Those that travel and take risks are the ones that have the best stories to tell.
My high school teacher (from whom I ironically learned about existentialism) took the time to have coffee with me one Saturday afternoon. He told me a story about how while in high school he had been in Brazil. A beautiful Brazilian girl had wanted to join him in the outside shower. But what had stopped him was his inability to be vulnerable. He told me I suffered from the same problem: Vulnerability.
After thinking about this for literally years, I came up with the conclusion that the ability to love - the depth you are able to love – is directly proportional to the amount you allow yourself to be vulnerable.
Recently, I've concluded that this is also indicative of great writing and storytelling.
My high school teacher (from whom I ironically learned about existentialism) took the time to have coffee with me one Saturday afternoon. He told me a story about how while in high school he had been in Brazil. A beautiful Brazilian girl had wanted to join him in the outside shower. But what had stopped him was his inability to be vulnerable. He told me I suffered from the same problem: Vulnerability.
After thinking about this for literally years, I came up with the conclusion that the ability to love - the depth you are able to love – is directly proportional to the amount you allow yourself to be vulnerable.
Recently, I've concluded that this is also indicative of great writing and storytelling.
Octoberfest, September 2012.
Octoberfest, September 2012.
Many years ago, I traveled with a group in Kingston, Jamaica. Outside of a stadium was a small outdoor market. An afternoon monsoon forced us to take cover under a random tent-stand which ended up being a group of musicians playing polka.
The rain stopped and an older lady encouraged us to dance. She wanted to show up how the slaves would dance (out of sight) when the plantation owner would have his big parties and dances. The dances required a special rhythm, which was a challenge to get at first. In the end this is one of my favorite pictures from this trip.
The rain stopped and an older lady encouraged us to dance. She wanted to show up how the slaves would dance (out of sight) when the plantation owner would have his big parties and dances. The dances required a special rhythm, which was a challenge to get at first. In the end this is one of my favorite pictures from this trip.
I search for the odd and poignant to photograph.
Weekend outdoor market, Hódmezővásárhely (Near Szeged), Hungary.
Weekend outdoor market, Hódmezővásárhely (Near Szeged), Hungary.
I made it to Southwest Georgia,
staying in a very small town overnight, since this was where the roads further
East became really bad (unimproved). I caught a small minibus as far as it
would go and hitch-hiked the rest of the way to an area which was famous for
some caves, high up on a mountainside.
A kind family with numerous kids in a white panel van dropped me off at a newly-renovated small conference center. I asked inside and they offered me a small, clean room in the back of the building. They also offered me an early traditional dinner. After the meal and the white wine having kicked in, I decided to cross the dusty street in search of ice cream.
At the set of small ramshackle shops I came upon a priest barbequing a set of skewered fresh fish. Even though I had already eaten, I asked him if I could buy one. He stared at me for a bit and pointed to a group of men not far away. I approached them and they kindly invited me to join them for their feast. These are the moments I live for.
The group, about 12, ate and drank until late. They invited me to join them “early” to go to another fishing place. I had not even seen the caves – the reason I had come here – but I accepted readily even though it was at the ungodly hour of 5:15am.
I stumbled back to my lodgings, locked the front door that the hosts had left open for me, and fell asleep face down on the bed. I awoke to my alarm only to realize the region had been relieved of electricity. The shower was pitch black. I tried to wash and every once in a while bump the phone’s keypad to dimly see. I left a stack money on my bed for my hosts and made it across the street just as the vehicles were exiting.
“We didn’t expect you to make it.” I smiled, knowing I would not have missed it.
I climbed into a little Russian SUV. Up the road where I had been hitchhiking we met up with some other comrades in a police vehicle. Continuing for a good while we came to the border leading to Turkey. The guard waved at us and we continued out of the border of Georgia to a no-man’s land. Just before the border check-point into Turkey we took a sharp left and went between the barbed-wire border and a small lake which it turns out straddles the border.
A kind family with numerous kids in a white panel van dropped me off at a newly-renovated small conference center. I asked inside and they offered me a small, clean room in the back of the building. They also offered me an early traditional dinner. After the meal and the white wine having kicked in, I decided to cross the dusty street in search of ice cream.
At the set of small ramshackle shops I came upon a priest barbequing a set of skewered fresh fish. Even though I had already eaten, I asked him if I could buy one. He stared at me for a bit and pointed to a group of men not far away. I approached them and they kindly invited me to join them for their feast. These are the moments I live for.
The group, about 12, ate and drank until late. They invited me to join them “early” to go to another fishing place. I had not even seen the caves – the reason I had come here – but I accepted readily even though it was at the ungodly hour of 5:15am.
I stumbled back to my lodgings, locked the front door that the hosts had left open for me, and fell asleep face down on the bed. I awoke to my alarm only to realize the region had been relieved of electricity. The shower was pitch black. I tried to wash and every once in a while bump the phone’s keypad to dimly see. I left a stack money on my bed for my hosts and made it across the street just as the vehicles were exiting.
“We didn’t expect you to make it.” I smiled, knowing I would not have missed it.
I climbed into a little Russian SUV. Up the road where I had been hitchhiking we met up with some other comrades in a police vehicle. Continuing for a good while we came to the border leading to Turkey. The guard waved at us and we continued out of the border of Georgia to a no-man’s land. Just before the border check-point into Turkey we took a sharp left and went between the barbed-wire border and a small lake which it turns out straddles the border.
.
We fished all day in this no-man’s
land lake area. Later in the afternoon more men arrived. Everyone congregated
around what looked like a WWII-era Russian container that had been modified to
be a single guard station with a table and bed. One man hacked the fish into large
pieces, skewered it and put it on the barbeque.
The collection was not only Georgians but also Armenians. They all spoke Russian to communicate..
Levan, my new friend invited me to stay at his house in Tbilisi that evening so we staggered back to the vehicles.
Somewhere nearby along the way we accidently ended up at the Armenian border and sheepishly took a U-turn right in front of the border station.
Levan, my new friend invited me to stay at his house in Tbilisi that evening so we staggered back to the vehicles.
Somewhere nearby along the way we accidently ended up at the Armenian border and sheepishly took a U-turn right in front of the border station.
I have known Sir Ross Fogelquist for over 20 years and each event we attend together is an experience all its own. Ross is a big advocate of costumes so if he has an extra one for the occasion I am in.
Here I am with Ross, my nephew, and my nephew’s friend outside Fogelbo on the way to Oktoberfest in Portland, Oregon. This is one of his favorite events, and has also become mine.
Here I am with Ross, my nephew, and my nephew’s friend outside Fogelbo on the way to Oktoberfest in Portland, Oregon. This is one of his favorite events, and has also become mine.
Hosting
I host internationals on a weekly basis.
I often host based on Couchsurfing (http://www.couchsurfing.org).
They are very diverse, but have this uncommon commonality about each of them.
A friend of mine from the Guggenheim has enjoyed having those that were willing be photographed.
Photos below courtesy of M. Secondino.
I host internationals on a weekly basis.
I often host based on Couchsurfing (http://www.couchsurfing.org).
They are very diverse, but have this uncommon commonality about each of them.
A friend of mine from the Guggenheim has enjoyed having those that were willing be photographed.
Photos below courtesy of M. Secondino.
Michel : The crazy Frenchmen.
Michel is a crazy guy who has been all over the world.
He arrived in the East Coast with his 18-year old daughter to buy an SUV and drive it down through Mexico and Panama to South Central America where he intended to stay a year.
It turns out New York and New Jersey are not at all open to non-permanent residents purchasing a vehicle, licensing it, and driving to another country. After more than 5 days trying to get through the nightmare of the DMV bureaucracy he finally gave up and borrowed a front license plate and carefully drove directly through the Mexican border.
Michel is a crazy guy who has been all over the world.
He arrived in the East Coast with his 18-year old daughter to buy an SUV and drive it down through Mexico and Panama to South Central America where he intended to stay a year.
It turns out New York and New Jersey are not at all open to non-permanent residents purchasing a vehicle, licensing it, and driving to another country. After more than 5 days trying to get through the nightmare of the DMV bureaucracy he finally gave up and borrowed a front license plate and carefully drove directly through the Mexican border.
Michel's daughter.
She was as excited about the trip almost as much as Michel.
She sent pictures of her trip as they headed Southward.
She was as excited about the trip almost as much as Michel.
She sent pictures of her trip as they headed Southward.
Alfred: Tough as Nails
Alfred came to visit in December having just finished a 12-day rafting trip through the Grand Canyon. As he put it, “You get out of the tent, break the ice off the equipment and you’re on the water for the next 8 hours.” Alfred coordinated rafting trips all over the world just like this one.
His father had died just 2 years earlier, having just retired before being diagnosed. I could see at times Alfred was thoughtful, sitting and thinking, or perhaps trying not to think.
One of the sweetest guys you'll ever meet, he was one of our most loved visitors.
Alfred came to visit in December having just finished a 12-day rafting trip through the Grand Canyon. As he put it, “You get out of the tent, break the ice off the equipment and you’re on the water for the next 8 hours.” Alfred coordinated rafting trips all over the world just like this one.
His father had died just 2 years earlier, having just retired before being diagnosed. I could see at times Alfred was thoughtful, sitting and thinking, or perhaps trying not to think.
One of the sweetest guys you'll ever meet, he was one of our most loved visitors.
Sasha had been traveling around the world with his high
school friend (and chef) Susi. New York was the last stop before returning to Germany and they probably had $30
left between the two of them. They begged to stay longer so they would not have
to sleep in the train station.
He had certainly not had an easy life. In Berlin he worked as a bartender at the largest biker bar in the city. But I really admired the choice they had made to travel the world for a half year.
He had certainly not had an easy life. In Berlin he worked as a bartender at the largest biker bar in the city. But I really admired the choice they had made to travel the world for a half year.
Another wonderful guest.