The life of a street performer isn’t all showmanship and entertainment. I captured this patient, and more than a little forlorn, costumed street statue during a light spring rain in the historic part of old Perugia. Over the two days I spent in Perugia as a finalist in the Stories on Umbria journalism competition, a part of the Perugia International Journalism Festival, we had mostly sunny weather. Unfortunately, the 2nd evening brought with it scattered rain showers. While perfect for my relaxing walk through the city with my camera, it was far less ideal for this gentleman whose exposed face was painted completely white.

After capturing this photo and several closeups I chatted with him briefly. In return he smiled and with a flourish produced a tiny rolled scroll. The small piece of paper was held in place by a cut piece of pasta…very clever and Italian…and contained a small proverb. Of the various encounters I had in Perugia and Umbria during the trip, it was one of my favorites.

Make sure to head over to flickr to see the rest of the album.

Would you like to see previous Friday Photos? View past travel pictures here. This photo was taken on a Canon T3i (600D) Camera.

My palms were far beyond clammy.  They were completely committed now to downright slick and sweaty. As I grimaced and wiped them on my towel, I couldn’t help but imagine them turning prune-like.  They had devolved into the type of palms that make a soft slapping sound mid-handshake and cause the person you’ve just met to grimace in thinly hidden disgust while trying to quickly retrieve their hand….desperately looking around for something or someone to wipe it on.  Which, you might think, is to be expected given my seat perched inside the beautiful and newly renovated upscale dry-sauna on the fourth floor of the Hotel Josl in Obergurgl, Austria.  After all, isn’t the whole point of a sauna to sweat?  To allow ones body to purge itself of contaminants? To sooth the muscles and to encourage a hearty rush of circulation through the body?

The catch was, I’d just entered the dry sauna and assumed my seat.  My body hadn’t had time to warm to its core. This was nerves plain and simple. I’d spent the day with fantastic guides introducing me to the finer parts of ski culture.  The gear. The locations. How to ski. The snowshoe hike. But now?  I was on my own with only a confusing mixture of poorly written online guides to sauna culture and etiquette bouncing around my head. As I sat inside the wood-lined room trying to relax and enjoying the intense heat I stared straight ahead.  I’m not sure why, after all, without my glasses on the world was one giant blur. Then, of course, there was the fact that the room itself was empty.  Never the less, it just seemed like the appropriate thing to do. Just as I’ve found myself standing at a stop light in the pouring rain at 4AM with a small group of Danes at a deserted intersection here in Denmark waiting for the light to turn. Social protocol demands it.  Even when it goes in the face of reason and common sense.

I’m not sure how or why I’d never done a sauna as an adult.  I remember them as a child, and even from my high school days, but those were different.  I just followed along with what the others were doing and for whatever reason (it being conservative Arizona a likely factor) we always wore our bathing suits. About a year ago, some of you may recall my awkward introduction to the Turkish Hamams…which…I suppose…was a very similar experience minus the naked massage and the rotund Turkish man rubbing my nearly naked body down. It was with some shock then that I strolled into the hotel’s sauna expecting the usual American structure – sex segregated changing rooms, lockers, people in swimsuits, etc. – only to discover a room full of quasi-naked people relaxing in naught but their towels with a bank of mixed-gender shower alcoves along the side wall. My face went white as I quickly realized that the jeans and t-shirt I was wearing over my swim-trunks beneath the robe the hotel had provided were grossly out of place.  I was completely over dressed. I quickly made a U-turn and headed back to my hotel room.

In a flurry of key strokes I searched the web trying to find a more in-depth write-up on the etiquette of sauna culture. My original research had obviously been flawed. After finding a few posts that argued the finer points of nudity, I toyed with tossing in the towel and abandoning my adventure.  Then, reminded by the ache in my knees and back from a day spent learning to ski, I sucked it up, stripped down to my swimsuit, wrapped my towel over it to try and hide it, tossed on my robe, and made the trip back to the 4th floor.  I was ready.  I was prepared. I was strangely terrified…and then the elevator doors opened.

This time as the door slid open I kept my eyes peeled, watching what the others were doing and then carefully trying to emulate them while looking as casual as possible.  I kept my composure and made my way towards the three shower alcoves, only losing it slightly as an older gentleman exited completely naked and shrugged back into his robe. That’s when I realized that I was STILL over dressed.  My American prudishness was in full form….which left me somewhat annoyed with myself. I don’t mind being naked, in fact, I thoroughly enjoy it.  I also don’t have any moral objection to people spending time together socially in their natural state. Yet, at the same time I also come from a culture where even in high school after gym class none of the men would shower out of fear of being naked around other people.  Even simple things like a visit to the doctor for an annual check-up is the source of anxiety for a lot of young American men. There are exceptions of course, but for the most part young people in the US have been drilled with a puritanical message that you only spend time naked with romantic partners. Anything else opens you up for judgement and/or comes with the risk of implied ulterior motives (read: how you doin’ darlin’).

So. There I was, staring at the three open shower stalls trying to decide what to do.  Do I just go for it, pocket my swimsuit, and embrace it?  Or, do I keep the swimsuit on and chicken out? It was right about that time that the first woman I’d seen in what I had thought was a male-only sauna area emerged and walked over to the recovery/relaxation area.  Needless to say, I chickened out and left the swimsuit on. All the while internally mocking myself for being such a giant baby about it. I stripped off my robe, tossed the towel aside, and quickly rinsed off. Then in a flurry of motion I toweled off quickly, eager to re-disguise my swimsuit.  I made the brief trip to the now empty sauna, swung the door open, slid in, and plopped down on a bench.

Feeling self-conscious and convinced I was making a plethora of faux pas, I sat staring straight ahead. The door opened and butterflies lurched in my stomach. A middle-aged man made his way in, still wrapped in his towel and sat down.  Good I thought – maybe I’ve got this figured out.  Then the door opened again and another man entered.  This one yanked off his towel, spread it out on the wooden bench and then settled in. He was stark naked.  The whole time I did my best to stare at the wall with a blank look on my face.  20 seconds later the door opened and this time two women entered. The butterflies were back.  Is this normal?  Is he going to cover up?  Are they going to join?  Just how exactly does this work?

They peeled off their towels and tossed them onto the bench before settling in around me completely naked.  At this point the small sauna room was also getting somewhat full, which meant simply staring at my wall was no longer an option.  I needed to move to make space, which also meant violating my sprawling space bubble and saddling up nearly knee-to-knee with one of the other men and one of the newly-arrived women. Then it dawned on me. This was a new first.  In my nearly 28 years, I’d never been surrounded by so many naked people, in such close proximity.  Which, you can imagine, did little to help the internal narrative running through my mind – a raging debate between my intellectual brain which casually noted that naked bodies are not inherently sexual and that the experience itself was only minimally arousing.  Luckily, as I started to relax it dawned on me that it was just a comfortable extension of the shared experience we’d have all been engaged in if we were clothed. Meanwhile, my paranoid brain raged with fear and uncertainty – what if my primitive brain won out and arousal ensued. How embarrassing,  humiliating, and what sort of violation of the common norms would that be? All the while the wealth of obtuse American norms and cultural quirks polarized the experience…a fascinating counter to the much more relaxed approach to nudity and group nudity I’d encountered already in Denmark, and knew was much more common within Austrian and German culture.

All the while sweat slowly began to form all over my body and time ticked by.  It was only then, as I watched the others from the corner of my eyes that I observed and realized that the “decorations” I had seen earlier were in fact hanging sand timers which we could use to judge how long we’d been in the sauna.  It was a fitting moment of clarity and epiphany as my brain otherwise raged against itself trying to find balance.

Slowly the nervous sweat that clung to my palms was replaced by the clean sweat of relaxed perspiration. My sore muscles gradually gave way and the heat penetrated me to my core replacing the cold of a day spent outside covered in snow.  My condition as an uncertain and nerve-wracked mass of self-consciousness and uncertainty had now transformed into comfort and growing confidence.

As I left the sauna, rinsed off, and headed to the relaxation chairs I enjoyed a spectacular sunset over the Alps. I realized that the experience had been far more than an introduction to sauna culture.  It had been an opportunity to enrich and truly mature my personal relationship with the human body.  As I laid there relaxing, I realized the next time I was ready to join the others. Strange as it is to say, in a way, it felt like a small piece of me that was long neglected finally grew up.  I silently resolved that on my next visit I’d leave the suit behind and embrace the vulnerability that goes hand-in-hand with spending time naked with others. As fate would have it, I wouldn’t have long to wait before I put my resolve to the test but THAT is a story for next time.

**My visit and stay at the Hotel Josl occurred as part of a press trip arranged by the Tyrol Tourism Board and their local partners during which I was hosted as their guest**

As the tepid water runs across my extended fingers in the bathroom in my small Pensiyon in Bodrum I find it a fitting parallel.  The shower head is in need of a soak with most of its nozzels obscured by calcium deposits. The water itself is slowly warming to the touch, though I can’t truly tell if it is just my flesh adjusting to the luke-warm water, or if hot water has finally made its way up to the third floor of the building and to my room.

The room itself is unremarkable.  Despite a higher than normal number of errant black hairs on the sheets, it is clean enough.  After a sniff to confirm that the sheets are, in fact, freshly washed (they are), I settle in.  It’s nothing special – but then again, it’s a Pensiyon in a beach town.  That’s what you would expect. At 40 Turkish Lira a night, the private room with a small Queen sized bed is a decent alternative to the local hostel, which boasted one of the lowest ratings I’ve ever seen on HostelWorld and HostelBookers.  The bed is comfortable enough, though too short for me to sleep in it normally. Luckily, I’m not sharing the bed with anyone which allows me to sleep sprawled diagonally across it.

My room seems the perfect parallel for my time in Bodrum.  I go through phases where my opinion of the city is stone cold, then others where it warms slightly, and then the occasional moment, albeit brief and fleeting, where I am hot for the city and feel tempted to advocate it and the surrounding area.  It’s not really Bodrum’s fault.  As with oh-so-many relationships it’s more that we’re just not an ideal match and that my timing is off – in this case by a matter of a few days.

This city and those on the rest of the peninsula are resort cities.  They consist of overpriced restaurants  gimmicky nick nack shops, sprawling harbors full of gorgeous yachts, specially designed tourist boats, and a smattering of local fishermen’s multi-colored one-man boats.  It has a smattering of pebble beaches that ring crystal clear water that is so inviting it’s easy to forget that summer hasn’t quite yet arrived. Unfortunately, this time of year the beaches are littered with old construction materials, debris, and unattractive flotsam.

The challenge is, I don’t like resort cities.  I’m not an all inclusive resort type of guy.  I also don’t like gravel beaches. I grew up on the golden sand beaches of northern Mexico and am perpetually spoiled.  I go stir crazy if i’m supposed to just sit by the pool (or seaside), drink, eat, and do nothing.  I’m a history and stimulation junky.  I need old streets to explore, pristine natural beauty, and rich culture that smacks of authenticity – not postcard-poised tomfoolery.   As a result, all of Bodrum’s greatest assets are things that I’m disinterested in and apathetic about.

When deciding to head to Bodrum, I failed to realize just how new the whole area is.  It’s a resort peninsula and it is fairly obvious that most of the construction has occurred in the last 30 years.  Even today there is heavy construction to be seen everywhere.  The hills are blighted by massive white and beige scars where new developments are being dynamited into the side of the hills.   The architecture that has been used and marks the area reflects modern Turkish design which revolves around ugly squares and rectangles.  It’s an odd mash up between old soviet architecture, the nightmarish cement architectural movements in the 60s and 70s and an almost Asian influence.   On the upside, the use of whitewash on almost all the buildings does help offset their lack of character. Yet, this is far from unusual.  It’s the same in heavy resort areas all around the Mediterranean and reminds me of parts of the Costa Del Sol in Spain. It’s also perfectly in line with what a lot of people want and are drawn to.  There’s a reason Bodrum is a huge tourist destination and for what it is, it really does have a lot going for it.

If you peruse a history book, you’ll find that Bodrum has a rich history spanning back thousands of years.  The city sprawls around the base of an impressive, and extremely attractive crusader castle which is highly unusual and the city’s defining landmark.  The streets in the city center are white marble and boast a fair amount of greenery.  They’re not unattractive, and have a clean feel to them.  There are even a few winding alleys and old side streets that cut between them and which tease of the historic city that Bodrum is built upon.  Yet, unlike Antalya which still boasts a fairly robust old city, Bodrum’s is more or less non-existent. Its main attractions can be seen in a matter of hours, and despite boasting the ruins of one of the ancient 7 wonders of the world, all that is left is a smattering of column chunks…most of the ruin was carted off by archaeologists and by the Crusaders who built the Castle.  Bodrum knows what it is, and seems to have committed to that identity fully focusing on the water and all that is connected to it.  There are a line of old windmills that overlook the city – the type of thing that the Greeks have leveraged to great success and which could be a not-insignificant tourist attraction.  Yet, only one of them is restored, and even that is in dilapidated shape.  The rest are more ruin than windmill and in such a sad state that they’re barely worth the visit, let alone a photograph.

And yet, I came to Bodrum largely for the sun and it has delivered. The moments I’ve enjoyed most here have been, perhaps unsurprisingly, when the sun was out.  The sunsets are beautiful, the food is delicious, and the water…well, the water is its own attraction, even if it is still too cold to swim.  I’ve entertained myself by day wandering the city, eating, and then relished the late-afternoons which I’ve spent at small beach-front cafes enjoying a beer, smoking my pipe, watching people, and the gradual shifting shades of Aegean sunsets watched against the backdrop of castles and sailboats.  It is a fantastic way to recover and recharge after Denmark’s long and dark winter. Forcing myself to slow down and to just relax also has its benefits.  It may bore me slightly, but it is no doubt good for me.  I can feel myself finally catching up on sleep, and that my mind is sorting through and planning things that have been pushed to the side as more pressing needs draw my attentions.  I’ve even managed to finish the latest Game of Thrones book and to do some recreational reading.

At night the city’s fish market turns into an intertwined and charming combination of fresh fish stalls and chaotically organized restaurant tables overflowing with Turks, Russians and Germans.  The official tourist season started April 1st – the day after I departed – which meant that all of the secondary attractions (the hamams, some restaurants,  the ferry to Rhodes, etc.) were all shut down.  The city’s nightlife was also much less than I imagine it might be during high season.  Despite how quiet the town was, I did manage a day-trip to the nearby Island of Kos which was charming, if equally sleepy. At some point I’ll have to re-visit Bodrum during high season and with friends or a romantic partner in tow.  I suspect that if I do, I’ll enjoy the city in a whole new way.  So, Bodrum – I bid you farewell … until next time.

While the sound of men at arms, craftsmen  local officials, and traders has long since vanished from the stone walkways and carefully fitted walls that shape Kos Fortress one small army still remains.  The fortress of Kos is manned by a small band of warrior-hunters. Predators that seek out vermin, set upon them, and then plop down in the grass to carefully lick themselves clean, paws stretched high into the air.  Some might argue that they’re the purrrfect guardians for a castle that served its purpose in times of peace and war for generations but which has now retired from service. These guardians casually tolerate visitors – the occasional tourist who makes his way across the site of the old draw-bridge, pays his three lira and gains access to the castle grounds.  Grounds that, at the time of my visit, looked more like a garden for wild flowers than former military instillation. The scent of pollen was thick in the air, mingling with the fresh aroma of ocean salt to add a wonderful sweet perfume to the air. The low rumble of purring cats was accompanied by the audible buzz of the fortress’ airforce – thousands of bees hard at work darting from flower to flower while being equally careful to avoid the casual swat of bored cats relaxing in the late-afternoon sun.

The old crusader castle at Kos, built in part by the Knights of St. John in 1315, was one of my favorite parts of my day-long visit to Kos. The mixture of wild grass-filled moats, and wildflowers so thick they covered the ground with bands of color reminiscent of a rainbow, was deeply relaxing and soothing. It led to an hour of pure relaxation and bliss, made that much better by the nearly complete absence of other tourists.  As far as the guardians?  Well, the cats kept a close watch on me – suspicious but hospitable – as only cats can be.

Make sure to head over to flickr to see the rest of the album.

Would you like to see previous Friday Photos? View past travel pictures here. This photo was taken on a Canon T3i (600D) Camera.

A few weeks ago I took my first shot at learning how to ski in Obergurgl, Austria.  It was an awesome adventure. It was also a smudge easier than I expected. Probably in large part due to the awesome private instructor the local tourism board provided for my trip.  It made one thing very clear though.  Skiing is challenging, but snow boarding?  Good luck strapping both of my feet together and getting me on one.  Which leaves me that much more impressed by the incredible shows of acrobatics I saw from snowboarders and skiers on the slopes above Innsbruck during a locally organized ski and snowboarding competition.  This photo is of one of the competitors and highlights what an incredible day it was.  I was captivated watching them jump, spin, turn, and launch themselves through the air.  In many ways it reminded me of watching a gymnastics performance….only strapped to long objects and done on snow and in 10 pounds of winter gear.  Truly fantastic!  Make sure to head over to flickr to see the rest of the album.

Would you like to see previous Friday Photos? View past travel pictures here. This photo was taken on a Canon T3i (600D) Camera.

As an American, I find the concept of royalty intriguing. I can’t say I really know where I stand on the issue.  On the one hand, it seems like a fun nod to history and a great added cultural dynamic to help represent a nation’s culture, heritage, and identity without many of the political trappings that go with elected delegates.  On the other hand, I have my American bias which bubbles up almost instantaneously with the screech of a bald eagle, its cry heralding freedom and the taste of apple pie and hot dogs. This may be the perfect connection to resolve my inner turmoil and begin to understand the Dane’s adoring relationship with their royal family.  After all, as a hot dog vendor outside Vesterport Station once told me, New York and Germany may get partial credit for the hot dog, but it actually originated right here in Denmark. I suppose wars have been started over smaller claims, but in this case, perhaps it is a great illustration of the many core ideals, principles and cultural components that the US and Denmark share.

I’ve gotta’ admit that over the last year and a half my respect for the Danish Royals has grown exponentially. With rare exceptions, the Danes absolutely love them.  They bring in NYE with the Queen’s speech. An event which somehow manages to get a country full of extremely happy, energetic, and firework-crazed party-goers to set down their explosives, take a sip of their drinks, turn on the TV, and listen in dead-silence for half an hour. As someone who also comes from a country that loves mixing loud conversations, high-explosives, and alcohol – I’ve gotta say I was not only impressed but also a bit shocked.

But, perhaps I shouldn’t have been … after all, the Danes have a lot to be proud of and are without a doubt one of the most patriotic groups of people I’ve encountered outside of the United States. They don’t just love their royals, they take great pride in their flag – the oldest in the world – their culture, their heritage, and their country as a whole. So, it was a very special and unusual honor when I learned that HRH Prince Joachim of Denmark would be doing a Q&A session with a small group of us.  It’s a highly unusual opportunity to have the chance to meet with royals,  an even rarer opportunity to meet with beloved royals, and even rarer still to be able to pose a series of questions during the meeting.

I’m a member of the Danish Youth Goodwill Ambassador Corps. We are a relatively new initiative that has been launched through a partnership between a number of different Danish organizations as a youth/student talent development program. Our charter is straight forward – to connect with other international students with a passion for Denmark and to share the knowledge we’ve accumulated during our time in Denmark with the world at large.

This past weekend we held our national conference.  It was a two-day event where YGWAs from Aalborg, Aarhus, and Copenhagen came together to meet, mingle, brainstorm and learn about Denmark.  As part of the conference, HRH Prince Joachim spent an hour with us while answering a variety of questions from the audience.  The questions were very diverse and focused on everything from his entrepreneurial projects, what it is like to balance life as an entrepreneur, parent and royal to questions about innovation, and even a few about how best to enact change in the world around us.  He was joined by the Minister of Climate, Energy and Building, Martin Lidegaard and Martin Bendsøe who is the SVP and Dean of the Danish Technical Institute. The event was moderated by Natasja Crone, one of Denmark’s most prominent Danish journalists.

I was absolutely blown away by the introductory talks given by both HRH Prince Joachim and Minister Lidegaard. It wasn’t the usual talking points and dry ramblings you might expect from politicians.  Just as it wasn’t a rushed regurgitation of points exhaled swiftly and barely given time to settle in before  a flurry of hand shakes and the sound of the revolving door swinging shut as is so often the case with high ranking officials. In particular, it was fantastic to see that the Prince arrived at the start of the event and stayed until the end.  More or less a three-hour period, during which time he paid close attention to the Minister, the Dean, and the panel of four local entrepreneurs who also presented.  He also made himself available to us during the two brief breaks and gladly answered questions, paused for photos and chatted with us. Hardly the type of behavior I expected and a real tribute to the Danish Royal Family.  I can’t stress enough just how genuine and sincere HRH Prince Joachim was.

The following clip is a short segment I shot on my iPhone (sorry about the quality) as HRH responded to one of our questions.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bi8e9Q19LLQ

For my part, I was able to ask Minister Lidegaard two direct questions about the work he has been doing to pass a work visa/green card reform bill which is as exciting as it is progressive. The new bill would automatically grant a three-year green card to all international students who have received a complete MA or PhD from a Danish University.  As I wrap up my MA and explore job opportunities, an automatic work visa would drastically improve my chances of staying in Denmark and greatly ease the challenges that go with finding work here as an expat. Something that would be a net-gain for both my career and for Denmark who would retain me as a business professional, economic driver, and taxpayer while realizing benefit from the money they spent on my Masters.  A far cry from the current system which heavily encourages me to go abroad or return to the United States where I’ll work professionally, likely in competition with Danish companies.  Minister Lidegaard’s talk also had great factoids about Denmark’s renewable energy policy, how to deal with the emerging rift between the renewable energy camp and the conservation/green party, and some powerful points about infrastructure investments necessary over the next 10 years to keep Denmark’s power infrastructure secure and operational.

At the end HRH Prince Joachim left us with this final thought:

“To me the duty of representing Denmark truly is a privilege. It is very rewarding and I love to see that the work I do can be fruitful to Danish society as a whole. As youth goodwill ambassadors you will reflect on your experience in Denmark and whether at home in your own country or embarking on a new international career elsewhere in the world, you will always remember your time in Denmark and take a piece of Denmark with you.”

On that note I would like to extend a special thank you to His Royal Highness the Prince, the Minister, the rest of the speakers, and the Danish people for a fantastic experience and wonderful, informative, and exciting cultural insight. I can now cross meeting with royalty off the bucket list.  Next up? Working on that knighthood …

*Event photos in this post were provided by the official event photographer and are used with permission*

This story begins high above the alps.  It is a story of change. Of transition and of voyage.  It is a story of simple contrasts, long trips, and the small details that define the world around us.  It begins in the uppermost reaches of roiling clouds as they form along the border between the Austrian and Italian Alps. Casually adrift they eventually find themselves caught; snagged on jagged mountain peaks dotted by the sharp protrusions of evergreen treetops.  As gravity takes hold and nature pulls the clouds downward a process as old as the earth unfolds. Water vapor rises, condenses, and crystallizes. Like a master tinkerer, the cloud crafts trillions of tiny stars. Each is an ever-so-slight variation of the star shape we picture as we close our eyes and dream of winter.  These newly born stars float suspended in quasi-darkness thousands of feet above the earth waiting to launch themselves upon the world below.

With the gust of wind, a change in pressure, and a drop in temperature clouds struggle to free themselves of their mountain moorings. As they lighten their loads snowflakes begin their gentle descent.  Some find themselves falling quickly, others drifting as they are tossed from side to side by alpine winds. They descend towards fallen brethren.  Some revert to their watery origins – torn apart – by waves of heat.  Others are thrown together, crushed within the feathers of sharp-eyed golden eagles or the furrows of  an Alps-Crow’s black wings.  Most survive to continue their reckless descent.

For some their trip comes to an untimely end.  Extinguished by the heat of a child’s outstretched tongue.  Others find themselves caught in the top branches of old trees and small spring saplings. A perch that lends a fabulous view of the valley’s white slopes and snow-covered fields, but which also offers them up as sacrifice to the sun in a way reminiscent of ancient Incan ceremonies.

Others find themselves surrounded by their brethren as they cast a thick blanket across the earth’s rich soil.  It is a war of sorts. The war of seasons. In winter frozen snowflakes spread themselves across the soil’s surface,  blocking it from the sun and denying it the liquid hydration it demands to survive.  In summer, when the dark hues of rich humus and golden rays of the sun combine, the earth finds itself hungrily gorging itself on water that has long forgotten what it felt like to take the form of a frozen star.

As day ebbs and night descends a full moon’s white light is reflected off a trillion sparkling points.  Each dreams of a life spent beside the moon in the deepest reaches of space as a small part of the Milky Way.  Instead, small gusts of wind cast snowflakes back into the air, tossing and turning them before allowing them to crash back against their mates.

Morning’s early rays. Warmth. Blue skies. Sun.  The shimmer of heat rising, reflected off white crystalline shapes.  A reversion from tiny star to water and gas. A new voyage, this one slow but persistent. Soaking deep into the half-frozen soil.  Drifting across slicked rocks. Carried along by un-melted snowflakes.

The birth of a small stream hidden beneath snowbanks. The soft gurgle of water splashing over stones as a trickle grows, freed by the sun.  The promise of spring as weather warms. Tiny crystalline star after tiny crystalline star giving way to heat, sun, and the caress of water.  Moments of uncertainty as the gentle onslaught of a stream slowly carves grottos beneath the snow’s smooth white surface. And then collapse as the strength of millions of interlocked snowflakes give way beneath their own weight.

Moments. Hours. Days of tentative equilibrium as stream, sun and snowflake reach a fragile balance.  By day the sun beats down, forcing snow flakes to wither and drip their way toward the stream.  By evening, night and early morning the cold caress of alpine winds, fresh snow, and freezing air strive to re-claim lost snowflakes.

Half-exposed segments of the stream re-discover their crystalline origins.  These re-freeze on a much grander scale.   Their struggle futile. Brief. But beautiful in its grand gestures.  Others struggle in transition.  Most of their form lost. They form pillars by gravity and circumstance that stand as bulwarks against the stream’s cold bite as they loom above the churning waters.

I captured these photos during a two-hour snowshoe hike provided by the folks at Obergurgl Ski School and the Obergurgl-Hochgurgl Tourism Board just outside the city of Obergurgl in the Austrian Alps.  The weather was spectacular with blue skies and clean mountain air.  As we hiked along a small stream made up of snow melt, I was taken by the beauty of the ice crystal formations.  Those photos gave birth to this post.  One which I hope you enjoyed.  It is an incredible area full of stunning natural beauty.  Photos were shot on a Canon 600D.

While we may differ from monkeys in more than a few ways, some things remain the same.  Young baboons are every bit as curious, rambunctious, and entertaining as human children. They also appear to be every ounce the challenge for their parents to deal with.  In this photo from Chobe National Park in northern Botswana I captured a healthy mother and her rather animated child right before he launched himself from her back and into the nearby grass for a playful romp, roll, and flop.

The mother’s mixture of vexed parent and half-ignored mode of transport reminds me vividly of the small army of soccer moms (and dads) that descended on the rich green grass fields behind my apartment back in Arizona every weekend.  The kids could often be seen half-tumbling out of the mini-van’s sliding doors moments after the vehicles came to a stop. The raised voices of vexed parents chasing after them.

Both sights brought a smile to my face.  Though I will admit that I’m ever so slightly more partial to the oversize ears and awkward tail that define a baby baboon.

Would you like to see previous Friday Photos? View past travel pictures here. This photo was taken on a Canon T3i (600D) Camera.

A few years ago I decided that I wanted to craft a signature photo. Something that I could easily carry with me, that I could insert into photo after photo that would help humanize shots.  I wanted something that could be used or done anywhere – even if I was alone in the depths of rural Argentina.  What I came up with was a series of boot shots.  I feel that they help convey a sense of wonder, add a human element, and at the same time are something that is readily and easily identifiable as part of a long term photography project.

Upon returning from my recent trip to Austria and Turkey, I sat down and edited the most recent batch of boot photos. The final candidates numbered 26 and brought the total number of boot photos I’ve uploaded to 312.  The oldest of the photos was captured in late 2008. The most recent on April 2nd of this year.

Within the album you’ll find photos from North America, Central America, South America, Europe, Africa and Asia.  Subjects in the photos range from penguins, polar bears and sharks to castles, cliffs, and caves. A number of current and former wonders of the world are also featured.

To my knowledge, this is the most extensive project of its kind based on number of photos taken, time period covered, and sheer diversity of locations featured.  While many of the photos showcase one of three generations of Keens I’ve owned and traveled in, flippers, flip-flops, snowshoes and bare feet can also be found.  The boots are my go-to for travel, but were never intended to have meaning beyond that – thus, it will be interesting to see if future photos continue to feature them, or other footwear becomes increasingly common moving forward. What do you think – would a pair of neon-green running shoes spice things up a bit?

Why Do It?

This is an album dedicated to wanderlust and the open road.  It is dedicated to conveying the spirit of travel, of adventure, and of the unknown. Of reminding us to sit, pause, and to relax while in the moment.  To soak it up, and to enjoy it.  To be inspired and to have our imaginations run wild.  It is also an album about memory and reflection.  It is about re-visiting rich experiences and re-living them.

As I sit here writing this post, I find myself going through old photos.  Each of these photos takes me back to a special moment.  It’s amazing how time blurs our memory if we don’t have anchors to bring our experiences back into focus.  As I flip through photos from mere months ago I find myself re-living the minutes that led up to and followed the taking of the photo.  Small details come back to me.  Smells. Sensations.  All of it.  Without these anchors and small reminders these sensations might easily be lost to the ravages of memory and time.

The photos themselves also tell their own story.  They do more than showcase where I’ve been and a set of locations.  They document my growth as a traveler, photographer and travel writer.  The quality of the photos has gradually increased as I’ve slowly mastered the art of photography and editing.  Of equal aid is the progression in equipment.  The first photos were captured on a point and shoot Canon G6. Later generations were recorded with a Canon G11 while the most recent photos were taken with a Canon 600D dSLR.  When I started I shot almost exclusively on automatic.  More recently I’ve begun to tackle the delicate dance that is Av, Tv and M modes, white balance, f stop and ISO. The art that is editing is also its own adventure and challenge – sometimes I succeed, other times…well…other times I learn.

There’s also an element of disbelief.  A surreal type of surprise when I sit down and look through this album.  In 2007 I decided to make travel a fundamental part of my life.  I chose to prioritize it in a major way and to invest heavily in it.  Over the past few years that decision has payed off with the chance to see, experience and do things I never imagined possible.

Yet, when you’re caught in the midst of it – of planning the next trip, reflecting on the past one, and trying to document everything in-between it is easy to lose perspective over all you’ve done.  I don’t think that’s something that is limited to serial travelers either, I think we all do it on a regular basis and in our day-to-day lives. It’s just that most of us lack an album that helps document and showcase those accomplishments and experiences.  To that end, it is my hope that these photos and this post help inspire you to not only take a moment and to reflect on your own adventures, but also to consider how you might begin your own project. Something to tie your experiences and life-changes together.

I am also reminded by these photos just how awe inspiring the world is. We live surrounded by incredible beauty and while some of it can make for one heck of a difficult journey to get to, there are always incredible sights to see, places to explore and moments to discover in our own back yards and within reach regardless of what resources we have available to us. The weekend is just around the corner – have you decided yet how you’re going to use it?

I invite you to head over to the complete album on flickr and to look through the photos.  I hope you enjoy the story they tell and that they resonate with you in some way.  I hope that they trigger memories of your own, and that they inspire you.  I hope that they pull you out of this moment, and allow your mind to wander and your imagination to run free. I would also love to hear which photos resonate with you the most and what format you prefer.  If you have questions about where they’ve been taken, feel free to ask.  I’m always happy to share, and of course please feel free to share this album and this post with anyone you think might enjoy it.

In celebration of my recent return from Turkey, here’s a flashback to last year’s trip.  I’m in the process of editing more than 20gb of photos from this year’s trip, so you can expect to see new shots later this week.

This photo was captured in the storied city of Antalya along Turkey’s southern coast as the last rays of sunset cast a golden shadow on the peaks across the bay.  As luck would have it, one of the local sailing ships was in the midst of a sunset cruise, and in so doing lent its silhouette to this photo.  The colors were incredible, especially as the rays of light cut between the mountain peaks and filled the valleys with a plethora of different colors, all filtered through the slight haze brought about by the cool ocean air mingling with the warm afternoon sun.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8cDyEn1SsX8

The Hoboroll – Product Review

Just before I left for my Austria and Turkey trip, the folks at Gobi Gear reached out to me and asked if I’d try out a complimentary version of their Hoboroll product after seeing a piece where I talked about using plastic bags to help organize and separate clothing inside my backpack.  Somewhat skeptical that it would be significantly better than my trash bags, I decided to give it a try on my most recent trip.  The Hoboroll is basically a lightweight fabric tube with cinch cords on both ends and which is divided into a series of interior compartments. It also has several straps around the outside and reminds me a bit of the bag you put a sleeping bag into.  In short, it’s a simple and clever idea and a great solution to the problem most of us have.  Especially those of us using backpacks that only open at the top.

After using the Hoboroll on my 23 day trip, I’m happy to say that it’s a great product.  I kept and used it throughout the trip, and found it made life easier.  Especially when it came to getting access to the bottom of my pack.  I was able to pull the Hoboroll out, and then access large and less used items such as my snowboarding pants,  sweater and spare jeans without needing to re-pack my entire bag.  It also made sorting and separating things like shirts, underwear and socks much easier.  I’ll definitely use it again on future trips, and the light weight nature of it and study construction makes it durable and backpack-friendly.

While it’s not a necessary purchase -you could, after all, continue to use plastic bags – it is a much cleaner and more efficient option.  Depending on how you use your backpack, it may make sense as an addition to your packing list.

You can find out more about the product on the GobiGear website.

Would you like to see previous Friday Photos? View past travel pictures here. This photo was taken on a Canon T3i (600D) Camera.

As I stepped off of the curb and down onto an old cobblestone street in the historic district of Innsbruck, I found myself musing.  A few minutes earlier a light mist, far too mild to even be considered rain, had begun to drift down.  I was surrounded by old buildings full of character, each with a wealth of stories locked away behind oft re-painted and restored walls.  As my eyes scanned the street they settled on an old woman standing beside a water fountain.  It was one of those postcard perfect moments.  The type you travel for; that brings to life all of the magic moments you fawned over, dreamed of, and were raised upon.  I paused and soaked up the details of it. It wasn’t until several days later, as I touched down in Istanbul and found myself wandering the storied city’s ancient and exotic streets, that I realized that perfect scene had been the harbinger of a significant realization.

When I made the choice to re-locate to Copenhagen for a two-year Masters program, I knew that a lot of things would change.  Chief among those was me as an individual.  One thing I never thought about or expected to change drastically was my relationship as a whole with Europe.  True, I expected it to become more familiar, but I think at a certain level I expected that I’d just have more time to relish its magic and cultural diversity.

I now realize that in re-locating to Denmark, a large chunk of Europe has lost part of the exotic mystery that made it such an exhilarating and spectacular place to visit as a child and young adult. This shift hasn’t come entirely from the year and a half I’ve lived in Denmark. If I’m to be honest I think I can trace it as a gradual progression as I took each European trip.

The last year and a half has stripped away my innocence.  It has, in a way, mirrored the shift we go through as we grow up and realize that parents can be wrong, that Santa Claus is mythological fiction, and that special effects are constructs and not reality.  I hesitate to say that the magical has become mundane, because that would be a major simplification and, in truth, grossly inaccurate. Yet, it may, in part, get at the heart of what I’ve come to realize.

Istanbul offered me something that Innsbruck did not.  That taste of discomfort, the raw unknown, the alien. It offered the exotic, the strange, the curious all in addition to the pleasures of exploring a typical city. There was a time when Innsbruck and the other German, Nordic, and British cities harbored that same allure.  Now, though, they’ve become part of me.  The architecture differs, but only slightly.  The languages and people are different, but still close enough of a kind that they feel like kindred populations, strange cousins of a sort.

I suppose what I am getting at is that after nearly two years spent living in Denmark, that once-magical-fairytale land that was Northern and Western Europe has become an extension of the United States in my mind.  Just as a trip from Arizona to Florida offered a taste of the exotic, but remained still very much a part of the world of experiences and flavor that is the United States. The same has happened for me within Europe be it Denmark, Austria, Prague or England.

It’s not a bad thing really. If anything it is a chance to better connect with and relate to these countries.  I’m also not implying that Austria and Denmark are the same.  Far from it.  Yet, a part of me is slightly sad to see that period of innocent wonder lost…not unlike the loss of the innocence and wonder of youth. It also comes with the realization that to feed my addiction to the new, to the exotic, and to that sense of mystery – I’ll have to continue to explore other parts of the world I have thus far neglected.

As Asia, Far Eastern Europe, Africa, the Middle East, and parts of South America call to me I cannot help but be excited for the feast that is fresh discovery.  Still, I cannot help but realize that it will never be the same as my early love affair with Europe.  It is where my wanderlust was birthed, nurtured, and matured.

The lady by the fountain and countless moments like it also put my mind at ease.  It reminded me that there are still an abundance of intimate moments to be experienced here in Europe. It is a wonderous place full of incredible experiences, delectable food, new surprises, and a lifestyle that most Hollywood directors would refuse to craft into their films, claiming it to be far to ideal to be believable.

This post isn’t about regret, far from it. It is merely about the realization of lost innocence. I would make the move to Copenhagen again in a heart beat. I am love with my lifestyle, with the city, and derive endless pleasure from exploring Europe’s historic districts, winding streets, and cozy alleyways.  While every brick may no longer ooze mystery, the opportunity to spend my days casually wandering through real-life paintings is a true blessing.

In discussing this realization with friends who have pursued or are currently on a similar path, i’ve discovered that I am (perhaps unsurprisingly) not alone in this realization.  It is, in a way, inevitable.

To those of you who are dreaming of, considering, or in the process of pursuing expat life – it is a wonderful, informative, and inspiring thing.  Just be prepared and go into it striving to enjoy each and every moment while you can.  Those memories are the foundations upon which great memories and life’s context are built.

For now, I’m off to toss my headphones on, listen to some classical music, and let it serve as a soundtrack to my next adventure.

The open road calls …

Today’s feature highlights an interesting cross-section of history. Snapped in the Oslo Fjord, it is of a small fisherman’s church (or shrine, I’m not sure which) *Scratch that, I’ve been told it is a converted lighthouse that is now a restaurant - see the comments for more!* situated on a tiny piece of rock.   I took the photograph as our ferry passed it, steaming within a few meters of it and apparently quite confident that the rock didn’t reflect a submerged outcropping. I can only hope the model-sized church reflected a prayer and general tribute, and not a memorial to another vessel that wasn’t so careful, well informed, or lucky.

The ferry (more like a small cruise ship) was out of Copenhagen and proudly flying the old Danish colors.  Something that no doubt annoys the Norwegians as much as accomplishes any regulatory requirements that may go with it.

If you find yourself on a boat navigating the Oslo Fjord in Norway, make sure to keep an eye open for this great little landmark.  I’ve never seen anything quite like it, and it oozed its own special charm.

Would you like to see previous Friday Photos? View past travel pictures here. This photo was taken on a Canon T3i (600D) Camera.

As I sit here in a small internet cafe on a blustry Turkish day in the small coastal town of Bodrum, I find it hard to believe that I’m already celebrating my 28th birthday.  I suppose it isn’t the most remarkable of birthdays.  It’s not one that signifies becoming a man, earning new rights, or one of life’s cornerstones.  Yet, this past year was one of my favorite so far.

At the risk of sounding like an overly optimistic braggart, I’ll confess that life is good.  Or, if I throw modesty to the winds it would more accurately be described as spectacular!

At this time last year I had just returned from my introductory visit to Turkey. I was preparing to head to Italy where fantastic new opportunities and friends awaited.  I was also finally getting settled and adjusting to life in Copenhagen. The remainder of the last 12 months saw me continue to fall madly, deeply, passionately, in love with Copenhagen.  Bolstered by the support of my parents and brother, it also saw me visit Africa for the first time in the form of Zambia and Botswana, as well as a return to Asia by way of Dubai. Later we would pause in the Czech Republic, Germany, England and Scotland.  I  spent Halloween in Canada having just wrapped up a polar bear safari, and then prepared for the new year with a re-visit to Prague. The new year came and with it a quick trip up to Norway. Now, as I write this post, I’m on the tail-end of a trip to Austria where I learned to ski in the heart of the Alps and, a culinary and cultural meander through Turkey.

Each of these adventures provided fresh, exciting, and wonderful learning experiences. They fed my voracious appetite for new stimuli and a better understanding of the world. They were also largely made possible, either directly or indirectly, through the endless support of family, close friends, and you, my readers. It was one of my best travel years to date and it really pushed (and tore down) a lot of my old comfort boundaries.  Last week I broke 500,000 views on youtube (thank you!). The website continues to perform well and I’ve been approached about a number of exciting opportunities which will help showcase VirtualWayfarer, my photography, my writing, and my videos. It is an exciting time with a lot of irons in the fire.

Beyond pure travel though, the year also brought challenges and change.  I’m in the midst of finishing up my Masters degree and will be polishing off my thesis come August (assuming all goes according to plan).  I’m very happy with my progress, the grades I’ve gotten as part of the program, and above all the wonderful experiences I’ve had while doing a two-year masters abroad.  Still, it has been 21 months since the last time I was back in the US. That in and of itself poses a wealth of challenges. Over the past year we lost several extended family members and several close family friends. Those are always some of the most difficult moments while abroad.  It is easy to beat yourself up for not being there or being able to return to say goodbye.  They also make you wonder if you’re making a horrible mistake and doing a grave disservice to friends and loved ones by spending time so far away and apart. Luckily, Skype and Facebok help bridge that gap in a way that still amazes me. Not a week goes by that I don’t spend an hour or two in casual conversation with my folks and brother, despite the long distances between Zambia, Arizona, and Denmark.

Positive Choices and Perspective

This past year was possible because of decisions I made and priorities which I set and stuck to, despite significant challenges.  I’ve chosen to keep my daily expenses low, not to adopt a dog or cat, and to avoid buying a house. At a certain level my tangible ties to a specific place and things are limited – something which is rewarding, but also has a certain cost to it and comes with a periodic sense of weariness and transience.  I’ve had two succesful careers outside of my time spent as a student, but even those were selected, honed, and sustained only so long as they moved me in the general direction I have chosen for myself financially, intellectually, professionally, and personally.

What only a few select friends know and truly understand is just how difficult it can be for me to drive myself forward towards the goals I’ve set for myself. To overcome the doubts, the false turns, an inclination for stability, fear of the unknown, to face the profound weight of expectations, and then persevere.

The face many see is one of confidence. Of someone who unflinchingly tackles the unknown and the exotic.  Who embraces new things and new challenges with a smile and a laugh, while leaving behind the stable and the comfortable again and again. Yet, beneath the confident image is a raging sea of uncertainty and discomfort.  I am, by my very nature, a long-term thinker.  I weigh potential benefits, and if left to act based on impulse, operate conservatively.  I’m rarely reckless, and seldom completely impulsive.  When I was younger, I suffered from a fairly strong case of social anxiety. It is something I’ve overcome and mostly conquered but, at times I still feel physically nauseous when preparing for important social events or acting outside my social comfort zone. It can still be so strong that I’ve been tempted to consider anti-anxiety medications and similar tools – but I’ve always come back to the same conclusion.  It would treat the symptoms but do little to overcome the source or to help me truly move forward in my personal development. After all, discomfort is not necesarilly bad, and sometimes it is a strength. Part and parcel of that inclination towards conservative action is a strong desire not to come across as appearing silly or ignorant.

Perhaps that is why I find travel so addictive. It constantly forces me to push each of these boundaries and to become a stronger person. I still get slightly sick to my stomach before a long bus ride or flight. Figuring out public transportation in a new city is not only an exciting challenge to unravel, but also an unnerving one. Travel takes simple things that we are used to and familiar with – such as toilets and bathrooms – and turns them into new challenges.  It provides new foods, new peoples, new languages, and new cultural norms. It also allows us access to new communities we have previously avoided or missed out on.  Most recently, this was embodied by my trip to the Tirol region of Austria to learn how to ski. It took until I was 28 to learn, in no small part, because I was deeply anxious over my complete lack of knowledge and skill.  Sure, there were plenty of excuses to justify the delay, but at the end of the day, it came down to a fear of the unknown, looking like a fool (even in front of complete strangers half a world away), and failing to perform at the level I expect of myself.  As has happened so many times before, the fears I had built up in my head and the what-ifs were mostly hollow.  Oh, sure, there were moments of embarassment as I had to ask basic questions and as I stumbled my way through the ski and spa culture.  Challenges that included figuring out everything from what to tip my ski instructor to what (not to wear) and how to get comfortable (quickly) with sitting naked in a sauna across from a mixture of German and Austrian men and women.

As I reflect, this year has re-affirmed time and time again that it is all about moving forward.  About constantly pushing the comfort zone, and re-visiting past successes.  It’s not only a matter of pushing our personal comforts, it is a matter of re-visiting those new conquests until they become comfortable and burned into our muscle and conscious memory.

In my Ignite Phoenix talk a few years ago I told people to “Just Say Yes”.  This is something that was re-affirmed in a major way once again this past year, but it is hard and seldom gets easier.  It is a constant challenge and for every two uncomfortable YES!s I manage, there is at least one “No” or “Not Today” to go with it.  Still, I consider myself a YES person, not an “If only…” person.  The truth of it is that if you’re unhappy with (or merely content with) the opportunities life has presented you with, if you look at other people and dream of doing things they’re doing, or wonder what that life might be like – then you’re probably justifying inaction with excuses.  While luck may exist, it is more often a matter of choice. Of not putting things off, or justifying passing on opportunities by qualifying everything with, “If only I…” or “If only it…”.  The choices we make and the role of fear in shaping those choices is paramount to crafting who we are and who we want to become.  We can justify inaction by looking at others and using their own success and appearance of confidence to justify our inaction or we can drive ourselves forward one small step at a time.

As I prepare for life after my Masters degree, which will entail a return to the corporate world, I know that I have to fix my end goals in mind’s-eye and then strive to work towards those goals while being very aware of how I may act (or fail to) in order to hedge my bets. It’s the small things – like failure to book a flight or to get paperwork filed before an application deadline that are fatal to our success and pushing our comfort zones – not big decisions.

This year has also led to conversations that have re-affirmed and helped me better formalize my understanding of the pressures that go with success.  The truth is that the more success you enjoy, the greater the yoke of responsibility that comes with it. Years ago, one of my college suite-mates committed suicide. It was a shock, in no small part because he was profoundly succesful, both socially, academically, and within the local community.  Despite being in the final stages of University, I remember noting that one of Arizona’s State Representatives was present and spoke at the funeral. His death, and others like it, have contantly reminded me that while we often look at our peers and those people we view as profoundly succesful, inspiring, and (perhaps) useful for a bit of introspective self intimidation, what we overlook is the unspoken pressure to perform that goes with success.   My old suite-mate had one failiure that he felt so overwhelmed and doomed him, that he lost sight of all his other assets and successes.  While his was an extreme case that resulted in extreme action, we all take similar, if greatly diluted, actions on a regular basis.

There is a deep fear of failure. To even admit its existance potentially shatters that image of confidence, success, and casual ease.  As I push myself to succeed and I face the prospect of failure, I am constantly reminded of the lesson his actions taught me. I am reminded that failure, while daunting, is seldom half as uncomfortable as the fear of failure itself.  I am reminded that to enjoy success and to grow as an individual, I have to come to terms with the challenges of failure, of external judgement, and of decisions and actions that may be the right course for me, but which may differ from those otherwise expected of me – be it by family, by friends, by culture, by work, or by social contract.  I must also remember that inaction is often every bit as damning as a failed attempt. Luckily, this past year – as with those before it – has shown me that I won the familial lottery and have been blessed with incredibly supportive parents.  That alone makes it much easier to push myself forward and develop as a man; to grow as an indivdual into who I choose to be – not what fear and failed opportunities leave me. It also makes it easier to be selective as I seek out the friends I choose as company and the people I surround myself with.  People who inspire me, who drive me forward, and who challenge me. These are the foundations which sustain true success.

So, as I reflect on the past year, I invite you to join me in looking at your own lives, choices, fears, and the challenges that go with them.  It need not be something as major as jumping out of an airplane, or catching the next flight to the most war-torn part of Africa.  Instead, start simply and aim for repetition.  Order something outside of what you would normally eat, take a public bus for the first time, or force yourself to ask a question or voice your ignorance when a topic arises that is beyond the scope of what you know now, at this moment. Read, research, and browse. Surely, the end result will be new perspective, new opportunities and new confidence. All of which will better prepare you to say YES the next time opportunity presents itself.

So, I leave you with these thoughts and a heartfelt thank you for your support, your wisdom, your knowledge, your curiosity, and for helping me challenge myself and mature.  Each year, and each new experience, moves me closer towards who I want to be as an individual.  Which is not to say I am not deeply happy with who I am now.  Today.  But, life is a process of continuing growth and for the chance to craft who we are into something even wiser and more capable.

Safe travels, open roads.

While visiting Innsbruck I had the pleasure of connecting with local and fellow travel blogger Lea from Escape Town.  As we enjoyed an incredible spring day while watching a local snowboarding competition on one of the slopes overlooking the city, she procuded a bottle of bubble solutions.   This photo is the end result – looks photoshopped doesn’t it?  I promise you that it is 100% real.

The weather during my visit to the Tirol region was fantastic with sun, relatively warm days, gorgeous white snow, clean air, and blue skies.

Would you like to see previous Friday Photos? View past travel pictures here. This photo was taken on a  Canon T3i (600D) Camera.

One of the best parts about Prague is its incredible series of bridges.  They line the lazy bends in the river and create a unique texture that somehow snags the eye and pulls it in.   By day the bridges inspire with their varied architecture – some modern, some historic.  By night they entreat the onlooking eye with a blur of light and color.

While the most famous is, of course, Charles Bridge with its wide pedestrian walkway and series of statues representing saints and kings, each bidge has its own storz and charm.  This photo was captured on a snowy evening from a park that sits opposite Prague Castle.

Would you like to see previous Friday Photos? View past travel pictures here. This photo was taken on a  Canon T3i (600D) Camera.

Berlin is famous for the graffiti along the Berlin Wall. Beyond that though, it has also fostered a graffiti culture across a many parts of the city.  Situated just off of Alexanderplatz/Hackescher Markt station is a small side alleyway full of graffiti, bicycles and small alternative shops.  One such shop is situated on the second floor at the end of the alleyway.  As we made our way into the stairwell and started heading upwards this was a sample of the sight that met us.  It’s a fascinating mixture of graffiti, plastered print work, and marker scribblings all in one giant and spectacularly chaotic jumble.  While it is without question somewhat grungy, it has a certain charm to it that wins you over and creates an incredible ambiance. After, that is, you get over the impulse to run away fearful that you’re surely about to be mugged.  The sheer amount of graffiti is what takes what would be a casual annoyance, and turns it into a work of a-typical art.

Have you explored some of Berlin’s graffiti alley and stairwells? Many are as, if not more, charming than the recently re-painted and well manicured sections of the Berlin Wall that most tourists see.

Would you like to see previous Friday Photos? View past travel pictures here. This photo was taken on a  Canon T3i (600D) Camera.

The sweat from my palms soaked the steering wheel as the tense muscles in my hip throbbed.  My body was on edge and had been for the entirety of the drive south.  Upon arriving in Zambia, I’d been informed by my family that I would be the one responsible for driving our rental car.  Ordinarily not a big deal, but it was my first time driving on the opposite side of the road and in a non-North American country.  The roads in the Luapula Province of northern Zambia did little to allay my fears.  Many are paved, but in such a poor state of repair that there are no such things as lanes.  In truth, you spend at least one third of most drives with one (or both) tires off the road, the car at a 25 degree angle while zig-zaging between potholes large enough to swallow a small tank. The scrape of the car’s undercarriage is a constant reminder that you zig-ed when you should have zag-ed.  By itself that might not be so bad, but then add in large freight haulers and buses that race along the roads at high speed. And if that is not enough, add in head-height grass which lines many of the roads and conceals everything and everyone.  My eyes constantly scanned the road for potholes with quick glance at my rear view mirror in search of large trucks bearing down on me. Then back to the sides of the road where I diligently watched for erratic movement from the veritable army of goats, small children, old grandmothers, and bicyclists who use the roads as walking paths and have a tendency to dart into traffic.  Despite constant and nearly un-blinking vigilance I  found myself forced to slam on the brakes  to avoid people and things at the last moment.

As I turned the key off and the car stilled I let out an audible sigh of relief. Somehow I’d gotten us to a small guest house along the shores of Lake Bangweulu just outside of Samfya.  As I sat in the driver’s seat collecting myself, I wiped my hands on my jeans leaving dark streaks of sweat.  Finally, I allowed myself to take in my surroundings. The parallel-parking spot I had pulled into faced out onto what looked like a small sea. In reality, it was a sprawling lake.

As we settled into great little rooms that opened out onto a small sand beach and a wonderful view of the lake, we all struggled with the day’s contrasts.  We had started out in my brother’s small mud brick and thatch hut. A building that is a lovely and cozy place but which lacks electricity or running water and has a small outhouse located behind it. Now, a few hours drive away, we were back on the grid with semi-reliable power, running water, and perhaps most importantly western flush toilets.  It made for a powerful contrast which set the stage for the rest of the evening.

My brother David is a Peace Corps volunteer and he had brought us to Lake Bangweulu to see the sunset.  I’ll confess that as a big fan of sunsets, I wasn’t entirely sure why the multi-hour drive south had been worth the pleasure of a simple sunset.  Still, he was our guide, the local expert, and it was hard not to be won over by the prospect of a real bed and a cold beer.

As the sun began to set and the early twilight of late afternoon settled over the lake, it quickly became apparent why the sunset was worth the drive.  Lake Bangweulu is known as the place where the water meets the sky.  It is an aptly chosen nickname for this unusual body of water.  More than 70km by 40km in size, the lake’s depth averages about four meters and fluctuates more than a meter between Zambia’s dry and rainy seasons.   During our visit in the midst of the dry season the lake still stretched beyond the horizon.

Just beyond a small fence at the end of the beach, we watched as a group of children washed dishes, did laundry, and then set to fishing.  The children, some barely old enough to walk, participated in chores.  The older children kept close eyes on their younger brothers and sisters though I doubt the oldest was more than 10.  There’s a certain responsibility among the young Zambian children that I found incredible to watch … a certain level of maturity that most western children twice their age lack.  Perhaps the most powerful of which were the (slightly) older sisters who diligently took care of, disciplined, and watched over their 2 and 4 year-old siblings with great care and competency.

Shortly after the children finished their bath and their chores, they wandered back up the bank. A young woman and her son waded down and out into the reeds with bamboo fishing poles.  With the poise, elegance, and stillness of a heron they carefully raised and lowered their poles, gently jigging and probing the reeds for fish.  Their patience and control reminded me in many ways of the street performers who pose as human statues, perfectly still and seemingly lifeless before moving smoothly to the shock and surprise of those passing by.

In one last rush before the sunset stole the remaining light, a near constant flow of chitenge-clad women atop reed and dugout wooden canoes made their way past us.  Some used push poles to take advantage of the lake’s shallow depths while others had rough-hewn wooden paddles attached to long poles which they used from a standing position.

The weather was perfect. The wind was still which left the lake with a glass-like surface and the air was thick with the haze of pale gray smoke from local controlled burns.   By day the late afternoon sky was devoid of clouds but boasted the moon and later the bright glow of a nearby planet.  The horizon itself quickly faded away, lost and indistinguishable from the lake’s smooth waters.   I’ve never seen a sunset that was able to so perfectly blend water and sky. The combination of gentle smokey haze, mirror-perfect water, and clear skies accomplished the unbelievable.  What was left were strange little boats that seemed to have taken flight to float among the clouds.  The sort of strange and mystical spectacle that one might see in movies of far-off places and imaginary lands – but never in the real world. Then the color changed. The soft blue-gray transitioned into a multi-spectrum rainbow centered along the horizon.  The sky’s dark blues re-emerged while the waves reflected the violets and purples of the next stage of the sunset.

Then as the sun approached the horizon the violets deepened and transitioned into oranges and golden hues as the smoke served as a filter that split off the sun’s otherwise harsh rays and left it visible to the naked eye as a glowing red orb.

I’m not sure how long the sunset lasted, I suspect close to 30 minutes.  It’s hard to tell though, as every 5 minutes it seamed to drastically change. The colors would shift, the haze would lift, the sun would slip into a smoke bank, or one of the local fishing boats would slowly cut their way across the horizon and in so doing add a new perspective and human element.

As we sat on the beach enjoying a local Zambian beer I couldn’t help but feel an emotional connection to the area. One brought about and highlighted so beautifully by the sunset.  It was a thing of contrasts, just as Zambia and Sub-Saharan Africa is a place of similarly extreme contrasts. It can be a profoundly harsh place, but it is also a warm and welcoming place with its own element of profound hospitality.  A trip to the heart of Africa, one that takes you into authentic Africa, beyond the walled compounds and neatly pitched tents of safaris and large cities is a must.  It will change you by infusing you with a new perspective and understanding.  It will give you a renewed respect for all nature has to provide, a deep  sense of awe, and an opportunity to connect at a deep level with people who live vastly different lives.

When we set out for Samfya to watch the sunset, I expected a few minutes of transient natural beauty.  A wonderful thing, but something that hardly seemed likely to offset the hours of anxious and uncomfortable driving required to get there.  As often happens in these types of situations, I was not only wrong but met with an incredibly rich experience that was one of the gems of my visit to Africa.  I’d place the sunset in my top 5 and will forever have its beauty and the wonderful musings that accompanied it burned into who I am and how I see the world.

Wild elephants are incredible creatures.  They are intelligent, curious, and have a certain personality to them that conveys a compassionate spirit.  Their relationships with other members of their herd, and their young in particular, offers insights into the emotional bond they share with each other.  It also doesn’t take long to see just how different their personalities can be.  While they may look like large, gray, animals relatively difficult to tell apart – they are each unique.   From the fearful child to the rambunctious teenage male and powerful-aged matriarch they remind me in many ways of humans.

This photo was captured in South Luangwa National Park in the heart of Zambia.  You’ll note the calf which is feeding.  Elephants share several surprising traits with us.  One is that their front legs are actually arms that bend at the elbow. The other is that they have two mammalian breasts located on their chests vs. the more common teats or udder you find on the vast majority of other mammals.

Would you like to see previous Friday Photos? View past travel pictures here. This photo was taken on a  Canon T3i (600D) Camera.

Located in the heart of Scotland, this wonderful lake and overlook draws tourists in part because its shape mirrors a map of Scotland. Each time I visit Scotland I find my way back to it – Loch Garry.  During a trip this past August, however, I got a very special view.  The clouds were mixed and created a beautifully lit backdrop while a light, warm, summer rain fell.  As those who have spent time in Scotland are aware, these rains seldom last for more than a few minutes.  In this black and white photo, you can see the rain drops, which I think gives the whole image a pencil-drawingish feel.

Would you like to see previous Friday Photos? View past travel pictures here. This photo was taken on a  Canon T3i (600D) Camera.

For millenia the Bosphorus has served as an influential gateway that has, and continues to leave a powerful footprint on human society.  It has been a key actor and primary muse in the generation of numerous empires and provided a fertile trade and bread basket to the peoples and civilizations that have controlled it.  The Bosphorus is a relatively short waterway which connects the Sea of Marma and greater Mediterranean with the Black Sea.  It serves as a dividing line between the European continent to the west and the Asian continent to the east, and is straddled by the great city of Istanbul, formerly known as Byzantium and Constantinople.

The Kadıköy (Kadikoy) Ferry

For visitors based out of hostels and hotels on the European side of Istanbul the ferry docks located just off of the Eminönü‎ tram station offer a budget friendly, and convenient way to see the Bosphorus.  You’ll find three harbor stations (one was under repair during my visit) that offer several different routes.  Having heard that the Kadikoy district on the Asian side of Istanbul was well worth a visit I opted to give it a go.  I also recall that the Uskudar line leaves from the same location.

The ferries are considered part of the standard public transit infrastructure and run regularly.  You can purchase tokens at the small ferry terminals for 2 TL which are good for one voyage, though you could theoretically continue to ride the ferry back and forth for the duration of its shift.  The ships are large and pedestrian only which varies them somewhat from many of the other local ferries I’ve ridden in the past.

I can never quite place my finger on the origins of my love of ships. I suppose it might date back to times spent as a toddler in Puerto Penasco, Mexico where we’d spend a month every winter as a family.  Boating, fishing, swimming.  There’s just something about the rocking of a boat, the smell of fresh salty air, and the sound of gulls and waves that is soothing.  The Turkish ferries have large open deck areas as well as cozy interior seating with big windows allowing you to get the most out of the relatively short trip back and forth. Oh, and then there’s the Turkish tea of course which is dirt cheap and a must!

As I’ve mentioned in previous posts my timing was both fantastic and dreadful. I ended up in Istanbul smack dab in the midst of the worst cold front and snow storms they’ve had in 25 years.  The result was an unusually snowy Istanbul, incredible light, and very, very, cold weather.  While this made spending time out on deck rather rough, it also shortened the days and resulted in visually stunning views from the ferry as the European side transitioned from three dimensions to silhouettes, and then faded into the haze as Istanbul’s famous lighthouse and the Asian side slowly emerged and became visible. The lighthouse which, is perched on a tiny island just large enough for the building and a dock, is gorgeous and has been featured in a number of movies the most famous of which was featured in The World is Not Enough, the semi-recent James Bond/007 film.

I can’t stress enough how incredible the light was.  This photo highlights the deep yellow/golden color of the light as it struggled to cut through the sea haze and snow clouds.  You can see a mixture of snowflakes and birds in this photo which are semi-indistinguishable.  The entire trip back and forth felt as though I was somehow caught in the midst of a 17th century oil painting.

One of the things that really surprised me about Istanbul was the number of major mosques and their size.  These structures are incredible.  They’re gorgeous. They’re ancient and they’re massive.  They also created a really impressive silhouette.  From time to time as a traveler you’re greeted with moments that take your breath away.  This was definitely one of those moments – the type that, if I was religious, I would call divinely inspired.  For me, they resonate as the type of moments where I feel an even deeper awe at the beauty and depth of the universe, humanity, and our relationship with nature.  If I could have paused and drawn out that moment, I’m sure hours would have passed without me noticing.

The Tourist Cruise

The following day I opted for one of the actual harbor tours.  In retrospect I should have just gone with one of the longer ferry routes.  Still, it only cost a few dollars more and was a decent enough experience that I didn’t feel like it was a waste.  As we left the docks and steamed in the general direction of the Asian side, the first third of the route was similar to the previous day, only instead of heading to the right we turned left when we reached the coast.

This took us up and past a number of beautiful old buildings that included administrative structures, palaces, and the Turkish military academy.  It was a fun look at buildings and areas that were considerably less touristy than the city’s historic center.

They were in widely varied states of repair and it was clear that many were used semi-seasonally to take advantage of Istanbul’s warm weather and plethora of small islands during the summer.  Most featured small docks and a few had built in boat garages, which were a really cool touch.

One of the most memorable buildings along the route was the Beylerbeyi Palace which is a historic Ottoman era summer palace built in the mid 1800s. A beautiful structure, it unfortunately sits immediately beside one of Istanbul’s largest suspension bridges. Despite the jarring visual clash between the two, it does serve as an interesting reminder of how things change.  I know it’s a small detail, and perhaps i’m just easily entertained, but one of my favorite parts of the palace were the series of harbor gates set up along the water.  They added a certain fantasy element to the palace which tugged at my romanticized daydreams of princesses, queens, and luxurious sea yachts.  Granted, of course, that this was the Ottoman Empire and the names varied.  Still, it definitely had Disney-esque potential.

The final leg of the tourist cruise took us back towards the Maidens Tower.  I highly suggest spending time on either one of the cruises or the ferry around sunset.  Even though the skies were partly cloudy, the city silhouette was something I was impressed by once again.  It’s also fascinating to see the hundreds of ships lined up south of the city waiting for permission to make their way up and through the straights, fill up on freight, or to unload their cargo.

The tower/lighthouse has been used in some capacity or another since at least 1100.  At various points it has served as customs station, military installation, lighthouse, restaurant and even a quarantine area.  It also seems to be a very popular destination for the local birds.  While I may find my way out to it during a future trip, my hunch is that it is best enjoyed in passing as a beautiful and historic oddity.

By the time we prepared to wrap up the cruise and return to the docks the snow had returned which treated me to another gorgeous sunset.  There’s something about the minaret spires and domes of a mosque that really lends itself to brilliant silhouettes. Add in diffused sunlight reflecting off of dark water, a few birds battling snow and you end up with a very unique experience.   Perhaps part of what makes it such a powerful visual is the seemingly exotic clash between the two.  Though I know it is inaccurate, I always associate mosques and Turkey with Arab cultures and the desert. To see it and its occasional palm trees covered in snow in the midst of a light snow storm was definitely a bizarre contrast.  Yet, perhaps that is fitting for Istanbul and Turkey as a whole – a city and a nation that sits astride two continents and is caught at the center, standing astride two vastly different cultures and worlds.

We found our way to Oslo as part of a mini-cruise special.  The cruise ship – and it was a cruise ship, not the ferry I expected – left Copenhagen at 4PM in the afternoon, steamed over night to Oslo and then disgorged us near Oslo’s famous opera house on a cold January morning.  The deal was a fun one – $4.50 for the entire cruise.  The catch?  We had 7 hours in Oslo before we needed to be back aboard and steaming back to Copenhagen.

As we made our way up the final leg of the Oslo fjord we were treated to an incredible sight. Blanketed by clouds, the early morning light that surrounded us was a foggy gray. On the horizon, where the water met land and the clouds broke, golden morning rays were visible.  It was one of the strangest, and slowest, sunrises I’ve seen.  As the weak winter light fought against the thick, low hanging, coastal clouds the light slowly worked its way closer and closer to Oslo. A progression that mirrored our own voyage.  Then, as we disembarked and wandered the city – eventually finding our way down to the harbor which is where this photo of the Helena was taken – the light finally started to fall across the city, brightening it.

Though it was now late-morning the nature of the Nordic light made it difficult to tell if it was mid-day, just after sunrise, or just before sunset.  None of which really mattered to us, as the view and the sun’s hues were stunning.

Would you like to see previous Friday Photos? View past travel pictures here. This photo was taken on a  Canon T3i (600D) Camera.

It’s a cold and blustery day here in Copenhagen.  Snow has been falling all day – the cold air converting biker’s deep breaths into jets of steam. The barely audible grunts as they strain against their pedals, pushing their bikes up to speed through the slush, toys with my memory.   The combination of sights, sounds and cold sensations triggers a tingle along my spine and memories of Churchill, Canada.

I knelt in the icy cold on a welcome mat, set up over a metal grate-turned rear deck on one of the cars that makes up the Tundra Buggy Lodge.  Below me the hulking snow-white head, black nose, and purple tongue of a polar bear perched delicately on the trailer hitch.  Her face pressed up against the grate, less than two inches from my own.  The heat of her warm breath sending forth similar jets of steam as she grunted, sniffing, drawing in my scent, eyeing me and then chewing on the wooden support strut.  I scolded her gently, at least as much as a small, fragile, human like myself can scold a hulking 1,200 pound creature.

Over the three days I spent out on the frozen tundra with the bears I learned a lot about them.  The world’s obsession with polar bears is a tribute to their beauty and exotic charm, but beyond that they are deeply intelligent creatures that harbor a mixed sense of playful curiosity and comical quirkiness which comes from being at the top of the food chain and living in an area where the only threat is starvation, other polar bears, and on a very, very rare occasion humans.  It’s easy to think of them as giant dogs or cats. Playful, sociable, slow-moving, and infinitely lazy.  It’s only when you get the chance to see them “play” or when you come nose-to-nose with them that you realize how fast and deadly they truly are.  These giants of the ice usually live into their 20s though the oldest on record died at the age of 42 in a zoo. They are crafty, full of personality, and can be extremely social.

I was lucky. My introduction to the bears stretched over three days and two nights during which we slept, ate, drank and watched the bears.  It was an odd experience – once we stepped on to the rear viewing deck of the custom-built Tundra Buggy we committed ourselves to three days floating 10 feet above the frozen tundra and lakes of Wapusk National Park.  We spent our days on the Buggies – what felt like super-sized school buses on 5 foot tall wheels – and our nights docking with the Tundra Buggy Lodge.  The lodge itself is little more than a series of custom tundra buggies attached end to end like a giant land train.  It’s a fascinating piece of innovation. The two sleeper cars have running water, flush toilets, comfortable bunk beds with privacy curtains and custom thermostats for each bunk.  Meanwhile each also has a window allowing for an intimate view of the wild tundra.  When I first heard about the lodge, I thought it would be a fixed building.  When I learned it was deep inside the national park and mobile, I was slightly confused. When I first saw it, I expected it to be rough and rugged.  Once we boarded it and reached our bunks, I found myself shocked and impressed.  The seemingly daunting prospect of spending three days without touching the ground was quickly disappearing.  The only thing that was missing?  Wifi. Which, in retrospect, I’m glad was absent.  It kept us more social and the experience more authentic, engaged, and detached from society and the world at large.

The bears are drawn to the point an hour and a half outside of Churchill by mother nature.  Recharged and relaxed after a warm summer spent to the south, they migrate en masse to the area to wait, not unlike a restless boarding party waiting for their ferry, for the ice to begin to freeze and the Hudson Bay to transform from restless waves into a frozen desert.  The point rests horizontally when viewed on maps.  A dam of sorts that slows down the counter-clockwise rotation of the bay’s currents. At the same time nearby rivers dump fresh water into the bay, water which floats atop the currents, gathers against the dam, and then freezes before the rest of the Hudson Bay’s salty frozen waves. Somehow the bears figured this out generations ago and now they gather, waiting eagerly, to be the first ones out onto the ice.  Anticipating the opportunity to hunt seal and whale alike, feasting and preparing for the depths of winter and hibernation.

As I prepared for the trip I told myself I’d be happy if I saw one polar bear.  If I got lucky, I figured I’d see two and they might be active. As it turned out, our timing was fantastic and in addition to clear blue skies and cold weather there were a lot of bears.  Our position at the lodge was also smack dab in the middle of their congregating spot which meant zero commute time and provided us with the opportunity to watch the bears under the setting moon and during sunrise. The end result? Bears. Lots and lots of bears.  While it’s impossible to guess which bears we saw multiple times, I’d put the number at more than 10 and possibly closer to 15 over the course of our stay.  We also had the opportunity to see several beautiful birds, a red fox, and a white arctic fox.  The bears were typically active early in the morning and again late in the afternoon just before sunset.

To say that the bears were active is, perhaps, a bit of an understatement. One of the great highlights of the trip came after four bears had ambled into the area, become acquainted, and paired up.  Then, they began to play. But, these bears didn’t play like you and I might.  They play fought, which often drew blood and resulted in flying snow mixed in with long trails of spittle.  Acquainted, the bears would collide with each other, battling for a minute or so, and then wander off to cool down briefly before throwing themselves at each other once again.  Eventually two squared off about 25 feet away from our vehicle, while another two started to circle 300 feet or so in the distance.  Then, almost as if on cue, the two sets took to their hind legs and began to circle simultaneously – a bit like two boxers sizing each other up – they would take a few swings, collide against each other, and then battle with teeth, legs, paws and claws.  It was incredible.  Where I’d only hoped to see one polar bear lounging in the kelp, I found myself watching four engaged in mock combat, all framed by frozen kelp, fresh snow, and the gray blues of the Hudson Bay in the background.

The previous morning had started before sunrise.  When it’s close to -10 Celsius outside and there is a bitter cold wind to go with it, getting up isn’t easy.  Luckily, we managed, scarfed down our food, and were in the truck as the moon started to speed up its descent towards the horizon.  We had been lucky to arrive during a massive full moon.  Its pale white light lit up the early morning tundra and was powerful enough that if not for the bears, it would have been possible to walk the tundra at night without a flashlight. Once we boarded the Tundra Buggy and started to move, we paused almost immediately – perhaps 25 feet from the lodge.  There, not too far from camp, was a lazing polar bear finishing her evening nap.  Our driver artfully lined us up and I watched in awe.  What transpired was one of the most powerful and captivating moments I’ve ever experienced. It was THE “National Geographic Moment” of the trip and one of the most spectacular things I’ve seen to date.  The full moon slowly slid down towards the horizon…closer-and-closer to the thin line of hazy clouds that floated just above the Hudson Bay’s choppy waves.

At the same time the first reds and orange hues of sunrise started to settle over the tundra.  They turned the full moon a brilliant pinkish-red and gave it the look of the setting sun.   Then, the moon began to merge with the horizon, its deep red cut by the clouds and reflected by the ocean.   It was at that moment, as the moon slowly sank below the horizon, that the polar bear lifted its head, and looked at us.  I snapped one more photo and then paused, staring back at the bear, taking in the moment. I was completely ensnared in the magic of it.  Awestruck by the purity of the moment and its rare beauty.  Then it was gone. The final blood-red lip of the moon slipped below the horizon, the bear returned to its nap, and the bright reds of pre-dawn began to light the sky, slowly growing in intensity until the sun finally burst through the clouds and began to climb its way northward.

The great thing about Wapusk National Park and being out at the Tundra Buggy Lodge was that even without the bears it was stunning.  You’re out in the midst of a national park in the heart of Canada’s rugged and rural interior. There is always wildlife in the form of small birds and ground game and the light is incredible.   The sunrises are gorgeous. The view of the moonlit tundra late at night, the vivid colors reflecting off snow, ice, and water during sunrise, all combine to create a magical dream-like place. Other small details that really stuck with me were the wonderful patterns frozen into the ice where the wind blew as the water froze.  The only tiny disappointment was the lack of northern lights but the brilliant moments under a full moon and our incredible luck with the bears more than made up for it.

You can see my complete polar bear album here which includes 152 shots of bears playing, relaxing, and fighting.  It was shot on a  Canon T3i (600D).  You can also see footage of polar bears playing, relaxing, and wandering over on my youtube channel.   My trip was made possible through a prize I won through the Canadian Tourism Board (Keep Exploring!) and Frontiers North/Tundra Buggy.

This is Part III in my three part series about my trip to Churchill, Manitoba.  You can find information about the cost, and logistics in Part I as well as info about Churchill.  Also, in Part II you can read about my introduction to Dog Sledding.

Italy’s charm never ceases to amaze me.  There’s just something about the storied Italian towns as they sit perched atop ancient hills that oozes romantic thoughts.  It is always somewhat shocking to me how the gritty charm of a city like Orvieto can make something as simple, benign, and uninteresting as drying laundry charming and memorable.   While Italy’s large cities (Rome, Florence, Milan, etc.) may draw the biggest crowds, my favorites have always been the smaller and mid-sized towns.  Many of which have been inhabited for hundreds, if not thousands of years.  This photo from the hilltop city of Orvieto showcases one such city.  The contrast between beautiful brick and stone buildings, the charm of crumbling and oft repaired plaster, of teaming flower pots, and of course of freshly washed laundry drying in the Italian spring air ignites my imagination and tugs at my heart strings.

In far too many parts of the world travelers have the opportunity to see history, but find themselves feeling detached or disconnected.  The beauty of these wonderful Italian towns is that they offer that rare and unusual opportunity to feel like you’re not just a casual observer in passing, but actually an active participant in history.  I captured this photo during a far-too-brief spring visit to the city.  It’s history as a pivotal defensive city is rich, and influential.  At times it has been nearly destroyed, served as a papal residence, and  was once home to one of early Rome’s most challenging opponents.  It layers history like layers of delicious delight in a layer cake.  Each new layer adds to the flavor, the depth and the richness of the overall experience.

This photo was made possible in part by the travel experts at  Directline-holidays.co.uk.

Would you like to see previous Friday Photos? View past travel pictures here.

A few years ago I made an internal decision:  I was happy dedicating myself to my career and to “growing up” but that I was unwilling to simply blindly conform to what society told me I was supposed to do.  Perhaps the most extreme case is the push to find the perfect girl, get married, toss up a white picket fence and to get a dog all by the age of 25.  On a smaller level, the messages were clear – act your age.  Which is to say, don’t jump into puddles. Grow up. Leave behind your pre-pubescent sense of humor.  Frankly, it’s bullhonkey.  Which isn’t to say it doesn’t have merit.  I have friends who have done the white picket fence route and love it.  It’s also important to learn how to carry yourself and when splashing through puddles or laughing at dog farts is acceptable.

My philosophy over the last few years has been to look to young children and old men for inspiration.  These two groups operate by their own set of rules and seem to have a rich appreciation for life that most young and middle-aged adults have forgotten.  Children have the wide eyed innocence and curiosity of youth, two things that most of us lose as we grow older.  Old men have a vast mixture of experience, wisdom, and perspective which can only come through a lifetime of experiences.

Want to live well?  Observe what these two groups do and then try it. You may not like it, but if you’re like me – chances are it will open your eyes to a wealth of different experiences which you’d otherwise miss out on.

Just what do I mean?  Here are a few examples:

My Inner Child

Today while walking home in a light snow storm I was hunkered down, frowning, and feeling slightly bitter. As I impatiently stood at a stop light debating jaywalking I paused and watch a young kid who was far more entertained than annoyed.  Instead of standing there cold and vexed he turned full into the blustering snow flakes and tried to catch them on his tongue.   It looked ridiculous and childish – but let’s be honest, which was actually more ridiculous?  Him standing there, tongue out, in the middle of a snow storm that he was enjoying thoroughly – or me, standing there muttering to myself.  I almost missed the moment completely.  Inspired, and with a chuckle – I decided to abandon my sour sulking and to follow suit.  Together we stood waiting for the light to turn, faces uplifted, mouths open, and giant smiles on our faces.  My mood changed immediately, and that one small act has re-framed the rest of my afternoon.

As I mentioned above.  I still jump into puddles.  That’s right, I’m 27, 193 cm tall (6’4″), about 190 pounds and if you catch me on a rainy evening , you’ll see me splashing around in puddles like a kid.  It drives some of my friends crazy.  Others, after a brief hesitation, will join me. There’s something liberating about it.  Something empowering, and energizing. There’s a reason that street scene has come to define Singing in the Rain.  More than the specific act though, I think it ties into taking stock of small moments which can be turned into enjoyable experiences.  It’s the small things that can add the most to our day-to-day lives.  When rushing from meeting to meeting armed with a brief case, and shielded behind a suit and tie that’s easy to forget.

Be curious. Kids and their questions can be borderline obnoxious at times.  As an expat, I find that re-visiting a child’s curiosity is a huge asset.  Why do things work the way they do?  Am I confident enough to ask about things I don’t understand?  Why do words mean what the mean?  Re-discover your inner curiosity.  Touch things, ask questions, taste things, smell things, and truly explore the world around you. As “Why” not “Why should I?”.

My Inner Old Man

One of the first experiments I ran was also one of my most successful.   I was aware that most older men knew how to, and enjoyed traditional dances.  At the time, this was in major conflict with my generation’s views on things like the Waltz or Foxtrot.  As a result, and out of an aspiration towards the ideal of the Renaissance Man, I signed up for a Ballroom/Latin/Swing course at my local University.  My friends thought I was either crazy, or was subtly coming out of the closet.  This was back in 2004 and pre-dated the widespread resurgence of traditional dances that Dancing With The Stars and So You Think You Can Dance have helped bring to fruition. I’ll never forget the first day of class. I had no idea what to expect, and was second guessing my decision.  Then I ended up in a class where there were six girls for ever guy and learning life skills that have been instrumental in helping me become a better business man, public speaker, and more confident socialite.  On top of all those perks, the dancing itself has been a wonderful boon to my routine, and I still dance on a weekly basis more than 9 years later.

This time last year I found myself in a small Turkish pipe shop.  Prices were rock bottom and my curiosity was piqued.  Tobacco pipes have been an integral part of our cultural portrayal of many of history’s greatest thinkers, and philosophers. It was anything but an accident that pipes also played a powerful descriptive role when J.R.R. Tolkien set to crafting his characters, particularly Gandalf, in the Lord of the Rings.  These days, if you see a pipe smoker on the street, he’s likely in his 70s or 80s.  Personally, I’ve never chewed, am not a pot smoker, and have only tried two cigarettes in my life – both of which I found quite unpleasant. I have, however, been known to pick up and enjoy a periodic cigar. So, when I decided to experiment with a pipe stuffed with vanilla tobacco on a quiet Turkish beach my expectations were quite low.  What I discovered was an enjoyable activity that, yes, may not be great for my heath, but which truly was conducive to relaxing, musing, and pleasantly enjoying the moment.  In many ways, I found smoking my pipe to be a more active version of the controlled breathing many do as part of their meditations.  Instead of tossing the pipe as I expected, I’ve kept it and typically smoke it a few times a month.  As you might imagine, this still gets me extremely weird looks from people my age who are either surprised to see someone their age smoking an “old man’s pipe” or who wrongly assume that I must be using it to smoke pot or hash.  Little do the know or appreciate just how enjoyable spending a relaxing afternoon on a park bench, watching bicyclists bike by, enjoying my pipe and lost in my own musings can actually be.

Another favorite has been my discovery of Scotch.  My first introductions to Scotch were, shall we say, uninspiring.  As with most undergrads it came in the form of cheap Scotch and Whiskey downed unceremoniously from overflowing shot-glasses or, in other regrettable situations, the form of the Four Horsemen (a dastardly mixed shot, 1 part bourbon, 1 part Tennessee whiskey, 1 part Scotch, and 1 part Irish whiskey).  After my first few introductions to Scotch’s sharp bite, I wrote it off completely.  It was only later, when chatting with several elderly gentlemen in Scotland that I was introduced to Scotch properly.  It was amazing the difference properly enjoying a glass of Scotch made;  the sweet honey’d accents, and potent peaty-smokey flavors of highland and lowland Scotch enjoyed casually in a relaxed environment.  As with the pipe, it was as much about how to enjoy the activity as it was about the substance of the activity itself.   It might have taken me years, decades even, to re-discover Scotch and to learn how to properly enjoy it if I’d listened to and conformed with my peers.  Even now, I’ll still encounter a periodic snarky comment when someone overhears me order a Balvenie Doublewood on the rocks.  After all, I’m not doing what I’m supposed to – not drinking what or acting as I should.

Find Your Inspirations

These six examples are just limited samples which I hope helps more concretely convey the lifestyle approach I’m suggesting, and how it can be applied.  I have no doubt that the same is equally relevant for women.  I’m also sure that there are many activities that old women engage in, which I could draw wonderful inspiration from.

At the end of the day though, I encourage you to re-frame your lives and to ask yourselves what opportunities are available that you’re neglecting, overlooking or missing out on?  Either because they’re not activities that you feel are “appropriate” for your age group, or because you’ve never considered them.  When was the last time you watched a proper musical?  Went to the symphony?  Played Backgammon? Made airplane noises while throwing paper airplanes at friends?

So, start tomorrow – when you leave your house keep your eyes open.  Re-discovery your inner child and be inspired.  Find a puddle and jump in it. Then, ask yourself what your grandfather enjoyed, what he did, and why?  Seek out and explore the foods, drinks, and activities you wouldn’t normally do and don’t forget that it’s as much about the process as it is about the result.

I think you’ll find that the results are life changing.

Whoof. Woof. Wolf?  Our ears were bombarded by a chorus of dog sounds as we stepped out of our vehicle and onto pristine white snow at the Wapusk Dog sledding headquarters. The dogs knew we were there, they had heard us arrive and could no doubt smell our scent on the air.  It excited them, energized them, and they weren’t afraid to show it.  A run was coming – and like a typical house dog enmeshed in the intoxicating excitement over a walk or the chance to take a drive, these dogs were beside themselves with anticipation.

As we made our way from our small bus into the small, warm two room structure that serves as office, gathering and de-thaw point I silently took stalk of our good luck.  Not only had the brutal wind from the day before subsided, but the low hanging clouds had dumped their snowy burden and given way to partially blue skies.  On the horizon, just over the trees we were able to spot an unusual northern phenomena – a sun dog – visible on clear and particularly cold days, these phenomena create what appear to be fake suns, with a halo effect as light is reflected off of the ice in the air.   After stopping to enjoy the view, I chuckled to myself.  What better omen to dog sled under than a  sun dog? Right?

Smiling we piled into the small room and took our seats on the benches that lined two of the four sides.  The other two served as home to a wonderful wood stove, and a table full of hot tea, coco and biscuits. Our host, veteran dog sledder Dave Daley, dove straight into a fascinating introduction to dog sledding, how it works, some of the commands, and regional competitions. He elaborated on a musher’s relationship with his dogs, about some of the long trails which he had done, and which were available in the area. He also talked a bit about the Hudson Bay Quest, a race he had founded and which is a brutally difficult 200 mile long dog sled race through some of Manitoba’s most rural regions. It quickly became obvious that not only did Dave enjoy dog sledding, he lived it and breathed it.

When it comes to sports involving animals, I’m always a bit cautious.  Far too often the animals aren’t treated properly and are used, abused and disrespected.  I remember with particular distaste my first, and last trip to the horse tracks several years ago. The winning rider pushed his horse to hard, and failed to allow it to cool down. The end result?  The horse collapsed dead of a heart attack.  It was despicable.  After hearing Dave talk about his dogs, and watching him interact with them it quickly became clear that these animals are part of his family. He cares for them, watches out for them, respects them, and goes out of his way to treat them well.  While I’m sure there are dog sledders who mistreat their animals, Dave’s dogs were well fed, well cared for and well treated.  He and his team even went so far as to use dog slippers – small booties to protect the dog’s paws from sharp ice and the cold during a run.  Dave and his team were about as opposite as possible from the heartless and irresponsible horse jockey I saw years ago.  So, for those eager to try dog sledding, but who might have ethical concerns – Wapusk Adventures and Dave are a great option.

After our intro to dog sledding we were introduced to the dogs and the kennel.  The first thing that surprised me was just how different the dogs were. These were not your picture perfect made-for-Hollywood pure bred huskies.  These were real sled dogs – a wonderful mixture of different mixes, most of which were obviously part huskie, but how much huskie was in each dog varied significantly.  Some looked like they had the subtle influence of wolf lineage, while others looked like they might have hints of Lab or German shepherd. Perhaps I’m easily impressed, but once again I found myself nodding in appreciation.  The dog’s diversity seemed to further re-affirm Dave’s relationship with his animals.  This wasn’t an exercise in glamour  or showman ship.  It was about the animals, about his relationship with them, and about the sport.

As Dave’s team prepared two sleds, he introduced us to a number of puppies he was training. Though still only a few months old, it was clear that they were already forming a tight relationship with Dave. As he crouched in their kennel and discussed how important the bond between musher and dog was, they overwhelmed him. Licking him, nuzzling him, and flopping on their bellies in the hope of a quick scratch. Even at their young age, it was impressive how open they were to his touch. He could check their paws, their teeth, and their ears without the slightest sign of annoyance or resistance from the dogs.

Then, when it was feeding time they went into an excited frenzy. Dave explained the importance of teaching them to eat quickly, and cooperatively before lowering the sawed off bottom of a bucket into the center of the kennel. On his command the dogs pounced on the bucket full of broth, 5-6 noses per bucket eagerly slurping down the food. The dogs didn’t growl, snap, or jostle each other. Instead as they ate they all rotated simultaneously in a clockwise motion. The end result was 5 dog butts moving in formation – not unlike synchronized swimmers putting on a show. Then, less than a minute later it was over. The dogs licked their chops, and we moved closer to our sleds. It was almost time.

To our delight we learned that we were one of the first visits of the year who would get the chancel to sled on fresh snow. The previous day’s bitter cold had been worth it – instead of a wheeled sled, we’d be on a traditional sled.  Dave and his fellow mushers introduced us once again to the commands, and then talked a bit about the dog’s hierarchy.  Though it makes sense in retrospect, I was surprised to learn that the dogs are placed based on their behavior, training, experience, and place in the pack.     An experienced musher knows his dogs, and knows where they best operate.  At the front you have your lead dogs, followed in some cases by swing dogs, then your team dogs make up the majority of the pack, with two wheel dogs at the back. The heavier the weight of the sled, the more team dogs you add.  All of which makes perfect sense in retrospect, but still managed to elicit a bit of surprise at the time.

It’s hard to convey just how excited the dogs were at the prospect of going sledding.  Their excitement was such that it was almost all the mushers could do to keep them still long enough to get tied into their harnesses.  Tails were a blur of fluffy flurry as they swept side to side, damp noses darting sharply left and right as the dogs socialized, interacted, and then alternatively tried to pull the sled forward by themselves.

The sleds could handle two of us at at time, plus a driver.  Unfortunately (and quite understandably), we’d be helping stop and control the sled, but wouldn’t be doing any driving.  We teamed up, and then watched in breathless anticipation as the first two sleds silently slipped forward. The only real sounds to be heard; the excited squeaks and giggles of our fellow group members and the light sound of bootied paws digging into the snow.   As we waited for them to make their mile-long loop we danced around trying to keep warm. As a fun added bit of entertainment we would pause periodically to scoop up a hand full of dog food while raising our palms into the sky.  Ever vigilant small birds were watching and would swoop down to perch on our extended hands while they timidly gobbled down the dry dog food.

Then, my time arrived.  I’m not really sure what I expected; It to be uneven perhaps? To bounce along over the snow, to be loud and for the pull of each dog’s forward motion to bring with it a fresh jerk and lurch lugging the sled across the snow?  The experience was nothing of the sort.  At our musher’s command, I stepped up and off of the drag plate, used as a brake and to hold the sled still.  One foot on either ski, hands on the rail in front of me – the dogs sprung forward into action.  We didn’t lurch, so much as we slipped forward.  The sled creaking ever so slightly as we glided atop the snow-turned ice.   The dogs themselves loped along casually seemingly almost oblivious to the three bodies and large wooden cart they were lugging behind them.

Within moments we were up to speed, the freezing cold wind crashing against our bodies desperately trying to freeze our noses and eyes on contact.  Slight tears slipped from the sides of my eyes in response – an involuntary bodily reaction to the wind and cold.  I was amazed at just how casual and in control the dogs were.  It reminded me of my ballroom dancing – at first it is overwhelming and there is no time between steps.  Each new move is all consuming but then, when you grow accustomed to the pace and the speed you discover that you have luls and gaps in the flow where you can relax or style.  It was the same for the dogs, who would periodically dart slightly to the side to scoop up a mouthful of snow, or in the case of one of our wheel dogs, play the role of Casanova pausing to flirt and sniff the dog beside him.

It is easy to see how one could quickly become addicted to dog sledding.  The peace and tranquility of it was intoxicating and we were only on a brief loop on a rural road.  Threading through a forest, surrounded by the Canadian wilds, I can only image is a truly magical experience.   As our sled slid back into camp and we disembarked, I found myself itching for another loop or two.  I’ll definitely do it again in the future when the opportunity presents itself.   We rounded our the afternoon defrosting in front of the wood fire and listening to Dave’s stories.  A wonderful conclusion to a great experience.

Part Three of this series features my time out on the Tundra with wild Polar Bears.  Make sure to stay tuned and to read Part I which talks about Churchill, logistics, and pricing.

This dog sledding experience was booked through Frontiers North Adventures.  The photos in this post were taken on a  Canon T3i (600D) Camera.