I was excited to hear this morning that Flickr introduced geotagging functionality (especially since geotagging is something I have recently become interested in) and was eager to begin locating and tagging some of my pictures. My first choice was one of my most recent and personal favorites √¢‚Ǩ‚Äú Good Morning Machu Picchu. Not only is this the quintessential shot of the archeological site but it is one of the few photographs of mine where the location is actually recognizable and hasn√¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢t been abstracted away. I was able to locate Cuzco easily enough on the map, however, labels and landmarks of the surrounding area were few and far between. I dug out my Lonely Planet and between the guidebook maps and satellite imagery I was able to follow the river from Urubamba up towards the general area of Machu Picchu. I got lost in the many mountain valleys and was about to give up on pinpointing the location when I faintly saw the switchback-scared mountainside of Machu Picchu staring back at me. On the one hand I was relived to have found the exact location but on the other hand I was slightly disturbed at how we managed to scar the landscape in such a way that a bus route can be seen from a satellite. Machu Picchu is a fine example of building in harmony with the surrounding environment, yet this road seemed to be a glaring example of how modern society is completely out of sync. We can send satellites into orbit to take pictures of our landscape and landmarks, but we can√¢‚Ǩ‚Ñ¢t build a road that preserves the design integrity of an ancient site. Although I marvel at the ability to locate Machu Pichu on a satellite map, I just wish there was an easier and less obtrusive way to see the site, both from the ground and from above. The Incas designed their cities in the shapes of animals to be seen from above, but something tells me that this isn’t exactly what they had in mind. Machu Picchu was designed in the shape of a condor but now all that can be seen from above is a zig zagged bus route.
Tag Archive for 'Travel'
During a recent visit to Ottawa I was surprised to find the giant spider sculpture, Maman, outside of the National Gallery. Being an arachnophobe I wasn’t very pleased to see one of my greatest fears massively enlarged and cast in bronze. I was also a bit perplexed as to why a gargantuan sculpture of such a fear-inducing creature (albeit irrational fear in most cases) was doing outside a national cultural institution.
Maman, created by sculptor Louise Bourgeois, stands at an impressive 9.25m outside the main entrance of the gallery and carries a sac of 26 marble eggs in her belly. According to the National Gallery web site, √¢‚Ǩ≈ìthe soaring body and cage-like egg sac evoke a sense of security but also of entrapment, leading the viewer to question whether Maman is protector or predator”.
The image of a spider, regardless of size, always makes me uneasy, however, seeing this giant one stand before me brought back childhood nightmares of being attacked by giant spiders. Seeing this massive spider was literally like facing a living version of my greatest fear (albeit bronze cast one) which was both scary and reassuring at the same time. On the one hand, I was staring up at my greatest fear, yet on the other hand, since it wasn’t alive there was nothing it could do to harm me. As I became more comfortable with the sculpture I decided to get in a bit closer for some photographs. I slowly circled Maman, getting closer with each pass until finally I decide to go between two of the giant legs into the centre of the sculpture. As I arched backwards with my camera looking up towards the egg sack, I had visions of the eight legs suddenly snapping shut, engulfing me. But then something happened – the sense of foreboding turned into an overwhelming sense of security. I suddenly felt safe in the centre of this sculpture and instead of feeling threatened and claustrophobic I felt protected and liberated.
The transformation was a surprising one for me, but one which I doubt would surprise the artist or a therapist. For anyone with even a slight fear of spiders, a viewing of Maman can easily turn into your own personal graduated exposure therapy session. This type of therapy, also called systematic desensitization, is a form of behavioral therapy used to treat phobias where the subject attempts to remain calm while gradually being exposed to the feared object. A sculpture of a spider is far less threatening than seeing an actual one, even if the sculpture is massive, and by viewing the sculpture I was able to spend some time and sit with my fear, both literally and figuratively, in a non-threatening manner. Not only was I able to become comfortable looking at the object but I was even able to stand right under it, in what I perceived to be the most vulnerable position to be in, and no longer be afraid. Interestingly enough, if it wasn’t for my camera I probably wouldn’t have gotten nearly as close as I did and the idea to walk under the sculpture might never had occurred to me. But, with my camera in hand and the never-ending quest for a great picture fuelling me, I was far more willing and comfortable to step up, walk in, and face my fear and snap a few pictures of it as well.
Although I was initially skeptical of having Maman greet visitors to the National Gallery, I now feel as though she provides a fitting introduction to the gallery. This sculpture is an excellent example of the transformative and healing aspects of art and it is clear from my experience of her and the invocation of both security and fear that the artist set out what she accomplished to do. So, thank you Maman for helping me face my fear one step (and photograph) at a time.
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I decided to take a wee break from the Peru pictures and upload some pictures I took in Ottawa last week of ByWard market. Not only was the market a great place to shop and eat (Sweetgrass Bistro and Meditheo to name a few) but I had a great time taking pictures of the wonderful details of the charming buildings that make up the district. | |
| I also wanted to play around with Zooomr (a.k.a Flickr on Steriods) and its geotagging features and snag a free pro account by simply uploading one of the pictures (more info. for those who are interested). Although I’m still committed to Flickr, I was curious to play around with the extra features that Zooomr has to offer – in particular the geotagging and the ability to add sound to pictures. | ||
Well, I’m off on a 3 week adventure that I’ve always dreamed about to Peru. The highlight of this trip will be a four day trek to Machu Picchu but I’m also looking forward to visiting Lima, Cuzco, Lake Titicaca and the Nazca Lines. I’ll be doing most of my travel with GAP Adventures and I’ll be on the Classic Peru trip from June 21-July 1 and checking out the Nazca Lines from July 5-7.
See y’all in three weeks!
I wrote the following tale back in 2001 after an adventurous climb up the active Volcano Pacaya in Guatemala. At the time I had hoped to get the story published but instead I filed it and forgot about it. Now that I have very my own publishing medium I thought that it was about time to share the story. This titillating tale is also a hint of things to come, as in a week from now I will be embarking on a much more demanding (but hopefully safer) trek to Machu Picchu in Peru. So, without further ado…
I’ve always wanted to climb a volcano and studying Spanish in the charming town of Antigua, Guatemala provided me with the perfect opportunity. A trip to the nearby active Volcano Pacaya seemed like a great way to pass the afternoon as well as a nice break from Spanish lessons. Before committing to hiking the volcano, I sought out two pieces of advice. The first came from a Travel Report published by the Canadian Government, which warned of both the dangers of getting there and back, as well as the hike itself. It spoke of unsafe vehicles often operated by irresponsible drivers, and criminals who may target tourist buses on route to the volcano. Once there, it warned of the possibility of robbery, violent assaults, and rape by bandits who prey on hikers making the ascent. The second piece of advice came from a classmate at my Spanish school who had hiked the volcano a few days before. His only piece of advice: “It will make a great story”.
Eager for a great story to tell, and perhaps a bit too eager to brush of the warnings from my home country, I made the decision to go for it. I set of with Michael, the only soul brave enough from my Spanish school to join me, to sign up for the hike. Antigua is full of tour operators, some more reputable than others, so we decided to go with the tour that our classmate had recommended. After paying a mere $15 US, we were told to return the next day at 1:00 p.m. to begin our adventure.
The adventure began by piling as many of us foreign adventure seekers as possible into a run-down Mazda van that had seen more years than myself. Packed in like sardines, with twice as many people as there were seatbelts, we began our ride together quietly, leaving Antigua and heading south towards Pacaya. About 20 minutes into the ride as we approached the crest of a hill, the van stalled. The driver tried repeatedly to start the van, only to cause a medley of weird sounds to come from the engine. After a several more false starts and a few inspections under the hood of the van, we were on our way again. A concerned hiker with an adequate grasp of Spanish asked the driver what the problem was, and the driver responded that on top of a tendency to stall, the brakes on the van were not exactly reliable. The driver also mentioned that because of the brakes, he would have to drive slower down the hills, and the trip would take twice as long.
After hearing all of this, I began to wonder if going on this trip was such a great idea and we hadn’t even reached the volcano yet. Visions of the breaks going and us rolling down the hill, van in flames, ran through my mind, as well as us being robbed by a group of bandits the next time we had to pull over. I began to wonder if I would be the subject of a newspaper article about a tragic accident involving a group of travelers. I looked at the people around me and wondered if they would be who I spent my last moments with. I thought of the travel report, and wondered why I didn’t listen. I could tell by the expression on other people’s faces that I wasn’t the only person having serious doubts.
After a bumpy ride up muddy roads, we finally made it to the base camp, where we were greeted with much rain and no sight of it passing. Looking around, nothing but gray clouds could be seen above us and below us, and even the peak that we were supposed to climb was shrouded by the clouds. We began our ascent in the pouring rain, and I knew I was in for a cold and wet hike.
The first half of the hike was through the forest. The path was covered in roots and volcanic rock, which seem to have made their way down from the peak. There wasn’t much time to look around at the lush forest surrounding us, as every moment was spent planning your next step between the roots and rocks. Asides from the trees and bushes that lined the path, there wasn’t much to see as clouds surrounded us. We hiked at a fair pace, a pace which was reasonable for an out of shape smoker such as myself.
After about an hour and a half, we emerged from the forest to a flat black plain of volcanic rock and sand. Soon, the plain began to elevate, and we found ourselves moving upwards again, leaving the green shrubs behind us and moving towards the great expanse of black sand and rock. Looking around, all that could be seen was the black sand which we stood, and gray clouds all around us. Looking down at the sides of our narrow path, all that could be seen was cloud, and I had no idea how far up we were or what was below us. As the slope increased, so did the difficulty of the hike. The volcanic sand, wet from the rain, moved easily from under our feet. Each step forward felt like two steps backwards. Every few minutes, the active volcano would burp a gust of sulfuric gas, sending us all into a hacking fit.
We paused about 3 minutes from the rim, as the guide pondering if we should go on due to the poor visibility and the increasing gusts of gas. Not only we’re we having trouble seeing and breathing, but with the increased altitude, the temperature had dropped, and felt even cooler as we were all soaked to the bone. The guide asked for a show of hands for those who wanted to go on to the rim. Cold, wet, and tired, I was absolutely miserable, and couldn’t wait to get back to the comforts that awaited me in Antigua. But, I wasn’t about to let a bit of discomfort get in the way of achieving my goal. A few of us raised our hands, while those who had been defeated by the conditions sat behind. We trekked on to the rim, enduring the slippery sand, rough rock, and bouts of gas.
The rim looked like a cliff, with smoke and gas spewing from it. The guide, who stood at the edge of the crater, pointed down towards the red lava that was bubbling below us. I went to join him and the other hikers to catch a glimpse of the depths of the volcano, when a huge gust of the gas was belched from the crater. We all began to cough madly, grasping for air only to inhale more sulfuric gas. The gust of gas continued, and it became increasing harder to breathe. As I coughed, gasping for air under my rain jacket, I feared for my life the second time that day. I looked around and realized that there was nowhere to go - a steep hill populated with sharp volcanic rock was between us and breathable air. We were at the mercy of the volcano. Fortunately for us, the bursts of gas stopped after several minutes, and we were free to breathe again.
We began to make our descent, which proved to be more difficult that one would expect. The sand which had struggled with on the way up, had been loosened by our efforts, and was impossible to grip on the way down. I slid down the side of the volcano with limited control of my speed or direction, up to my knees in the sand and sharp volcanic rock. Recalling my training as skier, I made my way down the slope in a giant S, in order to slow myself down and exert some control. On the way, I passed those who struggled, several who had been brought to tears by the difficulty and frustration of the task.
Upon reaching the plain, we had a chance to put on our dry clothes and relax. Unfortunately for me, the rain had soaked through my bag, so I was forced to spend the rest of the day in cold damp clothing. By this time, the clouds had cleared, and we had a chance to see the top of the volcano we had just conquered as well as the valley below. The descent gave us more time to look around, and we were treated to a view of the surrounding volcanoes highlighted by the setting sun. I spent the descent speaking with one of the guides, who pulled me aside to share one of the secrets of the volcano. He pointed behind us, at the peak of the volcano that was glowing red.
When we made it back to the van, I felt relieved and proud. The ride back was much less stressful that the ride to the volcano, perhaps because I was too exhausted to care. I was glad to make it back to Antigua and enjoy the comforts of a hot shower and a warm meal. Would I do it again? You bet. What advice would I give? It will make for a great story, provided you make it there and back.
A few weeks ago I had the opportunity to visit the historical and charming Quebec City with a friend. On a sunny yet extremely cold Sunday morning, we roamed the streets snapping pictures detailing the old architecture and quaint narrow streetscapes of Old Quebec. We stopped to warm up in a cafe and took turns looking at the pictures I’d taken on my cameras tiny LCD and my friend was surprised at how many pictures I had taken and the varying quality of each. Although he was pretty familiar my Flickr photostream, I realized that viewing these pictures freshly taken on the LCD was quite a different experience for him. Not only were there more pictures, many of them variations on the same theme, but some of them were a bit off - perhaps slightly slanted or in need of a tighter crop. I don’t do a lot of Photoshopping, but I do like to clean the pictures up a bit. My Photoshop philosophy is very similar to my make up philosophy - I’ll darken my eyelashes with a bit of mascara smooth out my complexion a bit of concealer but I don ‘t try to hide the fact that I have freckles or try to convince anyone that my lips are red instead of pink.
All of this got me thinking about the process of taking and sharing pictures. Clearly, the advent of digital photography has changed the way pictures are taken - I can assure you that I wouldn’t have taken 400+ photographs over three days if I was shooting film. I have more pictures of my weekend in Quebec City than I do of film photographs of my trips to Guatemala and Greece combined. Looking back to 2003 when I first started taking digital pictures while traveling Southeast Asia, I took a mere 344 pictures after spending a week at the highly photogenic Angkor Wat. Not only am I now taking more pictures, but I’m also sharing a lot more of them, thanks to great tools like Flickr. As I was browsing my archives, I couldn’t help but wonder what the relationship between pictures taken and pictures posted is and if this relationship changes over time. On the one hand, I like to think that the ratio decreases over time as presumably I’ll be taking better pictures. On the other hand, the more time I spend taking pictures, the more I want to take and the more I want to experiment. I decided to graph the ratio between pictures taken vs. pictures posted over the past six months to see if there were any patterns and came up with the following graph:
From the variation of the graph it looks as though some photo shoots turn out better than others. I also haven’t taken into account that some of those collections include photos for other projects not meant for my Flickr stream. On average though, I upload 19% of the pictures I take from a particular outing which pretty much matches the number that I had in mind before charting the data. I think that this number says a lot about my own creative process. Whether it is photographing or writing, I tent to start out with a sort of “stream of consciousness” approach to get it all out, then edit and revise numerous rough drafts until I feel that I’m happy with the outcome. I’d be interested to hear what other people’s number are - how does selecting and editing impact your own creative process, whether it is writing, painting, photography or any other creative pursuit?
Last night I had the opportunity to attend A Million Steps: Stories, Images and Music from the Camino Santiago, a photo exhibit of Peter Coffan’s two month pilgrimage from France to Spain along El Camino Santiago. Not only were his images beautiful but the stories and the sounds that accompanied them were fascinating thanks to the wonderful talents of his violin-playing companion Oliver Schroer. The presentation stirred something in me, an often forgotten yet ever-present urge to go on a pilgrimage of my own. The appeal of a pilgrimage isn’t so much about religion as it is the participation of a sacred ritual. It’s about the journey - the walking, the gradual progression - as well as the sites and sounds along the way. I’ve always been fascinated with sacred sites, from the ancient Mayan ruins of Tikal to the temples of Angkor Wat. It’s been almost three years since my last visit to a scared sight and viewing this presentation made me realize that it is about time to go again.
After the presentation I found myself inspired and online searching for my next adventure. I came across the excellent Sacred Destinations Travel Guide and immediately came across the trip I always knew was going to be next - Peru. Given it’s rich ancient history and the fact that it is home to Machu Picchu (a place that I’ve wanted to visit ever since I first saw a picture of this magical city in the mountains) it became clear that the 4 day ascent to Machu Picchu was exactly the pilgrimage I was looking for.