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Entries in Street Peddlers' Carts (10)
A Night On The Town: Saxophone Pub
Saturday, April 13, 2013 at 4:57PM 
My friend John Stiles is a blues fanatic like me. He proposed we meet at the Saxophone Pub on Victory monument in Bangkok. Traffic is bad, and parking hard to find around there . . . so a taxi is a must.
The taxi was clean and well equipped with traffic safety garlands, hanging talismans, and a dashboard Buddha. I felt safe.
I rode the taxi to the nearest Sky Train station and road it to Victory Monument Station.
The area around Victory Monument Circle was bustling: it is the start of the long Songkran week-end. Many people congregate her to catch mini-vans to all parts of Thailand.
. . . and this forlorn street peddler cart operator.
A new shipment of display feet arrived just in time . . for a photo. Thai streets are covered in street vendor tables of infinite interest.
I arrived at the Saxophone Pub early. The opening act was an incredible acoustic folk singer. Forgive me for not knowing his name.
It didn't take long for the place to 'lively up' when the house band, Ped's Band, started rockin' . . .
These guys are good.
This guy is a fantastic blues guitar player . . . once he gets warmed up.
He had the whole place in a blues swoon.
Good driving bass . . .
. . . a fine drummer . . .
. . . and a not-bad-at-all rhythm/second lead guitar played some pretty powerful interpretations of SRV and Hendrix classics. Nice.
Saxophone Pub is thick with authentic atmosphere that a Hollywood set director could never duplicate.
Everybody who is anybody in the blues world of Thailand has played, or hopes to play, Saxophone.
It is nice to sit at a counter directly in front of the band. What a scene!
A second band, The Emergency Band, came on at midnight. They were very good . . . R&B . . .
. . . and rocked the place too.
My ears ringing with sweet blues and R&B, I finally gave up and left at around 1:30am and headed out into a deserted Victory Monument Circle to find a taxi home.
One Week in India
Monday, October 29, 2012 at 8:47PM A Journey In Four Parts. ___________________________________________________________________________________________________
Part One: Fort Cochin.
After a complex overnight flight from Bangkok to Mumbai where we waited over eight hours for our connection to Cochin (go here for map and description of Fort Kochi), we were happy to arrive at the Rossetta Wood Castle Hotel.
The Rossetta Hotel was built in 1705. It was cheap and very comfortable. It was located a stones throw from the sea and the old Dutch promenade.
The room was air-conditioned, simple, and had a wonderful old tropical musty smell which reminded me of Africa for some reason.
After a brief nap, I headed out to take a stroll along the old promenade. It was a Sunday, so there were lots of people ambling along the path. I was able to indulge my obsession with peddler's carts.
As the sun began to set, the temperature drop, the crowds showed up . . . and so did the ice cream vendors with their bright and shiny carts.
The snack vendors also gathered in threes and fours . . . happy to pose. Snackage was everywhere to be had! The mercury vapor street lights cast a strange yellow pallor over everything . . . marvelously contrasted with the deep blues of the sunset sky.
My first sunset in India in 20 years was shaping up to be a good one. Many people were gathering on a jetty to take it in. It really was a beautiful evening.
I love these street peddlers and their ice cream carts at sunset. There is something both exciting about them (a child's gauging their prospects of getting an ice cream) and forlorn . . .
The local people referred to these contraptions as "Chinese nets."
There were many of these Lazza Ice Cream carts. Apparently the Lazza Salesman of the Year had been in town with a line of credit and a truck full of carts! I never saw anybody actually purchase an ice cream from these guys.
Night snackage.
Nicely arrayed Indian night snackage.
Sticking your head under the roof of one of these night snackage mobile sales units was like peeking through a portal that opened up onto an alternate universe. No kidding.
In some places several peddlars had circled their carts, like a barrier against the immensity of the night.
Cochin has had a large Jewish population since the 2nd century. There are many lovely old Jewish merchants homes around Cochin. Some, like this one, have been made into restaurants. My friends Bud and Allan joined me for a sumptuous meal here.
We walked around the old town and marvelled at Cochin's rich history. Ah! It seems the Lazza salesman had a unit that fits nicely in the back of a Tuk-tuk truck.
I woke up very early the next morning to take a stroll around and take some photos before the houseboat company came to pick us up. The sky was overcast . . . not ideal for photography, but it didn't matter. Cochin's 14th-18th century high point of development was evident everywhere.
Cochin saw Middle eastern Jewish and Islamic settlement, followed by Portugese and Dutch colonial settlements, and eventually the British Raj. The Dutch-built St. Francis Church, 1882, is one of the newer churches here.
The Dutch left behind some nice architecture . . . .
. . . and that's not all the Dutch left behind! I LOVED this sign: How far is "O Km"? Yes, well, I guess a cemetery would be "God's own country" if you believed in that kind of thing. Actually, "God's Own Country" was a phrase coined by the Kerala Tourist Authority . . . oh well. I went to God's Own Country, er, I mean, the old Dutch cemetary, but it was locked. It was founded in 1724.
A four-hundred year old wall has a history.
I was in street peddler's cart HEAVEN! This one definitely ranks in my all time second decile!
Cochin is a side trip on the global tourist map. It has been discovered. As such, there have been a number of the old colonial mansions restored and converted into up-scale "boutique" hotels.
This boutique hotel was a bit over the top: shades of Bali . . . too much of a shade of Bali. I preferred the simple honesty of the Rossetta.
Kerala is a "communist" state within India. I use quotations because it is a very home-grown communism without any foreign affiliations. The government here is concerned with "social uplift" as many here told me.
My morning walkabout led me through the wondrous damp streets of early morning Fort Cochin, India.
Fort Cochin has many old forts, vestiges of the various colonial interlopers. My love of dilapidation, corrugation, and old walls was met here in spades!
Of course the biggest and nicest house in the city is the Bishops House. One can imagine tea with the Viceroy and Bishop on the veranda not long after its 1557 founding. Those pesky Christians have been at it for a long time.
There are blocks and blocks of old Dutch homes in Fort Cochin.
There are many churches in Kerala, but the Santa Cruz Cathedral was particularly magnificent. I caught convent dwellers skipping off to school.
Rural folk stepping into the interior of the Santa Cruz Cathedral for the first time must have been mighty impressed.
Those early church architects sure knew how to use natural light. Yummie.
"Forgive Them For They Know Not What They Do" -- a 16th Century European Christian world view.
The Ambassador was manufactured in India for oer 50 years virtually unchanged. Lovely car.
It seemed like every corner I walked around that morning presented a fantastic wall in the process of allowing time and Nature make it into Art.
I was stopped in my tracks . . in stunned silence at the sight of this building . . . telling its history in light and color. I had to investigate . . . and to study it photographically. Graffiti upon graffiti, moss upon moss, paint upon paint, water stains upon water stains.
The colors of time and nature violated by a grey cement window repair.
The same building: wall and window.
Window only. Not just a window.
How to frame this window? What was this building used for?
I walked around the corner and discovered that I had been photographing the old wing of the Cochin Secondary School, abandoned in 1901 when this new structure was built.
It was getting near 9:00am, so I rushed back to the hotel, only stopping when a wall called to me. ("Doctor, the walls are talking to me!")
Was this a stain, or a Rorschach of the city's history?
I think of these old Cochin walls as half way between their erection, and being discovered as ancient finds by some future archeologist.
I snapped this last wall, which seemed to have gladly given itself over to worlds upon it, before arriving at the hotel just in time for a quick breakfast and then on to the next adventure on the houseboat.
FORT COCHIN REVISITED
Actually, we stayed in Fort Cochin twice: once when we arrived, and once when we returned from the three-day houseboat cruise in the Appleby backwaters. On our way back from the houseboat tour, our driver stopped off at some of the local tourist hot spots . . . . where we weren't the only tourists. With 1,000,000,000 people living in India, and 300,000,000 of them living at or above a middle class life style, there are a lot of Indian tourists. And good for them. That is the 16th Century Synagogue in the background.
Fort Cochin has had a large Jewish presence since the 2nd Century (!).
The Paradesi Synagogue. Imagine the wonderful minds that have crossed through this doorway for the past 500 years. The Synagogue was closed due to mourning for a recently departed member of this close knit community.
The ancient Fort Kochi synagogue. The street signs in the area declared, "Jewtown."
My infatuation with street peddler's carts was satisfied at another tourist stop (an old Prince's palace): The Digital Cart! Notice the sign touting the availability of "Memory Cards, Digital Camera Cards, Batteries . . . ."! The times they are a'changin' INDEED!
After we returned to our hotel, I went walkabout and discovered this restored-for-tourists 1880s jail.
The former occupants of this jail cell may, or may not have appreciated the marvelous play of light and shadow.
I came across these shade-dwelling Tuk-Tuk driers who consented to a photograph . . .
. . . and since I was hot and tired, and Fort Cochin is kind of spread out, I engaged Mohammed for an afternoon's city tour.
It was great idea to have hired a personal Tuk-Tuk. Mohammed would stop whenever I saw an old window . . .
. . . or a photogenic old street stall.
Even in its dilapidation, there is Old World Charm about Fort Cochin.
Mohammed decided I needed to see that there were all kinds of religions practiced in Fort Cochin, and they all got along "without trouble." He brought me first to a Jain temple. Jainism teaches non-violence to all living things and non-attachment and non aversion to the world.
Pigeons are not fools! They figured out the safest place in the city was in the yard of the non-violent Jain Temple.
The grounds of the Jain Temple were extremely peaceful . . . perhaps a little too peaceful for this sleeping Jian devotee.
Our next stop was to be one of the Hindu Temples, but first we had to stop at a fruit market area . . .
. . . where it happened Mohammed had a cousin in the actual fruit business. What a coincidence. I bought a bag of very delicious LOCAL oranges.
There were many, many small shops like this one . . . . where the owners seemed only to earn enough for a subsistence life style. No greed, no hurrying about.
Along our route to the Hindu Temple, these local beauties asked me to take their photo.
I suspected this old woodcutter was snot receiving enough to pay for the calories he needed for the hard work he did every day.
A well fed Fort Cochin construction worker.
One of the old Fort Cochin Hindu temples . . . fantastic.
These young temple dwellers saw that I had a camera and demanded a photograph. I obliged. These children seemed very creepy to me . . . like they were a special kind of BEING one might see in a science fiction movie: I suspected they were perhaps 400-500 years old by the way they acted and looked at me.
Some of the doors in the interior of this temple appeared very old. I took a lot of Old Door photos . . . maybe I should do a book titled, The Old Doors of Fort Cochin, India.
This would make a nice cover photo for my book on Cochin Doors. My Tuk-Tuk, driver, Mohammed, got into my obsession with doors too . . . he liked the old doors too and took me to several amazing examples.
Yes, Mohammed had been hoping to meet a tourist like me to share his love of old doors. What luck!
From the simple to the elaborate, I was them all . . . and was very happy about it too.
I would love one day to take a very large format camera to photograph these doors . . . and then print them life size . . . . to stand in front of these entryways, with its history so visible, is a real joy.
Mohammed was not shy about posing in front of these old doors either. It was good to have a model handy. Maybe he has done this before?
We went to an old Portuguese-era warehouse and ran into this door: No photography inside. Good thing I do not read Hindi (actually I do) . . . .
A forbidden photograph: inside the old Portuguese-era (16th century) warehouse courtyard, now used as a dried ginger gleaning and sorting facility . . .
I can see why they might not want photographs in here . . . it was down right Medieval.
A [surprised] Fort Cochin ginger gleaner.
I asked this aging ginger gleaner if I could photograph her and she struck this pose for me.
The results of all that ginger gleaning.
The ginger facility also housed an Everything Imaginable Made From Ginger To Be Sold To Tourists shop. Yes, it was right through that green door Mohammed is leaning next to. What color! We went in, but I did not buy anything . . . it was getting cloudy, and I wanted to see more of Old Fort Cochin.
I loved the ambience of this town!
Well, not all of Fort Cochin was pleasing. I am often a little angered when I see Christian churches outside Europe, and I felt the same way in The Congo. Why spread this nutball idea around the world like it was the privelaged discourse to end all discourse?
As Christianity, Islam, and Judaism are sects of the same religion, I guess I was kind of glad when Mohammed said I could not enter his own Mosque.
An amazing structure. I was struck by how a lack of general building maintenance could produce such beauty. It is important to be reminded of the impermanence of our human existence, and these decaying structures, like the non-linearity of Bangkok (my home), are excellent reminders that humankind is not on some kind of preordained teleological journey towards perfection.
The television posted bill is just priceless. It looks like an enlargement of some old fashioned computer clip-art. Nice.
If you have snooped around my blog you know that corrugation and dilapidation are among my favorite themes . . . . so I couldn't resist when I saw this masterpiece of Corrugated Art.
I am sometimes concerned that I only show the interesting or amazing sights of places I visit, overlooking the reality of the mundane day-to-day life of a place. I hope I don't: my intent is to elevate the simple and overlooked into a state of the supramundane in an attempt to blast false, discursively constructed meta-narratives and false hierarchies away. A street in the Islamic quarter of Fort Cochin, Kerala, India.
My love of old windows and doors is only exceeded by sealed-up old windows and doors. Why? Maybe I would benefit from some Gestalt psychotherapy . . . . I went back to the hotel after this, figuring I would never get a better photo on the entire trip.
My racing buddies, Bud and Allan, and I spent our last evening in Fort Cochin strolling the seaside promenade.
The cooks at our hotel recommended we go an purchase some fresh fish that they would cook any way we liked. Instead we asked if they could pick one out for us. They did, and cooked one of the most delicious meals I have ever had! After dinner we found the source of the delicious fish.
As it turned out, the night fish stalls serviced all the hotels and guest houses of Fort Cochin, all of whom asked their guests if they wanted to purchase fresh fish that they would then cook however you would want it.
We had to wake early the next morning to catch a flight to New Delhi, so this was the last photo I took in Fort Cochin, Kerala, India. What a wonderful place to visit.
OK, this was the last photo in Cochin. This inibriated, but friendly, fellow wished to befriend us by engaging in a conversation that none of us could understand, including him, I believe.
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Part Two: Kerala Backwater Houseboat Cruise (Three Days & Two Nights)
Let the lazy cruise begin! As far as we could figure out, this was an exact sister ship to our own houseboat (photo taken from ours).
We boarded our houseboat in a narrow channel that had many other houseboats of varying configurations.
We were happy to set off at a leisurely pace out into the Kerala Backwaters.
This boat, and background, reminded me of my river boat trip up the Congo River 30 years ago. It's the same idea the world over: a river bus.
Other than the other houseboats in the backwaters, there wasn't much human activity to be observed out here. It felt very vast and remote out there.
Although miles from anywhere, and accessible only by boat, the missionaries had been out here converting souls.
Our boatman pulled over a couple of times, mostly to see if we wanted to purchase [very expensive] shrimp or fish. We were very satisfied with the food they were serving and declined. This is our houseboat. Yes, it had a satellite dish, but we never turned on the T.V.
This abandoned building must have been a government tariff office as it was located at the junction of two very large canals.
We all got off the houseboat here and had fun photographing each other posing in and outside of the old photogenic building.
Bud is a science teacher and pointed out the interesting green expansion streaks on the trunk of this rapidly growing palm.
Yep, even way the hell out in the backwaters I managed to find an dilapidated old shuttered window to shoot. Lucky me!
The land around the canals were in various stages of land reclamation: this area was completely reclaimed from the brackish waters as rice fields.
As can be seen in the background, other land areas had had their salt water pumped out and were soaking in rainwater, which was also pumped out, in an effort to desalinate the soil.
Late October is suppose to be one of the best times for the backwater houseboat trips, but we had thunderstorms with heavy rain every afternoon. The white egrets seemed to be getting ready for the deluge.
All kinds of people use the backwater bus as the only way to get around . . . including some tourists, I see.
When the storm hit in the late afternoon, the many houseboats headed for the smaller canals to avoid any wave action. You can count 20 houseboats in this photo! We were never out of sight of at least three other boats. It didn't matter.
Some of the other houseboats pulled over in the heaviest of the rain . . . . .
. . . but not our pilot! He pushed on, as a reduced speed, throughout the storm.
I would imagine those involved with reclaiming this land were happy to see such a big downpour.
The storm finally broke leaving this amazing afternoon light. I knew we were going to be in for a beautiful sunset.
From our upper floor crows nest we could see thunder storms all around.
Day gradually turned to night . . . .
. . . the sky turned from a leaden grey to the yellow warmth of golden light.
With the sun setting, our pilot pulled up behind another houseboat to tie up for the night.
The sunset was shaping up to be incredible. I put some Indian flute music on the Jambox MusicBar and we all sat back and fell into a mellow stupor, lulled by the beauty of the music and sunset.
Stunning.
Every minute the sunset presented different colors and shades . . .
. . . I became completely indiscriminate in my photo taking . . . running around saying, "WOW! Look at it now!" . . . and clicking a few more shots.
This was directly across the canal from where we had tied up for the night.
After about 50 of these shots I got the idea to create a sequence that would play as a sideshow on this site . . . .
Each of these would make a great poster. The darker it got, the more lightning we could see in the distant clouds. The night sky was not over.
After many, many attempts, I finally captured a little snippet of lightning flashing in the distance. It was a magic night.
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I was woken early the next day by the sound of soft splashing outside the houseboat and went out to investigate. Our crew was out trying to net some fish.
Did I mention that every meal was a gourmet meal? They were not only delicious, but always beautifully presented, like this breakfast feast.
The construction detail of our houseboat was very intricate . . . and beautiful in the morning light.
At around 9:00am our crew cast off and we rejoined our journey on the backwaters of Kerala.
It was a beautiful cool morning, so there qere many more people out on the backwaters in all forms of watercraft.
This local fellow looked like he has seen his share of tourists in houseboats invading the serenity of his home.
I have no idea what these canalside residents thought of us as we passed . . .
. . . I hope they saw us as travellers who were there to appreciate the beauty of the natural and manmade world they inhabit.
A Kerala Huck Finn . . . with a full life ahead of him . . .
. . . and the knowledge that the government of Kerala is looking after his basic needs.
Life along the banks never quit being fascinating to me.
Having to catch a fish to survive would be very stressful for me.
It rained on and off during the day . . . but the fishermen kept on fishing.
Almost everyone we saw out in the backwaters were men . . . with these two exceptions.
Part of our marvelous, and tasty, lunch.
The scenes here were timeless . . . like something out of a bygone era . . .
Yes, 2012, not 1912 . . .
Some scenes seem to lend themselves to black and white/sepia.
Kerala backwater canal maintenance workmen, circa 2012.
A nice old launch.
What a wonderful world.
As evening drew near on the second day, the backwaters opened out into an immense shallows . . .
. . . . and many fishermen sprinkled themselves about tending their nets.
Our houseboat crew at work in the late afternoon.
I the rainy evening we steered into a small canal and tied up in a small village, like many other houseboats.
After the sun set a number of "party boats" cruised up and down the canal, reminding us of how close we must be to a large population center.
We spent a very serene night moored in the backwater canal of Kerala.
I woke early the next morning to stroll around the small canalside village.
There was a small Hindu temple in the village and it seemed people had dressed in their finery to attend some kind of special event there.
The colors in the clothing was devine.
After breakfast we motored back out into the open water where I saw this giant houseboat with five bedrooms . . .what a fun party that could be!
Breakfast.
In the last morning we went back up the canal to where we started our journey. This is our crew and the manager of the houseboat company (on left). We had a great three days puttering out and about the inland backwaters.
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Part Three: Delhi
We made it to Delhi after the sun had set and took along ride in an old Ambassador taxi to our hotel on this street. Oh My, What Have We Done?!!! You can see our hotel in the background, The Hotel le Roi.
This beautiful scene was just down the street from our hotel, the Hotel LeRoi, in Delhi.
I was fascinated by the street right out in front of our hotel. The Delhi Night Street.
The street life, the street characters, bathed in the yellowish mercury vapor lights, created a dream world filled with all the stations and predicaments of life . . like a living Ramanaya.
The Delhi street is dusty, noisy, and smelly . . . with the ubiquitous tuktuk responsible for most of it!
The cold lassi looked inviting . . . but . . .
. . . I decided on a couple of local Indian oranges from the fruit stand on the left instead.
I walked up and down this street a dozen times in the four days I was in Delhi and never tired of looking and seeing.
The mercury vapor street lights varied quite a it in their color tone; some were very bright and yellow, and some were more reddish, like in this scene of a samlor driver night eatery.
The Hotel le Roi was just down the street to a warehouse that employed porters late in the night to carry sacks of flour out to waiting trucks. There were always many men sitting on the curb hoping to get some hourly income.
This Delhi night workman gestured to me to take his photo.
I wasn't sure if this was a ladder shop or if there was going to be some high construction nearby.
All dressed up . . .
This samlor driver sat in this pose for a very long time, lost in time.
When it got very late, many people pulled out their stashed bed rolls and went to sleep on the sidewalks . . . mainly under the brightest lights they could fin.
Bud and I woke up early, had a pretty good breakfast buffet at the Hotel le Roi, and headed out to see if we could find famous The Red Fort . . . on foot. Armed with a pretty good hotel provided map, we set off for a long walk in the Old Delhi streets. Oh, the things we would see!
My, my, my . . . . what streets they were! With so many millions living in Delhi, the need for delivery transportation is great. To see ox carts in the middle of a city is something fantastic.
Some loads you are unlucky as a cycle drayman . . . you need a little help from a freind . . . .
. . . and some loads you get lucky and have to only haul pillow stuffing.
But mostly the loads were heavy. This looks like a hard life . . . one where you would aks a lot of questions about the nature of existence . . . .
I don't know why a tri-shaw mattress delivery person on the side streets of Old Delhi strikes me as humorous. Pure Novelty?
. . . . which is the work of these good fellows, the Sadhus.
I asked with a gesture to my camera if I could make a portrait of these Sadhus and they all nodded their acquiescence.
These Sadhu portraits were taken in a temple not far from our hotel.
What's on his mind, I do not know . . . he may have transcended it.
There is the question of volition: "What to do?" I have a pair of shoes just like his.
Magnificent affect . . . or, perhaps, affective magnificence.
There were holy men sitting around everywhere in this temple . . . I wondered how, and why, they decide on wearing what they are wearing.
These two holy men were studying.
This holy man appeared very self-satisfied, that is, if he had a self.
I liked this guy . . . and thought of sitting down for a conversion about, you know, everything.
We left the temple and headed up and over a train viaduct where we found this man using the bridge railings to dry white string. It seems every single space had been exploited for some human activity.
I could not tell if this guy was a holy man or not. He sat in the shade with a pan out in front of him filled with snacks. He was a snackage merchandiser . . . maybe recently a Sadhu . . . who knows. There is a question of volition.
Bud and I walked many huours n the small back streets of Old Delhi looking for the Red Fort. After a while it did not really matter if we ever found it . . .
. . . there were so many interesting things to see and contemplate.
Every single square meter has been figured out long ago in Delhi. The small space between the doorway and the mobile phone shop has been filled with a small altar . . . complete with two women attendants.
The shoe repairman's buddy stopped in for a chat. I had a warm feeling about the Indians living life out in the civic space.
This vegetable hawker was sorting potatoes while clutching his iPhone against his shoulder . . . Deli folk were far from disconnected.
I stopped to take a photo of the wonderful blue door . . . just as a dray cart full of cement passed in front.
The doors in this part of Delhi were superb: old, unkempt, and with their histories still intact.
The narrow alleyways were full of these touching architectural scenes.
Holy men would occasionally pass us by in the small streets.
Along one narrow street, no wider than two meters, a man had converted his home into a temple to Sai Baba, RIP.
The Sai Baba temple keeper asked that I take his photograph.
The Sai Baba temple effigy.
The alleys of Old Delhi are winding and lined with doors and passageways. Doors seem to me to tell a mysterious story about the interiors behind them, like a human face.
This door, these stairs, where do they lead?
A small shop in the depths of Old Delhi . . . where a child grows up beneath colorful balls.
A vender of everything deep fried to a golden brown.
Another Old Delhi alley shop sold these, uh . . . . . you tell me!
An endless number of doors. Somewhere I have a book titled The Doors of Florence, Italy. A book of Old Delhi doors would be equally fascinating, and just as beautiful.
Old Delhi windows are not too shabby either . . . I mean they are shabby . . . and wonderful.
A history of volition writ in wood.
The look of the place: a Delhi intersection.
The look of the place.
Bud and I walked up this street.
Old Delhi felt to me like a city that had been abandoned for centuries and then reinhabited, rather that a place that is undergoing current decay.
Perhaps a remnant of a lost civilization, dug up, cleaned off, and new paint applied?
I began to notice that in behind all the carts and merchant's tables was an ancient city, full of fabulous architectural detail.
This Grand Entry, hidden in plain view, drew my attention. I stopped in for a chat . . .
. . . and met the great-grandson of this remarkable building's builder, whose visage was left in stone at the entry.
Delhi maters.
Mother and son shopping.
With so many religions and sects in Delhi, we figured that there had to be some kid of holy day almost every day . . . we hoped that would explain these painted goats . . .
. . . and these boys riding backwards on a spotted camel. We ran into these knuckleheads a couple of times in the Red Fort neighborhood . . . hooting it up!
The shops immediately around the Red Fort were primarily auto and truck parts related. This red-bearded vendor specialized in springs . . . and springs . . .
. . . and springs.
Whiling the hot afternoon hours away in the Red Fort guardhouse.
One side of The Red Fort was lined with used auto parts shops.
A well-dressed tasseled string vendor perched on a Vespa seat talking on his mobile phone.
This fellow was either preaching something the folks around there had heard already, or he was a ranter. Nobody paid him any attention . . . except me.
We eventually found the Red Fort . . .
. . . but The Red Fort was closed to non-Muslims for two hours. We contemplated coming back.
The Red Fort is a magnificent structure. It was a shame we could not get inside.
Women were also not let in The Red Fort and instead sat on the steps.
The view from the Red Fort looking into the chaos of Old Delhi.
After grumbling about the closed Red Fort, we decided to walk a 360 around the structure and come back . . . so we headed back out into The Delhi Street.
There was an Muslim market along one side of The Red Fort and Bud and I walked in for a look.
Meeting your textile needs since 1953.
Islamic people are very generous. We saw the local merchants give this street schizophrenic food.
City goats have a different diet than country goats.
Aerating the hot lasse.
A brassware merchant, no doubt taking the early shift for his father.
Of course I found some fantastic windows . . . .
. . . . and aged doors.
I thought this was a photogenic alley . . . then took a second look and realized the warehouse on the right had wonderful architectural decor in the form of panels . . . that would make great "wall portraits"!
Each of the loading doors on the Old Delhi warehouse were different . . .
. . . different sizes, patterns, and styles . . .
. . . and all of them were interesting and beautiful.
A perfect old door and dray cart portrait.
A nice place to set up your shoe shine business. All of these photos were taken within 30 meters of each other.
Bud and I decided not to go back to The Red Fort but instead dove back in to the narrow alley/streets of Old Delhi.
These alleys are no more than one meter wide, but filled with mystery anad wonder. Where do these doors lead?
I as soooo tempted to go in and take a look around . . . .
Wonderful surfaces. beautiful lines, perfect light . . . .
If you are ever in Old Delhi do not miss these small back alleys . . . the architectural features are stunning.
We took this shortcut back to the hotel . . . and did NOT get lost.
Our shortcut lead us here, just in time for me to shoot one of my favorite subjects; The Drayman and his cart.
Just before we reached the fabulous Le Roi Hotel, I spotted this baby on the street, her mother nearby selling flowers. What a place to be born into . . . along with the other billion Indians across the sub-continent. Human Life.
I stopped in here and bught one of thsee hanging lamps. Nice.
A street henna artist plying his trade.
I debated about buying some of these spices to bring back to Bangkok, but decided not to, even though the merchant said he had once lived in Thailand.
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Part Four: The Indian Grand Prix F1 Race
We arrived at the Buddh International Curcuit after a one hour adventure on a train and in a taxi. We had to go to a really strange industrial park about ten kilometers from the track to redeem our electronic ticket vouchers. There were many Europeans there as well. All good fun and head shaking.
The usual prohibitions in our modern world, but with friendly reminder . . . they have no storage for any of the prohibited item. How helpful.
Although we had been in the remoter parts of India, and deep in the small streets of Old Delhi, we were reminded that this event was at the center of a huge global market.
Of course, with so much of the world's attention on the race, and all the glamour that surrounds, it brought out the race girls!
We took our seats in the very plush, and well maintained, Turn 10/11 "Big Bend" -- a pretty good place to watch Qualifying on Saturday.
A Formula One race is actually several races . . . we got there just in time to see a Formula Renault race, incidentally, won by the lone American in the field. Will there be an American F1 driver in the future?
These preliminary races are actually the "development league" for future F1 drivers . . . so these young guys have a lot to prove. They are trying to "win a seat" in a bigger tam in a faster formula that, they hope, will bring them to F1 one day. The racing was tight and the drivers aggressive.
After the preliminary classrace ended the Safety Car, a roaring big V8 Mercedes, made a few laps to see if it was safe for the F1 carrs to begin Q1. We were in for a treat!
Sebastian Vettel Q1.
The very popular Force India during Q2.
We had very good seats -- at the big swooping bend (turns 11 & 12). Here is Kimi in the kitty litter during Q3.
We had a good view of the cars coming and going for quite a distance. Here Alonso is chasing Schumi during qualifying on Saturday (Kimi's spin debris is seen on the track in the foreground).
Vettel coming up the hill to the big bend.
Vettel turns in to turn 10.
Vettel was by far the smoothest driver through these turns. He was the only driver able to keep his foot in the throttle through turn 12.
The big bend of turns 11 and 12 was very tricky for many drivers. Team Marussia on the run-out.
Mark Webber entering turn 10 at speed.
This is, no doubt, the last I will see of the great Michael Schumacher.
Massa negotiating turn 11.
Lewis Hamilton coming . . . .
. . . and going on a qualifying run.
Massa was looking very strong in India.
Schumi's racer was set up so low, the front wing was dragging and throwing sparks.
I only brought my Canon 5D Mark II camera on Saturday for Qualifying, and it was a good thing: the air quality was so bad at the track you could barely see the race cars more than a half kilometer away. I did have a little movie camera that takes stills, so I got this photo at the track of the last Indian sundown. We would take a bus 20 kilometers to a train station, and then 30 minutes in a very crowed rail car with happy, and talkative race fans. We ate a delicious dinner, showered, and took a taxi to the airport, and said good-bye to a great week in India.
Dr. Jeff Harper
The Travellers
Your intrepid travellers (l to r): Jeff, Bud, Allan.
Yours Truly out in the Keralan Backwaters.
Sometimes I feel this way. Indian F1.
An American Summer Holiday: In the Beginning, Philadelphia
Friday, July 27, 2012 at 2:16PM PHILADELPHIA, PA, U.S.A.
I went to the U.S.A. this July (2012) to breathe some American air. Pennsylvania did not disappoint.
My first stop was on the grid in Philadelphia, home of American Democracy, signed, sealed, and delivered here in Constitution Hall in 1776.
My daughter is a professional artist in the very artsy Philadelphia.
Philadelphia is an old city, a bit down at the heel and in need of some fresh paint . . . which has been slathered here and there: Philly is a city that feels like it is on the rebound.
There is much urban charm to be found in Philadelphia.
Some Philly residential areas remind me of my time in London.
My infatuation with street carts was fully satisfied in Philadelphia. I couldn't help but think of the similarities and differences between food carts in Philly, Bangkok, and Yogjakarta, Indonesia.
A trip to Philly would not be complete without engorging on the requisite cheese steak sandwich.
Philadelphia is also a modern metropolis of glass and steel . . .
. . . and all kinds of people in funny hats and clothing . . .
. . . for many, many years, it seems.
NATURAL HISTORY MUSEUM of PHILADELPHIA
There is a fine Natural History Museum in Philadelphia definitely worth the visit.
You can actually touch dinosaur bones!
There was a large section containing many dioramas of current and extinct animals. We enjoyed looking at the bison, moose, and bear dioramas in anticipation of actually seeing them in Yellowstone National Park later in the summer.
Like many museums, actual scientific study was going on. There were glass windows overlooking the research labs.
There was a butterfly "room" filled with colorful butterflies from around the world . . .
. . . a photographer's dream (although I did not have my macro lens handy . . . damn!).
I chased this black example around the room until it sat still.
A fantastic environment for photography . . . I could have spent all day in there, but Vietnamese dinner in Chinatown was beckoning.
Philly does not have an especially large Chinatown area, but it makes up for it in colorful lights.
The Occupy Wall Street folks were in Philly to protest the 4th of July parade, but stopped off in Chinatown for food and beer. Good people.
We were still a little jet-lagged, but we enjoyed the day.
The city that never stops working . . . I imagined these guys to be secret operatives splicing into the Police Station communications net they were working next to . . . .
I LOVE A PARADE: 4th of July
A hot, sunny 4th of July morning in Philadelphia.
We where up early and out the door to get a good place to view the big 4th of July parade. Thee side streets were full of staging floats and parade goers . . . .
. . . as well as a goodly number of Occupy Wall Street protesters, and an overwhelming police presence. The Founding City of American Democracy seemed a bit intolerant to those who want to preserve it - for all.
We stopped for good coffee right across from Betsy Ross's Historical House . . . .
. . . where they were busy running visitors' hometown flags up the Betsy Ross Flag Pole (BRFP).
Everybody was eager with anticipation for the parade to begin.
And the parade began!
The 4th of July is America's Birthday party . . . a time to celebrate America . . . in all its aspects.
I liked that the parade organizing committee allowed such a wide swath of American culture, history, and institutions to parade themselves before the citizenry.
There were lots of Marching Bands . . . .
. . . and actual soldiers just back from Afghanistan . . .
. . . and soul singers on floats . . .
. . . antique milk trucks (I enjoyed these) . . .
. . . a Viet Nam Veterans Motorcycle Club . . .
Sometimes the contrasts between the parading groups was astonishing . . . like these members of the Confederate Antebellum Society . . . followed by the group representing the Underground Railway Museum.
A fervor of historical reverence was evident among the parade-goers.
They are proud of their police in Philadelphia . . .
. . . and their Beauty Queens.
Lots of Beauty Queens riding on convertibles . . . like the calmly Miss Philadelphia here.
There was a nice mix of Beauty Queens and Marching Bands . . .
. . . and old Fire Department machinery . . .
. . . and Marching Bands, some more wild than others!
I was glad to see the Shriners and their little parade cars racing about . . . the crowd loved them. They do good work.
Uncle Sam was a part of the Red, White, and Blue orgy of patriotism.
For me, the highlight of the parade, in addition to the hot rods and classic cars, were the many ethnic communities represented. The inclusiveness was admirable and exemplary.
The local Philippine community was out in force . . .
. . . Miss Philippines USA was on hand . . .
. . . as was this Filipino sailor, symbolizing the close historical connection between the USA and the Philippines.
The Chinese community was amply represented.
Did I mention that there was a temperature record set on this day? It was well over 100f degrees (37C) when the parade began. These poor Chinese dragon masters were taking a well-deserved break.
The Philadelphia Tibetan Association was also present and received a very loud ovation from the crowd. It is very interesting how these conflicting groups (Chinese and Tibetan) coexist here in the U.S.A.
Thanks for calling our attention. Tibetan Lamas.
My own personal Grand Marshall of the parade, the Dalai Lama.
The Chinese also had to contend wiht a large presnce of Fulon Gong members in their yellow silk outfits. The are banned in China.
I guess that's why they have so many old fire trucks in the parade . . .
. . . and Beauty Queens on very cool old cars . . . .
. . . and wonderfully loud drumlines: they separate the groups that might be in conflict.
Philadelphia is a National Football League (NFL) team hosting city: home of the Eagles. This guy brought the crowd to life!
This was my favorite entry in the parade: teacher of the year. To be a great teacher is to be living a great life. I am glad the good people of New Jersey appreciate that fact. If you don't know your American geography, Camden, New Jersey is just across the river from Philadelphia, Pennsylania.
There are large numbers of Cambodian refugees in The States . . .
. . . and apparently a large community in Philadelphia. I loved seeing the young Buddhist monk being paraded down the street . . . . talk about a test of your inner peace and a challenge to your conscious awareness!
What a great idea: a Migrant Heritage Commission. This poor guy had a hell of a time fighting this huge banner against the sudden hot wind. The crowd really got behind his efforts.
What could be more fun than getting together with 15 of your best freinds to bang on the "sto" buckets while riding down Main Street, I ask you?
What could be more American than the Hot Rod!
It must be nice to have friends on the parade Organizing Committee: you can drive your car down Main Street waiving a USD$0.29 flag.
Eventually, all things must come to an end. The, by now, 103f heat had driven most of the children off the streets, along with their overheated parents. Flags play an important part of the American experience.
The Official End of the Parade float.
In Philadelphia, even the coolster HipShop owners get into the fun. We headed back to an air-conditioned space for naps, then later in the evening . . . .
. . . we went to a delightfully post-modern Cuban restaurant. I ask you, what could be more American on the 4th of July?
After a rousing engorgement of black beans and rice, we walked to the very popular Franklin Fountain for ice cream.
The Franklin Fountain is a very interesting business concept: take an 1880s building and recreate an 1880s business in it. In this case, a soda fountain.
Dress your staff in period costumes, find period furnishings, make your own ice cream with period recipes, and display antique fountain products. Very good . . . . they even had sugar-free ice cream for me!
They managed to pull off a perfect illusion of the 1880s. There was a line of 30 people waiting to get in . . . it was 7:30pm and it was still 90f . . . good ice cream weather.
Our original plan was to walk to the river to watch the fireworks display, but they had moved the fireworks to the other end of the city. It was getting late, and we wanted an early start for our road trip to Virginia, so we went back to the hotel to pack.
Good night Philadelphia.
Songkran Holiday: Part 2 - Klong Yai Port and Hat Lek (Cambodian Boarder), Khlong Yai District
Thursday, May 3, 2012 at 7:56PM THE THAI-CAMBODIAN BOARDER TOWN OF HAT LEK
Khlong Yai District is a narrow strip of land along the northeast shore of the Gulf of Thailand. It is a rarely visited region of Thailand and mainly serves as a route to the Cambodian Boarder at the small town of Hat Lek. Khlong Yai and Hat Lek are fishing ports for the Thai fleet of shrimpers, squiders, and general market fishing.
Hat Lek is a boarder post between Thailand and Cambodia. It is a bustling little place where tradesmen scurry abut with carts full of produce bound for the Cambodian side. We did not pay the fee for a Cambodian Visa, so only saw the Hat Yai, on Thai side.
Beautiful, and busy, downtown Hat Lek, Thailand.
Hat Yai was crawling with Durians. Apparently it is a good time to send Durians from Thailand to Cambodia. We got there early, around 7:30, but we were already too late for the morning market, which seemed to be already closing up. I find these dray carts ("a strong low cart or carriage used for heavy burdens.") fascinating
There were still many dray carts heaped with Durians when we got there . . . and plenty of buyers. Personally, I LOVE Durians and consider them the very best fruit on Earth. They are known as The King of Fruits by those, like me, who crave them. However, about half of our planet's population consider Durians the most disgusting and sickening fruit in this quadrant of the universe. The human being is completely split about liking or hating Durians!
Durians, Durians, and more Durians. Yum, Yum, and more Yum!
The cart porters were obviously NOT paid by the cart . . but by the piece!
There were all kinds of dray carts toting all kinds of goods both ways across the boarder with Cambodia. You can see the Durian traders in the background.
Packed, loaded, and headig for the Cambodian boarder.
If you have spent any time in my photo blog, you know I have more than a passing interest in push carts, dray carts, and street peddlers carts. These carts are obviously purpose-built for this situation: transporting goods to and from Cambodia. The porters were also fantastically photogenic!
Many of the dray-men were pushing the heavy loads were women, er, dray-women! As is often the case in Thailand (and around Southeast Asia), women who work in the sun take every measure to keep from getting dark skin. Dark skin is a sign that one is a manual laborer and not a "refined lady or a "HiSo lady."
A happy dray man.
Hat Lek must be the Durian capitol of the world!
I would love one day to fill a gallery with these cart portraits . . . with one room dedicated only to Durian dray carts. The Durian seems to me to be the best eidence that extra-terrestrials have visited our home planet. The visiting aliens siply dropped the seeds of these amazingly yummy fruits after eating the box lunches their spouses packed home for the trip.
The women porters' hats and masks made them very mysterious indeed.
It got rapidly hotter as the morning grew shorter. The merchants withdrew to the shade and under parisols.
I ran into the Porter in Blue later in the morning sitting with her young child in the shade. She consented to be photographed.
One particular Durian porter caught out eye, not least for her bloodied hands from handling Durians without the thick leather gloves used by the other porters, but because she was so very beautiful. Movie star beautiful!
The dray women of Hat Lek, Thailand.
Hat Lek is on the Gulf of Thailand, so after exploring the boarder trade in Durians we explored the little town . . . only to discover a Buddhist Thanksgiving ceremony dedicated to the sea presided over by seven chanting monks.
The villagers were tending hand made sand chedis along the beach.
It was an idyllic setting, on a perfect day. I gave thanks as well for the bounty of the sea.
A perfect morning to commune with The Buddha and with nature.
Hat Lek also had a small fishing port. We stood in amazement as the fishermen unloaded their boats by throwing pink baskets full of fish up to the waiting buyers on the stone jetty.
Although it was only 8:30am, it was very hot already. The boatmen worked very hard.
Like everything we encountered on the Khlong Yai coast, the colors were vivid and bright. Each fish buyer brought with him his own color-coded plastic boxes and baskets.
As we were watching the fishing boats being unloaded, a boy and his father slowly glided into Hat Lek port.
KHLONG YAI DISTRICT COMMERCIAL FISHING PORT
About 20 kilometers south of Khlong Yai we passed this interesting roadside sign . . . and were immediately thrown into a perception of ourselves on a map as seen from above . . . a fun awareness shift!
One of several commercial fishing ports along Thai Highway 318.
Between Hat Lek and the fishing port of Khlong Yai, there are several commercial fishing docks. We stopped at one and spent some time photographing the colorful scene.
The port was a busy place: loading ice onto ships after they have been emptied and readied for a quick turn-around, and back out to sea.
It was over 100f (39c) on this day. Loading ice into the ship's hold must have been refreshing.
The ice workers had the best job, that's for sure.
Oh to be an Iceman's helper on a day like this! Easy money!
Some of the 'catch of the day.'
This picture takin' thing ain't all that hard! It's as easy as shootin' fish in a barrel . . . literally!
The docks were full of wonderful images, like this corroded old anchor . . .
. . . . and the light bulbs use to attract squid to the boats at night.
The dock and fisheries workers did not mind being photographed.
Taking a smoke break among the fish crates.
KHLONG YAI TOWN AND PORT
We drove North on Thai Highway 318 back to the town of Khlong Yai. We arrived in the late afternoon and headed immediately for the port . . . and the magic light that precedes the sunset.
Khlong Yai is a bustling little authentic Thai port town that the tourists have ignored.
We were greeted with more colorful and fascinating, and supremely photogenic, Thai fishing village scenes. I never get tired of these scenes . . . and took thousands of photos.
The sunlight, and the water, flattened as the afternoon wore on. I was happy to walk along the docks taking photos. I was in a perpetual "Oh WOW!" state of wonder. "Basil, look at THIS! Basil, look at THAT!"
The people of Khlong Yai were very friendly and open.
Old, weathered wooden warehouses and brightly painted boats reflected in the inlet. Photographers' Heaven.
So many interesting textures and patterns . . . and evocative images.
Basil, an excellent photographer and teacher, gave me many tips on composition and how to get more out of my camera and lenses. Thanks Basil.
Wash day on the docks.
We walked further out on the quay and noticed the buildings on the other side were dilapidated, unoccupied, and in many cases heavily damaged. Perhaps there had been a big storm or tsunami . . . or somebody is behind on their mortgage.
The abandoned green room (above) cast an amazingly abstract reflection on the water. A little color enhancement and brightening in post-production makes for a very beautiful abstract photo.
There was no shortage of photo opportunities of my favorite subject; the textures of dilapidation. I think of it as "Old Space."
At some point the houses along the pier were no longer grounded on terra firma. The mudskippers were up and about in the afternoon light making trails in the mud under the houses. Mudskippers are fish that have adapted legs and gills for living outside the water . . . . just like the first animals that came out of the sea billions of years ago. My advice: Go back!
The sun was beginning to set, which meant it was getting near dinner time. I found this scene amusing; Mom had obviously sent the son out under the house to catch an ingredient needed for tonight's meal . . . no doubt sum tam with small crabs.
The fading sun cast an eerie glow on the buildings.
The sunset lit up an approaching storm approaching from over Cambodia.
We reached the end of the pier, quite far out into the Gulf of Thailand. Across the inlet was another pier. What a scene!
The sunset did not disappoint. "That cloud look like a horse!"
Golden sunset light on an old building.
We walked out back along the same pier, completely engrossed in the light.
The port was beautiful in the dying light.
We walked back into the little town looking for something to eat. We stopped in a small shop for water and asked where a good, air-conditioned restaurant might be found . . . and were told that there wasn't one in the entire town. Gotta love that!
We spent the night in the only hotel in town - the Khlong Yai City Hotel (not mentioned on the Internet - how is that possible?). They seemed completely unprepared for the arrival of guests! Although the air-conditining did work, I would not necessarily recommend this hotel . . . but if you need a roof over your head after a hot and wonderful day, it will do. We woke early and drove north to another fishing village, Mairood.
Indonesian Street Peddlers' Carts
Wednesday, January 11, 2012 at 7:09PM 
I love street carts. I freely admit it. Indonesia must be the street cart capitol of the world. Never have I seen so many carts selling so many items. They completely fascinate me. In Indonesia they are known as kaki limas, which literally means "five legs."
The types and varieties of items for sale staggers the mind. A very few were new, like this ice cream cart.
Cart location seemed critical. Sweets carts are found near tourist locations, or where school children frequent.
Jakarta Coffee and tea carts all displayed racks of packets.
Congregations of carts were often seen . . .
. . . as well as solitary carts.
Cart men and woman came in all shapes, sizes, and genders. This seaport cartman repaired to the shade of a truck for his morning's shave.
Most of the cart proprietors in Jakarta were well dressed and clean.
Carts were not just places to purchase coffee, tea, or fruit; they are places for friendship and social interaction . . .
. . . a place for a laugh among friends . . .
. . . a place in the shade to take a break from your job . . .
. . . and to enjoy life.
There were carts everywhere I went in Indonesia, of course, like this cart outside the wet market of Yogjakarta.
A Yogjakarta cart portrait.
I wasn't sure if this Yogjakarta street peddler was selling door-to-door, or was on the way to his regular 'corner' somewhere.
