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    66 SQUARE FEET

    Let me Marie at 66 Square Feetintroduce you to my blogging and life soulmate. Different blogs, different views, different ideas, same passion.

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«A nomadic blog oscillating between New York, Vancouver and Cape Town, gathering HDR photos and jotting notes along the way»

It’s been almost twenty years since I’ve walked up and down the Bearskin Neck. Rockport, MA, used to be a quaint little fishing town, lazily asleep in the shadow of her big sister Gloucester, home to a large fleet of swordfish trawlers - the very same boats that were made famous in « The Perfect Storm. »

Marie and I will be there next week, taking an unexpected but well-needed break and hooking up with our loved ones from Quebec. The Massachusetts coast is almost half-way from both Montreal and New York; they will drive down, we will ride Amtrak’s Northeast Regional train to Boston and on.

Expect tales of early morning runs along the beach and freshly caught Maine lobster simply boiled and served with butter and garlic. Some pictures of course. 360° panos. Maybe an HD video, its soundtrack infringing as always on sacred copyright laws. I will plea fair use.

The air will smell of ocean stories and kelp. It will cleanse our souls and CMOS sensors. Our circadian rhythms will once more tune themselves up to sunrise and the bird-announced return of fishing boats. It should be sweet. It will be fun. It has been so deeply anticipated.

It can’t really be justified, though. Unless we live by the all-too-used credo of making the moment count since this is all about the ride, not the destination. After all, if now didn’t taste good, how could then be flavorful?


 

 Posted at 10:50 PM in On the road: & Schtroumpfissime: 3 Comments » Toggle display  Reply

Out of necessity more than curiosity, I descend into the cave. Darkness there isn’t as overwhelming as I remembered but from the depths of the Earth rises an evil breath of pure searing heat. The planet’s core suddenly seems dangerously close. I punch my way through a narrow opening and instantly, sweat starts pouring down my back and forehead. A suit and tie are not dream attire for such an unbearably unfriendly place.

It seems as though an unseen volcano is half-asleep nearby, sending flows of lava through the ground and super-heating the many tunnels that surround it. Rats are running unrelentingly across the space in a never-ending quest for edible garbage, and garbage is everywhere.

Fellow cavemen are enduring the heat the best they can, looking around them with worried eyes, in search of clues. There are too many of us here despite the late hour. Routine more than awareness has brought us all down but I feel a hot wave of hesitation. The cave has become a trap. Our steel monster and its random coolness, are late. Yet again.

I look around me. A dreadful sign of official looks and customary colors is posted on a rusty metal pillar. It reads:

AUGUST 8, 2010. There is no F train service at this station from 12:00 AM to 5 AM. How will this affect my trip? Take the downtown-bound D train across the platform and transfer at West 4th Street to an F train.


I look at my watch. 12:20 AM, August 8. Bloody cave. Damn metal monster. I was counting on the F to get home. I turn around in a hopeful move towards the D train track and stop before a new sign that reads:

AUGUST 7 to AUGUST 10, 2010. There is no D train at this station from 12:00 AM to 5:00 AM. How will this affect my trip? Take the downtown-bound F train across the platform and transfer at West 4th Street to a D train.


I look to my right. A young woman that just finished reading too is staring blindly at the tracks, trying to make sense of the mysterious cave drawings. Heat is just numbing us. My shirt is drenched. It is actually much hotter down here than at the surface. I can’t figure out the physics of it.

Why are we here chasing our tails and wasting time? And why on Earth - or below it - did we agree to pay a soon-to-be-further-inflated fee for this absolute lack of service, incoherent information, ridiculous absence of ventilation, antiquated system and utmost inefficiency?

Because we are MTA customers and like all sheep, we go with the flow.


 

 Posted at 11:22 PM in New York: & Schtroumpfissime: 1 Comment » Toggle display  Reply

When coming back from a meaningless, stressful and unrewarding workday, I go running my 10k Manhattan loop, come back to a wonderful home and dinner in the making, the cat sleeping lazily on a white bed and Marie shining as always and cooking beautifully for us as if there was no tomorrow, and I try to remember that I have it easy and others are suffering much more than I ever will...

« Mi cuerpo se está separando de mi mente
Se quiere huir
Que invente, que sueñe, que vuele muy muy alto
Me lleva hasta ti
Me voy a convertir en un ave
Convertir en un ave
Mis alas están saliendo
Mis plumas voy moviendo
Cruzar por los barrotes
Volar al horizonte
Llegar hasta a ti »

Me voy a convertir en una ave - Maná
(A song about political prisoners in Central America)

 

 Posted at 8:37 PM in Quotes: & Schtroumpfissime: 4 Comments » Toggle display  Reply

Quite busy working these days, « métro, boulot, dodo » has never been more appropriate. So the time and energy to run around shooting like crazy have dropped a touch. I am also working in the background of the main photography web site upgrading all the galleries - which were until now set with a regular 900x500 picture size - for the upcoming full-screen interface. More later.

I have received my spherical pano head from Germany and the first tests were very promising. Parallax should pretty much be a thing of the past. The 7D is going to be put to good use. A single 360x180°spherical or cubic HDR panorama involves 50 pictures to be blended and stitched together. But with better gear now and a bit of practice, I can manage to achieve consistent results in minimal time. That’s on the shooting side of things of course. Processing still takes quite a while.

Be patient, stay tuned. Cheers.

 

 Posted at 9:49 PM in Photography: & Schtroumpfissime: 2 Comments » Toggle display  Reply

Not all is ever smooth and peachy with Cape Town’s weather. Table Mountain acts as an incredible torturer of skies, focusing the impact of conflicting air masses and unleashing strange downdrafts and pouring rains unto the city it dwarfs. 

Below is an example. Approaching from the south and stuck in slow-moving traffic, we had ample time to marvel the mountain’s magnificent impact on every aspect of the city’s mood. 

 

 Posted at 12:39 AM in On the road: & Photoblogs: & South Africa: 6 Comments » Toggle display  Reply

Back in January this year, when the Southern Cross was still filling our South African nightly skies and the FIFA World Cup was no more than a distant  future thrill, we took the trusted Kombi for a drive around False Bay. Leaving Cape Town behind, we crossed the Cape Flats, zipped through Somerset West and wound our way along the edge of Cape Hangklip towards Betty’s Bay.

The ocean was just delightfully turquoise and the sky streaked by rare cumulus. As always when exploring South Africa, we saw our share of wildlife. From the top of a hill, I spotted a great white shark cruising near a rocky shore, less than half a mile from a beach where surfers paddled through wave sets.

Then in Betty’s Bay we visited yet another South African penguin colony, less idyllic than the one in Boulder’s Bay, but as prolific and definitely smellier. I haven’t yet gotten over my surprise of mingling with the comical birds in a  temperate environment. With my eyes half-closed, I could almost pretend that the sun-bleached and guano-covered rocks were in fact ice and snow. There was something odd to the scene, as if a giant blunder had been done at the Creation level and a drop of arctic life had splashed into African heat.

But the penguins seemed well-adjusted and happy, and despite relative tourist activity and the clicking of cameras, they just didn’t mind our presence and did what penguins do best: mostly nothing.

Read 66 Square Feet for a more extensive post about the drive.

 

 Posted at 2:31 PM in On the road: & Photoblogs: & South Africa: 2 Comments » Toggle display  Reply

The terrace is beautiful and lush, but its 66 square feet don’t allow for much movement or lookout. At dinner, crossing my legs is a challenge and the Japanese grass keeps tickling my back. So once in a while we climb to the roof  and picnic there, among satellite dishes, skylights and chimneys, with the wind in our face and the lifeless old windows of the hospital building for our only top neighbors.

The cat comes and joins us after a little coaxing. This is his kingdom and at first, he is reluctant to share it. We sit facing the Orient, spread one kikoi as a seat and another for a table, and we eat our feast watching the sky and the planes and the rising stars. To the west, the New York Harbour basin shines in the vanishing light and we can see ferries dance back and forth between Manhattan and the islands.

The Battery Tunnel building immortalized in Men in Black stands strongly in the center stage, brightly lit and massive. In the background and to the left, a short Lady Liberty tiredly lifts her flame into a world of overwhelming obstacles to her stance.

Not for a minute are we allowed to forget where we are as the invisible BQE highway sends a continuous low-pitch roaring towards us, major player in what we call the New York hum, the ever-present surrounding noise typical of large cities and  whose absence strikes us as so incredibly wonderful when we get to such heavenly places as the Namib Desert or Table Mountain.

A few feet behind us is the Farm. Marie’s new horticultural effort has rapidly grown from modest experimental proportions to a full-fledged potager and we are watching with fascinated anticipation as our vegetables grow hurriedly in the summer heat.

Eventually, when night has fallen and our wine dried up, the plates empty and all stomachs content, we squeeze back down the trap door and into the welcoming light of our apartment. The cat follows from the outside, rounding the terrace and glancing nonchalantly at the street below, and he comes into the room with the manners of a king returning from the Crusades, victorious, hungry and tired, and after assessing the fleeting possibility of more food donations, he chooses a sleeping spot for the night and settles in.

 

 Posted at 12:10 AM in New York: & Photoblogs: 5 Comments » Toggle display  Reply

If anyone wants to know what I think, bad football was played today in Jo’Burg, between two teams that did not show World Cup final flare. Nothing impressive, no brilliant moves, an incredible number of bad kicks and missed opportunities, too much pushing, pulling and falling, too much acting, too much pretending, and very questionable arbitration.

I’d say the referee did a pitiful job at controlling the field and preventing fouls, and showed poor judgment first handing out a mere yellow card for a foot smacked right into a chest and later a brutal red one for a fault that did not even really show contact when replayed in slow motion, but which changed the outcome of the match.

Like in a cheap video game, Spain won after close to 120 minutes of poor gameplay, that’s all. Shame. Yawn.

 

 Posted at 5:23 PM in Schtroumpfissime: & South Africa: 5 Comments » Toggle display  Reply

In a little over 24 hours, the eyes of the world will focus on a single football, as an estimated* half a billion fans watch the FIFA World Cup final live from even the most remote corners of Earth. No broadcast event on the planet manages to capture the interest of so many people simultaneously.

I personally think that FIFA is too large a beast, probably rotten by corruption and in the simple business of making sheer profit. If as little as 5 percent of the advertising time it sells to major sponsors for what must be astronomical sums was instead given to charity organizations with an international scope - or, why not, to those serving the continent in which the Cup is being played - then some real good could come from the event. It should be the duty of any highly successful enterprise to give back to society, as much for a balance in operations and avoidance of the capital sin of greed as for simple and effective self-promotion purposes, and I believe that FIFA could shine better at this.

In any case, South Africa has been receiving more worldwide attention in the last few weeks than ever before, and that should be a good thing. The country will now have appeared in the awareness of many who previously ignored it and stands to gain from exposure and the success of a brilliantly hosted Cup.

But there is so much more to South Africa than frantic  crowds in a stadium pulsating to the sound of vuvuzelas. It would be a terrible mistake for any World Cup spectator to so limit their exploration of a newly discovered country. I hope that those who attended in person will have gone off the beaten path and sampled the less traveled roads and beaches. I hope they will have strolled and walked and hiked. I hope they will have smelled the flowers and tasted the sea salt, and enjoyed wonderful food and superb wine. I hope they will have taken in the crisp light and absorbed the peace.

And for those who visited through a TV set, may their imagination and curiosity be tickled into picking up a South African novel, watching another documentary, Googling the origin of a word or even, why not, toying with the idea of a call to the travel agent.

South Africa is a land of extremes, and while not everything is rosy and pretty down there, I know of very few places anywhere on the globe that will fill the traveler with such a sense of wonder and amazement.

Here are a few snapshots of a wonderful family picnic on 3rd Beach in Clifton, the same beach that saw Marie and I drinking Champagne on a memorable afternoon two years ago. It has a sweet spot in our hearts, of course, but truly is a beautiful enclave of sand and ocean, nestled at the foot of Lion’s Head, a few minutes from the heart of Cape Town.

Now let the game be fair and may the best team win.

* Half a billion is a very conservative figure taking into account the recent admission by FIFA that their previous numbers may have been largely overestimated.

 

 Posted at 1:46 PM in Photoblogs: & South Africa: 4 Comments » Toggle display  Reply

I’m not one to celebrate nor appreciate National and Independence days much, whether a 4th of July, a 14th or a 1st. While people drink and party, I tend to ponder. It is so easy to raise a flag high and forget the atrocities that have led us where we are. I do not feel that ancient blood baths are anything worth celebrating, especially when they are actually being perpetrated all over again on some distant land. If anything, a day of mourning and remembrance would be more appropriate. To feel sorry for a necessary evil and convince ourselves we have grown. But have we?

This 4th of July was equal to itself. I worked most of the week-end and had to deal with drunks and fights. The fights were fueled by ideology conflict, intolerance and latent racism. If a country’s national holiday meant anything serious, one would think that the masses would find something more intelligent to do than get trashed.

And was I in France, I wouldn’t look forward any more to the upcoming 14th of July, for exactly the same reasons.

In any case, a walk along the Brooklyn Promenade with Marie was uneventful and I managed to get a nice-ish shot of our Manhattan skyline from the new park in Brooklyn. Peace to all.

 

 Posted at 12:42 PM in + Panoramas: & New York: & Photoblogs: 3 Comments » Toggle display  Reply
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