Alas, the man isn’t a priest, or this would be absolutely perfect.
It seems just yesterday that we were off to Hawaii, to visit Julia and say hello to a tropical island. We went, we photographed, and pretty much no travel has happened since.
I hope you are all avoiding the smoke, here on the west coast. I will make the weekly pilgrimage to farmer’s market, Sunday morning: 15 minutes of outdoor buying.
Fiberglass cows. This one’s decorating the sign outside the race car track.
They’re not as glamor-seeking as the Sonoma County, maybe. Or perhaps it’s just that this one was in Edinburgh and it tends to be a bit less cattle-friendly?
The Netherlands, of course. There’s also a porcelain cow in the pictures of Delft, but … we’re sticking with the fiberglass ones. At least there’s some connection, with this one being in front of a cheese shop.
This one … was simply in the awkward space down the central well of a building.
Looking through photos reminded me of what a different world we’re in, compared to just twenty years ago. In 1999 we went to the Netherlands, Germany, and France. We took a train from Amsterdam to Kaiserslautern but got turned around and missed a connection. So we found a payphone and called our friend, who was at home waiting to hear from us, and on we went. It was normal, before cell phones, to be completely at the mercy of whomever decides where payphones go and upon your friend being home, waiting.
It was also normal to take maybe a hundred pictures on a week’s vacation. We may have taken perhaps 250, but would have been cautious, because every one cost money to develop. And so we have pictures like this one, where I dearly wish I had a few hundred more from which to choose. As photos go, meh. As a memory….
When we returned to Scotland in 2015, we tried to return to the Crannog Centre (we first visited in 2007). It was raining horribly, the road was literally flooded out, and we gave it up. Next time, though, and we will have more than a film camera, shooting with expired film! (it was an artistic choice)
I will perhaps give the pole lathe another try. I don’t remember it very well, looking back 13 years. I don’t believe I will require a new wallet next time, though.
I wish we’d done more of these photospheres. Please click through to this one & get a feel for what they’re like viewed where you can scroll around and really look at things.
When we’re traveling, I like to use the big cameras, because the results are just so much better than the phones. Making these things, though, is something I intend to do more frequently.
A church in Taxco, Mexico. Just one of the several, as I recall.
I think anybody who visits Reykjavik probably ends up visiting this sculpture. Likewise, every time we’ve visited we’ve at least said hello.
In an effort to get a different take on Sólfar, I snapped it reflected in the car window.
It won’t win any prizes, but I like the concept.
We are not island people, unless the island is generally green, cold, and foggy and connected with a wrongheaded place that has a queen. Islands which are mosquito-muggy and green? Nope, not for us. Or, so T. thought she was safe assuming. D’s random, “Hey, Big BrotherD says we should go to Hawai’i!” comment had her saying, “Uh-huh,” and moving on with her life. Until he bought the tickets.
“But, we’re not island people!” T protested.
“But, how do we know?” D countered.
Our first time in Hawai’i maybe wasn’t one of our better organized trips. We neither of us was feeling that well (ironic, since we were going to visit someone post-surgery), and we forgot a lot of stuff. But, we arrived.
The ocean was overwhelming, as was the sky.
The contrast between stormy steel-gray and blinding sunshine seemed to change every four minutes. And there were CHICKENS. EVERYWHERE. Sooo many chickens. This was more amusing than expected, as the baby chicks would often scurry under the nearest large “safe” space when frightened. The first night, at a food truck, this was between T’s feet. She wasn’t sure whether to be amused or horrified. (Chickens evidently know a vegetarian when they see one.)
The first night, we slept with the windows and doors closed. This did not prevent the Dawn Chorus from waking us at 3:20 a.m.
Our friend Ju texted us a screenshot of her phone about an hour later, during what she calls “The Hour of the Rooster.” We had no rooster – but we had everything else. Sandpipers. Mynah birds. Zebra doves. Waxbills. White-eyes. Java finches. We gave up and got up.
There isn’t much to do on the very North Shore of O’ahu, other than surf and hike, and people are avidly into it. Traffic on the North Shore of O’ahu is less amusing late in the day, as people just arriving on the island tend to need to pull over every four minutes to gawk at the water. Early in the morning, though, it is wonderful. We drove in the rain, which cleared, leaving us with that freshly-showered feeling (warm, wet, in need of a towel). We were still feeling meh, so took the day slowly. Starting with water seemed a good idea.
Obviously, there were birds near the water, and this continued us on our Bird Odyssey. As T has said, a camera is merely a gateway drug to bird watching, and we chased birds our entire trip. This was its own amusement; D chasing across a golf course, while a coy sandpiper led him on was its own comedy routine.
We decided early on to avoid tourist-y places this trip – no coffee or pineapple plantations, no luaus, no Polynesian Cultural Center – our purpose was to hang out with Ju, look at birds and water, and remember how to be Humans, Being. It took us the first three days to become accustomed to the low speed limits, random surges of people crossing the highway (the reason for the 35mph everywhere), and the warm rain (!!!!) before we truly started to enjoy ourselves, and of course, then, we had to start thinking about doing Last Things and going home.
Of course, five days isn’t enough, when you’re trying to unkink your brain. Not if you’re not yet sure you’re an island person. Not if you’re leery of humidity, and the wildness of your hair and the way you look in fewer clothes.
Once you stop caring about any of that, though, and embrace your fat, your frizz, and your fishbelly paleness, it’s just enough time for a little reset.