travel

Playing in Fundy

Playing in Fundy

Galleries: Grand Manan     :::      Messing around with Peter & Tim

Remember what it was like to have a playdate when you were a kid? The anticipation and excitement, perhaps mixed with a little dread? The warmup period when you were getting all the toys out, and maybe if it was at Marc Lurie’s house Mrs Lurie would bring out the junk food that was forbidden at home. But most of all, the play itself. Immersion, involvement, the suspension of time and that other reality called “real life”. Ah.

I’m fortunate to enjoy that kind of play at pretty regular interludes. For one thing, Duston is a true playmate – there are many episodes of play in our live together, and sometimes it feels like there’s altogether too much of it! And early last year, when Carsten Peter came to visit from Germany for 4days en route to a shoot in Kamchatka or some such (why on earth come via New York?) We both had new cameras, and ran around like maniacs testing them out(I was on the way to Peru a few weeks later). On the third night we sat in the living room turning the lights progressively lower until we were down to one candle, testing the low light capabilities (insane!) of the cameras. We were literally screaming with amazement and delight - I think that that’s when Dus turned to me and said “this has to be one of the longest playdates in history”.

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Direct current

Direct current

Washington hasn’t exactly enthralled me over the years. The first time I went was for a nuclear freeze demonstration in the aftermath of Three Mile Island, in 1979. Crowds, buses, agendas galore. Hair, lots of hair. Since then I’ve been a few times, not that many. A weekend for Amnesty International, a visit with a girl I met in Vermont, two nutty roadtrips in one week with Robin and Marina, and a gentle excursion with Duston’s dad and stepmom a few years ago.

 

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60 Hours

Gallery: Mexico City >>

Last time I was in Mexico City was 13 years ago, with Duston. It was our first big trip together; you learn a lot about someone when you travel with them. We learned enough to know that we should keep at it for the rest of our lives. 

When my birthday rolled around last week, we decided to head back to down there for the weekend.

I’m trying to think of something profound to say about it, but really it was all visceral, sensational. So why don’t you take a look at some snaps, and I’ll just shut up. And hey - consider going there. It’s not that far (depending where you are), but it’s a long, long way from home. What a place!

The end

The end

Have you ever found yourself somewhere that wasn’t as it seemed, where everyone else was – well, everyone else wasn’t there? Did you wonder if something perhaps had gone really terrifically wrong, like say every media outlet on earth was blasting some news about the Russians having launched all the missiles, and the only place to be was hidden as deep below the surface of the earth as you could possibly go? Except, you were listening to the Doors on your iPod, so you missed it completely?

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Ordinary

Ordinary

Everyone’s ordinary is someone else’s exotic. And fascinating. This is what ordinary looks like in Puri, a town on the coast of the Bay of Bengal, and one of the four holy cities in India. A white cow, a crow on a handcart...

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First day

First day

I was fourteen years old. I was borrowing my Dad’s new camera, an Olympus OM-1 with a 24mm wide-angle lens. Superwide! What a beast. I loved it! I’d joined the photography club at school, and had been essentially cowed into submission by older kids who droned on incessantly about f stops and chemistry. They all had Pentaxes. 

One Friday afternoon we went on an outing to some “hindu temples” in the hills back behind the university...

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