A hotel on Alameda Street, downtown Santa Fe. Three shots, stitched using DoubleTake.
Sunday, July 30, 2006
Gallup, New Mexico
Red Rock State Park, about 5 miles east of downtown Gallup. A panorama of three shots.
Monday, June 19, 2006
Gallup, New Mexico
Long Walk Home
Richard K. Yazzie, murallist, 2005
In 1864, during a period of destabilization among U.S. settlers, Spanish inhabitants and Native Americans, the Navajo and some Apachee were singled out by the U.S. government as responsible for raiding. Thousands of Navajo people were forcibly marched from Canoon de Chelly by Colonel Kit Carson, on orders of Brigadier Geeneral James H. Carleton, to Fort Sumner, 400 miles away. Eventually, 7,000 Navajo were imprisoned there.
The captives suffered four years of deplorable conditions of drought, hunger and cold until it no longer became feasible to hold them. The Peace Treaty of 1868 was signed and the Navajo were released. At Fort Wingate, livestock and other supplies were distributed. From there the Navajo dispersed allong the Rio Puerco, where Gallup was later founded in 1881, to their ancestral homeland, now a defined reservation.
Note: This is the kind of rainbow that I saw for the first time in my life, both ends in plain sight, as I entered Santa Fe about a week ago.
Richard K. Yazzie, murallist, 2005
In 1864, during a period of destabilization among U.S. settlers, Spanish inhabitants and Native Americans, the Navajo and some Apachee were singled out by the U.S. government as responsible for raiding. Thousands of Navajo people were forcibly marched from Canoon de Chelly by Colonel Kit Carson, on orders of Brigadier Geeneral James H. Carleton, to Fort Sumner, 400 miles away. Eventually, 7,000 Navajo were imprisoned there.
The captives suffered four years of deplorable conditions of drought, hunger and cold until it no longer became feasible to hold them. The Peace Treaty of 1868 was signed and the Navajo were released. At Fort Wingate, livestock and other supplies were distributed. From there the Navajo dispersed allong the Rio Puerco, where Gallup was later founded in 1881, to their ancestral homeland, now a defined reservation.
Note: This is the kind of rainbow that I saw for the first time in my life, both ends in plain sight, as I entered Santa Fe about a week ago.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Gallup, New Mexico
Women's Mullti-cultural Mural
Erica Rae Sykes, muralist, 2005
Centuries before Gallup's founding in 1881, this was a region of interweaving native cultures -- Navajo, Hopi and Zuni. Resources of coal, timber, railroads and trading attracted settlers and created a city of increasing cultural diversity.
We offer a tribute to the women who have carried on the traditions of daily life of their own cultures, raising children, making gardens and neighborhoods. Women who have perpetuated special holidays. Women who have had a major role in forming our cultural organizations, churches, schools and libraries.
The large symbolic storyteller at the left of the mural pays homage to the women who have kept multi-cultural memories alive by telling stories of the past.
[From the plaque by the mural]
Erica Rae Sykes, muralist, 2005
Centuries before Gallup's founding in 1881, this was a region of interweaving native cultures -- Navajo, Hopi and Zuni. Resources of coal, timber, railroads and trading attracted settlers and created a city of increasing cultural diversity.
We offer a tribute to the women who have carried on the traditions of daily life of their own cultures, raising children, making gardens and neighborhoods. Women who have perpetuated special holidays. Women who have had a major role in forming our cultural organizations, churches, schools and libraries.
The large symbolic storyteller at the left of the mural pays homage to the women who have kept multi-cultural memories alive by telling stories of the past.
[From the plaque by the mural]
Monday, May 01, 2006
Portland, Oregon
I was on my way the post office when I came upon this May Day, pro-immigration demonstration going south on 12th Avenue. I don't know at what point I saw them, but it was several blocks long.
Sunday, April 02, 2006
Bad buses, bad drivers kill hundreds annually on Andean roads
I've been explaining to my friends, for years now, why, after nine years, I don't know Peru. It is because the roads are terrible, each week I read about another bus going over another precipice, and I'm simply partial to dying in bed.
Here's an article that supports my thinking: Bad buses, bad drivers kill hundreds annually on Andean roads
Here's an article that supports my thinking: Bad buses, bad drivers kill hundreds annually on Andean roads
Monday, March 20, 2006
A Higher Plane...Bar None
My Flickr friend, Robin, took this shot, during a stop on a tour of Vancouver. He's a hell of a driver and a wonderful person.
Thursday, January 26, 2006
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Return from hibernation
I cannot believe that I have been in hibernation since 24 August 2005, when I visited Ecuador.
Since then, I've travelled to Kingston, to another place, to Orlando, and am planning to leave for Vancouver, Canada by the end of this month. Of course, I did find some difficulty getting to computers while I was in the Caribbean, but I certain had access to a computer in Orlando. I just didn't have the desire to catch up, to bring my blog up to date.
Let's see how much energy will be generated to keep my blog current.
Since then, I've travelled to Kingston, to another place, to Orlando, and am planning to leave for Vancouver, Canada by the end of this month. Of course, I did find some difficulty getting to computers while I was in the Caribbean, but I certain had access to a computer in Orlando. I just didn't have the desire to catch up, to bring my blog up to date.
Let's see how much energy will be generated to keep my blog current.
Wednesday, August 24, 2005
How many miles to Mall del Sol?
Tuesday, 23 August 2005
Today, I set out on foot, to find the graffiti that I saw from the tour bus the day before. It was just about the only decent graffiti I've seen in this city, on the wall of the University of Guayaquil.
So I left the hostel and headed on, I think, Francisco Roca R. toward the other malecon down Blvd. 9 de Octubre. After several blocks, I ask a man at a corner where the malecon is. He pointed left, but then I spot what looks like graffiti in the opposite direction. So I head in pursuit and find some political graffiti. And realize that I am on the right track, have taken the right direction, and that the graffiti which I seek is about 150 meters down the road.
I took about eight shots of the graffiti, but it was risky having my butt out into heavy traffic. Afterwards, I asked a newspaper guy which direction to the Mall del Sol. I follow his direction. Finally, it seems like five miles in all, I arrive at the mall, in pursuit of a biography of Fidel Castro. The name of the book and the author, I left in my notebook in Lima and have totally forgotten.
In the second bookstore, I see a book which appears to be the one I am looking for, a hardcover which cost $34. I am thinking about the weight, as well as the cost. Later, I find a really big bookstore at the other end of the mall, upstairs.
But before I enter the bookstore, I set to take a photo of an ad outside a store and heard a young woman call out to me to tell me that it is now allowed. However, I already have the photo. Shoot first, ask later.
This bookstore has the book, paperback, for $9. Great.
I leave the bookstore and talk to some heavily armed policeman about how to get to the cemetery. They call a cab. The driver warns me against visiting the cemetery by making a slashing motion at his throat.
I then shift the discussion to the Botannical Garden. I don't seem to be getting much encouragement here either, but I insist. So, we're off, and it will only cost $4. We arrive, and I he rejects a $1 tip. The guy at the gate assures me that there are lots of flowers. But my tour of the place makes him out to be a lying motherfucker.
It is a grand excuse for a botannical garden. Nobody has spent any time making the place live up to its name. And the bathrooms have no toilet paper, not soap either.
But I do get a few pictures of orchids, about seven varieties. Got close to a few butterflies, and very close to hundreds of dead ones used to spell out Botannico de Guayaquil, or something close.
The driver, as promised, returned at 1:30 PM, and I stopped him for a minute to take photos of graffiti on a wall nearby, and alighted on Blvd. 9 de Octubre, near Escobedo. I tipped him about $5 and this time he accepted it.
I wandered around quite a bit, got about five of my smartmedia cards with photos transferred to CD, then the one CD copied. I am learning my lesson quite late, having lost 17,000 photographs, many of them irreplaceable.
Then I sat at a juice bar, drank too much juice and felt quite uncomfortable. Walked slowly back to the hostel, read a bit, and then went to bed.
Today, I set out on foot, to find the graffiti that I saw from the tour bus the day before. It was just about the only decent graffiti I've seen in this city, on the wall of the University of Guayaquil.
So I left the hostel and headed on, I think, Francisco Roca R. toward the other malecon down Blvd. 9 de Octubre. After several blocks, I ask a man at a corner where the malecon is. He pointed left, but then I spot what looks like graffiti in the opposite direction. So I head in pursuit and find some political graffiti. And realize that I am on the right track, have taken the right direction, and that the graffiti which I seek is about 150 meters down the road.
I took about eight shots of the graffiti, but it was risky having my butt out into heavy traffic. Afterwards, I asked a newspaper guy which direction to the Mall del Sol. I follow his direction. Finally, it seems like five miles in all, I arrive at the mall, in pursuit of a biography of Fidel Castro. The name of the book and the author, I left in my notebook in Lima and have totally forgotten.
In the second bookstore, I see a book which appears to be the one I am looking for, a hardcover which cost $34. I am thinking about the weight, as well as the cost. Later, I find a really big bookstore at the other end of the mall, upstairs.
But before I enter the bookstore, I set to take a photo of an ad outside a store and heard a young woman call out to me to tell me that it is now allowed. However, I already have the photo. Shoot first, ask later.
This bookstore has the book, paperback, for $9. Great.
I leave the bookstore and talk to some heavily armed policeman about how to get to the cemetery. They call a cab. The driver warns me against visiting the cemetery by making a slashing motion at his throat.
I then shift the discussion to the Botannical Garden. I don't seem to be getting much encouragement here either, but I insist. So, we're off, and it will only cost $4. We arrive, and I he rejects a $1 tip. The guy at the gate assures me that there are lots of flowers. But my tour of the place makes him out to be a lying motherfucker.
It is a grand excuse for a botannical garden. Nobody has spent any time making the place live up to its name. And the bathrooms have no toilet paper, not soap either.
But I do get a few pictures of orchids, about seven varieties. Got close to a few butterflies, and very close to hundreds of dead ones used to spell out Botannico de Guayaquil, or something close.
The driver, as promised, returned at 1:30 PM, and I stopped him for a minute to take photos of graffiti on a wall nearby, and alighted on Blvd. 9 de Octubre, near Escobedo. I tipped him about $5 and this time he accepted it.
I wandered around quite a bit, got about five of my smartmedia cards with photos transferred to CD, then the one CD copied. I am learning my lesson quite late, having lost 17,000 photographs, many of them irreplaceable.
Then I sat at a juice bar, drank too much juice and felt quite uncomfortable. Walked slowly back to the hostel, read a bit, and then went to bed.
I arrive in Guayaquil, Ecuador
Friday, 19 August 2005
It's 12:44 PM and I am standing in a long line, one of about six, at immigration in Guayaquil. Taca 026 from Lima had landed about 15 minutes earlier. I want to pee but there is nothing to be done about it until we pass through immigration, and they are being interminably slow because, apparently, the machines are down or something of the sort.
The line hasn't moved in 10 minutes.
Eventually, I pass through immigration and exit the terminal building. A man approaches me with a hard sell. I am asking for tourist information, but he says he has all the information I need. Finally, I find information, not tourist information per se but get booklets and a hotel and a hostel. I figure the hostel because it costs $12/night.
I return to the hard sell guy and he tells me a taxi will cost $5, and that I have to give him a tip. I give him a dollar and he hands me a map of central Guayaquil. Free.
At 1:48 PM, I'm in a room with two beds, in Pacifico Hostelling Int., at Escobedo 811 between Junin & L. Uerdaneta. I am only three blocks from Blvd. 9 de Octubre, the main drag, and about 5 or so blocks from the malecon, the best looking malecon that I have ever seen. Makes the malecon in Buenos Aires look sort of ordinary.
I visit the malecon and take a bunch of pictures.
It's 12:44 PM and I am standing in a long line, one of about six, at immigration in Guayaquil. Taca 026 from Lima had landed about 15 minutes earlier. I want to pee but there is nothing to be done about it until we pass through immigration, and they are being interminably slow because, apparently, the machines are down or something of the sort.
The line hasn't moved in 10 minutes.
Eventually, I pass through immigration and exit the terminal building. A man approaches me with a hard sell. I am asking for tourist information, but he says he has all the information I need. Finally, I find information, not tourist information per se but get booklets and a hotel and a hostel. I figure the hostel because it costs $12/night.
I return to the hard sell guy and he tells me a taxi will cost $5, and that I have to give him a tip. I give him a dollar and he hands me a map of central Guayaquil. Free.
At 1:48 PM, I'm in a room with two beds, in Pacifico Hostelling Int., at Escobedo 811 between Junin & L. Uerdaneta. I am only three blocks from Blvd. 9 de Octubre, the main drag, and about 5 or so blocks from the malecon, the best looking malecon that I have ever seen. Makes the malecon in Buenos Aires look sort of ordinary.
I visit the malecon and take a bunch of pictures.
Friday, February 11, 2005
RUMINATIONS & PICTURES
To read my daily blog, I invite you to click on
RUMINATIONS & PICTURES
Look forward to seeing you there.
Patrick Barry Barr
RUMINATIONS & PICTURES
Look forward to seeing you there.
Patrick Barry Barr
Thursday, February 03, 2005
Ruminations & Pictures
Hello,
Welcome to On the Move, where I blog when I am travelling.
If this is the last post, please go to Ruminations & Pictures where I blog when I am not travelling. When I am sitting around at home, or just returned from a movie, or planning to go to one.
Peace and love.
Patrick Barry Barr
Welcome to On the Move, where I blog when I am travelling.
If this is the last post, please go to Ruminations & Pictures where I blog when I am not travelling. When I am sitting around at home, or just returned from a movie, or planning to go to one.
Peace and love.
Patrick Barry Barr
Monday, January 31, 2005
Sunday, November 07, 2004
Tuesday, October 19, 2004
Monday, October 18, 2004
Saturday, October 16, 2004
FLORENCE, ITALY
A MUGGING POSTPONED
Yesterday, I was rushing headlong toward my own mugging, until I got my bearings and parted company with my "benefactor".
It was about 5 o'clock and I was leaning against a wall on Via Faenza, studying the map. I didn't have much of a clue where I was when this slender, tall guy asked me if he could help. I said I was looking for Ponte Vecchio, and he said "follow me!"
He started on a brisk pace, so brisk that sometimes, when separated, I had to run to catch up with him. So fast, that even his friend was left behind.
After about six minutes, we emerged at the train station, the first place I recognized. That told me that he was taking me north, into his territory, when Ponte Vecchio lay south.
I said my goodbyes and we parted company.
USEFUL INFORMATION, UNREAD
In Milan, I went to the museum to The Last Supper and was asked if I had a reservation. First time in my life I had ever faced that situation. Of course, I had none. And I had gone to such trouble, walking and getting lost how many times to get there.
I had the foresight, when I flew Lufthansa on 24 August to Moscow, to rip out a page from the inflight magazine that talked about Milan. At that time, I wasn't sure I would visit Milan. But just in case. Well, that was 24 August.
Last night, 15 October, I pulled out the sheet of paper and read it for the first time. The relevant part said:
"The church of Santa Maria delle Grazie is home to one of the world's most famous painting, Leonardo da Vinci's Last Supper. Admission is limited, so call ahead."
OK, so I blew Milan. So when I arrived in Florence, I called and got an appointment to see David at 11 o'clock this morning and a 1:15 tomorrow for Galleria Degli Uffizi where I expect to meet Venus Rising.
LOST IN FLORENCE
A few things can happen when you are lost and studying a map on the street. Usually, you are completely ignored. Also, unfortunately, you could be approached by someone who really wants you to part with your money.
Or, you could get help from some wonderful people. As I have in Paris, a couple times. And that's how I met Vera at the corner of Via Panicale and Via Dell' Ariento.
She left her store to enquire if I needed help and found out that we have somethings in common. Vera, a German, has lived in Jamaica, had a Jamaican in her life, and discovered Jamaican food.
For about half an hour, we chatted non-stop about the ways of people. We talked about reggae, about Rastafari, about the good things and the bad things about places. It blew her mind when I told her that in Jamaica, we used to pay to go see a movie, but before it hit the screen, we had to stand to the British national anthem. Imagine how screwed up minds must be. Without a gun in sight. Without a whip. We, exploited Jamaicans, stand obediently to God Save the King, or God Save the Queen!!! And, when the empire had sucked us dry, they gave us independence. But only after they were sure we were ready!
I know my country so little that I had to ask Vera where Treasure Beach was. It is on the south coast and I believe I have been there with former friends Sydney and Georgia White.
Of course, it was good to see David, but I had met him before. I met Vera for the first time and she made my day.
Patrick Barry Barr
A MUGGING POSTPONED
Yesterday, I was rushing headlong toward my own mugging, until I got my bearings and parted company with my "benefactor".
It was about 5 o'clock and I was leaning against a wall on Via Faenza, studying the map. I didn't have much of a clue where I was when this slender, tall guy asked me if he could help. I said I was looking for Ponte Vecchio, and he said "follow me!"
He started on a brisk pace, so brisk that sometimes, when separated, I had to run to catch up with him. So fast, that even his friend was left behind.
After about six minutes, we emerged at the train station, the first place I recognized. That told me that he was taking me north, into his territory, when Ponte Vecchio lay south.
I said my goodbyes and we parted company.
USEFUL INFORMATION, UNREAD
In Milan, I went to the museum to The Last Supper and was asked if I had a reservation. First time in my life I had ever faced that situation. Of course, I had none. And I had gone to such trouble, walking and getting lost how many times to get there.
I had the foresight, when I flew Lufthansa on 24 August to Moscow, to rip out a page from the inflight magazine that talked about Milan. At that time, I wasn't sure I would visit Milan. But just in case. Well, that was 24 August.
Last night, 15 October, I pulled out the sheet of paper and read it for the first time. The relevant part said:
"The church of Santa Maria delle Grazie is home to one of the world's most famous painting, Leonardo da Vinci's Last Supper. Admission is limited, so call ahead."
OK, so I blew Milan. So when I arrived in Florence, I called and got an appointment to see David at 11 o'clock this morning and a 1:15 tomorrow for Galleria Degli Uffizi where I expect to meet Venus Rising.
LOST IN FLORENCE
A few things can happen when you are lost and studying a map on the street. Usually, you are completely ignored. Also, unfortunately, you could be approached by someone who really wants you to part with your money.
Or, you could get help from some wonderful people. As I have in Paris, a couple times. And that's how I met Vera at the corner of Via Panicale and Via Dell' Ariento.
She left her store to enquire if I needed help and found out that we have somethings in common. Vera, a German, has lived in Jamaica, had a Jamaican in her life, and discovered Jamaican food.
For about half an hour, we chatted non-stop about the ways of people. We talked about reggae, about Rastafari, about the good things and the bad things about places. It blew her mind when I told her that in Jamaica, we used to pay to go see a movie, but before it hit the screen, we had to stand to the British national anthem. Imagine how screwed up minds must be. Without a gun in sight. Without a whip. We, exploited Jamaicans, stand obediently to God Save the King, or God Save the Queen!!! And, when the empire had sucked us dry, they gave us independence. But only after they were sure we were ready!
I know my country so little that I had to ask Vera where Treasure Beach was. It is on the south coast and I believe I have been there with former friends Sydney and Georgia White.
Of course, it was good to see David, but I had met him before. I met Vera for the first time and she made my day.
Patrick Barry Barr
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