View allAll Photos Tagged JetLag
Taken during a jetlag induced early start to Saturday morning on the 26th April 2014, an early stop off an hour before sunrise on the hills of Sausolito overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge and San Francisco, with the changing colours in the sky as the transition from night to day rolled along, with the sun finally breaching the hills in the distance and flooding the bay area with colour.
27/365 :D
still feeling jetlagged :( this was my first day back to work since my holiday :( so so tired fell asleep infront of computer 3 times lol
It is the weekend.
And weekends here are mostly given over to football. Saturday its college football, and on Sunday its the NFL. And it would be easy to find a bar and sit there, drinking cheap and crap beer, watching half a dozen screens at the same time. But we're in The Big Easy, we'd better be do something better.
Jetlag is a thing of last week, so we were awake at seven, bright eyed and bushy tailed, and needing breakfast.
It was going to be hot. Damn hot. 86 degrees in the afternoon. Shame then that we had arranged a walking tour, meaning we would be out in the midday and afternoon sun. What could go wrong?
After getting dressed, we walk down Canal to the Palace for breakfast, but it don't open until half ten at weekends. So, back to the hotel for breakfast there, not quite as good, and more expensive, but it is food.
We never will like biscuits and gravy, there is a huge pot of grey-coloured gloop bubbling away. We pass up on that, but links, bacon, homestyle potatoes and eggs over medium were good. And coffee.
We eat in the luxurious surroundings of the Bourbon House, where in twelve hours we would have dinner. But that was later. Much later.
We laze in the room until 11, when we walk through the French Quarter so Jools could find a bead shop. Before then, we ended up watching football on TV. Proper football. Tottenham scored a lucky late equaliser against Watford, and Norwich drew 1-1 against Bournemouth for our first away point of the year.
Yay.
We had arranged a walking tour around the Garden District, with a walk round the local cemetery, but to meet the tour, we had to meet at a place well out of the centre of town. Google suggested it was 1.4 miles. Our feet suggested it was longer.
Starting from the middle of French Quarter, we walk to Canal Street, then over to the start of St Charles Avenue, which if my calculations were correct, we would stay on all the way.
St Charles started off going through the commercial area, past hotels and former banks. It was hot, and there was little shade.
We walk past a blues and bbq festival, which we say we'll visit on the way back, cos if we go now, we'd never leave. One we go, beside a trolley route that was not in use, until we came to a huge roundabout, rotary, with our way straight ahead, under a flyover.
Beyond, two tram tracks lead off, and as we climb past the monument on the rotary, I can see a line of four vintage trams, trolleycars, rattling up the grass covered tracks Quite a sight.
But none going our way.
So, we tighten our belts and walk westward, past the urban sprawl of a modern American city. Soon, the surrounding area gets greener, there was a fine old hotel on the other side. Our destination was at 2800, we were at 1800, a thousand properties to walk by, possibly.
In the end, not so, but we do arrive at Gracious Bakery by half one, all hot and bothered. We sit inside and order a snack, and have an iced drink.
Many others arrive, as several tours start from here, so in twenty minutes, roll calls were made, and people allocated to guides. We join DJ's group.
Just up from the cafe was the cemetery, but the bad news was told, that due to vandalism by locals and especially tourists, the cemetery was now closed, and would probably never open again to the public, due to thefts from the tombs.
Gutted does not cover it, as it was this part why we booked, now all we could do was look in from the locked gates, I took a couple of shots.
Tombs are above ground, as the water table is a few inches below ground level, so it has the fell of Montmartre in Paris Or would have if we could have gone inside.
Instead we walk back and forth of the garden district, a residential area dating back to the 1830s, made of a hotchpotch of styles, white painted fronts of columns and wrought iron supports to balconies and galleries. Our guide tells us history of each house, or those interesting ones. The Americans on the tour are only interesting in which houses famous people have lived in. A house has no interest to them, but once they find Nicholas Cage had lived here, they take lots of pictures.
It was hot and humid, even after a bar stop. I have a severe case of balcony fatigue, and the last half an hour was more than a chore.
But it wound up, we tipped DJ, and we walked to St James. The few trams that were running were rammed with people, so our plan was to walk to the historic Pontchartrain Hotel.
But a predator had spotted us, and moved in for the kill.
A taxi pulled up beside us, we would have flagged it down anyways. We tell him to take us to the hotel. He does.
The cab had no air con, but with the windows open, travelling at 30mph gave a nice breeze.
Traffic in the centre was heavy, but he got us within walking distance of the hotel. We got out and walked the last 100 yards.
On the way we bought some iced OJ, walked to the room and turned the AC down to minimum and the fans to max.
Bliss.
That evening, we went to the restaurant in the hotel, the Bourbon House for dinner.
I order and demolish crab cakes followed by tasting seafood platter. It was divine.
I mean food that was out of this world. We had a wine waiter and a food waiter. The wine waiter suggested a bourbon I try for desert, and it too was good.
It was half eight, early, and yet we were pooped. We go back to our room to think about what to do, and we end up falling asleep.
Another good day.
i am home. it sort of feels like when you stand up too quickly and all the blood rushes to your head, and although you're somewhere in your home, somewhere incredibly familiar, your vision is very blurred and something kind of dark appears at the edges of your sight and you're very disoriented. but as you stumble around in the hallway of your home you are calm because you know that soon it will go away and you will see clearly again.
Auteurs, metteurs en scène et interprètes : Sandrine Heyraud, Sicaire Durieux, Loïc Faure
Conception décor : Asbl Devenirs & Hélios asbl
Création sonore : Loïc Villiot & Loïc Le Foll
Création lumière : Jérôme Dejean
Regards extérieurs : Alana Osbourne & Katya Montaignac
Voix off : Sarah Chantelauze & Eric De Staercke
© Emmanuel VIVERGE | www.tmt.photo
captcha on the back cover of the 'The Jetlag Society' unbound book (the captach is half of the login credentials needed to access the actual text)
The Jetlag Society is the final exam project of Sanberg students Brigiet van den Berg (NL), Nikki Brörmann (NL) & Simona Kicurovska (MK)
Taken during a jetlag induced early start to Saturday morning on the 26th April 2014, an early stop off an hour before sunrise on the hills of Sausolito overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge and San Francisco, with the changing colours in the sky as the transition from night to day rolled along, with the sun finally breaching the hills in the distance and flooding the bay area with colour.
Images from Ultra Brasil 2017
October 13 & 14 2017
Sambódromo, Rio de Janeiro
Client: Ultra Music Festival
© 2017 www.rudgr.com
Check out my book on 20 years of dance music photography!
An experiment in controlling Jet-lag. Conclusion - it helped me sleep flying 5 timezones east from the states, but then we had a series of late nights which didn't help much.
It is the weekend.
And weekends here are mostly given over to football. Saturday its college football, and on Sunday its the NFL. And it would be easy to find a bar and sit there, drinking cheap and crap beer, watching half a dozen screens at the same time. But we're in The Big Easy, we'd better be do something better.
Jetlag is a thing of last week, so we were awake at seven, bright eyed and bushy tailed, and needing breakfast.
It was going to be hot. Damn hot. 86 degrees in the afternoon. Shame then that we had arranged a walking tour, meaning we would be out in the midday and afternoon sun. What could go wrong?
After getting dressed, we walk down Canal to the Palace for breakfast, but it don't open until half ten at weekends. So, back to the hotel for breakfast there, not quite as good, and more expensive, but it is food.
We never will like biscuits and gravy, there is a huge pot of grey-coloured gloop bubbling away. We pass up on that, but links, bacon, homestyle potatoes and eggs over medium were good. And coffee.
We eat in the luxurious surroundings of the Bourbon House, where in twelve hours we would have dinner. But that was later. Much later.
We laze in the room until 11, when we walk through the French Quarter so Jools could find a bead shop. Before then, we ended up watching football on TV. Proper football. Tottenham scored a lucky late equaliser against Watford, and Norwich drew 1-1 against Bournemouth for our first away point of the year.
Yay.
We had arranged a walking tour around the Garden District, with a walk round the local cemetery, but to meet the tour, we had to meet at a place well out of the centre of town. Google suggested it was 1.4 miles. Our feet suggested it was longer.
Starting from the middle of French Quarter, we walk to Canal Street, then over to the start of St Charles Avenue, which if my calculations were correct, we would stay on all the way.
St Charles started off going through the commercial area, past hotels and former banks. It was hot, and there was little shade.
We walk past a blues and bbq festival, which we say we'll visit on the way back, cos if we go now, we'd never leave. One we go, beside a trolley route that was not in use, until we came to a huge roundabout, rotary, with our way straight ahead, under a flyover.
Beyond, two tram tracks lead off, and as we climb past the monument on the rotary, I can see a line of four vintage trams, trolleycars, rattling up the grass covered tracks Quite a sight.
But none going our way.
So, we tighten our belts and walk westward, past the urban sprawl of a modern American city. Soon, the surrounding area gets greener, there was a fine old hotel on the other side. Our destination was at 2800, we were at 1800, a thousand properties to walk by, possibly.
In the end, not so, but we do arrive at Gracious Bakery by half one, all hot and bothered. We sit inside and order a snack, and have an iced drink.
Many others arrive, as several tours start from here, so in twenty minutes, roll calls were made, and people allocated to guides. We join DJ's group.
Just up from the cafe was the cemetery, but the bad news was told, that due to vandalism by locals and especially tourists, the cemetery was now closed, and would probably never open again to the public, due to thefts from the tombs.
Gutted does not cover it, as it was this part why we booked, now all we could do was look in from the locked gates, I took a couple of shots.
Tombs are above ground, as the water table is a few inches below ground level, so it has the fell of Montmartre in Paris Or would have if we could have gone inside.
Instead we walk back and forth of the garden district, a residential area dating back to the 1830s, made of a hotchpotch of styles, white painted fronts of columns and wrought iron supports to balconies and galleries. Our guide tells us history of each house, or those interesting ones. The Americans on the tour are only interesting in which houses famous people have lived in. A house has no interest to them, but once they find Nicholas Cage had lived here, they take lots of pictures.
It was hot and humid, even after a bar stop. I have a severe case of balcony fatigue, and the last half an hour was more than a chore.
But it wound up, we tipped DJ, and we walked to St James. The few trams that were running were rammed with people, so our plan was to walk to the historic Pontchartrain Hotel.
But a predator had spotted us, and moved in for the kill.
A taxi pulled up beside us, we would have flagged it down anyways. We tell him to take us to the hotel. He does.
The cab had no air con, but with the windows open, travelling at 30mph gave a nice breeze.
Traffic in the centre was heavy, but he got us within walking distance of the hotel. We got out and walked the last 100 yards.
On the way we bought some iced OJ, walked to the room and turned the AC down to minimum and the fans to max.
Bliss.
That evening, we went to the restaurant in the hotel, the Bourbon House for dinner.
I order and demolish crab cakes followed by tasting seafood platter. It was divine.
I mean food that was out of this world. We had a wine waiter and a food waiter. The wine waiter suggested a bourbon I try for desert, and it too was good.
It was half eight, early, and yet we were pooped. We go back to our room to think about what to do, and we end up falling asleep.
Another good day.
It is the weekend.
And weekends here are mostly given over to football. Saturday its college football, and on Sunday its the NFL. And it would be easy to find a bar and sit there, drinking cheap and crap beer, watching half a dozen screens at the same time. But we're in The Big Easy, we'd better be do something better.
Jetlag is a thing of last week, so we were awake at seven, bright eyed and bushy tailed, and needing breakfast.
It was going to be hot. Damn hot. 86 degrees in the afternoon. Shame then that we had arranged a walking tour, meaning we would be out in the midday and afternoon sun. What could go wrong?
After getting dressed, we walk down Canal to the Palace for breakfast, but it don't open until half ten at weekends. So, back to the hotel for breakfast there, not quite as good, and more expensive, but it is food.
We never will like biscuits and gravy, there is a huge pot of grey-coloured gloop bubbling away. We pass up on that, but links, bacon, homestyle potatoes and eggs over medium were good. And coffee.
We eat in the luxurious surroundings of the Bourbon House, where in twelve hours we would have dinner. But that was later. Much later.
We laze in the room until 11, when we walk through the French Quarter so Jools could find a bead shop. Before then, we ended up watching football on TV. Proper football. Tottenham scored a lucky late equaliser against Watford, and Norwich drew 1-1 against Bournemouth for our first away point of the year.
Yay.
We had arranged a walking tour around the Garden District, with a walk round the local cemetery, but to meet the tour, we had to meet at a place well out of the centre of town. Google suggested it was 1.4 miles. Our feet suggested it was longer.
Starting from the middle of French Quarter, we walk to Canal Street, then over to the start of St Charles Avenue, which if my calculations were correct, we would stay on all the way.
St Charles started off going through the commercial area, past hotels and former banks. It was hot, and there was little shade.
We walk past a blues and bbq festival, which we say we'll visit on the way back, cos if we go now, we'd never leave. One we go, beside a trolley route that was not in use, until we came to a huge roundabout, rotary, with our way straight ahead, under a flyover.
Beyond, two tram tracks lead off, and as we climb past the monument on the rotary, I can see a line of four vintage trams, trolleycars, rattling up the grass covered tracks Quite a sight.
But none going our way.
So, we tighten our belts and walk westward, past the urban sprawl of a modern American city. Soon, the surrounding area gets greener, there was a fine old hotel on the other side. Our destination was at 2800, we were at 1800, a thousand properties to walk by, possibly.
In the end, not so, but we do arrive at Gracious Bakery by half one, all hot and bothered. We sit inside and order a snack, and have an iced drink.
Many others arrive, as several tours start from here, so in twenty minutes, roll calls were made, and people allocated to guides. We join DJ's group.
Just up from the cafe was the cemetery, but the bad news was told, that due to vandalism by locals and especially tourists, the cemetery was now closed, and would probably never open again to the public, due to thefts from the tombs.
Gutted does not cover it, as it was this part why we booked, now all we could do was look in from the locked gates, I took a couple of shots.
Tombs are above ground, as the water table is a few inches below ground level, so it has the fell of Montmartre in Paris Or would have if we could have gone inside.
Instead we walk back and forth of the garden district, a residential area dating back to the 1830s, made of a hotchpotch of styles, white painted fronts of columns and wrought iron supports to balconies and galleries. Our guide tells us history of each house, or those interesting ones. The Americans on the tour are only interesting in which houses famous people have lived in. A house has no interest to them, but once they find Nicholas Cage had lived here, they take lots of pictures.
It was hot and humid, even after a bar stop. I have a severe case of balcony fatigue, and the last half an hour was more than a chore.
But it wound up, we tipped DJ, and we walked to St James. The few trams that were running were rammed with people, so our plan was to walk to the historic Pontchartrain Hotel.
But a predator had spotted us, and moved in for the kill.
A taxi pulled up beside us, we would have flagged it down anyways. We tell him to take us to the hotel. He does.
The cab had no air con, but with the windows open, travelling at 30mph gave a nice breeze.
Traffic in the centre was heavy, but he got us within walking distance of the hotel. We got out and walked the last 100 yards.
On the way we bought some iced OJ, walked to the room and turned the AC down to minimum and the fans to max.
Bliss.
That evening, we went to the restaurant in the hotel, the Bourbon House for dinner.
I order and demolish crab cakes followed by tasting seafood platter. It was divine.
I mean food that was out of this world. We had a wine waiter and a food waiter. The wine waiter suggested a bourbon I try for desert, and it too was good.
It was half eight, early, and yet we were pooped. We go back to our room to think about what to do, and we end up falling asleep.
Another good day.
It is the weekend.
And weekends here are mostly given over to football. Saturday its college football, and on Sunday its the NFL. And it would be easy to find a bar and sit there, drinking cheap and crap beer, watching half a dozen screens at the same time. But we're in The Big Easy, we'd better be do something better.
Jetlag is a thing of last week, so we were awake at seven, bright eyed and bushy tailed, and needing breakfast.
It was going to be hot. Damn hot. 86 degrees in the afternoon. Shame then that we had arranged a walking tour, meaning we would be out in the midday and afternoon sun. What could go wrong?
After getting dressed, we walk down Canal to the Palace for breakfast, but it don't open until half ten at weekends. So, back to the hotel for breakfast there, not quite as good, and more expensive, but it is food.
We never will like biscuits and gravy, there is a huge pot of grey-coloured gloop bubbling away. We pass up on that, but links, bacon, homestyle potatoes and eggs over medium were good. And coffee.
We eat in the luxurious surroundings of the Bourbon House, where in twelve hours we would have dinner. But that was later. Much later.
We laze in the room until 11, when we walk through the French Quarter so Jools could find a bead shop. Before then, we ended up watching football on TV. Proper football. Tottenham scored a lucky late equaliser against Watford, and Norwich drew 1-1 against Bournemouth for our first away point of the year.
Yay.
We had arranged a walking tour around the Garden District, with a walk round the local cemetery, but to meet the tour, we had to meet at a place well out of the centre of town. Google suggested it was 1.4 miles. Our feet suggested it was longer.
Starting from the middle of French Quarter, we walk to Canal Street, then over to the start of St Charles Avenue, which if my calculations were correct, we would stay on all the way.
St Charles started off going through the commercial area, past hotels and former banks. It was hot, and there was little shade.
We walk past a blues and bbq festival, which we say we'll visit on the way back, cos if we go now, we'd never leave. One we go, beside a trolley route that was not in use, until we came to a huge roundabout, rotary, with our way straight ahead, under a flyover.
Beyond, two tram tracks lead off, and as we climb past the monument on the rotary, I can see a line of four vintage trams, trolleycars, rattling up the grass covered tracks Quite a sight.
But none going our way.
So, we tighten our belts and walk westward, past the urban sprawl of a modern American city. Soon, the surrounding area gets greener, there was a fine old hotel on the other side. Our destination was at 2800, we were at 1800, a thousand properties to walk by, possibly.
In the end, not so, but we do arrive at Gracious Bakery by half one, all hot and bothered. We sit inside and order a snack, and have an iced drink.
Many others arrive, as several tours start from here, so in twenty minutes, roll calls were made, and people allocated to guides. We join DJ's group.
Just up from the cafe was the cemetery, but the bad news was told, that due to vandalism by locals and especially tourists, the cemetery was now closed, and would probably never open again to the public, due to thefts from the tombs.
Gutted does not cover it, as it was this part why we booked, now all we could do was look in from the locked gates, I took a couple of shots.
Tombs are above ground, as the water table is a few inches below ground level, so it has the fell of Montmartre in Paris Or would have if we could have gone inside.
Instead we walk back and forth of the garden district, a residential area dating back to the 1830s, made of a hotchpotch of styles, white painted fronts of columns and wrought iron supports to balconies and galleries. Our guide tells us history of each house, or those interesting ones. The Americans on the tour are only interesting in which houses famous people have lived in. A house has no interest to them, but once they find Nicholas Cage had lived here, they take lots of pictures.
It was hot and humid, even after a bar stop. I have a severe case of balcony fatigue, and the last half an hour was more than a chore.
But it wound up, we tipped DJ, and we walked to St James. The few trams that were running were rammed with people, so our plan was to walk to the historic Pontchartrain Hotel.
But a predator had spotted us, and moved in for the kill.
A taxi pulled up beside us, we would have flagged it down anyways. We tell him to take us to the hotel. He does.
The cab had no air con, but with the windows open, travelling at 30mph gave a nice breeze.
Traffic in the centre was heavy, but he got us within walking distance of the hotel. We got out and walked the last 100 yards.
On the way we bought some iced OJ, walked to the room and turned the AC down to minimum and the fans to max.
Bliss.
That evening, we went to the restaurant in the hotel, the Bourbon House for dinner.
I order and demolish crab cakes followed by tasting seafood platter. It was divine.
I mean food that was out of this world. We had a wine waiter and a food waiter. The wine waiter suggested a bourbon I try for desert, and it too was good.
It was half eight, early, and yet we were pooped. We go back to our room to think about what to do, and we end up falling asleep.
Another good day.
Taken during a jetlag induced early start to Saturday morning on the 26th April 2014, an early stop off an hour before sunrise on the hills of Sausolito overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge and San Francisco, with the changing colours in the sky as the transition from night to day rolled along, with the sun finally breaching the hills in the distance and flooding the bay area with colour.
It is the weekend.
And weekends here are mostly given over to football. Saturday its college football, and on Sunday its the NFL. And it would be easy to find a bar and sit there, drinking cheap and crap beer, watching half a dozen screens at the same time. But we're in The Big Easy, we'd better be do something better.
Jetlag is a thing of last week, so we were awake at seven, bright eyed and bushy tailed, and needing breakfast.
It was going to be hot. Damn hot. 86 degrees in the afternoon. Shame then that we had arranged a walking tour, meaning we would be out in the midday and afternoon sun. What could go wrong?
After getting dressed, we walk down Canal to the Palace for breakfast, but it don't open until half ten at weekends. So, back to the hotel for breakfast there, not quite as good, and more expensive, but it is food.
We never will like biscuits and gravy, there is a huge pot of grey-coloured gloop bubbling away. We pass up on that, but links, bacon, homestyle potatoes and eggs over medium were good. And coffee.
We eat in the luxurious surroundings of the Bourbon House, where in twelve hours we would have dinner. But that was later. Much later.
We laze in the room until 11, when we walk through the French Quarter so Jools could find a bead shop. Before then, we ended up watching football on TV. Proper football. Tottenham scored a lucky late equaliser against Watford, and Norwich drew 1-1 against Bournemouth for our first away point of the year.
Yay.
We had arranged a walking tour around the Garden District, with a walk round the local cemetery, but to meet the tour, we had to meet at a place well out of the centre of town. Google suggested it was 1.4 miles. Our feet suggested it was longer.
Starting from the middle of French Quarter, we walk to Canal Street, then over to the start of St Charles Avenue, which if my calculations were correct, we would stay on all the way.
St Charles started off going through the commercial area, past hotels and former banks. It was hot, and there was little shade.
We walk past a blues and bbq festival, which we say we'll visit on the way back, cos if we go now, we'd never leave. One we go, beside a trolley route that was not in use, until we came to a huge roundabout, rotary, with our way straight ahead, under a flyover.
Beyond, two tram tracks lead off, and as we climb past the monument on the rotary, I can see a line of four vintage trams, trolleycars, rattling up the grass covered tracks Quite a sight.
But none going our way.
So, we tighten our belts and walk westward, past the urban sprawl of a modern American city. Soon, the surrounding area gets greener, there was a fine old hotel on the other side. Our destination was at 2800, we were at 1800, a thousand properties to walk by, possibly.
In the end, not so, but we do arrive at Gracious Bakery by half one, all hot and bothered. We sit inside and order a snack, and have an iced drink.
Many others arrive, as several tours start from here, so in twenty minutes, roll calls were made, and people allocated to guides. We join DJ's group.
Just up from the cafe was the cemetery, but the bad news was told, that due to vandalism by locals and especially tourists, the cemetery was now closed, and would probably never open again to the public, due to thefts from the tombs.
Gutted does not cover it, as it was this part why we booked, now all we could do was look in from the locked gates, I took a couple of shots.
Tombs are above ground, as the water table is a few inches below ground level, so it has the fell of Montmartre in Paris Or would have if we could have gone inside.
Instead we walk back and forth of the garden district, a residential area dating back to the 1830s, made of a hotchpotch of styles, white painted fronts of columns and wrought iron supports to balconies and galleries. Our guide tells us history of each house, or those interesting ones. The Americans on the tour are only interesting in which houses famous people have lived in. A house has no interest to them, but once they find Nicholas Cage had lived here, they take lots of pictures.
It was hot and humid, even after a bar stop. I have a severe case of balcony fatigue, and the last half an hour was more than a chore.
But it wound up, we tipped DJ, and we walked to St James. The few trams that were running were rammed with people, so our plan was to walk to the historic Pontchartrain Hotel.
But a predator had spotted us, and moved in for the kill.
A taxi pulled up beside us, we would have flagged it down anyways. We tell him to take us to the hotel. He does.
The cab had no air con, but with the windows open, travelling at 30mph gave a nice breeze.
Traffic in the centre was heavy, but he got us within walking distance of the hotel. We got out and walked the last 100 yards.
On the way we bought some iced OJ, walked to the room and turned the AC down to minimum and the fans to max.
Bliss.
That evening, we went to the restaurant in the hotel, the Bourbon House for dinner.
I order and demolish crab cakes followed by tasting seafood platter. It was divine.
I mean food that was out of this world. We had a wine waiter and a food waiter. The wine waiter suggested a bourbon I try for desert, and it too was good.
It was half eight, early, and yet we were pooped. We go back to our room to think about what to do, and we end up falling asleep.
Another good day.
It is the weekend.
And weekends here are mostly given over to football. Saturday its college football, and on Sunday its the NFL. And it would be easy to find a bar and sit there, drinking cheap and crap beer, watching half a dozen screens at the same time. But we're in The Big Easy, we'd better be do something better.
Jetlag is a thing of last week, so we were awake at seven, bright eyed and bushy tailed, and needing breakfast.
It was going to be hot. Damn hot. 86 degrees in the afternoon. Shame then that we had arranged a walking tour, meaning we would be out in the midday and afternoon sun. What could go wrong?
After getting dressed, we walk down Canal to the Palace for breakfast, but it don't open until half ten at weekends. So, back to the hotel for breakfast there, not quite as good, and more expensive, but it is food.
We never will like biscuits and gravy, there is a huge pot of grey-coloured gloop bubbling away. We pass up on that, but links, bacon, homestyle potatoes and eggs over medium were good. And coffee.
We eat in the luxurious surroundings of the Bourbon House, where in twelve hours we would have dinner. But that was later. Much later.
We laze in the room until 11, when we walk through the French Quarter so Jools could find a bead shop. Before then, we ended up watching football on TV. Proper football. Tottenham scored a lucky late equaliser against Watford, and Norwich drew 1-1 against Bournemouth for our first away point of the year.
Yay.
We had arranged a walking tour around the Garden District, with a walk round the local cemetery, but to meet the tour, we had to meet at a place well out of the centre of town. Google suggested it was 1.4 miles. Our feet suggested it was longer.
Starting from the middle of French Quarter, we walk to Canal Street, then over to the start of St Charles Avenue, which if my calculations were correct, we would stay on all the way.
St Charles started off going through the commercial area, past hotels and former banks. It was hot, and there was little shade.
We walk past a blues and bbq festival, which we say we'll visit on the way back, cos if we go now, we'd never leave. One we go, beside a trolley route that was not in use, until we came to a huge roundabout, rotary, with our way straight ahead, under a flyover.
Beyond, two tram tracks lead off, and as we climb past the monument on the rotary, I can see a line of four vintage trams, trolleycars, rattling up the grass covered tracks Quite a sight.
But none going our way.
So, we tighten our belts and walk westward, past the urban sprawl of a modern American city. Soon, the surrounding area gets greener, there was a fine old hotel on the other side. Our destination was at 2800, we were at 1800, a thousand properties to walk by, possibly.
In the end, not so, but we do arrive at Gracious Bakery by half one, all hot and bothered. We sit inside and order a snack, and have an iced drink.
Many others arrive, as several tours start from here, so in twenty minutes, roll calls were made, and people allocated to guides. We join DJ's group.
Just up from the cafe was the cemetery, but the bad news was told, that due to vandalism by locals and especially tourists, the cemetery was now closed, and would probably never open again to the public, due to thefts from the tombs.
Gutted does not cover it, as it was this part why we booked, now all we could do was look in from the locked gates, I took a couple of shots.
Tombs are above ground, as the water table is a few inches below ground level, so it has the fell of Montmartre in Paris Or would have if we could have gone inside.
Instead we walk back and forth of the garden district, a residential area dating back to the 1830s, made of a hotchpotch of styles, white painted fronts of columns and wrought iron supports to balconies and galleries. Our guide tells us history of each house, or those interesting ones. The Americans on the tour are only interesting in which houses famous people have lived in. A house has no interest to them, but once they find Nicholas Cage had lived here, they take lots of pictures.
It was hot and humid, even after a bar stop. I have a severe case of balcony fatigue, and the last half an hour was more than a chore.
But it wound up, we tipped DJ, and we walked to St James. The few trams that were running were rammed with people, so our plan was to walk to the historic Pontchartrain Hotel.
But a predator had spotted us, and moved in for the kill.
A taxi pulled up beside us, we would have flagged it down anyways. We tell him to take us to the hotel. He does.
The cab had no air con, but with the windows open, travelling at 30mph gave a nice breeze.
Traffic in the centre was heavy, but he got us within walking distance of the hotel. We got out and walked the last 100 yards.
On the way we bought some iced OJ, walked to the room and turned the AC down to minimum and the fans to max.
Bliss.
That evening, we went to the restaurant in the hotel, the Bourbon House for dinner.
I order and demolish crab cakes followed by tasting seafood platter. It was divine.
I mean food that was out of this world. We had a wine waiter and a food waiter. The wine waiter suggested a bourbon I try for desert, and it too was good.
It was half eight, early, and yet we were pooped. We go back to our room to think about what to do, and we end up falling asleep.
Another good day.
It is the weekend.
And weekends here are mostly given over to football. Saturday its college football, and on Sunday its the NFL. And it would be easy to find a bar and sit there, drinking cheap and crap beer, watching half a dozen screens at the same time. But we're in The Big Easy, we'd better be do something better.
Jetlag is a thing of last week, so we were awake at seven, bright eyed and bushy tailed, and needing breakfast.
It was going to be hot. Damn hot. 86 degrees in the afternoon. Shame then that we had arranged a walking tour, meaning we would be out in the midday and afternoon sun. What could go wrong?
After getting dressed, we walk down Canal to the Palace for breakfast, but it don't open until half ten at weekends. So, back to the hotel for breakfast there, not quite as good, and more expensive, but it is food.
We never will like biscuits and gravy, there is a huge pot of grey-coloured gloop bubbling away. We pass up on that, but links, bacon, homestyle potatoes and eggs over medium were good. And coffee.
We eat in the luxurious surroundings of the Bourbon House, where in twelve hours we would have dinner. But that was later. Much later.
We laze in the room until 11, when we walk through the French Quarter so Jools could find a bead shop. Before then, we ended up watching football on TV. Proper football. Tottenham scored a lucky late equaliser against Watford, and Norwich drew 1-1 against Bournemouth for our first away point of the year.
Yay.
We had arranged a walking tour around the Garden District, with a walk round the local cemetery, but to meet the tour, we had to meet at a place well out of the centre of town. Google suggested it was 1.4 miles. Our feet suggested it was longer.
Starting from the middle of French Quarter, we walk to Canal Street, then over to the start of St Charles Avenue, which if my calculations were correct, we would stay on all the way.
St Charles started off going through the commercial area, past hotels and former banks. It was hot, and there was little shade.
We walk past a blues and bbq festival, which we say we'll visit on the way back, cos if we go now, we'd never leave. One we go, beside a trolley route that was not in use, until we came to a huge roundabout, rotary, with our way straight ahead, under a flyover.
Beyond, two tram tracks lead off, and as we climb past the monument on the rotary, I can see a line of four vintage trams, trolleycars, rattling up the grass covered tracks Quite a sight.
But none going our way.
So, we tighten our belts and walk westward, past the urban sprawl of a modern American city. Soon, the surrounding area gets greener, there was a fine old hotel on the other side. Our destination was at 2800, we were at 1800, a thousand properties to walk by, possibly.
In the end, not so, but we do arrive at Gracious Bakery by half one, all hot and bothered. We sit inside and order a snack, and have an iced drink.
Many others arrive, as several tours start from here, so in twenty minutes, roll calls were made, and people allocated to guides. We join DJ's group.
Just up from the cafe was the cemetery, but the bad news was told, that due to vandalism by locals and especially tourists, the cemetery was now closed, and would probably never open again to the public, due to thefts from the tombs.
Gutted does not cover it, as it was this part why we booked, now all we could do was look in from the locked gates, I took a couple of shots.
Tombs are above ground, as the water table is a few inches below ground level, so it has the fell of Montmartre in Paris Or would have if we could have gone inside.
Instead we walk back and forth of the garden district, a residential area dating back to the 1830s, made of a hotchpotch of styles, white painted fronts of columns and wrought iron supports to balconies and galleries. Our guide tells us history of each house, or those interesting ones. The Americans on the tour are only interesting in which houses famous people have lived in. A house has no interest to them, but once they find Nicholas Cage had lived here, they take lots of pictures.
It was hot and humid, even after a bar stop. I have a severe case of balcony fatigue, and the last half an hour was more than a chore.
But it wound up, we tipped DJ, and we walked to St James. The few trams that were running were rammed with people, so our plan was to walk to the historic Pontchartrain Hotel.
But a predator had spotted us, and moved in for the kill.
A taxi pulled up beside us, we would have flagged it down anyways. We tell him to take us to the hotel. He does.
The cab had no air con, but with the windows open, travelling at 30mph gave a nice breeze.
Traffic in the centre was heavy, but he got us within walking distance of the hotel. We got out and walked the last 100 yards.
On the way we bought some iced OJ, walked to the room and turned the AC down to minimum and the fans to max.
Bliss.
That evening, we went to the restaurant in the hotel, the Bourbon House for dinner.
I order and demolish crab cakes followed by tasting seafood platter. It was divine.
I mean food that was out of this world. We had a wine waiter and a food waiter. The wine waiter suggested a bourbon I try for desert, and it too was good.
It was half eight, early, and yet we were pooped. We go back to our room to think about what to do, and we end up falling asleep.
Another good day.
Taken during a jetlag induced early start to Saturday morning on the 26th April 2014, an early stop off an hour before sunrise on the hills of Sausolito overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge and San Francisco, with the changing colours in the sky as the transition from night to day rolled along, with the sun finally breaching the hills in the distance and flooding the bay area with colour.
No jetlag coming in to Bali from Melbourne after a six-hour flight. So I was already footing it on the beach in the morning of my short stop-over on the way to Lombok.
Kuta, of course, is well-known for being a 'playground' for holiday-makers especially from Australia. The scene, too, of terrible violence some ten years ago.
Still there's a lot to be seen of nature on the beaches once you're free of the usual surfers and the coconut-oil smearers.
Here's pretty Goat's Foot or Ipomoea pes-caprae, and perhaps more appropriately after last night's deluge: Beach Morning Glory. I tried to photograph as well some of this pan-tropical plant's insect visitors but without enough success - maybe I was more jet-lagged than I'd admit. The Latin name 'Ipomoea' is a bit odd for such a pretty flower; it has to do with worms. It's understandable why. The stem-strings cross the sand-dunes like so many wiry worms. Still, worms are hardly as pretty as these luminous purple wonders. Even Goat's Foot, pes-caprae, for the shape of the green leaves is not quite 'right'. Ah! But then there's 'Beach Morning Glory'; yes! that name has it!
Then I thought this four-some Glories worth the attention of my flickr friends.
PS I expect now on Lombok to have better internet connections and opportunity for comments...
Taken during a recent visit to Yosemite National Park in California on Sunday 27th April 2014.
It's been a couple of years since I last visited Yosemite, and after spending the last year based in Shanghai I was champing at the bit to get back out into one of my favourite locations on the West Coast of America. I suppose the combination of excitement and jetlag were to blame for me getting very little sleep the night before (with the long drive to and from Lake Tahoe the day before not taking it's toll as I expected it to either).
After heading out the door of my hotel in Sunnyvale around 5am, I was entering the boundary of Yosemite around 9am, too late for sunrise but early enough to beat the main flock of tourists who would decend on the park in the hours which followed.
I was rather disappointed to learn that the Glacier Point road had been closed overnight due to recent snowfall, after it being opened for around a week before my visit. My plan of shooting half dome and it's buddies with snow caps on from Glacier Point was scuppered, so instead I made the most of my time wandering around the meadows of the valley floor, enjoying the ever-awesome view from "tunnel view" and the majestic scenery surrounding Mirror Lake.
You can bet your bottom dollar that I'll be back to Yosemite as soon as I possibly can be to hopefully capture some snow caps from Glacier Point (and head up to Tenaya Lake) before the park fully embraces the summer months ahead.
Taken during a jetlag induced early start to Saturday morning on the 26th April 2014, an early stop off an hour before sunrise on the hills of Sausolito overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge and San Francisco, with the changing colours in the sky as the transition from night to day rolled along, with the sun finally breaching the hills in the distance and flooding the bay area with colour.