Kathmandu Magic

Dateline Kathmandu (Day 140 with 3865 to go)

Kathmandu . . . the name itself seems to connote an enchanted land. And so, let us allow this amazing city to transport us into our dreams. Perhaps my first image from the Buddhist stupa at Bodhnath might invoke a whispering hint into the ethereal bliss this deeply religious and historical city offers:

What more to expect?

Well . . . it’s not what you might imagine if you remember the recent Maoist uprisings and blockades . . . or the ruthless murder of eight members of the royal family (including the revered king and his wife) back in 2001 by a drunken, disgruntled prince who was pissed off that his future bride wasn’t on the approved list of his possibilities–or so the official word was put out. He had no defense because they say he turned the gun on himself shortly after his nefarious escapade. Be that as it may, virtually the entire royal legacy of the past couple hundred years was wiped out in an instant–except for an heir who was conveniently in the northern city of Pokhara at the time of the incident. No autopsies were allowed, the royal dead were immediately cremated, and that particular palace was burned to the ground in short order. So lingering doubts as to what really happened still persist. Of course, there are local perceptions about other possibilities such as a CIA conspiracy, or the Indian government’s interference, or a Maoist plot or whatever ones imagination might conjure up with these kinds of national tragedies. But today the country has moved forward from this recent bleak history . . . well, almost. Maoist officials have now been elected into parliament and they espouse peace but during the last decade or so they wreaked havoc across the land. The new king Birendra (the prince who conveniently found himself in Pokhara when the royal tragedy occurred) was democratically relieved of his power in 2008 by a national referendum and he now resides in a humble two-bedroom house on the outskirts of Kathmandu. The word “royal” was shortly thereafter stripped from the name of the national airline and the former royal palace has become a museum. Today there is virtual calm in the land and a burgeoning, vibrant democracy is at hand.

On my first day in Nepal I journeyed to the imposing Swayambhunath Stupa perched high on a hilltop overlooking the Kathmandu Valley but, alas, I found the stupa shrouded in scaffolding for renovation. I climbed down the hill feeling a bit disappointed and left with only a photo of the Buddha’s footprints sprinkled with flower petals, grains of rice and red tikka powder as offerings.

On my second day in this magical city, the Maoists brought the entire country to an abrupt halt with a three-day nationwide strike because they were disgruntled and unsatisfied with results–there’s too much corruption and extreme poverty in rural areas still exists. No vehicles moved, no shops were open, no restaurants served food. Nothing inched along. That is . . . unless you decided to walk.

So I did.

All I found were shop doors bolted shut. And–WOW–did that provide some photo opportunities not otherwise afforded when the doors are wide open:

(click for larger views)

Doors can be great and it is an aspect of my photo vernacular to honor them.

Allaying my fears of a nationwide renovation of heritage sites, I was relieved to find Bodhnath Stupa not covered in scaffolding. This is one of the few places in the world where unfettered Tibetan Buddhist culture still exists. My visit came with a prize when I discovered the stupa was draped in festive night lighting offering a photo not often seen–something we travel photographers love to encounter. So I found a nice rooftop restaurant with the best angle of view, set up my tripod and ordered a beer to wait for that magic moment of twilight when the night lighting would perfectly balance with the lingering deep blue of a diminishing sky. Hopefully the decorative lights would come on before the sky went black. If not, my plan was to shoot an exposure when the sky was rich in cobalt hues then afterwards sandwich that frame in Photoshop with a later exposure that recorded the twinkling lights when the sky was dark. But as the sky started to wane someone flipped the switch and the stupa was suddenly awash in light–well, half of it, which would have made my post-shot Photoshop efforts quite exhaustive in trying to copy/paste half the lights in perspective to the other side of the stupa. Oh well, another sip of beer. My work would be cut out for me later that night on the computer. But after two or three more sips of Nepali brew the other half of the monument charged to life just in the nick of time before the last color in the sky had gone to sleep.

The purity of line in the design of Bodhnath Stupa is not replicated with such grace anywhere else in Nepal. Watchful eyes of the Buddha are painted on four sides of the gilded tower above the stupa dome. On another day and at another rooftop restaurant I waited till the descending sun’s orb offered its reflecting, golden rays.

Thousands of devotees circumnavigate the stupa clockwise every day in a surging, ritual procession while they chant mantras and spin prayer wheels embedded in the 147 niches of the surrounding wall. Naturally, along the way vendors offer their wares: Gurkha knives, jewelry, butter lamps and incense containers.

And the eyes from above keep watching . . . perhaps disconcerted by such flagrant displays of commercialism.

Not far away on the banks of the holy, though extremely murky, Bagmati River is the golden Hindu temple of Pashupatinath dedicated to lord Shiva where he is celebrated in his form as Pashupati, the lord of the beasts. Non-Hindus may not enter, which severely hampered my taking photographs, but Hindu devotees and sadhus flock here from across the Indian sub-continent. Many Nepalis choose to be cremated on the banks of the Bagmati and funeral pyres smolder around the clock as you can see in this high angle view above nearby stone Shiva shrines on the hillside. Shooting closer photos of the burning bodies at the cremation ghats is disrespectful–not that I wanted gory, bubbling flesh images anyway.

The nearby Kathmandu suburb of Patan is blessed with probably Nepal’s most spectacular collection of towering, multi-tiered temples and pagodas adorned with lavish carvings and decoration. One temple is dedicated to the god of trade and business, which might explain why thriving shops in the neighborhood are filled with expensive treasures for tourists. Street-level vantage points make it difficult to encompass the entire scene in one view. But I always need exercise and look forward to climbing the stairs of every rooftop restaurant in town seeking the best angle . . . yeah, sure.

The Kathmandu Valley is filled with magical places. The former medieval city-state of Bhaktapur really sings with its quaint, crooked, cobbled-stone streets, towering temples and teetering red brick buildings. Symbolizing the architectural whimsy of ancient times there’s even a Shiva temple with roof struts on high that are carved into scenes of camels and horses and elephants in various positions of erotic love. Sorry, no picture; this is a family site.

The grandeur of Bhaktapur’s temples is accentuated by a backdrop of distant, snow-covered Himalayan peaks. Old men with nothing to do gather in the town’s numerous market squares to lament glorious times gone by.

And sometimes you encounter outlandishly dressed sadhu ascetics who seem to have forsaken their vows of shedding earthly wealth to seek the “way.” Many of these aesthetic ascetics now seem more focused on monetary gain from the tipping tourists with camera in hand. At least I got a model release in response to my token remuneration though I kept wondering how much that jewelry might have cost.

Bhaktapur’s Nyatapola Temple with its five-tiered pagoda roof is Nepal’s tallest such structure. On one side I found a rather stoic stone guard . . . and on the other side I found a bicycle.

One can spend days wandering Bhaktapur’s narrow back streets and alleyways discovering small market squares carpeted with clay pottery bowls baking in the sun or stacks of hand-hammered brass milk cans on display.

You can browse through endless racks of exquisite Nepalese jewelry or buy some colorful hand-woven mittens if your fingers get cold.

But the artfully detailed lintels and doorway designs intrigue me most.

Nepal has a living child goddess, the Kumari Devi, who lives in the center of Kathmandu in an awesome, ornately carved wooden house 250 years old. One legend has it that the tradition began centuries ago when a randy pedophile king had rather energetic sex with a prepubescent girl who died shortly thereafter. In penance he started the practice of venerating a young virgin as a living goddess. Whatever the history, each new Kumari chosen today must be from a particular caste of Newari gold- or silversmiths. She must be no younger than four and, of course, not have reached the ripe age of puberty. Thirty-two strict physical characteristics must be met including the shape of her teeth, the color of her eyes and the sound of her voice. The potential candidate is then subjected to a scary dance by men wearing horrific masks who surround her with 108 gruesome buffalo heads. If she doesn’t get frightened, she’s the new Kumari goddess until the day of her first menstrual cycle or some other accidental loss of a huge amount of blood. Then she reverts to a common mortal and can one day marry a mortal man. In the interim she lives a very pampered life and each year makes only a few ceremonial forays through the city riding high on a huge temple chariot to offer her blessings. In the past she conducted a royal ceremony once each year to bless the king. But democracy came and the king departed. Today she blesses the president. It’s considered extremely unlucky for a man to marry a former Kumari goddess–most likely, they say, because he must cater to a spoiled brat who’s had life served to her on a silver platter.

I’ve never seen a real live goddess.

So on my last morning in Nepal I strolled past the Kumari Bahal where the young girl resides but was unable to get a glimpse of her peeking out a window.

I sighed and watched my breath slowly evaporate into the chill dawn air of a brisk Nepali winter. I put my camera away, snugged my hands deep into my brand new mittens . . . and bid the magic of Kathmandu farewell.

Glen Allison

PS:  Read an absolutely amazing Book Review in the San Francisco Examiner about my new fine art photo book, “Thrill Me Rajasthan.”

Rajasthani Splendor

Dateline Rajasthan (Day 100 with 3905 to go)

The ethereal white palace seems to float in water. Shimmering twilight reflections gracefully dance across my mind and across the surface of the idyllic Lake Pichola. James Bond came here once . . . well, at least in the Hollywood movie “Octopussy” when it was filmed in Udaipur so many years ago. This is only one of Rajasthan’s magical cities, one that few visitors will ever forget. When you sit at the lake’s edge and allow the approaching night sky to slip into hues of mauve and deep blue, it’s easy to let yourself be transported to another time–one of maharajas and royal floating palaces and extravagance you might only have dreamed about.

And so, I had left the wild environs of Pushkar camels and frenetic holy festivals and little blue boys dressed as the Hindu god Shiva to continue my sojourn across Rajasthan. Like Pushkar’s dry holy lake today, when I visited Udaipur five years ago the floating palace only floated in dry sand and the magic had escaped with the evaporation. So I am ecstatic to find water this time. My driver informs me that only a couple of months ago in September the lake was barren but then the monsoons came and then me.

Sometimes it doesn’t take much to keep a photographer happy.

Naturally, you can indulge yourself in the opulent surroundings of the Jag Niwas floating palace (now known as The Lake Palace Hotel) and experience palatially exuberant surroundings in probably India’s most romantic overnight stay–or longer, of course, if your maharaja whims and lifestyle and stash of cash enables you to partake. Or you can simply revel in the splendor by just having dinner there for a hundred dollars or so.

Both sides of the lake have dream views. While you are indulging in the thrill of your lake palace heaven, take a moment to turn around for the panoramic spectacle of Udaipur’s magnificent City Palace of night light reflecting behind you.

I’m up bright and early the next morning and back to reality. Now my budget has been blown and the wine has worn off and I must find some fine art photos to shoot in the mid-morning light. It doesn’t take long for the color to find me.

(Click for larger views and captions)

Udaipur satiates my creative bent and then I make my way to Jodhpur–India’s acclaimed “Blue City”–a moniker best explained by high angle views of crowded, crooked maze-like alleyways in the old part of town. This color wash of sprawling blue houses and shops and narrow confines breathtakingly unfolds before me as I lean over the walls of the mighty Fort Meherangarh, whose ramparts soar from an impregnable, sheer-sided outcrop of stone high above the city.

The bustling main market next to the Sardar clock tower provides an endless array of photo opportunities and the color grabs me.

Then on to the far reaches of the Thar desert, close to the Pakistani border, where lies the quintessential desert fort town of Jaisalmer. Lawrence of Arabia couldn’t have dreamed how magically this golden-hued wonder rises from the sand at sunset. Camel caravans of ancient times converged in Jaisalmer and the city was besieged endlessly because of its strategic location as a life-line trade route. In 1298 the forces of Ala-ud-din Khalji laid a seven-year siege on the city that ended with the men of Jaisalmer riding out to their deaths and the women committing suicide behind them. But the “Golden City” of Jaisalmer lives on.

The last time I was here the fort’s ramparts were gloriously lit at night so this time I find a hotel with a rooftop restaurant that provides a different angle of view and, hopefully, a similar photo experience. But with nightfall it appears that most of the lights have burned out over time. This means a lost opportunity on this trip. I sit for a while sipping my Kingfisher beer, one of India’s most popular brands. “More Thrilling Chilled,” the label exclaimed fifteen years ago. I wonder why they have now removed this phrase. The beer still provides an exciting kick, which no doubt added to my glee of my evening. Now travel photographers coming to Jaisalmer today can’t shoot a photo that challenges the one I did a few years ago, one that resides at Getty Images:

I love strolling through the narrow walkways of old fort towns in India allowing myself the adrenaline rush when I stumble upon graphically bold image possibilities.

Rajasthan always thrills me.

Glen Allison

PS: Read an absolutely amazing Book Review in the San Francisco Examiner about my new fine art photo book, “Thrill Me Rajasthan.”

Pushkar Chaos

Dateline:  Pushkar, India (Day 67 with 3938 to go)

 

 

And so, once again, I enter the bizarre world of Pushkar:  Camels, sadhu holy men, pilgrims, touts, tourists, snake charmers, lepers.

 

 

They’re all here.

 

 

(Click to see larger views and read captions.)

 

This week (the full moon of November) brings a bit of insanity to the local atmosphere–fireworks, glitter, Rajasthani fashionistas–all side-by-side with the filth.

 

This is Inida.

 

The novelty of the Pushkar Mela (or fair) never seems to wear off–this is my fifth visit in two decades. The camel fair culminates on the final full moon day, Kartik Poornima. It’s a holy event, but one that seems to have become the capitalistic god-focus for the ever-growing onslaught of vendors from afar who are drawn to Pushkar’s sanctified lake this particular week . . . and to the money they can garner from selling their trinkets. Hotel rates can skyrocket as much as 500 percent during the event.

 

 

But this year perhaps the gods were incensed. Humankind hasn’t been kind to the environment. And so the gods decided to drain the holy lake of Pushkar.

 

It’s empty. Bone dry.

 

 

 

 

Well, there’s a little bit of water in one corner that the local authorities have been pumping in for the festivities.

 

 

 

 

And at the traditional bathing ghats there are some manmade cisterns for the hordes of dipping devotees who have flocked here this week for a ritual submersion in the lake. Like the Ganges, no matter how much the water might be polluted, devout Hindu followers seem determined to immerse themselves. At least there’s now no pollution in Pushkar’s lake. There’s no lake. Only the dust of departing camels.

 

If you want 20,000 camels, you must come early before the holy festivities begin because most of the camels go back home before the full moon rises. Actually the Rajasthani men barter cattle and horses, too. But the camels are the drawing card and no photographer wants to miss the smoky, dusty sunset photos that have drawn thousands to Pushkar.

 

 

 

But now I’m mostly trying to find colorful fine art graphic compositions.

 

 

 

So this time I came after many of the camels had already departed but before the influx of kaleidoscopically-colored, sari-clad Rajasthani ladies would invade Pushkar in hordes toward the end of the weeklong festivities.

 

 

 

By the way, camels can be an arrogant lot. Or, at least, they carry that air of demeanor in their expressions. If they are disgusted with you, they might spit. Or they might kick. Their hips are six feet high. And that means a six-foot arc for a flying hoof. So you must keep your distance when darting between camels on either end.

 

They, too, dress up for the festivities.

 

 

 

Pushkar, being a holy site, is totally vegetarian–not even eggs can be found on the menu. Drugs and alcohol are forbidden in the city . . . well, I did find a couple of restaurants that served beer under the table. Actually, they served it on top of the table but discreetly from a teapot so as not to offend local sensitivities while at the same time being able to cash in on Western pocketbooks. Many of the foreign tourists had a teapot at their table. And the authorities seem to ignore the cannabis that’s readily available to service the ever present contingent of dreadlocked, new age hippies who are drawn here throughout the year. Marijuana is blended into what is called a “bhang lassi,” your typical sweet lassi (a yogurt-based drink) but this one comes with a bang. Hey, maybe that’s how they came up with the name. So one afternoon when I was offered to imbibe, I partook. “Medium or strong,” I was asked. “Strong,” of course. A word of caution:  Never, never have a strong bhang lassi just before a sunset shoot of backlit camels disappearing over the horizon in a golden fog of dust on their way back home. I almost didn’t find my own way back home and it’s a good thing there’s auto-focus. That evening was very surreal and my Photoshop work was extremely creative.

 

Of course, there are some guidelines for tourists who come here. Here’s a photo of one sign next to Pushkar’s used-to-be lake:

 

Note “Avoid accepting eatables from Strangers” and  ”CALL  FOR  HELP.”

 

 

The former British colonization of India made English quite common here but it’s humorous how it sometimes gets used as noted above. Traversing the desert on the way to Pushkar, my driver and I came across a low place in the terrain where they had built a slightly raised bridge. But it was obvious that during one of Rajasthan’s rare flash floods the road might still be under water. The hand-painted yellow warning sign drew special attention:

 

“Submersible bridge ahead!”

 

And I always chuckle at Indian restaurants when given the choice between “Veg” or “Non-Veg.” Funny how the non-veg selections not only include meat but always vegetables. Of course, this phrase refers to the dish being non-vegetarian.

 

I was surprised to find relatively fast internet connections in Pushkar. The last time I was here in 2004 the internet speed went at a camel’s pace. The influence of Bangalore’s IT phenomenon has spread far and wide. Even so, it’s said that perhaps ten million of India’s tribal nomadic residents have no education and don’t even know the name of the country they live in. But that’s one of the things that makes India so fascinating.

 

The main drag thru Pushkar’s old town is only about one kilometer long. And in some places the street is just three outstretched arms wide. You can imagine what it’s like with ten million pilgrims abreast and your camera held high above your head so it doesn’t get crunched in the chaos. Even so, I was able to find numerous fine art candidates for my collection:

 

 

 

During the festival the entire city gets temporarily wired with blaring loud speakers to keep everyone informed in Hindi and entertained with the Rajasthani version of Bollywood music full pitch. Last evening was the beginning of the full moon and literally tens of thousands of pilgrims arrived throughout the night. They were welcomed with ear-piercing music just outside my hotel window from one of those speakers blasting away all night long. Now I fully understand the CIA strategy of sleep depravation and mind-numbing music for hours on end.

 

But that was last night.

 

So tonight is really the last night of Pushkar madness, I sit at a rooftop restaurant (teapots obvious at almost every table) while I ponder life surging past in the narrow street just below. I’m fascinated by the endless procession of colorful saris and sadhus and turbans and holy cows and lepers dragging themselves along. A clutch of excited monkeys swinging in wild abandon catches my eye. And then I notice a man with a handful of glowing iridescent blue and red objects. One-by-one he hooks them into a slingshot and propels them straight up a hundred feet into the night sky. He nonchalantly looks around (not upwards) for ten or fifteen seconds, then outstretches his hand to gently catch each glimmering object as they gracefully fall into his fingertips. Like a boomerang effect, the glowing lights came back to him. How did he do that? It was like an ethereal ballet in light. So magical. (No, I wasn’t sipping another bhang lassi.) The man draws an audience. And I notice he’s selling quite a few of his glimmering objects. The holy cows keep flowing with the crowd and are seemingly unaware of the spectacle.

 

I love India.

 

Glen Allison

 

Follow my escapades daily (sometimes hourly) and check out my new pix almost as fast as they are uploaded by following me on Twitter or Facebook.

 

And check out my latest 2010 calendar–Pushkar Color–that I uploaded today.

Running Amok in Cambodia

Dateline:  Siem Reap (Day 41 with 3964 days to go)

My plane descended through murky grey cloud. Gradually the eerie landscape came into focus though it was hard to discern visual separation between sky and the endless fog-schrouded sea beyond. Treetops seemed to float in what appeared to be an optical illusion . . . but I knew the ocean was more than three hundred kilometers south. Gradually it became clear what the mighty typhoon Ketsana had unleashed. You could see water forever with only an occasional rooftop poking through. Ketsana had laid waste to the Philippines on her course toward Vietnam. But Vietnam is narrow and its terrain offered little resistance. So Ketsana decided to engulf next-door Cambodia before her fury tired just one day before I arrived.

The treetops grew closer, whizzing past with ever gathering speed and it started to worry me this wasn’t an amphibious aircraft. Then just inches above the water, the runway finally rose to greet us. My sigh of relief was audible and then we touched down. The flight attendant promptly announced we had landed at the international airport of Siem Reap and to please keep our mobile phones switched off and our life jackets handy till we moored at the boat dock.

My taxi ride into the city was a bit wet . . . if you can call it a taxi. Actually the locals call them ‘tuk-tuks” but they’re not quite the same as those in Thailand. These are open-sided carriages towed by a motorbike with a pivoting hinge mounted on back, connected to the royal carriage where I was clinging for dear life fending off the onslaught splash of speeding vehicles trying desperately to drench my camera bag. The roads were just passable–only in places was it knee-deep in the after wake of Ketsana’s wrath.

Nevertheless, this was much fun.

My first day was spent swimming . . . well, so to speak. The streets of Siem Reap became more submerged each day though the rains had long since stopped. The waters up north relentlessly made their way downhill, which left the city in an ever-deepening backwash.

I stood in ankle-deep water when I shot my first fine art photos in Cambodia, “Run Yellow Run” and “First Came Red,” both from peeling paint signboards:

Then I made my way to Deadfish where I first ran amok.

Please let me clarify:  I don’t mean “amok” as in “stone-throwing anarchists running amok.” My online dictionary says this word comes via the Portuguese from the Malay word “amok” which was a noun denoting a Malaysian in a homicidal frenzy and that it is now used as an adverb which dates from the late 17h century–a time when the Portuguese were running amok in the area and probably felt this word accurately described their uncontrolled excitement and exaggerated behavior of forced land acquisition.

“Deadfish” is the name of a fantastic restaurant in the heart of Siem Reap, an establishment of rustic warehouse design with multi levels suspended rather precariously between rafters and with water troughs below that house big fish (live not dead)–an architectural design that could tantalize just about anyone’s visual appetite. I waded through knee-deep waters to get there and this is the first place I tried “Khmer Amok,” a culinary delight. It’s a thick coconut milk curry dish with fish or chicken or pork (your choice) saturated in local spices and usually served in a banana leaf bowl or in a young coconut shell. I’m not sure where they got the name. But It’s simply delicious and after the first taste I swam amok through the streets of Siem Reap looking for more.

This was my third trip to Angkor and its magical overgrown temples from a time one thousand years past–the architectural renaissance of Southeast Asia. Less than two decades ago there were very few hotels nearby. Now the place is chockablock with endless five-star accomodation. Check out how tree roots have engulfed nearby temple ruins over the centuries.

The first time I came here was in the early nineties when there were hardly any tourists and the infamous Khmer Rouge had almost departed. They had slaughtered millions of Cambodians in previous years and the blood stains still linger today. My guide back then was a machine-gun-toting soldier whose mission was to protect me from a possible handful of stray Khmer Rouge outlaws still roaming the area and who frequently hid in the unending nooks and crannies of the Angkor temple ruins. But fortunately my guide and I were the only ones present that day. He also kept me on a path safely away from the stray land mine or two. Just a couple of months before I arrived, three tourists had been kidnapped by the Khmer Rouge and killed. To see my images from back then click this link to my Angkor pix at Getty Images:

My Getty Angkor Images

Today much of the encroaching jungle has been cleared and in it’s place we find boardwalks and roped-off temple paths and thousands of super-sized buses laden with camera-toting tourists all safe from the long departed Khmer Rouge. Now you have your choice between helicopter rides, hot air balloons or transporting yourself straddled atop an elephant to garner unique views. I stood for a full thirty minutes waiting for what seemed like hundreds of sightseers to pass (I kid not) just to take this one photo in a split second sans humankind and reminiscent of ages past. The threatening scowl I threw an encroaching tourist was enough to freeze her in stride on the boardwalk for just the quick moment I needed.

Notice how the tree strides atop algae-covered temple ruins and how its roots found every possible avenue through gaps between stones. Indiana Jones would surely have loved it here. This place is awesome. But please don’t come.

You might not find an empty hotel room though thousands of possibilities now exist.

So, I spent most of my time during this trip swimming and dodging tourists and piranha-like touts. I kept looking for fine art compositions bathed with magic light in hard-to-find isolated sectors of the temples. Typically I lean toward warming my images a tweak using Photoshop when I encounter overcast skies like during this trip. This time I shifted gears and cooled most of my photos a bit thus enlivening drab grey stones by washing them with hints of blue. The exaggerated moonlight effect in “Splatter Pink” below was induced by shifting the color temperature all the way down to 2000 degrees Kelvin, way too much for travel photos but not necessarily so for fine art compositions. To my surprise this strategy flipped the green algae to pink, which created a nice offset balance to the little round hole and the zigzag joint between stones.

Local authorities don’t recommend running amok through temple rubble at midnight hoping for shades of blue light in your photos.

Glen

Click the sidebar link and check out my first 2010 Calendar then flip through its pages to see 13 of my best fine art images to date from Thailand and Cambodia.

Songkran Wild Ride

Dateline:  Chiang Mai (day 29 with 3976 to go)

Haunting thoughts of her preyed on my mind.

Her angled-cut eyes had entranced me though at the time I couldn’t have been less interested. She was the kind of woman that could draw followers without ever acknowledging their presence. I don’t know why I let her lead me away . . .

That was fifteen years ago and I’ll relate more about that saga in a minute. Meanwhile, Chiang Mai has once again launched me toward the next level of creative pursuit. I’ve long been intrigued by the magically graphic compositions I encounter–capturred from the corner of my eye. So now my focus will narrow, from time to time, and not just include the pursuit of travel imagery. I’ll delve into the finer art aspects of the visual experience. The other day I visited Wat Jet Yot temple and was immediately drawn to much tighter visions:

(Click for bigger views.)

My journey will lure me to some of the world’s most exotic destinations. Of course, the primary emphasis is to capture photos that might lure others to enjoy the experience and maybe come visit.

One of the best times for Chiang Mai is during the hot, dry month of April when the city is awash in merriment and the Songkran Water Festival–where the entire population and its visitors get sopping wet.

So, what about that mysterious woman . . .

To elaborate, and to perhaps describe the madness of Songkran, I’ll quote a portion from one chapter of my love story novel, “The Journey from Kamakura.” My day job is that of a travel photographer. I write at night. And, if I might be allowed to toot a horn, “Journey” was nominated one of three finalists for “Best First Book Fiction” in the 2004 Benjamin Franklin Awards. The story is an almost true tale about a photographer who roams the globe seeking the wildest experiences the world has to offer. Along the way he blows through a million dollars and is soon sabotaged by self-destructive tendencies sending him on a roller coaster ride that challenges his will to survive. This Songkran scene occurs soon after he is rescued from the aftereffects of his escape to the slimy pit of Bangkok drugs and sex and sin that he fell into–the result of a spiraling plunge trapping him far too long. Then a mysteriously exotic woman in Chiang Mai appears–Mika. Transfixed by her zest for life, he follows her across Southeast Asia, a journey that leads him to perceptions no photograph could ever portray. After a windswept, sensuous night (though one filled with deep introspection) she drags him out of bed to the Songkran Festival. It’s the first experience of an exhilarating journey destined to wash away stains from the past . . .

So now the excerpt:

[An hour later we were in a tuk-tuk speeding to the center of town. Mika shoved her camera into a clear plastic zippered bag and sealed it tight.

Bewildered, I asked what she was doing.

"You'll find out soon enough," she said.

It was hot outside as usual. The sky was clear and dry. Yet the tuk-tuk driver was wearing a transparent plastic raincoat. I leaned forward to ask why.

"Today first day of Songkran Festival," the man said in his rough English as he hollered above the traffic noise. "It's Thai New year religious celebration." He turned to look at his passengers. "Today we wash sins away. Too hot outside. Everybody gets cool water."

More confused than ever, I twisted to look at Mika. She grinned. Up ahead there were several young people having a wonderful time shooting each other with squirt pistols. Two or three buckets filled with water sat at their feet. As our tuk-tuk whirred by, the kids picked up the buckets and flung the contents.

I was drenched.

With her finger firmly pressed on the motor-drive button, Mika yelled with excitement and raised her sealed-up camera to fire off several frames without ever looking through the viewfinder. The driver laughed uproariously then wheeled around a corner, heading toward another group of eager kids with large buckets in their hands. Glee filled their eyes.

Everything seemed totally bizarre. "What's going on here," I shouted above the roar of the tuk-tuk's noisy two-stroke engine.

"They do this each year," Mika yelled, "on the thirteenth of April." She braced her foot against the side or the tuk-tuk and aimed her camera toward the approaching waterfall we'd be driving through.

Water splashed everywhere, and we were thoroughly soaked once again.

I hoped the worst was over, but then the driver took a sharp turn to the left up a side street where we were ambushed by a group of kids armed with high-pressure garden hoses. He drove through the onslaught, then made a fast U-turn in the middle of the street, hollering "hold on," and headed back toward the kids one more time.

The whole city had gone crazy. Tuk-tuks circled wildly through the streets, horns blaring, water flying. People were opening car doors at traffic intersections, and tossing buckets of water on the passengers inside.

Thinking it surely couldn't get any wetter, I looked up to see an open-bed truck pull alongside our tuk-tuk. In the back stood a dozen teenaged boys and girls pointing at us, mischief in their eyes. They were huddled around what appeared to be a five-hundred-gallon water tank on the bed of the truck. As they drove closer, they started dumping buckets of water on us for the next several blocks. Mika madly shot pictures, motioning for them to keep dousing me as I screamed and yelled for mercy.

An hour later our water safari ended and the tuk-tuk driver was paid with sopping wet baht. He didn't seem to mind.

Exhausted, exhilarated, ecstatic, and out of breath Mika grabbed my shoulders and whirled me in circles down the street under continuous showers coming from every direction. Everyone was dousing everyone--the street was awash with water and laughter and joy.

I looked at Mika and smiled. This was fun! The most fun I'd had in a very, very long time. Perhaps she already understood what I'd been through.

After several hours of craziness, we finally made it back to our hotel. When we picked up our keys, even the desk clerk was dripping.

Back in our room, we stripped off our clothes and toweled each other dry. Mika's hair hung in wet strings, sensuously draping into her eyes. She looked great in wet hair.

"Today was fantastic," I said.

"I had fun, too," she grinned. Then she tackled me to the floor.]

Read a review:  Click  The Journey from Kamakura, then scroll to the bottom.

Glen

PS: If you’d like automatic email notification each time I post a new entry to this blog, please subscribe at the top left. You can also follow along in real time on Facebook and Twitter where I’ll be uploading new images every few hours.

Aspiring Buddhas

Dateline Bangkok: (Day 22 with 3983 to go)

Novice monks on their way to enlightenment:

In hot pursuit, I surreptitiously shot this brief time-exposure from the hip, not looking through the viewfinder. Notice the waist-level perspective.

Shooting without looking through the viewfinder is not an original concept. Daisaku Ikeda perfected this art long before there were digital cameras with LCD screens on the back. He was once asked how he could shoot images not holding the camera to his eye. His response, “I don’t take pictures with my eyes. I photograph with my heart.” Ikeda is not a professional photographer and his images can’t be judged with such guidelines but he has an intriguing approach to photography that enables him to fuse with magic moments in time.

I’m on this journey to grow and reflect. So, allow me to digress from my Bangkok saga for a moment to share an episode that illustrates Ikeda’s photographic style and the photo lessons I learned from him.

I’ve taken photos of Ikeda in action. He was riding a golf cart, me chasing along from behind. I had to be careful he didn’t see me rushing so energetically as I tried to keep up with him. I darted forward, dashing back-and-forth from behind trees along the way to avoid being noticed, trying to escape his glance backwards from time to time.

Why?

Ikeda is a renowned humanist and if he had seen me exerting so much energy, he would have brought his golf cart to an immediate halt to see if I was OK. Such is the depth of his compassion and that’s probably why he’s so in tune with the environment.

To put this photo experience in perspective I should mention that an hour earlier (a couple of decades ago) I had photographed Dr. Ikeda having a dialogue with Rosa Parks, an American black activist and civil rights icon who helped propel the United States on a path toward racial equality. A few months earlier I had photographed him having a dialogue with Linus Pauling, one of America’s foremost scientists who won two Nobel Prizes. And a few months before that I photographed Ikeda having a dialogue with Norman Cousins, a recipient of both the Eleanor Roosevelt Peace Award and a United Nations Peace Medal.

On this particular day my only concern was to capture the moment and to learn.

After the event with Rosa Parks, Ikeda decided to tour the grounds of Soka University, which he founded in California, (then in Calabasas now in Mission Viejo) the venue for their dialogue. He brought his golf cart to a halt when he noticed some young students nearby packing up their musical instruments. And I was able to finally catch my breath. These kids had performed in tribute to Rosa Parks. Ikeda wanted to congratulate them and in just moments seemed to have won their hearts. I took photos of the youths in his embrace. Then, from the corner of my viewfinder, I noticed Ikeda’s right arm lift into the air behind him and one of his aides placed a camera in his hand. Ikeda never looked backwards. He grasped the camera and proceeded to shoot several images from over his right shoulder up toward the sky never turning his head to see what he was shooting. He couldn’t extract his eyes from the youths he engaged.

I was drawn to look over my own shoulder to see what Ikeda had photographed. I was amazed. He had captured a perfect V-formation of geese flying by without even looking their way.

Daisaku Ikeda is an eminent lay Buddhist scholar. Adherents to the form of Buddhism he practices don’t shave their heads or wear orange robes or worship golden statues of the Buddha like they do here in Thailand. For his work in peace, culture and education Ikeda has received about 250 honorary doctorates from major universities across the globe. (Wow! No wonder he doesn’t have time to look through the viewfinder.) He has simple roots and only earned a high school diploma, not having enough money to continue his education. Today he is busy dialoguing with the great thinkers of our time.

Still he finds moments to dialogue with nature.

He’s always snapping a few photos though he refers to himself as just an amateur photographer. His schedule doesn’t allow him time to stand on mountain tops for endless hours like I do, waiting for the magic light he frequently captures in his photos. Rather, the rainbows come to him. (I really need to develop that ability.) I’m always fascinated by his synchronicity when I view many of his images knowing he snapped them in just a fleeting moment. Last year I attended one of his much celebrated photo exhibitions, this one in Indonesia. The Guiness Book of World Records listed this series of 24 exhibitions in the country as the most attended in Indonesia’s history. Ikeda is 81 years old. He did not attend any of these events and not because of his age . . . I’m sure he was too busy connecting with people’s hearts wherever his was at the moment.

So, I have much to ponder, especially while I’m waiting on mountain tops. And I’ll keep practicing the fine art of not looking through the viewfinder.

Some Ikeda photographs:

..

Now, back to Thailand:

So many times we travel photographers traverse great distances only to discover the most salable icons are gloriously clad in scaffolding. And so, when I arrived at Wat Suthat temple in Bangkok, I was utterly shocked to see the glittering Buddhas had been stripped of their gold. It was time for refinishing. Then I realized what a great opportunity this was. Probably no other travel photographer has images of these Buddhas-in-Black. Who knows, maybe this only occurs once every hundred years or so. The temple is embraced on four sides by Buddha galleries and one flank of enlightened expressions had already been re-gilded, which allowed me to capture the before and after. But my favorite is the one golden glow amidst the black silhouettes. To me it seems to symbolize an exquisite lotus flower rising from the muddy swamp.

Before I left Wat Suthat I wished the artisans Godspeed (if I can say that in a Buddhist temple) in hopes they’d be able to finish the resurfacing quickly before any other travel photographers show up.

Today I transition to Chiang Mai. For the previous three weeks in Bangkok I only made four photographic forays into the city. You might remember that I don’t have a base to return to and I’ve spent a great deal of time here uploading and downloading and engaging myself in Photoshop post production. One day I spent eleven hours at the internet cafe tweaking my websites and delving into SEO (Site Engine Optimization). But, hey, I’ve got almost eleven years to go during this trip. No need to rush. Besides . . . I need time to ponder. The weather this time of year in Bangkok hasn’t been too cooperative so I’ll leave my sunsets and twilights and precarious rooftop perches for return trips in the coming months since I’ll be using Bangkok as my hub for shooting other nearby countries.

Click on my thumbnails above for bigger views and if you’d like to see all the photos to date from this trip, go to my website HotTravelPhotos.com then click the mysterious Golden Buddha Eyes on the home page. This will transcend you into the Thailand Buddha Gallery where you can contemplatively click any thumbnail for an enhanced view. You can see my Thai photos from years past at Getty Images.

Glen

PS:  I’ll be adding new posts to this travel blog every few days and if you’d like to get an automatic email notification, please subscribe at the top left.  Your address will not be shared. A few times each day I’ll be posting new images and tidbits of info on Facebook and Twitter. You can traipse along vicariously in real time by clicking the links in the sidebar.

Hot Pink Taxi

Dateline:  Bangkok (Day 10 with 3995 to go)

Pink Streaks

The kinetic energy in Bangkok can leave one clutching his vertebrae . . . and I have yet to delve into the city’s legendary night life!  Okay, maybe a smidgeon of distraction will be allowed henceforth.  But I’ll leave those footnotes in the marginalia and to someone else’s concupiscent blog.

Right now thunder just struck!

Perhaps a mighty cymbal signaling me back to work.  It’s 7 pm in this slice of the hemisphere.  It only rains in the afternoons and evenings this time of year and the heavens crack with thunder ever so often.  But this blast from the black sky shook me back to the keyboard.  The indeterminable weather really screws up my twilight photo endeavors though it graciously allows me more time for Photoshop manipulation.

Today I journeyed to Wat Pho.

“Wat,” you will remember, translates to “temple.”  The morning hours are graced with puffy white clouds and blue sky. But just wait till the afternoon.  I hope you brought an umbrella.  This particular wat is number two on Bangkok’s must see tourist agenda perhaps because it’s located next door to the Grand Palace (so illustriously illustrated in my previous post) not to mention the lengthy reclining Buddha with big feet that maintains residence here.  Now you might think the sculptors would have given undue concentration to the face, and indeed they did . . . so contemplative in such recumbent demeanor.  But they didn’t forget the toes!  Naturally the big foot is positioned about 30 meters from the head.  This is a very looong golden reclining Buddha.

Now back to the taxis that streak across the city . . . but first let me digress to explain yet another Bangkok thrill.

While taxis are abundant, tuk-tuks are a more breathtaking way to traverse the town.  But they can totally exhaust you in this humid, heat-bound, humongous city.  Save your tuk-tuk rides for short distances.  A “tuk-tuk” is a three-wheeled, two-stroke-engined open air motorized taxi.  They’re great fun if you can endure the harassment of heat and humidity and exhaust fumes.  Now for a tuk-tuk in blurred motion . . .

These vibrating monsters are exhilarating for short hauls if you can but hold your breath and don’t mind a bit of potential side-swiping as they scurry between bigger vehicles.  Keep your arms and legs inside.  But I decided to ride through the city in a triumphant motorcade of pink taxis on my way to Wat Pho far on the other side of town.

While this color of taxi is prolific, it’s not the only eye-piercing, iridescent hue that’s available.  A profundity of kaleidoscopic choices from primary to mind-numbing can be had with just the wave of a hand.  You name the vibrant color.  There are so many taxis in Bangkok that within moments of arrival you will know why the city is famous for traffic congestion . . . and why the taxi drivers were able to bring Bangkok’s world to a complete standstill during a recent ballyhoo when they joined the political fray and demonstrated against the government.  The drivers used their taxis to block many of Bangkok’s busiest intersections.  Notwithstanding that fact, once inside the air-conditioned confines of your color-embossed haven of choice, you might say:

“Wow, this is really cool.”

Pity they don’t provide a pink color-tinged box of tissues to wipe the sweat from your brow.

The world zooms in Bangkok.

Glen

http://www.HotTravelPhotos.com

PS:  I’ll be adding new posts to this travel blog every few days and if you’d like to get an automatic email notification, please subscribe at the top left.  Your address will not be shared. A few times each day I’ll be posting new images and tidbits of info on Facebook and Twitter. You can traipse along vicariously in real time by clicking the links in the sidebar.

Gold, Gold, Gold

Dateline Bangkok: (Day 7 with 3998 to go.)

It even smelled like gold to me (if gold can exude an aroma.)

At least, I SAW gold and substantiate the fact with my attached photos below.  Now I’m not saying it was the pure 24-carat variety.  It only appeared that way to me at the time and it certainly looked authentic in my viewfinder.  Even the sun’s reflections lent validation.  My job as a travel photographer is to make gold look like gold if it gets anywhere close to resembling the real thing.  With a little maneuvering in Photoshop after the fact, I can make just about anything look golden if the subject matter has but just a tinge of red or yellow in its color cast.  I can even add a slight hint of a–blurred atmospheric golden glow–as I did on the photos below though almost unrecognizably.

But that’s another story.

I’m in Thailand, one of the world’s most touristed destinations. Land of the The King and I.  (Well, I’m here but he has no idea.)  So I decided I must visit his Grand Palace even though he is rarely in residence.  Me and about ten million other vacationers are here today to experience Bangkok’s number one attraction.  OF COURSE, the king isn’t here.  Kings don’t do traffic jams.

There are only two ways to circumnavigate a golden chedi.  (Some people call then “stupas.”)

I decided to traipse around in a clockwise direction, the more kosher route. My challenge is always to avoid capturing an unannounced elbow or tourist hat or backpack or point-and-shoot camera in the corner of the frame as I document these exquisite golden wonders for posterity.  Hey, maybe I should specialize in shooting victory signs since that seems to be what most tourists hold up with two fingers in virtually all their self-indulged photos while I’m waiting in patience exasperatingly.  Well . . . I’m a bit self-indulgent myself. You wouldn’t believe how many sunburned hours I spend every day just to snap a quick moment between tourists.  I should buy a huge, over-shadowing hat for ultraviolet protection . . . or maybe I should have brought a ravenous pet Komodo dragon from Indonesia, tied on a leash, just to garner a bit of space.

Now, I’m not knocking tourism.

I caught myself . . . without tourists my job wouldn’t exist.

And that’s when I really started to see the king’s golden treasures.

Glen

http://www.HotTravelPhotos.com

Click the photo for a larger view.

PS:  I’ll be adding new posts to this travel blog every few days and if you’d like to get an automatic email notification, please subscribe at the top left.  Your address will not be shared. A few times each day I’ll be posting new images and tidbits of info on Facebook and Twitter. You can traipse along vicariously in real time by clicking the links in the sidebar.

Reflections

Dateline:  Bangkok

I stare into the depths of the pool.

But I’m only greeted with transient surface reflections in response. There’s a dance going on in the water, magnificently orchestrated by tonight’s sultry Bangkok breeze. And it isn’t only in my imagination. Light keeps flickering here and there on this ripple-glazed surface as if to call my attention to the ephemeral nature of all that might seem like present reality. If only I had a camera at hand and a sturdy tripod to capture these reflective experiences. But, alas, my photo gear was locked securely in my hotel room upstairs. At any rate, in this low light I could never capture what I’m feeling at the moment even with an ISO of 3200. What I see bouncing around in my imagination doesn’t last that long and would register only as blurred motion even at this film speed in digital capture. Perhaps “blurred motion” is an appropriate response as I ponder the lightning-bolt path of my next ten years.

This was last night when I celebrated the beginnings of this new journey poolside at my riverside hotel . . . my second drink in hand (perhaps the perception of blurred motion) amidst exciting company sans camera. There would always be a time for great photos later when my mind would be much less distracted.

Today I visit Wat Intharawihan to capture updated visions and I will most definitely have my trusted Canon steed in hand cause now I’m back to working and I’m on a mission.

“Wat” translates from Thai into English as “temple.” I seem to recall from my first travels to Thailand back in the early 90’s that there was a guidebook entitled “What’s Wat?” Maybe this was in deference to the fact that there are so many temples in Thailand.

A dazzling light reflected from the shimmering surface of a giant, standing golden Buddha at Wat Intharawihan. I captured that moment on film more than fifteen years ago and now attach this photo below just so that both of us can reflect on my perceptions back then.

More reflections to follow and, of course, new visions.

Glen

http://www.HotTravelPhotos.com

PS: I’ll be adding new posts to this travel blog every few days and if you’d like to get an automatic email notification, please subscribe at the top left. Your address will not be shared. A few times each day I’ll be posting new images and tidbits of info on Facebook and Twitter. You can traipse along vicariously in real time by clicking the links in the sidebar.

Hello World!

Dateline: Bangkok

Well, today is the first day of my 3650-day, 10-year nonstop vagabond sojourn to the farthest reaches of our globe.  I celebrated my 64th birthday on August 21st at my former abode in Bali eleven days ago amid much celebratory fanfare focused on my imminent departure. Well, so to speak.  (I at least caught my faux pas and changed the spelling from “eminent”  :-)  I’ve been thinking I should add another 355 days to my journey so I can celebrate my 75th birthday lord knows where.  OK, that’s 4005 days to go. It’s settled.

I’m a travel photographer but so far on this trip I haven’t taken one photo. I’ve been busy here in Bangkok during the first 24 hours of my re-visiting this decandent city, though not only occupied with the activities of your prurient imaginations.  I’ve also spent a fair amiount of time since my arrival slaving over my view of the Internet from this fast connection.

Bali bandwidth speed has yet to emerge from the dark ages and I had a slew of accumulated stuff to download.  I just finished getting a 765 MB combo update for my Mac operating system in just a hair over an hour here in my cool hotel room in Bangkok overlooking the mighty Chao Praya River that splices through the city.  (Don’t smirk at my boast as you gloat over your lightning bolt connections.)  I’m just thrilled.  This same download in Bali would have taken fifteen hours!

OK, where do I go from here?

I don’t mean which country.  I only just got to Thailand and I plan to exhaust my 30-day visa on arrival before I depart with perhaps a one-week side trip to Angkor Wat in next door Cambodia.  I mean, “What do I do with the rest of m life?”  To be honest, the only plan I have is to experience a helluva good time immersing myself in some extraordinary experiences, meeting some extraordinary people in some of the most extraordinary locales to be found on this earth.  I’ll try to shoot some tantalizing photos along the way, which I’ll post here from time to time.  Hey, it’s not always easy to find “tantalizing” but you get the point.

Won’t you come along with me?

Glen

http://www.HotTravelPhotos.com

PS:  I’ll be adding new posts to this travel blog every few days and if you’d like to get an automatic email notification, please subscribe at the top left.  Your address will not be shared. A few times each day I’ll be posting new images and tidbits of info on Facebook and Twitter. You can traipse along vicariously in real time by clicking the links in the sidebar.