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I traveled to Nepal in December 2010. At the time, I was new to digital photography and did not know how to process photos. I recently went through some of my favorites, and processed the raw files with ON1 Photo Raw 2024. Enjoy!
KRUGER NATIONALPARK | S36
This big and old bull looked at us, just like he wanted to say: "You're on the wrong turf, buddy!"
I had an surprise encounter with a lonely bull once, in the middle of the night, on foot and only a few meters away from me. Learned my lesson and the heck... if he means it, I'll stay away for sure.
Lake Bratan, often associated with the Ulun Danu Temple, is a picturesque volcanic lake located in the central highlands of Bali, Indonesia. The lake itself is serene and expansive, covering an area of approximately 3.8 square kilometers (1.5 square miles). It sits at an altitude of about 1,200 meters (3,900 feet) above sea level, surrounded by lush green mountains and misty clouds that frequently drift across its surface.
The blue hour, with its ethereal glow casting a serene veil over the landscape, embarks on a subtle yet profound character arc. Initially shrouded in mystery and tranquility, it beckons with a sense of quiet introspection, inviting contemplation and reflection. As the minutes pass, the blue hour reveals layers of depth, its hues shifting subtly from soft indigos to deep cobalts, mirroring the complexities of human emotion. Amidst this evolving canvas, the blue hour experiences moments of fleeting brilliance, where bursts of vibrant colors momentarily disrupt its tranquil facade, hinting at the untapped potential within its depths. Eventually, as the night encroaches and the blue hour fades into darkness, it leaves behind a lingering sense of melancholy, tempered by the promise of renewal with each new dawn.
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Every year, some time around now, the morning post plops onto the doormat at 123 Somewhereintheblackcountry Street, Walsall, England (not a real address – or an impressive and unintended coincidence if it is). A stovepipe hat wearing septuagenarian hears the sound of the letterbox flap dropping back into place and shuffles along the hall to where among the myriad leaflets for home delivery pizza services that have spread across the floor, he finds and opens an envelope, in which lies a cheque made payable to a Mr N Holder for a very large sum of money. Attached to the cheque is a note which screams “IT’S CHRISTMAS!!!, Love you Noddy, from the people in charge of the dishing out the royalties.” All is well in the world and this famous pensioner will survive the year ahead in comfort and unaffected by the astronomical wholesale price increases in gas and electricity. All because of a song he sung as the front man of a band called Slade nearly fifty years ago that still gets blasted across the airwaves in every supermarket, every workplace and at every party across the land as soon as the bunting goes up in early November. Merry Christmas Everbody!
I really hate that song. In fact, that’s pretty much my position on all popular Christmas songs. In fact (and you may need to read the next bit with your eyes covered because it contains a blasphemy), I even hate “Fairytale of New York,” and that’s an undeniably wonderful record – everyone loves that one don’t they? I know that makes no sense, but when you hear these songs played on loop time after time, year after year wherever you go, whether you asked to hear them or not, you start to wonder how much more of it you can take. But most of all, I can’t stand that song by Slade; the one I’ve been forced to listen to for weeks on end every year since I was seven years old. Anyone coming into my office during the festive period (or any other period for that matter) was far more likely to be serenaded with Black Sabbath or Rainbow; or maybe Billie Holliday if I was in a more reflective mood. If they popped their heads through the door to say goodbye at the end of the day, then they might find me sitting at my desk with my head in my hands, lost somewhere amidst Dave Gilmour’s guitar break from “Comfortably Numb.” I always save Pink Floyd for the most important moments.
So you’re probably thinking to yourself, “what a miserable old curmudgeon he is, listening to Pink Floyd while we’re all being invited to Step into Christmas by Elton John” and you may be right, but it’s just that I’ve never been comfortable with what someone I once knew rather creatively referred to as “enforced jollity.” I like to enjoy things (including Christmas) in my own quiet way, and I never understand why people feel the need to almost bankrupt themselves in the annual budget race as they seek out the most extravagant crackers and a turkey the size of a small ostrich. Most people don’t even like turkey because no matter what recipe they follow, the resulting Christmas Day roast is a dry as a fortnight in Lanzarote. Answers on a postcard please. In fact, Ali and I were supposed to be in Lanzarote at the moment, but the arrival of Omicron B put the frighteners on us and we postponed that much wanted dose of winter Vitamin D. Although in retrospect it seems we may as well have gone in any case.
Lee and I were discussing the pleasures of the Yuletide season on the way to a place where you can’t hear Slade on Monday, and concluded that the best thing ever about Christmas is the break from work. He said his wife couldn’t wait to have thirteen days catching up on sleep and overdosing on cheese, which pretty much echoed my favourite memories of the festive period in the days when work ruled everything. A couple of days earlier, after some lengthy discussions around whether we were really bothered at all about it, Ali and I had finally decided to drag the decorations out of the loft. It was a slow process, interrupted by her insistence on singing the words of non Christmas songs to the wrong tunes; something she does deliberately at regular intervals to make me think I’ve finally lost the plot completely. Either that or she’s in the mood to amuse herself by awakening the uncontrollable pedant that lurks close to the surface, ever waiting to be invited to the table because she knows that the person who hates this trait in me most of all is myself. This time she was warbling happily away with the sparse lyrics of Lieutenant Pigeon’s “Mouldy Old Dough” to the tune of Roger Whittaker’s “Dirty of Town.” Try it for yourself – it works rather neatly in fact. So to correct her and also make sure my own memory was still intact, I located a YouTube video of the eternally bizarre “Mouldy Old Dough” and the next three minutes were lost to a bout of uncoordinated movements that were supposed to pass for dancing in the hallway as we procrastinated on the Christmas decorations. With further similar bouts of irrelevant and deliberate dithering, it took all day to finish assembling the fifteen year old artificial Virginia Pine and covering it in baubles and tinsel.
So, it seems appropriate that miserable old souls such as mine are cast into the wilderness, to a place where the strains of Slade’s annual reign can’t reach, and I can enjoy the sound of not very much at all. After all, a brain as full as much useless nonsense as this one contains needs a quiet space in which to recover. On Monday, we found such silent contentment in the misty and rainy wilds of Dartmoor, an early start delivering us to the abandoned Nun’s Cross Farm, where the only other human we saw was a lone trail runner who wasn’t playing Slade on his headphones as far as I could tell. Life seems so much easier in places where nobody is urging you to join in the fun and sing along with everyone else. And no, I’m not going to wear a paper crown either, just because we always do.
Today’s post is dedicated to all you similarly minded people whose only crime is to want to escape the madness of enforced jollity. For those of you who love the madness, do have fun, but please leave us out of it – we’re happy being miserable after all. It’s why we come to places like Nun’s Cross Farm in the pouring rain in December.
And as for Mariah Carey - let's not even go there..........
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photo rights reserved by Ben
High above the waters of Lake Ohrid lies the beautiful Paradise Nest Guesthouse, hidden among trees and gentle hills. After following the winding road uphill, we arrive at this peaceful place with an impressive view over one of the most beautiful lakes in the Balkans. The small houses are entirely built of wood and blend perfectly into the natural surroundings. Warm colors, wooden balconies and flowers around the house give the place an almost alpine atmosphere. In the garden a hammock hangs between the greenery — a perfect spot to relax for a while and enjoy the quiet of the mountains. The family running the guesthouse is incredibly warm and welcoming, making you feel at home immediately. Despite its secluded location, the narrow road leading up the hillside is still manageable without a 4x4, as long as you drive slowly. From the guesthouse you look out over the vast Lake Ohrid, one of the oldest and deepest lakes in Europe. The lake is estimated to be more than one million years old and is home to hundreds of unique plant and animal species that exist nowhere else in the world. The mountains on the far side already belong to Albania, as the lake lies exactly on the border between North Macedonia and Albania. This place, surrounded by nature, wood and tranquility, makes it easy to understand why travelers enjoy staying here for a while and simply taking in the view over this timeless lake.
High above the waters of Lake Ohrid, in North Macedonia, the beautiful Paradise Nest Guesthouse is tucked away among trees and hills. The wooden cabins blend perfectly into the natural surroundings, creating a peaceful place to relax — a hammock in the garden, mountain silence, and views over one of the oldest lakes in Europe, more than one million years old.
Hoog boven het water van het Meer van Ohrid ligt het prachtige Paradise Nest Guesthouse, verscholen tussen bomen en heuvels. Na de slingerende weg omhoog bereiken we deze rustige plek met een indrukwekkend uitzicht over één van de mooiste meren van de Balkan. De kleine huisjes zijn volledig van hout gebouwd en passen perfect in de natuurlijke omgeving. Warme kleuren, houten balkons en bloemen rondom het huis geven het geheel een bijna alpine sfeer. In de tuin hangt een hangmat tussen het groen — een perfecte plek om even tot rust te komen en te genieten van de stilte van de bergen. De familie die het guesthouse runt is bijzonder gastvrij en behulpzaam, waardoor je je meteen welkom voelt. Ondanks de afgelegen ligging is de smalle weg naar boven nog net te doen zonder 4x4, zolang je rustig rijdt. Vanuit het guesthouse kijk je uit over het enorme Meer van Ohrid, één van de oudste en diepste meren van Europa. Het meer is naar schatting meer dan één miljoen jaar oud en herbergt honderden unieke planten- en diersoorten die nergens anders ter wereld voorkomen. De bergen aan de overkant behoren al tot Albanië, want het meer ligt precies op de grens tussen Noord-Macedonië en Albanië. Deze plek, omringd door natuur, hout en rust, maakt het gemakkelijk te begrijpen waarom reizigers hier graag even blijven hangen en genieten van het uitzicht over dit tijdloze meer.