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9.4.09
The flight arrived on time; and the twelve hours while on board passed quickly and without incident. To be sure, the quality of the Cathay Pacific service was exemplary once again.
Heathrow reminds me of Newark International. The décor comes straight out of the sterile 80's and is less an eyesore than an insipid background to the rhythm of human activity, such hustle and bustle, at the fore. There certainly are faces from all races present, creating a rich mosaic of humanity which is refreshing if not completely revitalizing after swimming for so long in a sea of Chinese faces in Hong Kong.
Internet access is sealed in England, it seems. Nothing is free; everything is egregiously monetized from the wireless hotspots down to the desktop terminals. I guess Hong Kong has spoiled me with its abundant, free access to the information superhighway.
11.4.09
Despite staying in a room with five other backpackers, I have been sleeping well. The mattress and pillow are firm; my earplugs keep the noise out; and the sleeping quarters are as dark as a cave when the lights are out, and only as bright as, perhaps, a dreary rainy day when on. All in all, St. Paul's is a excellent place to stay for the gregarious, adventurous, and penurious city explorer - couchsurfing may be a tenable alternative; I'll test for next time.
Yesterday Connie and I gorged ourselves at the borough market where there were all sorts of delectable, savory victuals. There was definitely a European flavor to the food fair: simmering sausages were to be found everywhere; and much as the meat was plentiful, and genuine, so were the dairy delicacies, in the form of myriad rounds of cheese, stacked high behind checkered tabletops. Of course, we washed these tasty morsels down with copious amounts of alcohol that flowed from cups as though amber waterfalls. For the first time I tried mulled wine, which tasted like warm, rancid fruit punch - the ideal tonic for a drizzling London day, I suppose. We later killed the afternoon at the pub, shooting the breeze while imbibing several diminutive half-pints in the process. Getting smashed at four in the afternoon doesn't seem like such a bad thing anymore, especially when you are having fun in the company of friends; I can more appreciate why the English do it so much!
Earlier in the day, we visited the Tate Modern. Its turbine room lived up to its prominent billing what with a giant spider, complete with bulbous egg sac, anchoring the retrospective exhibit. The permanent galleries, too, were a delight upon which to feast one's eyes. Picasso, Warhol and Pollock ruled the chambers of the upper floors with the products of their lithe wrists; and I ended up becoming a huge fan of cubism, while developing a disdain for abstract art and its vacuous images, which, I feel, are devoid of both motivation and emotion.
My first trip yesterday morning was to Emirates Stadium, home of the Arsenal Gunners. It towers imperiously over the surrounding neighborhood; yet for all its majesty, the place sure was quiet! Business did pick up later, however, once the armory shop opened, and dozens of fans descended on it like bees to a hive. I, too, swooped in on a gift-buying mission, and wound up purchasing a book for Godfrey, a scarf for a student, and a jersey - on sale, of course - for good measure.
I'm sitting in the Westminster Abbey Museum now, resting my weary legs and burdened back. So far, I've been verily impressed with what I've seen, such a confluence of splendor and history before me that it would require days to absorb it all, when regretfully I can spare only a few hours. My favorite part of the abbey is the poets corner where no less a literary luminary than Samuel Johnson rests in peace - his bust confirms his homely presence, which was so vividly captured in his biography.
For lunch I had a steak and ale pie, served with mash, taken alongside a Guinness, extra cold - 2 degrees centigrade colder, the bartender explained. It went down well, like all the other delicious meals I've had in England; and no doubt by now I have grown accustomed to inebriation at half past two. Besides, Liverpool were playing inspired football against Blackburn; and my lunch was complete.
Having had my fill of football, I decided to skip my ticket scalping endeavor at Stamford Bridge and instead wandered over to the British Museum to inspect their extensive collections. Along the way, my eye caught a theater, its doors wide open and admitting customers. With much rapidity, I subsequently checked the show times, saw that a performance was set to begin, and at last rushed to the box office to purchase a discounted ticket - if you call a 40 pound ticket a deal, that is. That's how I grabbed a seat to watch Hairspray in the West End.
The show was worth forty pounds. The music was addictive; and the stage design and effects were not so much kitschy as delightfully stimulating - the pulsating background lights were at once scintillating and penetrating. The actors as well were vivacious, oozing charisma while they danced and delivered lines dripping in humor. Hairspray is a quality production and most definitely recommended.
12.4.09
At breakfast I sat across from a man who asked me to which country Hong Kong had been returned - China or Japan. That was pretty funny. Then he started spitting on my food as he spoke, completely oblivious to my breakfast becoming the receptacle in which the fruit of his inner churl was being placed. I guess I understand the convention nowadays of covering one's mouth whilst speaking and masticating at the same time!
We actually conversed on London life in general, and I praised London for its racial integration, the act of which is a prodigious leap of faith for any society, trying to be inclusive, accepting all sorts of people. It wasn't as though the Brits were trying in vain to be all things to all men, using Spanish with the visitors from Spain, German with the Germans and, even, Hindi with the Indians, regardless of whether or not Hindi was their native language; not even considering the absurd idea of encouraging the international adoption of their language; thereby completely keeping English in English hands and allowing its proud polyglots to "practice" their languages. Indeed, the attempt of the Londoners to avail themselves of the rich mosaic of ethnic knowledge, and to seek a common understanding with a ubiquitous English accent is an exemplar, and the bedrock for any world city.
I celebrated Jesus' resurrection at the St. Andrew's Street Church in Cambridge. The parishioners of this Baptist church were warm and affable, and I met several of them, including one visiting (Halliday) linguistics scholar from Zhongshan university in Guangzhou, who in fact had visited my tiny City University of Hong Kong in 2003. The service itself was more traditional and the believers fewer in number than the "progressive" services at any of the charismatic, evangelical churches in HK; yet that's what makes this part of the body of Christ unique; besides, the message was as brief as a powerpoint slide, and informative no less; the power word which spoke into my life being a question from John 21:22 - what is that to you?
Big trees; exquisite lawns; and old, pointy colleges; that's Cambridge in a nutshell. Sitting here, sipping on a half-pint of Woodforde's Wherry, I've had a leisurely, if not languorous, day so far; my sole duty consisting of walking around while absorbing the verdant environment as though a sponge, camera in tow.
I am back at the sublime beer, savoring a pint of Sharp's DoomBar before my fish and chips arrive; the drinking age is 18, but anyone whose visage even hints of youthful brilliance is likely to get carded these days, the bartender told me. The youth drinking culture here is almost as twisted as the university drinking culture in America.
My stay in Cambridge, relaxing and desultory as it may be, is about to end after this late lunch. I an not sure if there is anything left to see, save for the American graveyard which rests an impossible two miles away. I have had a wonderful time in this town; and am thankful for the access into its living history - the residents here must demonstrate remarkable patience and tolerance what with so many tourists ambling on the streets, peering - and photographing - into every nook and cranny.
13.4.09
There are no rubbish bins, yet I've seen on the streets many mixed race couples in which the men tend to be white - the women also belonging to a light colored ethnicity, usually some sort of Asian; as well saw some black dudes and Indian dudes with white chicks.
People here hold doors, even at the entrance to the toilet. Sometimes it appears as though they are going out on a limb, just waiting for the one who will take the responsibility for the door from them, at which point I rush out to relieve them of such a fortuitous burden.
I visited the British Museum this morning. The two hours I spent there did neither myself nor the exhibits any justice because there really is too much to survey, enough captivating stuff to last an entire day, I think. The bottomless well of artifacts from antiquity, drawing from sources as diverse as Korea, and Mesopotamia, is a credit to the British empire, without whose looting most of this amazing booty would be unavailable for our purview; better, I think, for these priceless treasures to be open to all in the grandest supermarket of history than away from human eyes, and worst yet, in the hands of unscrupulous collectors or in the rubbish bin, possibly.
Irene and I took in the ballet Giselle at The Royal Opera House in the afternoon. The building is a plush marvel, and a testament to this city's love for the arts. The ballet itself was satisfying, the first half being superior to the second, in which the nimble dancers demonstrated their phenomenal dexterity in, of all places, a graveyard covered in a cloak of smoke and darkness. I admit, their dance of the dead, in such a gloomy necropolis, did strike me as, strange.
Two amicable ladies from Kent convinced me to visit their hometown tomorrow, where, they told me, the authentic, "working" Leeds Castle and the mighty interesting home of Charles Darwin await.
I'm nursing a pint of Green King Ruddles and wondering about the profusion of British ales and lagers; the British have done a great deed for the world by creating an interminable line of low-alcohol session beers that can be enjoyed at breakfast, lunch, tea and dinner; and their disservice is this: besides this inexhaustible supply of cheap beer ensnaring my inner alcoholic, I feel myself putting on my freshman fifteen, almost ten years after the fact; I am going to have to run a bit harder back in Hong Kong if I want to burn all this malty fuel off.
Irene suggested I stop by the National Art Gallery since we were in the area; and it was an hour well spent. The gallery currently presents a special exhibit on Picasso, the non-ticketed section of which features several seductive renderings, including David spying on Bathsheba - repeated in clever variants - and parodies of other masters' works. Furthermore, the main gallery houses two fabulous portraits by Joshua Reynolds, who happens to be favorite of mine, he in life being a close friend of Samuel Johnson - I passed by Boswells, where its namesake first met Johnson, on my way to the opera house.
14.4.09
I prayed last night, and went through my list, lifting everyone on it up to the Lord. That felt good; that God is alive now, and ever present in my life and in the lives of my brothers and sisters.
Doubtless, then, I have felt quite wistful, as though a specter in the land of the living, being in a place where religious fervor, it seems, is a thing of the past, a trifling for many, to be hidden away in the opaque corners of centuries-old cathedrals that are more expensive tourist destinations than liberating homes of worship these days. Indeed, I have yet to see anyone pray, outside of the Easter service which I attended in Cambridge - for such an ecstatic moment in verily a grand church, would you believe that it was only attended by at most three dozen spirited ones. The people of England, and Europe in general, have, it is my hope, only locked away the Word, relegating it to the quiet vault of their hearts. May it be taken out in the sudden pause before mealtimes and in the still crisp mornings and cool, silent nights. There is still hope for a revival in this place, for faith to rise like that splendid sun every morning. God would love to rescue them, to deliver them in this day, it is certain.
I wonder what Londoners think, if anything at all, about their police state which, like a vine in the shadows, has taken root in all corners of daily life, from the terrorist notifications in the underground, which implore Londoners to report all things suspicious, to the pair of dogs which eagerly stroll through Euston. What makes this all the more incredible is the fact that even the United States, the indomitable nemesis of the fledgling, rebel order, doesn't dare bombard its citizens with such fear mongering these days, especially with Obama in office; maybe we've grown wise in these past few years to the dubious returns of surrendering civil liberties to the state, of having our bags checked everywhere - London Eye; Hairspray; and The Royal Opera House check bags in London while the museums do not; somehow, that doesn't add up for me.
I'm in a majestic bookshop on New Street in Birmingham, and certainly to confirm my suspicions, there are just as many books on the death of Christianity in Britain as there are books which attempt to murder Christianity everywhere. I did find, however, a nice biography on John Wesley by Roy Hattersley and The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis. I may pick up the former.
Lunch with Sally was pleasant and mirthful. We dined at a French restaurant nearby New Street - yes, Birmingham is a cultural capitol! Sally and I both tried their omelette, while her boyfriend had the fish, without chips. Conversation was light, the levity was there and so was our reminiscing about those fleeting moments during our first year in Hong Kong; it is amazing how friendships can resume so suddenly with a smile. On their recommendation, I am on my way to Warwick Castle - they also suggested that I visit Cadbury World, but they cannot take on additional visitors at the moment, the tourist office staff informed me, much to my disappointment!
Visiting Warwick Castle really made for a great day out. The castle, parts of which were established by William the Conquerer in 1068, is as much a kitschy tourist trap as a meticulous preservation of history, at times a sillier version of Ocean Park while at others a dignified dedication to a most glorious, inexorably English past. The castle caters to all visitors; and not surprisingly, that which delighted all audiences was a giant trebuchet siege engine, which for the five p.m. performance hurled a fireball high and far into the air - fantastic! Taliban beware!
15.4.09
I'm leaving on a jet plane this evening; don't know when I'll be back in England again. I'll miss this quirky, yet endearing place; and that I shall miss Irene and Tom who so generously welcomed me into their home, fed me, and suffered my use of their toilet and shower goes without saying. I'm grateful for God's many blessings on this trip.
On the itinerary today is a trip to John Wesley's home, followed by a visit to the Imperial War Museum. Already this morning I picked up a tube of Oilatum, a week late perhaps, which Teri recommended I use to treat this obstinate, dermal weakness of mine - I'm happy to report that my skin has stopped crying.
John Wesley's home is alive and well. Services are still held in the chapel everyday; and its crypt, so far from being a cellar for the dead, is a bright, spacious museum in which all things Wesley are on display - I never realized how much of an iconic figure he became in England; at the height of this idol frenzy, ironic in itself, he must have been as popular as the Beatles were at their apex. The house itself is a multi-story edifice with narrow, precipitous staircases and spacious rooms decorated in an 18th century fashion.
I found Samuel Johnson's house within a maze of red brick hidden alongside Fleet Street. To be in the home of the man who wrote the English dictionary, and whose indefatigable love for obscure words became the inspiration for my own lexical obsession, this, by far, is the climax of my visit to England! The best certainly has been saved for last.
There are a multitude of portraits hanging around the house like ornaments on a tree. Every likeness has its own story, meticulously retold on the crib sheets in each room. Celebrities abound, including David Garrick and Sir Joshua Reynolds, who painted several of the finer images in the house. I have developed a particular affinity for Oliver Goldsmith, of whom Boswell writes, "His person was short, his countenance coarse and vulgar, his deportment that of a scholar awkwardly affecting the easy gentleman. It appears as though I, too, could use a more flattering description of myself!
I regretfully couldn't stop to try the curry in England; I guess the CityU canteen's take on the dish will have to do. I did, however, have the opportune task of flirting with the cute Cathay Pacific counter staff who checked me in. She was gorgeous in red, light powder on her cheeks, with real diamond earrings, she said; and her small, delicate face, commanded by a posh British accent rendered her positively irresistible, electrifying. Not only did she grant me an aisle seat but she had the gumption to return my fawning with zest; she must be a pro at this by now.
I saw her again as she was pulling double-duty, collecting tickets prior to boarding. She remembered my quest for curry; and in the fog of infatuation, where nary a man has been made, I fumbled my words like the sloppy kid who has had too much punch. I am just an amateur, alas, an "Oliver Goldsmith" with the ladies - I got no game - booyah!
Some final, consequential bits: because of the chavs, Burberry no longer sells those fashionable baseball caps; because of the IRA, rubbish bins are no longer a commodity on the streets of London, and as a result, the streets and the Underground of the city are a soiled mess; and because of other terrorists from distant, more arid lands, going through a Western airport has taken on the tedium of perfunctory procedure that doesn't make me feel any safer from my invisible enemies.
At last, I saw so many Indians working at Heathrow that I could have easily mistaken the place for Mumbai. Their presence surprised me because their portion of the general population surely must be less than their portion of Heathrow staff, indicating some mysterious hiring bias. Regardless, they do a superb job with cursory airport checks, and in general are absurdly funny and witty when not tactless.
That's all for England!
Not sure if its now owned by Essex Emergency 2000 but it has EoEAS in the rear window.
Seen at the Essex Emergency 2000 Workshops.
Many thanks to Essex Emergency 2000 for letting me round to get some pictures.
*NUMBER PLATES BLOCKED BY REQUEST OF ESSEX EMERGENCY 2000*
A Huge thank you to
Fay Model for choosing my photo for the cover of www.flickr.com/groups/14826511@N22/.
Please be sure to stop by the group and share your photos!
If you walk by my street shoot and you are funny, you might get a chance to be in the shot. His buddy’s gave him hell.
Sure you are.
I had a difficult time with this image. I could not hand hold this and get a clear shot. Shot after shot was blurred. The ISO was getting higher and I was cursing at the Bear to stay there longer. I had to go to the car and get my tripod and do a longer exposure with the remote.
That lid came down on him so many times.
Happy Teddy Bear Tuesday
La Sûre (Sauer en luxembourgeois et en allemand) est une rivière belgo-germano-luxembourgeoise et un affluent en rive gauche de la Moselle. Elle fait donc partie du bassin versant du Rhin.
La rivière tire son nom de l'acidité de son eau.
Son cours est de 206 km et son bassin versant couvre 4 240 km2. Ses affluents principaux sont la Wiltz, l'Alzette, l'Ernz Blanche, l'Ernz Noire, l'Our et la Prüm.
Le belvédère « Houfëls » (Haut-Rocher) près de Boulaide offre une vue imprenable sur la vallée de la Sûre et la Haute-Sûre.
A 457 mètres d'altitude se trouve un pavillon qui a été construit en 1934 par la famille Hames. Même si le pavillon ne peut être admiré que de l'extérieur, les lieux invitent toujours à s'y attarder pour un pique-nique avec vue panoramique.
Le point de vue est situé sur plusieurs sentiers de randonnée, dont l'Éislek Pad Boulaide, l'Autopédestre Boulaide et le Natur Pur ?. Il est également acecssible en voiture.
Pour les amateurs d'histoire, l'aire de repos derrière le pavillon abrite deux pièces d'artillerie historiques de la Seconde Guerre mondiale : un PAK (canon antichar) allemand de 8,8 cm et un canon américain de 155 mm.
The Sûre (Sauer in Luxembourgish1 and German) is a Belgian-German-Luxembourgish river and a left-bank tributary of the Moselle. It is therefore part of the Rhine watershed.
The river takes its name from the acidity of its water.
Its course is 206 km and its watershed covers 4,240 km2. Its main tributaries are the Wiltz, the Alzette, the Ernz Blanche, the Ernz Noire, the Our and the Prüm.
The "Houfëls" (High Rock) lookout point near Boulaide offers a breathtaking view of the Sûre valley and the Haute-Sûre.
At an altitude of 457 metres there is a pavilion that was built in 1934 by the Hames family. Even though the pavilion can only be admired from the outside, the place still invites you to linger for a picnic with a panoramic view.
The viewpoint is located on several hiking trails, including the Éislek Pad Boulaide, the Autopédestre Boulaide and the Natur Pur ?. It is also accessible by car.
For history buffs, the rest area behind the pavilion houses two historic artillery pieces from the Second World War: a German 8.8 cm PAK (anti-tank gun) and an American 155 mm gun.
I am not sure if "Macro Monday" is a thing or not but when your friend says, it is, it is....So here is my newest macro image that totally came to be by random chance. One day I was driving down an old dirt road and saw this huge spool of barbed wire. I didn't even know barbed wire came in spools...so I picked it up and brought it home...decided it may make some fun macro images and this is the first one I got... Hope you all have a blessed day.
Be sure to stop over and visit Maryanne's image of her tulip www.flickr.com/photos/little-m/52880480662/in/dateposted/
Sure, today they may wear bows in their top knots and their self-important air may make them seem like they have royal roots, but Yorkies have a rather unglamorous background of catching rats and other vermin in underground tunnels. This instinct still comes out in their play (offer a Yorkie a stuffed mouse, and you’ll see what we mean), and owners can put it to work in non-competitive AKC Earthdog tests. This sport allows dogs to test their ability to pursue caged rats underground.
Not sure if my spelling is correct here either,i wanted to use this title for a while but i was waiting for a shot i thought was worthy.I got the description from a section on Rabachs Glen from a book of the mountains of the Iveragh, Beara and Dingle Peninsulas that i had and have since lost by a brilliant mountain photographer Adrian Hendroff and i always thought it had a nice ring to it.
This was another unplanned shot,as i was out on the rocks further out in Allies Bay i noticed this incredible glow on the mountain behind the village.I rushed back just in time to capture this.Back out to the point to get some shots of the skellig islands the western tip of the Iveragh Peninsula and the Bull Island off Dursey,back over the beach then to get the moon over the village and down onto the beach to get the stars at night.An incredible evening and the next one was nearly even better out on a secluded little beach in Coulagh Bay.
Ballydonegan Beach Allihies Beara Peninsula Co Cork.
That's a lot of gardening that needs to be done....think I'll just hide myself so she won't ask me to do it.
Not sure what prompted me to do this one, maybe the Level 5 water restrictions we now have? Possibly some photos I was looking at the other day. Anyhoo, it came to me as I was going to bed and I just had to work on it the next day.
The text on the back of it reads...
'drought relief...
An entire country, grinding to a halt, waiting for the drought to break. Searching the skies for a sniff of moisture, praying for even the smallest drops to fall. Remembering water aplenty, before the earth turned dry and the disappearing green mask revealed the red dust below. Optimisim that the glittering fields will one day return so that we may practice such harsh lessons learned.'
The background is a piece of embroidery canvas painted by hand (quite literally, I used my hands rather than a brush!) with felt and buttons stitched on top. I don't actually like the red frame, but until I find a darker colour this is it...
***eta - thanks so much for your response! It's fantastic! Feeling the love!
Someone mentioned below about the greenery in our garden, despite the restrictions. We made a decision 2yrs ago to stop watering and simply let everything die that required water. We lost a lot of plants, but the ones that are drought tolerant survived, and so we still have a lovely garden. The lawn is another story! Its a great big dustbowl!
The people I feel sorry for are those who make their living out of the land. Naturally the farmers who have been doing it tough for so many years, but also the people who mow lawns, plant nurseries, gardeners, turf layers. They are all having to find work elsewhere to supplement. Its amazing how much we all rely on water...
Pulling in the next roll of Arista Ultra 100, using Rodinal then Xtol with very varied lighting from the east to the western sun. Was very surprised at the level of grain with the low iso (EI100) approximated. I did see that the temp of the Xtol was higher than the usual 20/68, but wouldn've thought that would've decreased the grain a bit. At least film wasn't fogged due to a kind airport security person let me have a hand check of film rather than go through the new CT scanner roentgenogram type. Thanks to the flickeranians who continue to shoot, post and amaze us.
Canon Sure Shot Ace
Kodak Elite Chrome 100 (expired 2001)
Converted to B&W in Lightroom
I've shot lots of expired slide film and usually have good results, but this roll came out quite underexposed. I decided to convert the pictures to B&W as I felt they looked better that way.
Overwintering adult Mourning Cloaks are one of the first butteries to come out when the temperatures get warm. It was a beautiful 70 degrees and this one was enjoying the day after a long winter's rest.
Green Ridge State Forest
Allegany County, Maryland
Canon Sure Shot Supreme
Fujifilm Superia X-tra 400
Lab Developed
Home scanned and converted with Negative Lab Pro
Not sure about this one, just abstract reflections, and rare clear skies in mid-October in fjord Norway, Kjosnesfjord, this fjord is a freshwater lake, not connected to the ocean, late afternoon. My reason for being there was a a very reasonably priced accommodation (by Norwegian standards) nearby.
Not sure if the Robin chose that spot to catch the last ray of light as it broke through a tiny gap in the clouds or if I was just lucky?
It sure was nippy that time. But, it was worth it [to me].
The Astoria–Megler Bridge is a steel cantilever through truss bridge that spans the Columbia River between Astoria, Oregon and Point Ellice near Megler, Washington, in the United States. Located 14 miles (23 km) from the mouth of the river, the bridge is 4.1 miles (6.6 km) long[3] and was the last completed segment of U.S. Route 101 between Olympia, Washington, and Los Angeles, California.[4] It is the longest continuous truss bridge in North America.
Not sure of the history behind this building located on the northeast corner of the courthouse square in Jasper, Tennessee. I am also not clear on the name of the building...I suspect it is either named after someone whose last name happened to be Lawyers or this was the building where all the lawyers in town set up shop somewhere between 1920 and 1954. Either way, I really like the style and architecture of teh building and thought it worthy of a photograph.
Image was taken during my trek to photograph all 95 county courthouses across my home state of Tennessee...now revisiting in order that the courthouses were photographed!
Three bracketed photos were taken with a handheld Nikon D7200 and combined with Photomatix Pro to create this HDR image. Additional adjustments were made in Photoshop CS6.
"For I know the plans I have for you", declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." ~Jeremiah 29:11
The best way to view my photostream is through Flickriver with the link below:
If you want to escape, make sure you leave your shit behind. It can drag you down.
Message to boat owner: pull your boat above the tide line to stop it being swamped like this. Finns are not used to tides and the sea level changing. Normally there is hardly any tide in the Baltic Sea. But there was on this day
Sure it's only 6 degrees outside but at least the sun is out as well. And so am I...or at least I was. I like fresh air but I'm not stupid. It's cold man!
I drank my hot tea out there a bit faster than usual today.
Hmmmm, not sure which was the intended topic by the owner of Gold Point, Nevada. Was it the bedframe, the miner equipment above the porch roof, the bordello sign or the traffic signs? My intended topic is the boring bench on the porch.
Happy Bench Monday!
BTW, much of Goldpoint is owned by Herb Robbins who demands a "donation" for the privilege of viewing the relics he scavenges from nearby abandoned mining outposts. Herb explained the "donation" is designed to allow him to avoid paying taxes on his income. The more you pay, the more you get to see. Wilbur and I only paid $10.00 each so most of the buildings remained securely locked during our visit.
Goldpoint seems like a rusting theme park. None-the-less it is a fun place to visit if you are in the vicinity, as long as you are unconcerned with authenticity. And bring plenty of cash.
Explored.
Wow, I sure miss days as warm as this one!
This weekend I'm gonna be racing in the 2nd flight in Sunfair. Which is this huge cross country meet with over 100 teams competing. I think I have a pretty good chance to win my flight, which is for the 6th fastest guy on the team. And if I do, I get some shoes! And I might even get interviewed by dyestat.com, and have that video be seen by thousands of people. That would be pretty cool!
No HDR this time, just some purty colors and contrast :-)
Check out Large
California sure managed to get more than it's fair share of beautiful scenery. A closer look at McWay falls near Big Sur California. This is a single long exposure. This really is a magnificent location. The view, the sound of the waves and the smell of the eucalyptus trees around make for a magical experience. I can't recommend this location highly enough.
Not sure about this one. The clouds we did have were gone very fast, so that we got a pretty boring after glow instead of the pink clouds we hoped for. It was boring -pretty boring -but I loved to watch the fishes conjure rings on the surface of the water. Well not in front of the cam of course - so I began to through stones imitating them.
Wish you all a great week! I am heading South to Saxonia for some days and later being in HH.