View allAll Photos Tagged without
part of Street Art without Border project by Eric Marechal.
This paste up was of a print that I made from a photo that I took of myself with my Sony cybershot, while my baby was in the bath. It is made of four A4 sheets, printed in red, black and grey.
I sent it to Paris, Eric added his touch to the image, pasted it up and photographed it.
"Hitomi ugly is love." Author. Comedy female trio of Japan. Of "Morisancyu" "Miyuki Oshima".
Dating the first marriage! Popular broadcast writer, living together for the first time, home cooking for the first time, I can continue to be bullied and Buss fat from an early age, had never to talk for 10 minutes or more men and, for the first time without courtship jealousy. And that love I knew the first time really, the people, to be loved. About his marriage to the current bullying from childhood, laughter, excitement essay of tears.
This work is protected under copyright laws and agreements.
All Rights Reserved © 2012 Bernard Egger :: rumoto images
► Absolutely no usage without my prior written permission ◄
NO RELEASE ! NO Creative Commons license | NO flickr API
Todos los derechos reservados • Tous droits réservés • Todos os direitos reservados • Все права защищены • Tutti i diritti riservati
If you may want to see out more of my images, or you ever have questions for buying and usages of the photographs - I'd love to hear from you.
☆ :: rumoto images | differs from all the turkeys out there
TO SEE IN 30/60 OPTED OUT GROUPS !
please do not invite my images to 30/60 restricted groups !
:: Бернхард Эггер, фото, rumoto, фотограф, photography, Fotográfico, supershot, action, emotion, emotions, Faszination, motoring, classic, Classic-Motorrad, historic, historique, historisch, storiche, vintage, Oldtimer, Oldtimersport, Leidenschaft, passion, Maschine, Moto, motocyclisme, Motorcycle, Motorcycles, Motorrad, Motorräder, Motorbike, Мотоциклы и байкеры, 摩托, 車, バイク, Motorräder, دراجةنارية, λέταאופנוע, 오토바이, Motocicletă, Мотоцикл, รถจักรยานยนต์, 摩托车, Motorcykel, Mootorratas, Moottoripyörä, Motosiklèt, Motorkerékpár, Motocikls, Motociklas, Motorsykkel, Motocykl, Motocicleta, Motocykel, Motosiklet, motorbike, sidecars, sidecar, sidecarrace, Beiwagen, klassik, Szene, scene, old, Motorradsport, Zweirad, speed, race, action, Motorsport, motorracing, supershot, Nikon, FX, full-frame, Nikkor, Fotos, Bilder, images, photofiles, pictures, カメラマン, stunning, Sportfoto, supershot, canvas, printed, posters, Poster, prints, print, quality, fine art, large, xxl, Kunstdruck, Grußkarte, Europe, gallery, Galerie, collection, Sammlung,
Event, Events, Oldtimer Grand Prix, Bergpreis, Bergrennen, Bergtrophy, Bol D’Or, Grand Prix, IOM, Manx, MotoGP, Gedächtnisrennen, memorial, Mugelo, Österreichring, Salzburgring, Red Bull Ring, Hausruckring, Rennen, race, roadracing, road race, Straßenrennen, Strassenrennen, TT, Tourist Trophy, race trake, circuit, Rennstrecke, Meisterschaft, Weltmeisterschaft,
legends, Weltmeister, world champion, Giacomo Agostini, Auinger, Steve Baker, Bartol, Jonny Cecotto, Maria Costello, Michael Doohan, Joe Dunlop, Everts, Rupert Hollaus, Mike Hailwood, Carlos Lavado, Eddie Lawson, Marco Luccinelli, Randy Mamola, Alois Maxwald, Minich, Eduard Stöllinger, Phil Read, Kenny Roberts, Valentino Rossi, Jarno Saarinen, Renzo Pasolini, Barry Sheene, John Surtees, Luigi Taveri, Franco Uncini, Freddie Spencer, Bruno Kneubühler, Karl Zach,
sidecar, sidecars, Seitenwagen, Beiwagen, Kneeler, LCR, Klaus Enders, Werner Schwärzel, Siegfried Schauzu, Wolfgang Kalauch, Heinz Luthringshauser, Rolf Steinhausen, Rolf Biland, Klaus Klaffenböck, Klaffi, Christian Parzer, George O'Dell, Jock Taylor, Alain Michel, Egbert Streuer, Steve Webster, Darren Dixon, Paul Güdel, Steve Abbott, Tim Reeves, Tristan Reeves, Pekka Päivärinta, Adolf Hänni, Ben Birchall, Tom Birchall, Josef Moser, Michael Grabmüller, Aicher, Pitzenberg, Aich, Schwauna, MSV Schwanenstadt, Schwanenstadt, Oberösterreich, Austria,
Vom Oldtimer Grand Prix Schwanenstadt gibt es tausende weitere Aufnahmen. Nikon FX-Format - Qualität & optimale Eignung für Mega-Poster. Hier sehen Sie ein Bild in stark reduzierter Auflösung.
Hawaii’s Last Outlaw Hippies by Brendan Borrell, Hakai Magazine
After half a century, the counterculture squatters of Kalalau Valley are facing a final eviction
The Neverland is always more or less an island, with astonishing splashes of colour here and there, and coral reefs and rakish-looking craft in the offing, and savages and lonely lairs, and gnomes who are mostly tailors, and caves through which a river runs, and princes with six elder brothers, and a hut fast going to decay, and one very small old lady with a hooked nose.
—J. M. Barrie, Peter Pan
The first person I meet in the Kalalau Valley is a shoeless veteran from the Iraq War with a sun-faded REI backpack slung over his tattooed shoulders like a trophy. Barca, as he calls himself, heard that a kayaker had abandoned the pack in a beach cave and made a beeline out to the bluffs to claim it.
Visitors are always just throwing stuff away in this place. Over here, a folding chair with a broken arm rest. Over there, a half-empty fuel canister. Now, the backpack—that’s a rare find. “Do you know how much these are worth?” Barca asks me.
In, like, dollars? Ten, tops.
“A lot!” he says without waiting for my answer.
Barca, who is 34, subsists as a scavenger deep inside the Nāpali Coast State Park on Kaua‘i’s west coast. The centerpiece of this 2,500-hectare park—the Kalalau Valley—forms a natural amphitheater that opens to the ocean and the ocean alone. The valley’s steep, green walls rise up on three sides like curtains, sealing it off from the island’s interior. Glassy threads of water are tucked into every crease of these walls, cascading down from a height greater than Yosemite Falls. First farmed by Polynesian settlers centuries ago, this remote paradise is nothing short of a feral garden, a breadbasket bursting with nearly everything a crafty human specimen needs to survive. “This is the closest that mankind has come to making Eden,” Barca says. “When the avos are in season, we eat avos. When the mangoes are in season, we eat mangoes.”
If you’re wondering whether he’s allowed to be living off the land here, the answer is no. Barca is a squatter in the eyes of the Hawaiian state government; he’s an eco-villain, a rule-breaker who needs to be eradicated. Barca, naturally, calls this slander. “If you don’t love this place with all of your heart, you couldn’t live here,” he says. Though he has only been a resident for eight months, which by valley standards makes him a relative newcomer, he’s already well on his way to becoming an expert in what he calls “Kalalau-ology.” He’s not only a trash recycler, he’s also a defender of the land, a gardener, a botanist, a cultural interpreter, and an anarchist-theorist. His tendency to grin and stroke his goatee when he’s talking gives him a puckish air, which underscores his antiestablishment streak. Spotting a group of tourists clambering across a stream in their pristine Gore-Tex boots, he is contemptuous. “Most of the people who come out here don’t know how to live in the woods,” he says. “They don’t even bury their shit!”
His rapid-fire diatribe is a lot to take in during my first five minutes in the valley, particularly since I’d woken up before dawn to hike the 18-kilometer trail to get here. At the moment, what I want more than a feast of mangoes or a discourse on backcountry sanitation is a place to drop my own pack, which I paid US $200 for and filled with a week’s worth of freeze-dried provisions (the horror). But where to sleep? Camping permits are hard to come by in Eden, and I hadn’t been able to get one before my last-minute trip, so, like it or not, I, too, would have to be an outlaw. I ask Barca if he knows any low-key spots to pitch my tent.
“Follow me,” he says, wrapping a kaffiyeh around his head to shield it from the sun. He needs to pick up an old cooking grate from another campsite and knows of the perfect hideaway for me. The next thing I know, he is off, bounding from rock to rock in his bare feet. To my right, I look down and dizzily watch the waves crashing over rounded stones more than 30 meters below. Next, we hug a boulder and Barca points toward a tunnel in the vegetation that leads to a campsite invisible to the rangers hunting squatters from helicopters.
After dropping off my things, Barca and I head down to the white sand beach and he unspools his life story. After a tour of duty in Iraq a decade ago, he struggled to make sense of the fact that he had killed people and had been nearly killed himself. “I had my issues when I got out,” he says.
He worked as an archaeologist in Northern California but realized that he was ill-suited to modern society. He felt as if his brain, rattled from his war years, needed a respite. He was repelled by the idea of walling himself off from his neighbors in a house in the suburbs or paying taxes in support of a system he no longer believed in. Even the idea of ordering a coffee each morning—from that multinational corporation with a mermaid logo—was too much. “It was hard to come back to the real world and take the minutiae of the day seriously,” he says. He’d get angry. He’d get drunk and fight. A friend told him about this dreamlike valley in Hawaii where you could live in the eternal present. Kalalau. He came. He stayed. “I don’t know if any place has felt this much like home to me,” he says, shortly before dropping his camouflage cargo shorts and diving into the surf.
Barca is not the only one who has felt such a bond with this place. Since at least the 1960s, the Kalalau Valley has been a magnet for long-haired hippies, crystal-stroking New Agers, deodorant-free backpackers, and others seeking a spiritual awakening—or at least a good place to skinny dip. During the Vietnam War, a group of draft dodgers and disillusioned veterans living in tree houses at the end of the paved road on the north coast realized that it would be the perfect place to grow marijuana in the summers.
It was the peak of counterculture activity, but as the years wore on idealism smacked into the messiness of society. This haven transformed from an idyllic retreat to a millennial party zone and an occasional pirate’s lair, and right now tolerance is wearing thin. After a local woman was killed when her car was hit by a fugitive named Cody Safadago who had spent some time in Kalalau last spring, the state launched a crackdown to clean out the squatters. They ticketed a total of 34 people last year and took at least one man out in handcuffs. Barca escaped unscathed. “I fucking live here and I know which way to run,” he says. “It’s my house and you’re not going to get somewhere in my house faster than I am.”
Sympathy for the squatters’ plight was scarce around Kaua‘i, however. Photos from the raids showed town folk just how elaborate the valley camps had become. One camp was outfitted with an earthen pizza oven and a queen-sized bed on a bamboo frame and contained what the state referred to, somewhat hyperbolically, as a “marijuana growing operation” complete with solar- and battery-powered lights. The valley also featured a secret movie theater and a library—a musty old tent filled with vintage treasures like The Joy of Partner Yoga and a book of Cat Stevens songs. All told, the state hauled out 2.5 tonnes of trash. “There’s a sense of entitlement,” Curt Cottrell, head of Hawaii’s state parks, told me. “People were crapping on archaeological sites and digging in the beach sand like cats.”
The uproar brought to the fore deep questions about race, sovereignty, and the future of the natural world in commodified, modern Hawaii. How can society benefit the most from a place like Kalalau with its complicated history? Do we give it over to the well-heeled tourists who book hiking permits six months in advance or pay $200 a person for 60-minute helicopter tours? Or does it still belong to the native Hawaiians who rarely visit, but whose ancestors were the first to shape the landscape? And what do you do about the haole (white) outlaws like Barca who, in their ragamuffin way, carry on the countercultural project of the 1960s and maintain some kind of order in a place with only an occasional government presence.
The one thing that is undeniable is that the valley is one of the most desirable places in the world for people who have practically nothing to take a break from the rules and rituals of modern life and eke out a simpler existence. Barca calls it a “Disney forest,” a tropical refuge devoid of venomous snakes or man-eating tigers, where almost everyone speaks English and looks pretty much like everyone else. Living here is like popping a Prozac each morning but without all the bad juju. A fruit smoothie for your soul—or something like that. All I know is I want to experience it before it’s gone.
There’s no easy way into Kalalau. The ring road that wraps around Kaua‘i has a 30-kilometer gap that is the Nāpali coast. For most of the year, the ocean is too rough to bring in a kayak. Motorized boats are forbidden, and the state has cracked down on locals offering an illegal water taxi service. Your best bet is to lug in supplies on the Kalalau Trail, which crosses five steep valleys and has been called “the most incredible hike in America.”
The cliff-side path also happens to be one of the world’s most dangerous. One wrong step at Crawler’s Ledge could send you careening into the sea. The many stream crossings are prone to flash flooding. At the three-kilometer mark on Hanakāpīʻai Beach, a white cross stands in honor of Janet Ballesteros, a 53-year-old woman who drowned there in 2016—the 83rd victim of its treacherous waters, according to a somewhat dubious tally on a sign there. Along with nature, you also have to contend with the people. In 2013, for instance, an Oregon man on a bad acid trip shoved his Japanese lover off a cliff.
Before my trip in July, it was hard to find information on how effective the raids really were and how risky it would be for me to head there. Mango, a former resident who had fled for greener pastures in Oregon, told me he was still getting text messages from a satellite communicator that the valley residents had at their disposal. I was surprised to learn that some of the most die-hard Kalalau outlaws were actually supportive of the rangers. “They are the predators culling the herd,” another regular visitor told me. “They are keeping the people in there strong and vigilant.”
My best bet for sneaking in undetected is to leave before sunrise one Saturday morning. As the first light breaks through the forest canopy, I pad my way down the trail and try to envision what this place was like before the squatters or anyone else set foot here. For one, I would have found little relief from the sun’s rays. The six-meter-high guava trees that now make up most of the forest were only introduced in 1825, and they quickly outgrew the native Hawaiian flora that featured a more open canopy.
In the late 1700s, when George Dixon, a British fur trader who once served under Captain James Cook, sailed along this coast, he concluded that it was barren of civilization. “The shore down to the water’s edge is, in general, mountainous, and difficult to access,” he wrote. “I could not see any level ground, or the least sign of this part of the island being inhabited.”
Dixon was, of course, mistaken. Thatched huts blend in well with the vegetation. In Kalalau, which offers about 80 hectares of agricultural terrain, the population likely numbered in the hundreds, according to subsequent missionary censuses. The oldest known human settlement on Kaua‘i, which dates to the 10th century, was situated at Kēʻē Beach—the starting point of the Kalalau Trail.
While the Nāpali coast is often described as a “wilderness,” the truth is it’s more like an abandoned supermarket surrounded by some epic scenery. The place is crisscrossed by stone walls, remnants of the terraced gardens, or lo‘i, Hawaiians constructed hundreds of years ago to cultivate taro, the principal “canoe plant” that Polynesians moved across the Pacific. These settlers gradually replaced the native forest shrub lands with kukui nuts and ginger, along with pili for their thatch roofs.
Later residents and white ranchers brought in livestock, including goats, pigs, and cattle, and planted the guava and Java plum trees that form most of the forest. “As in many lowland areas in Hawaii, introduced plants now form entire communities, dominating major portions of the park,” reads a 1990 report from Hawaii’s Division of State Parks. The Kalalau Valley, the largest valley in the park, is one of the few places on Kaua‘i where you won’t hear roosters crowing each morning. Instead, the forests are filled with another immigrant, Erckel’s francolin—a ground bird from Africa.
As the valley’s hodgepodge ecosystem took shape, it also began to develop its outlaw reputation. In 1893, after a group of American businessmen overthrew the queen of what was then the Kingdom of Hawaii, they decided to round up native Hawaiians under the auspices of a leprosy quarantine.
Sheriff Louis Stolz and two policemen headed out to Kalalau to remove one rogue band of lepers. There, a cowboy named Kaluaikoolau, or Ko’olau, shot the sheriff twice with a rifle, killing him, and became a hero of the native resistance. A bungled manhunt ended with more casualties and Ko’olau remained in the valley, unpunished, until his natural death two years later. “Free he had lived, and free he was dying,” the author Jack London eulogized in a short story about Ko’olau’s life.
Kameaoloha Hanohano-Smith, whose great-grandfather was part of the last generation to grow up in Kalalau, says it took a while for the Hawaiian people to understand what was happening to their culture. “One day we were a kingdom, and the next thing we knew we were part of the US,” he says.
In December 1959, Ebony magazine profiled the only permanent resident in Kalalau: a black physician named Bernard Wheatley (“a crank, a holy man, a schizophrenic and a genius”) who spent a decade living in a cave there until hippies started crowding him out. “Longhairs seek a place in the sun on Kaua‘i,” reads one headline from the time. The Hawaiian state government bought the property in 1974, and tried to evict the squatters before establishing the park in 1979, but they came back. They always come back.
“We were free-minded people looking for a better place to live without the restrictions of society,” says Billy Guy, who first visited Kalalau after serving as an army medic during the Vietnam War and has returned for long stretches over the decades. “I’m fulfilling a dream.” By the mid-1990s, there were as many as 50 or 60 haole frolicking in a paradise that the kanaka—native Hawaiians—had created.
Freedom means different things to different people. While the hippies and latter-day outlaws may chafe under the norms of mainstream society, they still have to create their own rules for living together peacefully. The most that even the most hopeful can hope for is not a society without rules, but a tolerant one. And a tolerant place is bound to attract its share of misfits.
From the beginning, something seemed a little off about Cody Safadago. He had washed up in Kalalau last April with almost no possessions and had taken over a communal camp down by the beach. He was a rough-looking fellow in his early 40s with a buzz cut and two fleshy lips that hung on his face in a permanent scowl. Safadago had spent time in prison for beating his wife back in Washington State and, in 2014, was arrested in Belize after absconding from his parole officer and fleeing the country. He had been bumming around Kaua‘i since January at least, and had been arrested for disorderly conduct and assaulting an officer.
The people of Kalalau were wary of Safadago. He insisted, incessantly in almost every conversation he had, that he was God and everyone should bow down before him. “I talked to him for literally two hours,” says 30-year-old Carlton Forrest from Phoenix. “He was crazy, iced out beyond belief.” In the valley, it’s not easy to get help in the event of an emergency. The ranger station is usually empty, and cellphones don’t work here. The “family,” as the squatters sometimes call themselves, knew they needed to boot Safadago before something terrible happened.
A rangy outlaw in his 30s, who asked me to call him Sticky Jesus, began dismantling Safadago’s camp one morning. Befitting at least one part of his name, Sticky has long brown hair and a prophet’s beard. “You need to leave,” he ordered Safadago, who was sprawled out in a lawn chair.
Safadago opened his mouth to protest, making wild accusations about other residents. Sticky spun around and kicked him in the chest, knocking him out of the chair, according to an account described by Sticky and confirmed by other valley residents. “Can I just get my things?” Sticky remembers Safadago begging.
Sticky tossed a few of Safadago’s possessions his way and then pulled a flaming stick from the cooking fire and hit him with it as he retreated from camp. Safadago kept a low profile for a few days until he was ordered onto the back of a jet ski making an illegal drop-off and banished from the valley.
He wasn’t their problem anymore. At least that’s what they thought.
Safadago landed in the town of Kapa‘a, on the developed east side of Kaua‘i, where he got drunk and stole a Nissan pickup. He was driving over 140 kilometers per hour—three times the speed limit—when he crossed the centerline of the highway and struck a Mazda sedan head on. The young woman in the car, Kayla Huddy-Lemn, was pronounced dead at the hospital. Safadago stumbled out of the pickup—face covered in blood—and wandered up to a shopping mall, where he was arrested.
When a person dies like that, the whole island hears about it. About 50 kilometers in diameter, Kaua‘i is about the size of London and has a population of just over 72,000. As the news came out that Safadago had spent time in Kalalau, locals discovered a Facebook group called “Kalalau!” that appeared to show squatters moving stones from an ancient Hawaiian temple, known as a heiau, to divert water for farming projects. A hillbilly hippie named Ryan North (alias: Krazy Red), who spends a few weeks there every year, posted trippy videos of himself saluting the camera while bare-chested white women danced in hula skirts.
“Bitches, this has nothing to do with race. It just so happens all of you fucked up, selfish Kalalau hippies are white,” one angry Hawaiian vented in a social media post.
Some observers complained that the squatters were collecting food stamps, known as electronic benefit transfers, to support their hedonistic lifestyle (true). Others argued that the place had become a breeding ground for sketchballs (sorta true). “You just don’t know who could be hiding out in Kalalau,” a woman named Kristi Sasachika told a local reporter. The vitriol was so worrisome that the Garden Island newspaper published an editorial warning locals against a “vigilante mindset.”
Long-term residents say that it’s not fair to lump them in with the careless partiers who often get dropped off by boat with a case of beer and a pile of Walmart camping gear they’ll probably leave behind. As in any society, there are good actors and bad ones. Kamealoha Hanohano-Smith, one of the locals with a genuine tie to the land, also takes a more measured tack. “I have a lot of aloha for people whether they are haole or whatever,” he told me over the phone. “I understand why they want to be there. They would love to believe they are appropriate stewards of the area, but the better thing would be for them to work with Hawaiian families.”
**********
On my second morning in Kalalau, I decide to go looking for the community garden. Starting at the beach, there’s an official trail that heads about three kilometers up the valley before hitting the steep back wall. It’s possible to walk up and down that trail a few times before you notice an unmarked spur off to one side.
Follow it for a hundred meters and the forest canopy opens up and you can hear a trickling at your feet. A dozen rectangular ponds glisten in the sun, meter-high taro plants sprouting from their waters. Paths leading around the ponds are lined with papaya, banana, jackfruit, soursop, and chestnut trees—all free for the taking. Squatters were once expected to do some work if they wanted to gather some fruit. But things are different now. “There aren’t any rules anymore,” says a resident named Mowgli, who offers to give me the tour.
Slender and muscular with his long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, Mowgli helped restore these flooded terraces, and is one of the hardest workers in Kalalau. His former camp, which sits on a plateau nearby, gives off a Lord of the Flies vibe, decorated with dozens of skulls from the goats and pigs he has slaughtered. The raids broke him. “It’s hard to focus on something when they want to take it apart,” he says. “This is one of the big tourist attractions in the valley,” he says of the garden.
“People want to come and see us and have Kalalau pizza,” says Mowgli’s female companion, whose only article of clothing is a baseball cap. She calls herself Joules. “Like the energy unit,” she explains.
I had given myself five days to explore the valley and immerse myself in the hippie-sphere. With a few notable exceptions, I learn that women like Joules rarely stay more than a few weeks in the valley, and, for whatever reason, they had become particularly scarce in the aftermath of the raids. At least during the time I was there, the testosterone surplus made the place feel less like a utopian kibbutz and more like a secret tree fort in your buddy’s backyard where girls are little understood or respected. Except these guys are adults. One offensive song I heard performed one evening referred to the “drainbow bitches” who “don’t do the dishes” after stopping in for a free meal. The men, nevertheless, longed for female company. “A woman who does stay has 10 guys trying to find her every day,” a 68-year-old bachelor named Stevie told me, drawing from his 35 years’ experience in the valley.
One evening, I sit with six other guys under the enormous mango trees at a camp maintained by a guy named Quentin. A bearded, genial host with a self-effacing manner, Quentin landed in Kalalau after his dream of making marijuana chocolates fizzled. “It was overwhelming,” he says of his failed attempt at capitalism. He tried to live out here with his girlfriend, but she couldn’t deal with the mosquitoes. “I started building things to make it more comfortable for her, like the cabinet by my bed,” he says, gesturing toward a bamboo console. “But really, she just didn’t like me.” She ended up hooking up with another guy in the valley—Sticky Jesus—when they were both back in town. “I really wanted to punch him in the face, and I even flicked him off once,” he says.
There was one tense evening when I thought a physical fight really might break out between two of the guys. I watched the only woman present slip away and head back to her tent. When I asked her about it later, she said it wasn’t the kind of experience she was looking for in Kalalau. The boys, she said, were lost in “never-never land.”
It’s remarkable that even in a place like Kalalau, people still get wrapped up in the same petty dramas they face living within four walls and with roofs over their heads. Paradise is never lost because it can never be found. People are jealous. They’re selfish. Thoughtless. Humans create societies for a reason. They create rules for a reason. A limited kind of social contract may exist in a place like Kalalau when few people are visiting and living there, but it easily frays in times of stress.
And as much as Kalalau—or the idea of Kalalau—means to the squatters, they are far from the only people who have a stake in its future.
Sabra Kauka, an educator in Hawaiian culture and past president of the Nā Pali Coast ’Ohana, a nonprofit that works with the state to protect the valley’s natural and cultural heritage, says people like Quentin and Barca and Mowgli should not be living in Kalalau. It’s against the law and it’s an insult to the Hawaiian people. In the late 1980s, Kauka took part in early efforts to clean up the valley. She and a group of volunteers would haul rubbish down to the beach and load it into slings that helicopters would carry away. “It stunned me that people who wanted a wilderness experience would be so insensitive,” she says. At a certain point, she simply gave up. “You do not want to do volunteer work that makes you angry.”
A state parks archaeologist, Alan Carpenter, told her about a 14th-century village site along the shoreline, Nualolo Kai, accessible only by boat and fringed by the largest reef on the Nāpali coast. For the past 25 years, Nā Pali Coast ’Ohana has focused almost all of its work at that site. They built fences to keep out goats and established a small native garden to preserve some of the region’s biodiversity. Under the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act, they have even brought back the remains of ancestors who were housed at the Bishop Museum in Honolulu and other repositories.
Now, under the auspices of Randy Wichman, a historian and the organization’s current president, they are finally making plans to bring their work back to Kalalau. Whether they can succeed in a place where they failed in the past remains to be seen. Wichman expresses some grudging admiration for the squatters’ ingenuity in terms of the work they’ve done on the lo‘i’s, but he says that some of them have done more harm than good. “Their intentions are good, but you obliterate history by not knowing exactly what you have,” he told me. “The valley would be stunning if it were in working order.”
**********
In 100 years, when their tarps have rotted away and their footpaths have been lost to the forest, I wonder what place the outlaws will occupy in the grand story of Kalalau. Though reviled in some quarters, their ethics questionable at times, the outlaws’ reign demonstrated to the modern world the power of place to the collective psyche. The vulnerable, confused, damaged often end up here, to heal and to grow before they rejoin the world. It’s kind of wonderful. “We’re tool-using monkeys,” Barca told me when I first met him. Being part of an interdependent community like Kalalau feeds a deep primate urge. “Biologically necessary,” is how he put it. More necessary for some than others.
The head of state parks, Curt Cottrell, told me that when he first moved to Hawaii in 1983 as a “bearded hippie guy,” hiking the Kalalau Trail was one of two goals. (The other was hiking to the summit of Mauna Loa.) When his permit expired, he evaded the rangers by swimming a few hundred meters south to Honopū, the next cove over, for a day. When I ask him if one day the park will find a way to commemorate the hippie occupation, he offers a careful response. “We have no desire to erase that history,” he says, “but at this point in time, we don’t feel like celebrating it until we get the place cleaned up.”
That may not be so easy. The agency has 117 staff members spread out over Hawaii’s 50 state parks. Kalalau is a priority, but there are so many places for squatters to hide that it’s impossible to kick them all out. The agency had asked the legislature for enough money to have two full-time staff members inside the park. Their request was denied.
Kalalau is already a very different place than it was just a few years ago. It’s undoubtedly the cleanest it has ever been. And apart from the intimate gatherings I’d witnessed up valley, the place had the feel of a ghost town. I spend my days exploring overgrown footpaths from one clearing to another, looking for abandoned campfire rings and other traces of recent human habitation. Even the official campsites were largely empty, hosting no more than 20 or 30 tourists each night while the state allows 60. Though native Hawaiians do visit and hunt inside the park, I met only outlaws during my visit.
Hanohano-Smith, who can trace his family back to the valley, says that he’d like to see regular Hawaiians—not just the state—playing a larger role in the future of Kalalau. He believes that his family should have free access to visit the land without vying for scarce permits and that Hawaiians should be able to benefit from it through jobs, possibly as teachers or guides. “It’s not just an issue of sustainability,” he says. “It’s the pride associated with being connected to the resources that provided for my family 1,000 years ago.”
On one of my last mornings in Kalalau, I see Sticky Jesus and Stevie loading their things onto a kayak on the beach. Stevie, the oldest resident out here, hasn’t been staying in the valley as often as he used to. Five years ago, he qualified for low-income housing and has a small home down in Kekaha. He loves Kalalau but at some point he knows he’ll be too weak to hike in or to take care of himself.
For Sticky, the story is a little more complicated. He is going to live in a van with Quentin’s ex-girlfriend and try to make a little money. I’m not sure if he’s going to come back, and I say as much. “I’ve got a house here still,” Sticky replies. “Most of it got taken a couple weeks ago, but I’ve got a good feeling about it.” He likes being free of his possessions.
“You didn’t take it as hard as Mowgli?” I ask.
“I don’t take anything as hard as Mowgli,” he says.
The two squatters hop into the kayak and Carlton gives them one last shove into the knee-deep water. We stand there for a few minutes, watching them disappear around the red bluffs to the south, and then I head back up the trail into the valley. I’m not ready to hike out just yet. I’m not looking forward to pulling out my wallet and paying for a piece of produce with a sticker on it when the fruit out here will drop to the forest floor and rot away without someone here to harvest it. I just need one more day living as an outlaw in the Kalalau Valley. Maybe two.
Even though I know the way, I ask Mei Ling (美铃) to lay in a course from work to home.
I never drive anywhere in China without Mei Ling, even when making short trips near home. She can read the traffic signs faster than I can; she knows arcane details about the interchanges that baffle even seasoned locals (such as the intersection where you make a left turn from the far right lane); and she's usually the first to see the traffic cameras that can summarily dole out fines.
Mei Ling and I are pretty good at spotting the cameras, but we have been nicked twice for speeding and once for making something called an "illegal turn." When you see how people drive here, you wouldn't think there was such a thing as an illegal manoeuvre, let alone an illegal turn. I suppose the municipality has to earn revenue somehow, hence the cameras. But I digress.
Mei Ling and I are a great team, but if I had one complaint, it would be this: Mei Ling can write some English, but she can neither read nor speak a word of it. She's been kind enough to provide some English labels that I can point at when I want her to do something, but all my other instructions have to be in writing... and in Chinese.
Sometimes I think it would be easier to travel with my American navigator, Jill.
Like Mei Ling, Jill is a no-nonsense, all-business kind of girl. She understood my every need when we were in North America, but she struggled here in China. At first I thought she might be having personal problems, because it wasn't like her to throw up her hands when faced with a challenge.
After a short time, the issue troubling her became clear: Jill can neither read nor speak Mandarin. As these are mandatory requirements for operating in China, I had to relieve her of duty and appoint the younger Mei Ling as my trusted advisor.
Mei Ling and Jill both know that I am a man who has a keen eye for pulchritude. I sometimes forget that I am not alone when I am in the car, and they have heard me when I have unconsciously blurted out my detailed appreciation of pretty pedestrians. I feared they might believe my baser instincts had caused me to unfairly favour one over the other. I know that isn't true – but how could I convince them my maleness had nothing to do with their situation?
Yes, Mei Ling is younger, slimmer, faster – and Asian. And, yes, Jill is – how should I put this? – chunkier, older, and satisfyingly experienced. But that's not why I employed them. I employed them to do a job: to get me efficiently and safely from Point A to Point B.
I appreciate Jill for the skills she possesses that Mei Ling can only dream of acquiring. For example, I only have to press a button, and Jill will listen attentively to every word I say and then take action. And Jill knows my favourite music and will arrange to play it on the car radio, interrupting only when she has an important observation about an upcoming manouever.
Still, Mei Ling has shown me secrets that Jill will never know, such as the exact choreography required to penetrate the enigma that is the interchange where Beijing's Second Ring Road meets Dong Si Shi Tiao. Besides, just touching Mei Ling... Just a hint of a caress is all it takes to stimulate a response.
How do employers keep their emotions out of day-to-day business?
I didn't want to hurt Jill nor favour Mei Ling. I told them both that I hoped we could continue to work together, but I feared that egos had been bruised.
I shouldn't have worried: Jill and Mei Ling are professionals.
I recently hired a car in San Jose without telling Mei Ling. When I arrived in California, I asked Jill to guide me on my travels, and she accepted without a hint of bitterness. She said and asked nothing about Mei Ling.
When I returned to Beijing, Mei Ling did the same, even though I'm certain she knew I had been with Jill.
I am relieved that both Mei Ling and Jill remain in my life, for, truth be told, I love them both.
We've worked together for some time now, but it occurs to me that I know nothing of Mei Ling's and Jill's personal lives. Where do they live? Do they have hobbies? Do they have boyfriends?
That last question pushes boundaries, and is probably inappropriate. Besides, Jill strikes me as someone who would have a girlfriend.
"Mei Ling" is the factory-installed voice setting on the Chinese version of the Garmin 1355, a GPS with a responsive touch screen. "Jill" is the voice of the Garmin 855, a GPS with built-in MP3 player and speech recognition module. These devices exhibit human-like behaviours that include culture shock and jealousy.
© 2011 K W Hadley
This story appears in the 2012-05-17 edition of China Daily online.
Do not use without permission!
Disney Twitter: twitter.com/ThatDisneyLover
Photography Twitter: twitter.com/LJK_Photography
Youtube: www.youtube.com/user/PixelPixie123
Personal Instagram: www.instagram.com/thatdisneylover/
Photography Instagram: www.instagram.com/ljknightonphotography/
If any performers, characters or cast members that would like photos for personal or portfolio reasons, you may have any photo of themselves for a higher resolution or with a smaller watermark. Please either contact me through Twitter.
Copyright © Ruggero Poggianella Photostream.
All rights reserved. Please, do not use my photos/videos without my written permission.
Please note that the fact that "This photo is public" doesn't mean it's public domain or a free stock image. Unauthorized use is strictly prohibited. If you wish to use any of my images for any reason/purpose please contact me for written permission. Tous droits reservés. Défense d'utilisation de cette image sans ma permission. Todos derechos reservados. No usar sin mi consentimiento.
© Copyright: Você não pode usar !
© Copyright: Sie dürfen es nicht kopieren !
© حقوق النشر محفوظة. لا يمكنك استخدام الصورة
La chiesa di Santa Maria della Catena è una struttura in stile gotico-catalano che si trova nei pressi della Cala a Palermo. Venne costruita, al posto di una piccola cappelletta, tra il 1490 e il 1520 a opera dell'architetto Matteo Carnilivari e prese questo nome poiché su un muro della chiesa era posta un'estremità della catena che chiudeva il porto della Cala. Una versione più leggendaria parla di un miracolo che nel XIV secolo fece sciogliere al sole le catene di alcuni prigionieri condannati ingiustamente, che avevano chiesto aiuto alla "Vergine delle Grazie". L'opera è forse l'esempio più significativo del maturare di un'interpretazione locale del Rinascimento nell'architettura siciliana e palermitana in particolare, con un connubio di elementi tardo rinascimentali e gotico-catalani. Annessa alla chiesa vi è la casa conventuale del 1602, che dal 1844 è sede dell'Archivio di Stato. L'architettura della chiesa è caratterizzata da una serrata correlazione tra interno ed esterno. All'interno tre navate sono seprate da tozze colonne rinforzate da pilastri rettangolari, che reggono gli archi catalani (ribassati) della volta intervallati da archi ogivali di traverso. All'esterno si nota una medesima impostazione, con le lesene che percorrono le mura perimetrali e il portico tripartito da archi catalani, come le navate, in cima a una scalinata (inizialmente a due rampe, ampliata nel 1845). Le colonne, in una ricerca anticlassica, appaiono sproporzionate e mortificate dall'esuberanza degli archi con le nervature policrome, dalle fantasiose reinterpretazioni dei capitelli ionici e dagli apparati scultorei minori. Le bifore sono ornatissime e la zona absidale è caratterizzata da un complesso gioco di spazi a base ottagonale, coordinati dalla concezione unitaria. All'interno sono conservate una Natività con Adorazione dei Pastori, tela del XVII secolo di autore ignoto, una Natività e un'Adorazione dei Magi, bassorilievi del XVI secolo attribuiti a Vincenzo e Antonello Gagini che scolpirono anche i capitelli delle colonne e i portali d'ingresso. La prima cappella di destra è dedicata a Santa Brigida, con al centro una tela di pittore ignoto del XVII secolo che raffigura la santa in gloria, mentre ai lati e sul soffitto vi sono degli affreschi risalenti al XVIII secolo di Olivio Sozzi, che raffigurano da sinistra la Vergine che incorana santa Brigida, Santa Brigida in gloria e Cristo che gli mostra il suo costato insanguinato. La seconda cappella contiene l'accesso a un'ex-cappella votiva: la porta era l'antico ingresso della chiesa. L'affresco in questa cappella risale al XIV secolo ed è la venerata effigie della Vergine delle Grazie. In esso la Vergine tiene Gesù Bambino in braccio, che assomiglia a un adulto rimpicciolito a stazza di bambino, poiché secondo i bizantini Gesù, essendo stato sempre molto saggio, non poteva mai essere stato bambino. Ha anche la testa calva per evidenziare la sua saggezza. Ai quattro angoli della cappella si trovano le statue di quattro sante: Margherita (a sinistra dell'altare) Ninfa (a destra dell'altare), Barbara (a sinistra davanti all'affresco) e Oliva (destra). Tutte le statue sono attribuite ai Gagini.
f&b world magazine, a food and beverage industry magazine based in manila, downloaded one of my flickr photos and published it without permission, and without credit, despite its creative commons license. shame on you, f&b world! at least you could have picked a better photo.
update 21 march 06: mattered settled! quite amicably, really. thank you for all your support!
-Spartan: my first real Victorinox, carried it a few months until i bought the camper. Found it!
-Camper: my first Victorinox i bought, awesome little knife!
-Rucksack: huge locking blade+large saw= amazing for work in the woods.
-Waiter bought because it was on sale somewhere and it sit in my backpackas my corkscrew and tweezers knife.
-The no name one has a new point on it (on both blades) it took a long time because i only have whetstone.
Yet another brand new Mercedes-Benz Sprinter ambulance of Northern Ireland Ambulance Service.
------------------------------
This photo is Copyright 2011 by Calvert Photography and may not be downloaded, stored, edited, manipulated, externally hosted, embedded, transmitted or used in any way without my permission.
Larger size without watermarks is available to license upon request.
Clowns Without Borders is by essence a non-typical NGOs. Whereas other organizations help poverty-stricken populations with food, shelter, donations, CWB supplies a no-less fundamental - yet scarce - resource : laughter. Sending professional performers, actors, dancers in refugee camps across the world, this organization tries to heal the wounds of war through comedy, allowing children and parents alike to forget - if only for a a few days - the ordeals they have just been through. CWB brings together an amazing array of artists and social workers, and it has been an honor to volunteer as a photographer for their "Sudan trip" volunteer party. For more information, visit : clownswithoutborders.org/
(without retouching) MODEL: Eva N. PHOTOGRAFER: Misa Dzurna MAKEUP ARTIST: Kamila Šimánková STYLING: Lenka Machacova
Picture I took a while back in Florida...
posting it in honor of "one day without shoes" which is this thursday(april 8).
Its a toms shoes event. you can check out the details for it at www.onedaywithoutshoes.com
everyone should paricipate!!=]
This image may not be used in any way without prior permission
© All rights reserved 2011
Mississauga, Ontario, Canada
Toronto Pearson International Airport CYYZ
20110418_215523_0475
This is a hand held photo, without any alteration, not even cropping. See it better, tap on it!
I was invited to a group that accepts only photos without editing. I added this one, and it is exactly as I took it...
I do must of all nature photography, and from time to time city life. I enjoy trying new techniques, and transforming some of my photos into something different and ( I think) artistic.
EXPLORE:
Also, I’m very proud to say that twenty eight of my photos made it to Explore, many are still on, many are still on, three of them at 25, 14 and 52, still! If you’d like to see them, please go to my Explore set.
If you’d like to see them, please go to my Explore set.
TO MY FRIENDS:
Flickr has giving me opportunity to meet a group of wonderful people. Thanks for making me feel so proud of what I do and love. You know who you are…
ABOUT GROUPS:
I would gladly submit my photos to the groups that would allow me to see their pages and be part of them. Please, don’t invite me to groups that will show my work once, and by invitation. I rather be part of a group that will allow me to choose my own material, and decide what to put and when. Remember, we are artists, and very temperamental ;)
MY THANKS:
Thanks for coming and for viewing my photos. I appreciate all comments, so leave one, if you want to.
Have great day, and enjoy the ride!
Martha.
The very smart livery of Ensignbus dominating the scene at Grays Bus Station. Photograph taken before the release of the news that the First Group are taking over the Ensignbus mainstream business without the heritage fleet.
Wrightbus StreetDeck front and rear view.
Route 501 - The Queen Streetcar, Toronto [ transit.toronto.on.ca/streetcar/4101.shtml ]
"'A World Without Love' is a song that was recorded by the English duo Peter and Gordon and released as their first single in February 1964, reaching #1 in the UK Singles Chart in April. The song was written by Paul McCartney and attributed to Lennon/McCartney. This song was never released by the Beatles and despite online rumours, no recording of the song by the group survives The Beatles. The Peter and Gordon single included 'If I Were You' written by the duo. It was later included on the duo's debut album in the UK, and in the US on an album of the same name. In June 1964, "A World Without Love" topped the Billboard Hot 100 in the US. It is one of The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame's 500 Songs that Shaped Rock and Roll." en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_World_Without_Love
Please lock me away
And don't allow the day
Here inside, where I hide with my loneliness
I don't care what they say, I won't stay
In a world without love
Birds sing out of tune
And rain clouds hide the moon
I'm OK, here I'll stay with my loneliness
I don't care what they say, I won't stay
In a world without love
So I wait, and in a while
I will see my true love smile
She may come, I know not when
When she does, I'll lose
So baby until then
Lock me away
And don't allow the day
Here inside, where I hide with my loneliness
I don't care what they say, I won't stay
In a world without love
So I wait, and in a while
I will see my true love smile
She may come, I know not when
When she does, I'll lose
So baby until then
Lock me away
And don't allow the day
Here inside, where I hide with my loneliness
I don't care what they say, I won't stay
In a world without love
I don't care what they say, I won't stay
In a world without love
Without the Prineville BLM, the dots of Cottonwood Canyon State Park would never be connected. The park was a ranch before being sold first to the Western Rivers Conservancy in 2008, and then by that nonprofit to the Oregon Parks and Recreation Department (OPRD) from 2009-2011. But the private land checker-boards across the landscape with BLM-administered land filling in the gaps. BLM and Oregon State Parks are working together to create a seamless experience for visitors to Oregon’s newest State Park.
When Congress designated the John Day as a Wild and Scenic River in 1988, the legislation stated that the river was "to be administered through a cooperative management agreement [CMA] between the State of Oregon and the Secretary of Interior." To facilitate the new park, the BLM will be completing an Environmental Assessment to modify the existing agreement. Under the modified CMA, OPRD would be able to construct and maintain trails, restore native vegetation, and provide a reservation service to the one boat-in campsite on BLM land. The BLM and OPRD are working on a review of the trail system in order to include a travel management plan in the EA for Cottonwood Canyon.
Cottonwood Canyon State Park straddles 16 miles of the lower John Day River, where Highway 206 crosses the river between Gilliam and Sherman Counties. Visitors can come to experience the park – even while OPRD and BLM work out the details of the CMA. The 8,000-acre park boasts amazing, rugged canyons, spectacular views and a primitive experience for guests. The park will remain generally undeveloped with miles of trails, primitive campgrounds, a day use area, a Welcome Center, restrooms and self-guided interpretive walks around the old ranch buildings. When the CMA is complete, the park boundary will include an additional 10,000 acres of BLM – making it the largest State Park in Oregon.
To find out more about this beautiful park, head on over to the Oregon State Parks page:
www.oregonstateparks.org/index.cfm?do=parkPage.dsp_parkPa...
Photo by Michael Campbell/BLM/2014
All rights reserved © 2012 Bernhard Egger :: eu-moto images
Usage of our photographs is defined by the laws of copyright
NO RELEASE ! NO Creative Commons license | NO flickr API
► Absolutely no usage without my prior written permission ◄
existing as art print, canvas print, gallery print, XL poster ...
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
☆ Бернхард Эггер :: eu-moto images™ | pure passion - just 4fun
►my profile... |►most interesting img |►collections... |►sets...
★ classic sports cars ★ motorcycles sports events ★ Mille Miglia | Ennstal-Classic ★ motorsports ★ Oldtimer GP ☆ TT IOM ★ football ★ Fine Art photography ★ landscapes | alpine & mediterranean ☆ Greece | Austria | ☆ Russia | Россия
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I'm admin of 70 and member of 500 groups (2014) |► facebook
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Todos los derechos reservados • Tous droits réservés • Todos os direitos reservados • Все права защищены • Tutti i diritti riservati
► AGHET - Der Völkermord an den Armeniern ◄
flickr profile | interesting images | my photos...
:: eu-moto tags: Бернхард Эггер, ФОТОГРАФ, eu-moto, Bernhard Egger, Egger, photofiles, eumotoimages, photo, Foto, Fotos, Bild, Bilder, pictures, photography, カメラマン, Leidenschaft, Мотоциклы и байкеры, 摩托, 車, バイク, action, classic, Classic-Motorrad, emotion, emotions, eu-moto-mc, events, Faszination, Gedächtnisrennen, historic, historique, historisch, Leidenschaft, passion, Maschine, Moto, motocyclisme, Motociclist, Museo, Motorcycle, Motorcycles, Motorrad, Motorräder, Motorbike, Motorrad-Klassik, Motor-rama, Motorsport, motorracing, Motorradsport, FIM, Rennsport, motorsports, old, Oldtimer, Oldtimermagazin, Oldtimersport, racer, racing, race trake, Rennen, Rennsport, satisfaction, Szene, speed, storiche, vintage, Zweiradsport, Cafe-Racer, Chopper, Meisterschaft, Weltmeisterschaft, power,
Event, Bergpreis, Bergrennen, Bergtrophy, Bol D’Or, eu-moto-schwanenstadt, FIM, Grand Prix, IOM, Manx, MotoGP, memorial, Mugelo, Nürburgring, Österreichring, Oldtimer Grand Prix, race, Red Bull Ring, IGFC, roadracing, road race, Salzburgring, Schwanenstadt, Straßenrennen, Strassenrennen, TT, Tourist Trophy,
british, english, AJS, Ariel, Brough Superior, BSA, Enfield, Greefes, Hesketh, Matchless, Morgan, Norton, Panther, Rickman, Royal Enfield, Rudge, Scott, Seeley, Sunbeam, Triumph, Triton, Threewheeler, Velocette, Vincent,
italian, Aermacchi, Aprilia, Benelli, Bimota, Bianchi, Beta, Cagiva, Ducati, Desmo, Garelli, Gilera, Italjet, Laverda, Magni, Malaguti, Morbidelli, Motobi, Moto Guzzi, MV-Agusta, Parilla, Piaggio, SWM, Corse,
german, Ardie, BMW, Boxer, EMW, Hercules, Horex, Ilo, Kreidler, Maico, Münch, MZ, MuZ, NSU, Blauwal, Sportmax, Neander, Sachs, Triumph, Zündapp,
japan, Bridgestone, Honda, Yamaha, Kawasaki, Suzuki,
ATM, Buell, Bultaco, Böhmerland, CZ, Derbi, Dnepr, Egli, GasGas, Harley Davidson, HD, HOG, Harley, HMW, Husaberg, Husqvarna, Indian, Jawa, KTM, Kymco, LCR, Montesa, Panonia, Penton, Puch, Rotax, Ural,
photography, Nikkor, photographer, professional, supershot, Sportfoto, Foto, media, press, eu-moto, gallery, Galerie, collection, Sammlung, images, photos, Aich, Peter Aicher, Willi Aicher, Pitzenberg, Oberndorf, Schwanenstadt, OÖ, Austria, Nikon, FX, full-frame, sidecar, Seitenwagen, Beiwagen, Kneeler, Weltmeister, world champion, Giacomo Agostini, Auinger, Bartol, Jonny Cecotto, Michael Doohan, Joe Dunlop, Everts, Rupert Hollaus, Mike Hailwood, Kaserer, Eddie Lawson, Marco Luccinelli, Randy Mamola, Alois Maxwald, Siegfried Minich, Eduard Stöllinger, Phil Read, Kenny Roberts, Valentino Rossi, Jarno Saarinen, Barry Sheene, John Surtees, Parzer, Franco Uncini, Rolf Biland, Kurt Waltisperg, Klaffi, Klaffenböck, MSV Schwanenstadt, Freddie Spencer, Adolf Hänni, Ben Birchall, Clews, Grabmüller, Bruno Kneubühler, Karl Zach,
Vom Oldtimer Grand Prix Schwanenstadt 2012/14... gibt es tausende weitere Aufnahmen. Nikon FX-Format - Qualität & optimale Eignung für Mega-Poster.
Hier sehen Sie ein Musterbild in reduzierter Auflösung.
Cave Without A Name, Kendall County, Texas - One of Texas' hidden treasures, in February 2009 the Cave Without A Name was designated an official Natural Landmark!
Despite the innumerable caves and caverns that dot the Texas landscape, there are only a handful of caves that are open to touring by the public. Running along the interstate, it's easy to spot the billboards for Natural Bridge Caverns, Inner Space Caverns, Cascade Caverns - but very few people have ever heard of the Cave Without A Name. In fact, despite living less than an hour away for over ten years, I had no knowledge of it until recently. Yet this little cave is just as interesting as any of the larger, more travelled tourist stops.
Located about ten miles northeast of Boerne at the end of twisty-turny Hill Country roads near the Guadalupe River, the Cave Without A Name led an unremarkable existence until the 1920's. Much like Longhorn Caverns, the cave was used by bootleggers during Prohibition. The cave was opened in 1939 as a tourist attraction, the name chosen by a local boy who decided the caves were too beautiful for a name.
For decades, the Cave Without A Name remained an obscure, out-of-the-way spot, known mostly by locals and advertised by small hand-made signs on the highway. Tragedy struck when the manager of the cave (and the owner's son) passed away while exploring a nearby complex known tragically as Dead Man's Cave for drainage channels. Despite this loss, the cave remains open.
Then in February 2009, the Cave Without A Name was designated an official National Landmark by the National Park Service, along with five other historic sites around the country. Fewer than 600 locations have been designated as National Landmarks since the inception of the program, and only six within the past decade.
At the end of Kreutzberg Road, there is a small visitor's center and gift shop. Stairs lead down to the caverns below, well-lit with several impressive speleological formations - stalagmites, stalactites, soda straws, flowstone, ribbons, rimstone. It's a short tour, but easy and level without difficulty, the tour group size is usually small and it is easy to get up close to the formations (but don't touch - it's still a live cave). Longer 'adventure tours' are available (the website says they have been suspended due to high water, but that was written in 2007 before the area's record drought). Definitely worth the visit for anyone interested in caves or spelunking. Pictures taken April 6, 2008.
For more information on the Cave Without A Name:
- Texas Speleological Survey Entry.
This photograph is free for use on the internet under the 'Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial' license. You are free to copy, distribute, transmit and/or adapt this photograph without seeking permission first, as long as you provide attribution to the photograph (preferably by linking to this web page, or including the phrase 'Copyright Matthew Lee High'), and as long as the the photo is not used for commercial purposes. For more information about Creative Commons licenses, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/deed.en.
Why 'Alita Battle Angel Movie for Free' Is not really a Superhero Movie By BRANDON DAVIS - January 16, 2019
In adapting the Battle Angel Alita manga for the giant screen, Alita: Battle Angel is just not telling a superhero story having its impressively enhanced lead character.
This kind of theme was important to those included in the upcoming film. Within a recent interview with ComicBook. com, both Rosa Salazar and Christoph Waltz firmly disagreed with all the notion of Alita as being a superhero, whatsoever -- and you can check it out inside the video above.
"I don't think I play a supe hero, " Salazar said. Waltz promptly agreed with his co-star. "I think this can be a hero, this is a hero's journey, " Salazar said. "I don't believe that she actually is a superhero. "
Waltz, actually was enthusiastic about the thought that alitabattleangelfullmovie.com is not simply another superhero film. "I think that's what really sets this apart, " he said. "Because difficult. It's a human story. The point that you can find, parenthetically, improved humans, is secondary. It's a human story, which is really why is it so approachable, and you will identify. inches
Since the film therefore makes itself relatable for that average moviegoer without any supernatural or enhanced abilities, the actors believe audiences are going to be in a position to connect to the storyline seeing before their eyes. "Well, it creates you really feel something, and that i wouldn't head to those movies feeling something, " Salazar said of blockbuster comic book movies. "I would venture to see six square blocks being blown up. That's what I would see. "
"It's a lot of fun, in case you are into that sort of thing, " Waltz added. "But within our case, body fat escape. In the superhero thing, it is possible to lean back and let things destroy the other person. inch
The thought of telling an extremely human story with Alita: Battle Angel goes up from the top of production to executive producer Jon Landau, who knows something about telling emotional stories having brought Titanic to our lives. "You must create a character that's real, " Landau said, referencing a character an extraordinary visual effects team worked tirelessly to provide an authentic look. "She's an extremely human type character really in this world. You've established our planet where you're using enhanced technologies to create humans do items that they couldn't do before, so why do you produce a character like this which has these types of unique turn to her? inch
Ultimately, the physical trait which can make Alita look most not the same as the everyday person is only one which honors its manga source material. "You must find a reason to make the big eyes play within a scene, " Landau admits. "They can not be there simply because, 'Well, we chose to make big eyes. ' They have to fit the emotions of what she's doing each time. Ultimately, our bar is we're shooting this experience all the other actors each time the thing is Alita inside a shot we may have witnessed Rosa in that same shot using the other actors. That's everything we work to. inch
Everything said, Waltz and Salazar don't seem to get any interest in ever joining a universe such as those brought together by Marvel and DC movies. Salazar admits she does not have enough of a knowledge base within the comic publishers or their films to pick a popular while Waltz says he hails from a "totally" different universe than one which would concern him using the titles.
Alita Battle Angel Film hits theaters on February 14, 2018.
Get your SpinaliS Canada Apollo Series chair for ACTIVE SITTING in the office or at home:
www.spinalis-chairs.ca/spinalis-chairs/apollo/
"SpinaliS with a movable seat on a spring not only prevents back pain, but is the only chair that also treats it! The longer you sit, the more you workout, the less tired, stiff and painful you will be. With ergonomic chairs the problem is that body stabilises in this position instead of mobilising and therefore the muscles continue to weaken. The solution is ACTIVE SITTING" says Dr. Mark Speakman, Chiropractor at Alma Wellness, Kitsilano Chiropractic Clinic, helping patients heal themselves since 1995.
Class I Medical Device
Health Canada has certified SpinaliS chairs as a Class I Medical Device to prevent spinal problems and treat existing ones.
Abs and Back Workout
Work out while sitting on any of the SpinaliS chairs and performing your daily tasks at the office or home.
Back Pain Relief
SpinaliS Chairs will work out your core muscles for you. Just sit, do your thing and leave everything else up to SpinaliS. STRONG CORE MUSCLES = NO BACK PAIN
Stylish Office Chairs
Design of the SpinaliS Chairs is an eye candy - your customers will definitely notice them!
Yoga Ball Alternative
It is recommended not to sit longer than 2 hours on a yoga ball, but on the SpinaliS chairs you can sit all day long.
Standing Desk Alternative
SpinaliS chairs will actually make your body to work out and get you into a great shape without the hard task of standing or exercising.
Who does use SpinaliS?
Google, Dubai Airport, SONY, IBM, DELL, Skoda Auto, CSOB Bank, Unicredit Bank, Vodafone and many more.
SpinaliS Canada
ph: 778 989 0637
Unique Chairs for Healthy Back and Great Posture - FREE SHIPPING in Canada
#SpinaliSCanada #SpinaliS #activesitting #healthysitting #fitsitting #health #healthy #fit #fitness #workout #workingout #greatchair #flattummy #flatabs #strongcore #coremuscles #backmuscles #strongcoremuscles #solution #backpainsolutions #backpainsolution #treatbackpain #nopills #healthylifestyle #lifestyle #mylife #muscles #trainmuscles #trainbody #mybody
Do not use without permission!
Disney Twitter: twitter.com/ThatDisneyLover
Photography Twitter: twitter.com/LJK_Photography
Youtube: www.youtube.com/user/PixelPixie123
Personal Instagram: www.instagram.com/thatdisneylover/
Photography Instagram: www.instagram.com/ljknightonphotography/
If any performers, characters or cast members that would like photos for personal or portfolio reasons, you may have any photo of themselves for a higher resolution or with a smaller watermark. Please either contact me through Twitter.
So, I have to admit, I was WAY more excited about seeing the inside of Maple Leaf Gardens (which, somewhat disappointingly, has not been altered at all since it closed) than I was about seeing this piece. My expectations were met - the piece was interesting (see the description below), but it could easily have been set up in any building in town and gotten the same (if not better and more intimate) result.
Without Persons, 2008
Luis Jacob - Toronto, Canada
Multimedia Installation
"Without Persons" is a multi-media installation centered around two computer-generated male and female voices speaking about being-in-the-city and being-with-others. Accompanying the audio are two video screens which will abstractly and resonantly illustrate the spoken text. The artificial voices speak in an earnest manner about being with others in society -- voices that seem to belong to the concerned but disembodied surrogate-parents of an uncannily absent child.
As audience members, it is within us that is produced the primal scene of conception and birth, the emergence of our budding consciousness, and our entry into a well-managed existence. The eagerness to communicate expressed by these caring, parental voices contrasts poignantly with the inhuman aura of artificial speech.
Basic Airtours International livery without titles but with the new MyTravel.com web address.
This one's a bit complicated. A very early Boeing 757, line no:8, this aircraft was delivered to Eastern Air Lines as N507EA in Dec-82. Eastern Air Lines ceased operations in Jan-91 and the aircraft was stored at Las Vegas, NV, USA.
It was sold to the Tracinda Corporation in May-92 and leased to MGM Grand Air as N701MG in Aug-92. It was returned to the Tracinda Corporation in Jan-93 and again stored at Las Vegas.
It was sold to Bombardier Capital Inc in Jul-94 and remained stored until it was sold to Airfleet Credit Corporation in Oct-94. The aircraft was leased to Airtours International Airways as G-RJGR in Nov-94. It was sub-leased to Spanair in Oct-96 for the winter season, returning to Airtours in Apr-97.
Airtours was renamed MyTravel Airways in May-02 and the aircraft continued in service until it was returned to the lessor in Nov-05 and stored at Marana, AZ, USA. In Mar-06 it was sold to Evergreen Aircraft Sales and Leasing as N811AD and permanently retired.
The fuselage (no wings) was noted at Marana in Feb-08, on pallets in basic MyTravel livery and broken up in Apr-08. So how was it possible that it was sold to the Megalith Group in May-09 and re-registered N448TK in Jun-09 ???
Note: I also have it noted in my database that it was sold to the secretive L.3 Communications company the month after it was broken up (RZ Jetz has it noted as a 'paper transaction only'), as is the sale to the Megalith Group and subsequent re-registration to N448TK. Oddly, a look at the US FAA Register shows N448TK (B757 c/n 22197) had it's CoA renewed on 09-Mar-17 and expires on 31-Mar-20... Perhaps I should stop digging before men in dark suits, crew cuts and dark sunglasses come knocking at my door...
I should also mention that all the above info is freely available through various sources and websites online...
12 in radius cut corners on table with half bevel edge.
Natural Walnut Lancaster Chairs without arms and end chair with arms.
Montblanc Hemingway
www.fountainpennetwork.com says, "Show us your Montblancs."
Cave Without A Name, Kendall County, Texas - One of Texas' hidden treasures, in February 2009 the Cave Without A Name was designated an official Natural Landmark!
Despite the innumerable caves and caverns that dot the Texas landscape, there are only a handful of caves that are open to touring by the public. Running along the interstate, it's easy to spot the billboards for Natural Bridge Caverns, Inner Space Caverns, Cascade Caverns - but very few people have ever heard of the Cave Without A Name. In fact, despite living less than an hour away for over ten years, I had no knowledge of it until recently. Yet this little cave is just as interesting as any of the larger, more travelled tourist stops.
Located about ten miles northeast of Boerne at the end of twisty-turny Hill Country roads near the Guadalupe River, the Cave Without A Name led an unremarkable existence until the 1920's. Much like Longhorn Caverns, the cave was used by bootleggers during Prohibition. The cave was opened in 1939 as a tourist attraction, the name chosen by a local boy who decided the caves were too beautiful for a name.
For decades, the Cave Without A Name remained an obscure, out-of-the-way spot, known mostly by locals and advertised by small hand-made signs on the highway. Tragedy struck when the manager of the cave (and the owner's son) passed away while exploring a nearby complex known tragically as Dead Man's Cave for drainage channels. Despite this loss, the cave remains open.
Then in February 2009, the Cave Without A Name was designated an official National Landmark by the National Park Service, along with five other historic sites around the country. Fewer than 600 locations have been designated as National Landmarks since the inception of the program, and only six within the past decade.
At the end of Kreutzberg Road, there is a small visitor's center and gift shop. Stairs lead down to the caverns below, well-lit with several impressive speleological formations - stalagmites, stalactites, soda straws, flowstone, ribbons, rimstone. It's a short tour, but easy and level without difficulty, the tour group size is usually small and it is easy to get up close to the formations (but don't touch - it's still a live cave). Longer 'adventure tours' are available (the website says they have been suspended due to high water, but that was written in 2007 before the area's record drought). Definitely worth the visit for anyone interested in caves or spelunking. Pictures taken April 6, 2008.
For more information on the Cave Without A Name:
- Texas Speleological Survey Entry.
This photograph is free for use on the internet under the 'Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial' license. You are free to copy, distribute, transmit and/or adapt this photograph without seeking permission first, as long as you provide attribution to the photograph (preferably by linking to this web page, or including the phrase 'Copyright Matthew Lee High'), and as long as the the photo is not used for commercial purposes. For more information about Creative Commons licenses, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc/2.0/deed.en.
Photos by Alan McLaughlin (AML Optics). All rights reserved. Do not reproduce without permission.
Frank Pig Says Hello
by Pat McCabe
An Grianán Theatre Productions
Following the huge success of Fiesta, during the Earagail Arts Festival, we are pleased to present our next inhouse production. Challenging but rewarding, humorous yet harrowing, Frank Pig Says Hello is at times breath taking, often haunting and always hugely entertaining. Pat McCabe’s stage version of his acclaimed novel The Butcher Boy is a poignant and provocative journey into the heart and mind of Francie Brady, a young man who is driven beyond the boundaries of his mental and emotional health. It is a black comedy, an inventive fusion of storytelling and role play where over 30 characters are played by two versatile actors, a highly theatrical experience. Directed by David Grant and featuring local actor Patrick McBrearty in his professional stage debut and fellow Central School of Drama graduate Stefan Dunbar.
NB: Suitable ages 12+. Contains some strong language, disturbing themes.
On Tour
Sat 20 September at 8pm
Mon 22 September at 11am
Sat 4 October at 8pm
An Grianán Theatre, Letterkenny
Box Office 074 912 0777
Fri 12 and Sat 13 September at 7.30pm, Tues 23 Sept at 7.30pm
The Brian Friel Theatre, 20 University Square, Belfast, BT7 1NN
Booking 028 9097 1382 or studentshows@qub.ac.uk
Tues 16 September at 8pm
The Garage Theatre, Old Armagh Road, Monaghan
Box Office 047 81597
Thur 18 September at 8pm
Ardhowen Theatre, 97 Dublin Road, Derrychara, Enniskillen, Co Fermanagh, BT74 6FZ
Box Office 028 663 25440
Wed 24 September at 8.30pm
Backstage Theatre, Farneyhoogan, Longford
Box Office 043 3347888
Thur 25 September at 8pm
Market Place Theatre, Market St, Armagh BT61 7BW
Box Office 028 3752 1821
Fri 26 September at 8.30pm
Droichead Arts Centre, Stockwell St, Drogheda, Co. Louth
Box Office 041 9833946
Sat 27 September at 8pm
Roscommon Arts Centre, Circular Rd, Roscommon
Box Office 090 662 5824
Tues 30 September at 8.30pm
The Dock, St Georges Terrace, Carrick on Shannon, Co. Leitrim
Box Office 071 96 50828
Thur 2 October at 8pm
The Hawk’s Well Theatre, Temple Street, Sligo
Box Office 071 9161518
Donegal Bay & Bluestacks Festival 2014
Wed 1 Oct at 8.30pm
Abbey Arts Centre, Ballyshannon
Fri 3 Oct at 8.30pm
Glenties Community Hall, Glenties