their prized roosters, preparing them for the fights. Others were tying razor-sharp spurs to the birds' legs, while others were busy carving up carcasses of those that had been vanquished.
There seemed to be a sort of hierarchy. A older man, dressed in better quality clothes than the rest of the throng, was sitting very calmly in the midst of the frenetic betting activity, taking it all in. He clearly was a main player of some sort here. I couldn't tell whether he participated, or whether he was the "banker". He may have been a wealthy gambler who joined these cockfights to satisfy his passion.
My movements were restricted, as the men were in no mood to allow anyone to obstruct their view of the cockfights. However, I managed to photograph at will, and recorded some raw ambient sound, which includes the crowds yells and bids.
The roosters' demise is quick...the "combat" is short lived and takes about a minute or two for one of the roosters to fall. Thereupon, it's carried away and eviscerated to be consumed later.
As a side note: I often witness similar rituals; some secular and others religious, and I always try not to pass judgment on the practice. While I personally consider cockfighting to be cruel (as I do of bullfighting), I also respect the right of the Balinese (and others) to practice it, especially when it has a religious significance. Unfortunately in this case, it was all unapologetic gambling.
Having said that, I found the atmosphere electric and compelling, and I am at work on an audio-slideshow of the two cockfights I've witnessed in Bali this time. It will include the one I've described above, and another which was part of a melasti on a beach.
“Photography is part history, part magic.” -Seamus Murphy
Here's a multimedia piece published by VII The Magazine with stills and audio by Seamus Murphy titled Phoenix Afghanistan.
Seamus began photographing in Afghanistan in 1994, and for two decades, he has worked extensively in the Middle East, Asia, Africa, Latin America and most recently America on an ongoing project during what he calls “a nervous and auspicious time.” His accolades include six World Press Photo Awards.
Phoenix Afghanistan compares photographs of life in Kabul from 1994 to photographs in 2010. You'll notice that the 1994 photographs are in black & white, whilst those of 2010 are in color, thereby enhancing the contrast between the two eras.
I wish I hadn't found found the narrative by Seamus to be so stilted...he was probably reading off a sheet of paper rather than having a conversation or reminiscing aloud. Same like good photography, compelling narration is a difficult skill to learn, and requires training.
Kim McClellan is a third-time repeat participant in my photo~expeditions, having joined Bhutan: Land of Druk Yul Photo~Expedition ™ in October 2009, and the The Tribes of Rajasthan & Gujarat Photo~Expedition ™ in January 2010 before returning with a trove of images from the Bali: Island of Odalan Photo~Expedition ™ last week.
Kim is a professional photographer (as well as working for the SBA in DC), and graduated from the Washington School of Photography in January 2001. She's passionate about international travel photography, and her work was featured in juried exhibitions and shows in the Washington DC Metro Area. She's well-known for her work in fashion, glamor, and classical figures.
During the Bali photo-expedition, Kim worked on transitioning from the more staged style of glamor photography to the more fluid style of travel-photojournalism, which is the core objective of my photo workshops. Her photographs here demonstrate her progress in that transitioning.
The first photograph was made during a private ceremony preceding a cremation. Cremations in Bali are occasions for gaiety and not for mourning, since it represents the ceremonial burning of the dead to liberate their souls to be free for reincarnation into better beings.
The second was made at the holy temple of Pura Ulun Danu Bratan, which is a major water temple on Bali, and one that protects Bali from evil spirits from the north west. and where constant ceremonies were being conducted when we were there.
The third is of a melasti on a beach on Bali's north east shores. Melasti is an important purification ceremony when temple devotees in Bali go to its beaches, carrying their temple effigies and where the cleansing rituals occur.
The fourth photograph was made during a Kecak & Kris Trance dance in Ubud, and shows one of the dancers in a trance walking barefoot on glowing embers.
What people may or may not tell you is that some of the best photographs out of the many one makes during a photo trip are serendipitous, and the opportunities to make them occur when one least expects them.
Here's one of my favorites so far (and I've only looked at two of my image folders...a mere fraction of the over 10,000 photographs I've made during the Bali: Island of Odalan Photo~Expedition) of an elderly Balinese woman returning to her traditional home after having emptied her basket of the morning offerings.
We were driving to one of the many temple ceremonies, and I suddenly saw the woman walking slowly towards her house. I immediately asked Komang to stop our van, and our second car also stopped. I reached for my cameras, and squeezed a few frames using the 70-200 lens, while the woman was quizzically looking at the two vehicles full of photographers, aiming their lenses at her. She never smiled...but just stood there, regally, probably muttering "Mad bule (foreigners in Bahasa)".
Here's a collection of sadhus' portraits by Ian Winstanley, a commercial photographer based in the UK. Exclusively involved in the advertising and design industries, Ian later also specialized in fine art based work.
Photographing in Nepal for a book, Ian spent time on the banks of the Bagmati river in Kathmandu's holy site known as Pashupathi. It was here, in 2001, that the much-loved King Birendra and other members of Nepal’s royal family were cremated after a massacre blamed on the crown prince, who also killed himself. The site is considered as one of the oldest and most holy of temples dedicated to Shiva, and sadhus and other Hindu faithful have been drawn to it since the 5th century.
In Hinduism, sadhus are mystics, ascetics, practitioners of yoga and wandering monks. Technically, sadhus are solely dedicated to achieving the fourth and final Hindu goal of life known as moksha, through meditation. However, many of sadhus are nothing more (or less) than wandering homeless individuals, relying on charity of others to survive.
The Economist's More Intelligent Life website has also published some of Ian's sadhus photographs here.
I've previously posted about the ultra-portable and cheap Zoom H1 from Samson Tech, which is a handy portable stereo recorder at an unheard-of $99 price.
The manufacturer claims that it will give you 10 hours of battery life on a single AA cell, and can accommodate up to 32GB of removable microSDHC storage. Its microphones are configured in an X/Y pattern for optimum stereo imaging.
I predict it'll be a hit for entry-level multimedia photographers, especially that it can be mounted on the camera shoe of a DSLR.
It's currently available at B&H which has also blogged about it. The post also answers the issue as to how to connect it to the camera shoe. The answer? Through a $35 male shoe adapter which is available from a different manufacturer.
According to WIRED's Gadget Lab, CNET Asia leaked the new Canon G12 pro-compact.
It appears that the G12 brings back high-definition video to the table. It will shoot 720p, just like the new Canon S95, which launched yesterday. Some of the specifications are a 10 mp high sensitivity CCD sensor, a 2.8" titlt-swivel LCD and manual exposure function.
The lens is a 28-140mm with ƒ2.8 to ƒ4.5 aperture, and the price is estimated by WIRED's Gadget Lab at around $500.
France's current expulsion of illegal Roma with generational roots in Romania and Bulgaria has been labeled by human rights groups as xenophobic, and criticized by President Sarkozy's (whose poll numbers are abysmal) political opponents.
So to feature Ciara Leeming's work on the Roma in Istanbul during the Foundry Photojournalism Workshop is timely and opportune. Turkey is home to one of the largest Roma populations in the world – an estimated two million people. Yet here as elsewhere, the community is subject to frequent discrimination – ranging from overt harassment to more subtle institutional racism.
Ciara's "Not Gypsies...Roma" was her project during the Foundry Photojournalism Workshop, where she attended Rena Effendi's class. It's a combination of stills, a PDF of the reportage and an audio clip featuring one of the Roma. Many of the stills are verticals and arranged in the gallery as diptychs, but to my eyes, the one above is the most evocative.
Ciara worked at the Evening Leader, the North West Enquirer and the Manchester Evening News. Currently freelance, she supplies features, images and multimedia content to a diverse range of publications and charities, and edits The Big Issue in the North. She's also worked in India, Israel, Palestine and Turkey.
Armed with a degree in European studies and French from the University of Manchester, Ciara is now working towards an MA in photojournalism and documentary photography, through the London College of Communication.
I was glad that Diego Vergés has just sent me some of his work in Indonesia, which includes photographs from a typical Balinese wedding ceremony in his distinctive style. It's opportune as I just returned from Bali myself and also photographed a wedding.
According to Diego's diary, he was driving in Randang, not far from Ubud in the east of Bali, where he was invited to a wedding. The ceremony was to start at the groom's family house with a lunch offered to all guests. Subsequently, the guests went home, while the groom's friends and family started to slaughter pigs and ducks as offerings to the temple, and for the large dinner on the following day.
Many of the guests arrive early morning, with the religious rituals over by noon when food is offered to the guests. In the afternoon, the groom and his bride will visit her family's house when she bids them farewell, as she will live thereafter with her in-laws.
I experienced the same sequence in tradition when I attended a wedding in Ubud. In essence a wedding-crasher, I was nevertheless considered and treated as a valued guest, and offered food and water whenever I was seen with neither in my hand. Hindu priests (known as a pemangku) officiated the ceremony, which required the bride and groom to perform symbolic rites. It also required them to endure a couple of hours of make-up, and wear traditional wedding attire.
The Islamic month of Ramadan started while I was in Bali, and while the majority of the island's inhabitants follow Hindu traditions, there were indications that its Muslim communities were observing it, especially in areas such as Semarapura.
Many of the newspapers' photo-blogs such as the Boston Globe's The Big Picture, the WSJ Photo Journal and the like have featured images of Ramadan observances around the world, but the one I liked the most was from The Sacremento Bee's The Frame.
In the above photograph, Indonesian women pray during the first night of Ramadan in Jakarta on August 10, 2010. The fasting month of Ramadan, which started on August 11, is the ninth month of the Muslim Hijra calendar, during which the observant abstain from eating, drinking, and smoking during daylight and, in the evening, eat small meals and conduct evening prayers.
I also read that President Obama has recently positively weighed in on the issue of erecting an Islamic community center in downtown Manhattan, but has then waffled on his stance following criticism from his detractors, from conservatives and from the illiterate xenophobes who, incidentally, do not live in Manhattan or even in New York.
Much as has been said and written about this issue, but two of the most repellent are these: the Anti-Defamation League, an organization dedicated to ending “unjust and unfair discrimination,” but which now blatantly discriminates against American Muslims, and Newt Gingrich who squawked that “Nazis don’t have the right to put up a sign next to the Holocaust Museum in Washington”, making the analogy between Nazism and Islam.
President Obama should be reminded that he said this on the inauguration of his presidency:
"We are a nation of Christians and Muslims, Jews and Hindus, and nonbelievers. We are shaped by every language and culture, drawn from every end of this Earth."
It's really time to leave Afghanistan when magazines start publishing inconsequential and silly photo essays as the one just featured by TIME's website. It's titled Soldiers' Tattoos in Marjah, and is by Mauricio Lima.
The photo essay shows about 10 images of US soldiers showing off tattoos of various illustrations, religious messages and excerpts from the Bible amongst others. The one above is of Lance Corporal Daniel Weber, and the caption reads as follows: "The Arabic inscription on Weber's bicep translates to "unfortunate soldier."
No, it doesn't. It reads "Al Nafs Al Mahzouza", which means "the fortunate soul" in English. So quite different in its intent. If Weber wanted the tattoo to read "unfortunate soldier", he may want to go back to the parlor that did this, and ask for his money back. Although Arabic is not one of Afghanistan's languages, the script is nicely done.
This captioning error is made either by some clueless soul (a summer intern?) at TIME Magazine, or through careless translation in Marjah. In this particular case, it's an irrelevant mistake....but I shudder to think how much important information is misunderstood or even lost through careless translation by American or Afghanistan individuals.
Why did I bother to mention it here? Well, a photo essay about soldiers' tattoos appears in a national and international magazine, and we still wonder why photojournalism is where it is today? Aren't there more interesting stories in Marjah?
Update: My thanks to Ciara Leeming who just messaged me saying that the caption was changed a few moments ago to this: The Arabic inscription on Weber's bicep translates to "lucky self."
It's still inaccurate, but much closer than the original. Do the TIME staffers read my blog?
Spending more than 16 hours in flights from Denpasar to London, with a 4 hours stop-over through Bangkok, provided more than enough time to draft the verdict on the Bali: Island of Odalan Photo~Expedition™ which took place from August 1 to August 15.
But first, on the the subject of airports, I can't emphasize enough the enormous disparity between Bangkok's Suvarnabhumi Airport with its glitzy pulsating shopping mall atmosphere, cleanliness, efficient service and varied restaurants, and Heathrow's crappy, faded and outdated (and in some places, downright dirty) Terminal 3. It was if I had flown from 2010 back to 1963, and landed in North Korea. Well, I'm exaggerating a little perhaps, but you get my drift.
The expedition consisted of 9 photographers, and was the last I led/organized with so many members. I must also say that having this large a group wasn't an issue whatsoever on this photo~expedition. I think that is because we stayed in one hotel all through the two weeks of the workshop/expedition, we had two vans that drove us wherever we wanted so we were not cooped together for long drives, and the temple anniversaries were in many cases sufficiently varied to provide everyone enough visual latitude to photograph away from the others. So I may reconsider the self-imposed maximum group size should I decide for another Bali photo expedition.
The 9 photographers wanted nothing else but to photograph the island’s cultural and religious rituals as much as possible. Its timing was perfectly chosen as it coincided with innumerable temple anniversaries all over Bali, along with ancillary events (some serendipitous, others not) such as cock fights and cremations. While there was no fixed itinerary per se, our drivers/fixers knew the schedule of the odalan ceremonies, and we were there with our cameras at the ready. Were we always at the right time at the right place? No, not always...but we only experienced one or two wipe-outs (as I call them) because we got there too late, or a day too early.
Having said that, I realized that I was pushing the group too much when we photographed a village cremation from morning to early afternoon, then photographed a lengthy religious ceremony in the evening. Most of the members of the group were so exhausted that we had to call it quits earlier than planned and return home, and this prompted me to schedule a day free of photography to rest, and to regroup...since we were in danger of a burn-out.
I believe each participant returned home with no less than 250gb of images in hard drives. I certainly did.
Our accommodations were at the Agung Raka Bungalows in Ubud, as in 2007. The setting is in the midst of rice fields, and its bungalows are built in traditional Balinese style, with thatched roofs and wooden interiors. The bungalows are really starting to show their age, however the owners have started to add new facilities to the property, such as a restaurant and installed wi-fi (which only works within a certain perimeter). Competition is getting fierce amongst other hotels nearby, and I suspect much more upgrading will be needed if it wants to retain its clients...and I know I will look for alternatives if I decide on another Bali trip.
For our group, I had set up photo-shoots at the home/studio of a dance master, and at a private Wayang Kulit (shadow puppet) performance. The latter was a first for everyone, including me.
I found that having a short wide-angle zoom lens such as the 16-35mm (or 17-40), a 28-70mm and a long zoom lens such as the 70-200mm worked best for me. The latter proved useful when photographing the various Balinese dances, but for environmental portraiture and for general photography, the 28-70mm 2.8 did not leave my camera body. For lack of time, I haven't used the Panasonic GF1 at all during the trip. I had brought my elderly Canon 1D Mark II, which performed really well, however as I had only brought one battery and neglected (aka forgot) to bring the charger, it conked out mid way through the trip.
The group's dynamics worked very well, both during photo shoots and elsewhere. There was ample space during ceremonies, whether in temples or on beaches, that clusters were the exception rather than the norm. During the more space-restricted photo shoots at the dance school and the shadow puppet, everyone was mindful of each other.
My most exhilarating experiences were many; photographing a cock-fight with cacophonous gamblers trying to outbid one another, attending a lengthy village cremation for 6 people, a village temple odalan where a number of animal sacrifices occurred, attending a private wedding, and meeting a countless number of Balinese who just overwhelmed us with their smiles, grace, hospitality and generosity. My overall grade for the photo~expedition hovers around A-, and I believe this grade is shared by other group members as well. I'm glad it turned out so well, especially as it had been sold out for months.
I've been advised that The Complete Photographer which is just published by Dorling Kindersley Publishers, and authored by Tom Ang, is now available in bookstores. I mention this, not only because it seems to be very interesting with tutorials on 10 different genres, covering both technical and creative aspects of photography, and helps to master 10 genres of photography, with 20 top international photographers, but I am also featured as a master of travel photography, with my image of a Guelaguetza dancer.
I believe that some biographical write-up is also included, so I'm eager to look at it at Waterstones on High Street Kensington as soon as I have the chance. Golly, being described as a master photographer is a huge boost to my ego...but before I start strutting around, I'll check it first. Hold your collective breaths!
Update: I walked to Waterstones but did not find the book. So it'll have to wait for my return to NYC in a few days.
The Bali Photo-Expedition has officially ended yesterday evening (actually it's Sunday midday as I write this), and I am waiting for my transportation to Denpasar airport to fly to Bangkok and onwards to London.
As I sit in the hotel's open-air veranda, I thought of Tirta Empul Temple (Tampak Siring Temple) which is the holiest spring water temple in Bali, and where I photographed Balinese pilgrims bathing in its waters which are believed to cure ailments. With the many temple anniversaries coinciding with the photo expedition, there was a constant flow of pilgrims who took to the cold waters as soon as they arrived.
I photographed one of these pilgrims, and used my camera settings to produce a chiaroscuro effect. I should shortly resume my regular posting on this blog, and will also write up a verdict on the Bali Photo-Expedition.
Yesterday was an exhausting day, with close to 8 hours non-stop photography. We had been invited to a large cremation ceremony which involved 6 individuals, and where we spent the whole morning into the early afternoon. Subsequently, some of us attended a Barong and an Arja dance at the communal temple of Pitra, which extended well into the night. The above photograph is of an Arja dancer pantomiming a sorrowful pose.
Arja enacts old stories mainly based on the Panji Romances (11-14th centuries) and uses dialogue understood only by Balinese-speaking audiences. Many of the stories derived from Balinese tales, Chinese and Arabic, and from the Mahabharata and Ramayana. Most of the characters are performed by male actors who take the roles of women. Many performances are usually full of comedic ribald jokes, and engage the audience. It reminded me of traditional Chinese opera, except for the part when one of the dancers blew me kisses, to the utter delight of the audience.
Yesterday morning we photographed virtually non-stop the bustling activities, including animal sacrifice, at the Pura Desa Sapah in Kegalalang. This temple has been holding its odalan festivities for a few days, which culminated in yesterday's main event. The combination of the frenetic activities, the photography and the heat/humidity left many of our group drained and exhausted.
So attending an evening Legong dance performance at Ubud's palace had a welcome soothing effect on us. The performance included various dances, such as the Gabor, Baris, Kraton ad the Taruna Jaya. We were there an hour before the start of the performance, and we had front row seats!
After breakfast, and a not so pleasant stay in a hotel in Neiva, we meet our driver Jairo who will take us to San Agustin - Jairo is contracted by Rene, a Swiss guy who settled in San Agustin many years ago, probably one of the first foreigners to settle down in this beautiful area. He runs the agency Chaskatours and we will probably hear more from him in the not too distant future. Here, the Andes Mountain Range, in one final show of grandeur, splits into three majestic mountain ranges, the Cordilleras Occidental, Central and Oriental. We are now driving through a wide green valley that divides the Cordilleras Central and Oriental, which is itself split in two by the Magdalena River, which stretches 1500km from San Agustin to Barranquilla and is the longest and most important river of Colombia.
15 minutes outside of Neiva we stumble upon the hamlet of Rivera, known for its thermal springs, and here we find a great alternative to the place we slept last night. This is the perfect place for our groups when they come driving down from Bogota to make a stop on their way to San Agustin. What better place to spend the night after a long day’s drive than a hotel with 4 swimming pools, next to a set of thermal springs?
A nice detail of local roads here is that, as well as being mostly perfectly asphalted, they are shaded by ‘ecological tunnels’. This part of Colombia gets very hot and most municipalities make a habit of having their main roads lined by trees that meet each other over the middle, thus creating a green roofing that not only creates shadow but also absorbs most of the exhaust gasses of the trucks, cars and motorbikes passing by. On top of this it truly enhances the visual experience of driving here.
Jairo is a good driver and he also turns out to be an excellent storyteller. Thanks to him and his knowledge of local folklore I have a very interesting ride, while the girls mostly sleep in the back. The first thing he asks is if we have already tried the famous ‘Asado Huilense’, a ritual pig roast only prepared during the festivities of San Juan & San Pedro. During these festivities, about which I still need to do some more reading, each province holds folkloric dancing contests where one girl is chosen to be the ‘Reina’ or ‘Queen’. During the ‘Vispera de San Juan’, or ‘the Eve of Saint John’, which I understand falls on midsummer’s eve, the family spends all day on the preparation of the pig; first the slaughter, then the cleaning of the animal and the selection of the best parts of meat. Then follows the preparation of the wood for the fire and finally the entire family, friends and neighbors sit down for a true feast. It is kind of a sacred ritual, but these days the Asado Huilense has found some resonance outside of El Huila and you will find more and more local restaurants offering the dish, also out of the official season.
Next we drive through the small town of Hobo, apparently a tourist stop, but we decide to push on. While we drive out of town on one of the scarce pieces of straight road that we have encountered on our trip, Jairo tells me that this is the highway airport of Hobo. Upon my puzzled look he explains that some nine years ago a local governor managed to get his private plane hijacked and forced to land on this main road. The governor was then kidnapped, and as far as my recently blossoming understanding of Colombian Spanish helps me understand, was released after direct negotiations between the FARC and the then president Pastrani.
Now we drive past ‘Los Altares’ – sand rock formations that line the road, shaped by wind and rain, resembling the medieval gothic churches of Europe. Here, at 700 m.a.s.l, climate and vegetation have already changed completely. Whereas in Neiva the main crops are rice and cotton, here we drive across coffee and cacao plantations. We pass countless food stalls selling ‘Quesillo’, a local cheese variant made from cows’ milk. The kids are asleep so we don’t stop; we’ll have to try this on our way back…
A road sign indicates the distances to the next three villages, one of them called ‘Gigante’. I turn to Jairo and he begins to tell the legend of El Gigante, a giant Indian who according to the story used to steal the crops of the local villagers until they had enough of it and finally managed to ambush and kill him. Apparently he still lays there today, flat on his back. We drive through the town of Gigante, but I see nothing strange or disturbing…
‘Curvas Peligrosas’… we drive through a stunning mountain area, on a recently paved road, but with about as many curves as a beautiful woman, each one more dangerous than the one before.Numerous signs alongside the road warn against drinking and driving, or simply taking the wheel when tired: ‘No more stars on the road’, they say, and before and after practically every curve a star-shaped cross is painted on the asphalt, marking a fatal accident… We take it slow, following a ‘Poker’ Beer truck and then all of sudden he appears, Matambo, the slain giant.A huge face-shaped mountain, looking like those on the statues found on Easter Island, a true indigenous boogieman, carved out of Andean rock.
We drive past a pond where ‘mojarra’ is cultivated, a local fish that is served in restaurants throughout La Huila province, of which Neiva is the capital. Will make sure to try some in San Agustin! Jairo warns us not to eat mojarra from ponds close to ‘lulo’ (a local fruit used to make juices) plantations, as this particular plant needs a lot of chemicals to withstand insects and other threats. With rain, the chemicals are flushed into the soil and then find their way into the ponds which makes this particular fish not always the healthiest option.
Up and up we go, from the 400 or so m.a.s.l where we started out this morning, making our way through the valley and up the hills. Cacao and coffee make way for tobacco as the air gets fresher and temperatures slowly drop. We drive past the town of Garzon (named after the male variant of the ‘garza’ (heron) that frequent this area. Garzon is the second city of El Huila and is the catholic center of the province, and most of the south of the country. The town has a beautiful cathedral and a seminary from which most of the prominent priests and clergymen in the country emerge. If that is a good thing or not I’ll leave to your own judgment. It’s a nice town though, from what we see driving past.
La Jagua, the next spot on the map, is a town of artisans, formerly known for being bewitched… I imagine the 31st of October must be a true party here, but we do not get much time to ponder, as Jairo begins a story about the two towns that we are approaching, Altamira & Timana.
Altamira & Timana are home to the Timanareis people. Their most famous ancestor is probably the Caciqua La Gaetana - a local chieftain whose son was killed by a Spanish invader looking for gold. The story goes that she was so angry and grief-stricken that she gathered all the local caciques in the south and together they conquered the Spaniards and captured their leader, Pedro de Allasco. La Gaetana picked out his eyes, punctured his lower jaw through the mouth, tied a rope through it and pulled him behind her horse before decapitating him. Sadly enough history was not in her favor; the Spanish came back with more men, to avenge the death of their kinsmen. La Gaetana was hunted down, but before they could catch her, she managed to reach El Pericongo, a steep cliff from which she is said to have jumped and disappeared into the Magdalena River.
The Timanareis people are the oldest tribe in Colombia. In the town of Timana there is a statue of La Gaetana, holding Allasco’s head in her hand. In Neiva, around this time every year, there is the ‘Cabalgata de la Gaetana’ where around 3000 women saddle up their horses and parade through town, emptying bottles of ‘aguardiente’, the local liquor, and making a lot of noise in praise of this fierce warrior of the past.
Driving through Altamira, we come past a sign saying ‘Florencia’. Under the Pastrani government, this town was the gateway to the ‘zona del despeje’, a large area of land cleared of military and police forces, where the FARC incumbents were given the right to reassemble, rearm, train and basically reinforce. This was a state within the state, ruled by the guerilla. I still have a lot to learn about Colombia, its history, and its people. There will most probably be a logical explanation for this guerilla state, but at this point I have no clue as to why a government would allow an enemy army to have a place to rest and rearm.I am not Colombian, so I‘m in no place to judge, of course.
Late afternoon and after a great trip we arrive in San Agustin. Not too long ago this little town was a stronghold of the FARC, and to this date the area has still not been officially given the green light by most embassies. However, as locals assure and reality shows, there is nothing to be afraid of here. Two main military bases in the vicinity mean that there are soldiers present in the streets, restaurants and sometimes also at the hotels. Through time people here have come to terms with the fact that either military or guerillas frequent the town and its facilities. The difference now is that the military are treating the villagers with respect, they pay for the services rendered and help out where needed. They are like any other citizen of Colombia, carrying out their assigned job, living and working amongst their fellow citizens. Their job is to keep the area safe and yes, they have to go on patrols into the surrounding areas, but a normal passer-by is taught to see them as peacekeepers and defenders of everybody’s safety. After a while we hardly notice them as different and the kids play around them as we all eat breakfast together.
The Anacaona is a true find and probably the best place in town. An old farm-house, this place was bought by a Frenchman some nine years ago and was slowly converted into the oddly quaint home-stay it is today. A beautiful garden and a wide, panoramic view over the adjacent valley combined with a very friendly (even if somewhat inexperienced) staff, make this a good place to spend at least a few days. The manager, Hector, is on his way to becoming one of the main players in San Agustin tourism development, and is a nice guy to have a chat with if you want to get to know more about the area. He arranged for horses, guides, a jeep and everything else that we needed when planning to explore the area. The equipment was good, the horses healthy and well fed, the guides and drivers correct and on time. English is a challenge still, though we did see some people with English speaking guides, but they had come together from Bogota. No problem for us, but something to keep in mind if you want to visit this beautiful area.
