Adventures in Uzbekistan and a few home truths....

 

 

Son writes a blog. Once a week, without fail. Until he doesn't.......

I feel that this creates a certain pressure for yours truly.  I try to write monthly, and am now three weeks late. Son wrote recently about the Nike trainers that I never let him have as a child. About skiing and the anticipation and excitement of his first ski of the winter season.  Daughter reminds me of the rule that I set for them as children that no breakfast cereal should cost more than 30p per 100g.

I was a tough negotiater.... a 'mean' mother...... I left all these scars. But we all have scars, right? My mother wouldn't let me play a second instrument. She couldn't afford it. So I took up the oboe as an adult, and then discovered that counting bars when my instrument was not playing was nigh on impossible for me, so I was never able to join an orchestra. Maybe son can buy his own Nike trainers now that he is grown up. And daughter can have any cereal of her choosing. I was only trying to stop them eating too much sugar. Fortunately Weetabix and Shreddies are cheaper than Cheerios and Frosties.

Strange things are happening; I find myself playing the piano again after years of abstinence. Drawn in by Bach's Goldberg Variations, which featured highly in the novel 'Do not Say we have Nothing' by Madeleine Thein. The novel explores the cultural revolution in China. How much tougher was the life of those sent to detention camps for playing music. Their instruments smashed and their compositions burned. I feel so lucky in comparison, and am trying to learn to play some of the easier variations. It is a very slow process.

But I am really here to tell you about Uzbekistan. My other half (OH) and I spent 10 days there in November, The problem that I have, is that I was so blown away by the whole experience that I haven't known where to start, or what to say.

Registan Square, Samarkand

 I was tempted to book the trip by some photos of the Tashkent metro stations that I saw on social media. I find it odd that I chose to book on such a whim. The rest of the trip far outshone the metro. Taking photos without a tripod and an empty station was challenging and unsatisfactory.

The metro stations are ornate and dramatic. Each has a theme.  Photography has only been allowed since 2018, as the stations used to have a secondary function as nuclear fall out shelters.

This one below, Kosmonavtlar, is about space exploration  and cosomonauts.

Kosmonavtlar (Tashkent Metro)

Valentina Tereshkova, the first woman in space.

Decorative tiles in the Tashkent metro.

When I booked the holiday, I knew that we would be visiting cities from the ancient silk roads. Nothing prepared me for the breathtaking architecture found in the mosques, mausoleums, city squares and ancient madrasas ( colleges of islamic instruction).

From Tashkent, to Samarkand, and on to Khiva. So many buildings, so much beauty, and so easy to confuse them all after a whirlwind tour. I could dazzle you with ornate ceilings, walls and doors, but mostly I keep thinking about the people and the culture of the country that is about twice as large as the UK. 

The local tourists were as fascinated by us as we were with them. They were very friendly, and just as obsessed with their mobile phones as we were.

The younger generation are learning English as well as Uzbek and Russian, and were keen to practice on us by asking us for our telephone number and suggesting that we call each other ...... we politely declined.

​We were warned before we travelled that the diet consists mainly of meat, and that the local dish, Plov, a lamb, rice and vegetable dish is greasy and heavy.

So we were surprised to find that to he contrary, there were many options for delicious vegetables and salads, as well as the predicted kebabs and plov. Locals eat plov at least once a week, so it was interesting to see that you can buy pre-prepared carrots and potatoes in the local market. No plastic bags or cellophane wrapping in sight......!

Ready chopped vegetables in the market.

Plov - a dish with lamb, rice and vegetables.

The main reason to visit Uzbekistan is to visit the cities that formed part of the ancient Silk Road between the east and the west. We were bamboozled with historic facts wherever we went. A history that was unfamiliar and complicated. I found it hard to take it all in.

Mosques, mausoleums and madrasas, all built to impress with their blue tiles that denote wealth. Overwhelming in their scale and beauty. 

Kalta Minor Minaret, Khiva

Celing detail from the Shah-i-Zinda complex, Samarkand

Khast Imam complex, Tashkent

​We struggled with the local currency. One UK pound is 16,000 Uzbek Som. We needed 2000 som for a visit to the local 'facilities'. That's a loo, bathroom, restroom or WC to you, and is about 12 pence. in UK money. We held on to 2000 som notes wherever we could.

I was transfixed by the cloud formations in Tashkent. They seemed unlike any that I have seen in the west.

​

Central Asian cloud formation

We heard about family culture from our wonderful guide, Lochin.

He explained that when a girl marries she is not supposed to smile at her wedding, as she should be sad at leaving her own family. We saw many very miserable looking brides. The grooms looked pretty serious too. 

​

Uzbek bride and groom.

Another custom is related to finding a partner that you might wish to marry. You don't tell your parents that you have met 'the one', instead you place a carrot on your father's shoe.

The youngest son of the family traditionally lives with his parents and his own family. This ensures that the parents have support as they get older.  A very different attitude to many western families.

I remember much more about these little details of daily life than the exploits of a fourteenth century adventurer. OH will have taken in all of the history and added it to his already extensive personal library of historical facts. I blame Mrs Newsome, my secondary school history teacher. She has a lot to answer for. And unlike most of my teachers I remember her name, and what she looked like. Short, with orange hair......

​

Street stalls, Khiva, wrapped for the night.

I was struck by the cleanliness and feeling of safety in Uzbekistan. No litter. No no-go areas. Street cleaners with hand made brooms wherever we travelled.

​I felt very safe. A testament to the honesty of locals is the way in which street stalls are wrapped up at night; a simple cloth and some string. I yearn for a return to such values here in the UK. 

A street cleaner takes a break in Uzbekistan

I have so many photos, so I will leave you with just a few favourites. My next task is to create a book of our trip before I forget names and places. 

There is work to do!

And if you would like to sign up to my next online photobook course please sign up to my mailing list on the online courses page to be alerted to new dates.

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Help! I have too many photos on my hard drive.

Boat reflections, New Zealand

 
I have a problem. A big problem.

I have had to replace my ageing and failing mac with a brand new version, but for 2 weeks it has been sitting unopened in its box. My other half (OH) keeps asking me when I am going to open it. I reply 'when I am ready '.

The reason that I am not ready is because I possess way too many photos, and the thought of sorting them out to get them safely stored on a combination of the new mac and external hard drives feels like an organisational mountain right now. I am not ready to face the mountain; it feels huge.

This is all my own fault. I have my images neatly organised into folders of events and year, but I rarely cull my images. Actually never. Each time I sit down to attempt this, I get drawn into a trip down memory lane. I find images that remind me of all the projects I have thought about over the years, and after deleting maybe five or six I end up processing an old one, or feeling so overwhelmed by the enormity of the task that I give up and find something else to do, even cleaning.....

​

Winter trees, Stanley park, Vancouver

I have a technique for finding images that are buried under a pile of 66,999 images, and that I have totally forgotten about.

I type today's date into my library and look for files that have a name that includes the numbers in the date. For example, yesterday was the 9th of October, so I type 910 into the search panel  and up pop all the images with 910 as part of their filename. I find it a good way to look back through the thousands, without any bias . A lot of surprises pop up. 

​For example the image below is from a walk that I took in my local woods during which I chucked photographs of nature into the pond and hung them from fences and trees. Yes, I know that sounds crazy. But I had fun doing it, and I cant really recall why I felt this urge. 
I probably had an idea for a new project, but as with many of my ideas, it went nowhere.

And that is OK.

​Life would be a lot duller without a few crazy moments alone in the woods.

Also from this '910' search are all of the photos included in this blog article. Below is another one where I question my sanity. At the time I was studying for an MA in book art, and that did tip me into a slightly deranged state of mind. I never did complete the MA, but that's another story.
​Life is too short to spend time not enjoying learning.........

'hello Liezel' on my washing line

​And then there was another burning desire fulfilled; to hang ribbons from a tree and capture the effect of the wind. That was a one day wonder, and no birds or bushes were harmed in the process.

ribbons in the wind

.Some incredibly happy memories appear in the search.

​For all of these images I remember so well the taking. The making.

​ They trigger memories that were locked away, possibly for ever.

Several are from my first artist residency where I wandered the streets and footpaths taking hundreds of photos of water., and which led to the creation of my book 'If I only had more time'. Three weeks went so quickly, and I wished I could have stayed longer, hence the  book's title.

​

Letterpress printing with Nina Rodin on my residency at Trelex, near Geneva.

So how to manage all of these photos? 

What I really need to do is have a massive cull, and get rid of the many duplicates and similar images. Even better would be to be much more ruthless in my initial uploads, deleting all but the best. Going forward this could work, but for now I need about a week of screen time to manage the task of culling and transferring a select few to the new computer.

'If I Only had more Time' - photo book concertina.

I know from experience that projects that don't get done soon after a trip or journey are unlikely ever to be realised. All of my videos from Alaska still lie waiting to be made into a major motion picture movie. Likewise my Latin American journey is more than worthy of a book, but I am now forgetting the details. It is becoming too late.

Making photo books is the best way to create tangible memories in my humble opinion. 
They truly represent my view of the world. 

So here's a plan;

1. spend a week culling in bite sized chunks.
2. spend another choosing which folders are worth keeping
3. spend another week listing all the unmade projects that are worth pursuing
4. Make sure that I have my photos backed up in three places; home, studio and cloud.
5. be brave; get the new Mac out of its box.
6. Transfer just the last three years of images onto the new Mac
7. Load up the new Mac with my image processing and publication software
8. START BEING RUTHLESS!

So let's make a start......

Ladder in a garden ; one for the bin.

Ardnamurchan - a definite keeper.

Clouds over Rye harbour nature reserve ; another for the bin

hair envy series; another lost project.....BIN

Three for the bin. One keeper.
Only 66,996 decisions to go.

​Please wish me luck!  I could be gone for some time......

'why are there so many open packets of frozen peas in the freezer?' and other unanswered questions.

A braided river, Alaska

Son, like me, has a blog. He writes weekly. I would struggle to achieve that regularity.
As I mentioned previously, I often only know what he is up to by reading it.

Mostly I don't worry about him. He is a grown up.

But I do get concerned when he starts asking questions about my life and that of my other half (OH) in the public domain.

'Why are there 7 open packets of peas in the freezer' he asked in a blog post recently, when home alone in our house while we were on the other side of the planet.

This question he put out there; to the whole world. I take it as a mild criticism of our daily habits, but am not suprised. I know this is an issue. I blame OH ( my other half), for he is the one who purchases peas. I prefer other green vegetables. Cabbage and spinach for example.
I have already suggested that he put a hold on pea purchasing. And anchovies ( 10 tins in the cupboard). OH is trying.

To son I would say ' but half of them are soya beans.......'

Son is a nomad, and rarely makes visits home to the UK. So it was ironic that when he needed to come home for a week we were far away in Vancouver, visiting daughter, who has also left these shores.
Son had the house to himself. And the garden. fresh vegetables on tap, and two bathrooms.

So here is a question to son..... ( I feel I should respond in kind) ..... ' sertu; enr tui o;qernut;wenrtuq eiort u'?

It doesn't need an answer, any more than the pea question. Just needed to be said. And I am far too polite to put it out to the whole world.....

Alaskan forest

So having got that out of my system I can discuss more erudite topics.

Except that I am struggling; as I often do, to know what to write. So today I am writing without knowing where my words will lead. Just do it...... as the saying goes.....

My biggest question at present is 'how will I make it through the winter'?

A recent browse through my typewritten diary notes makes me acutely aware that my mood dips dramatically in winter. I wish it were possible to 'bank' the positive feelings that summer brings.

I found myself considering this question as OH and I travelled together around Alaska for our 'summer' holiday. Strongly infuenced by my visit to the Francesca Woodman and Julia Margaret Cameron exhibition at the V&A in London, I found myself processing images from our journey in a certain way.

Some are very dark and moody; it did rain while we were there.... I am reminded of Twin Peaks; our favourite TV programme until Breaking Bad came along.

a rainy day in Alaska

This lead to me thinking about the cold and dark of winter, and how bad weather can make for great photos, but may not help one's mood.

OH takes bad weather as a personal insult, so I was very grateful that for at least a third of  our time in Alaska we had blazing sunshine and heat. Not so good for my kind of photography.

a sunny day in Denali National Park, Alaska

 
Seeing Denali was a bucket list trip for me. It is the highest mountain in the US, and had had a romantic draw over me for some years. I just wanted to be there. In the middle of nowhere. With all the other tourists and cruise passengers who also had the same idea.

Not to mention a family from Nepal who were visiting because their father, an elderly gentleman, had always wanted to visit Alaska. It seems that living in a land with epically spectacular mountains isn't enough. Other mountains still need to be seen. I am not alone.

Which leads me to thinking that how I process my images depends on what story I wish to tell. Dark and moody fights with bright and cheerful much of the time. There is not much in- between. Up and down. High and low. Just like the light and the seasons.

I should tell the story of how one day Denali mountain was hidden in the clouds. From our hotel room we could see the mountains, and thought it was Denali that we were seeing on the horizon. The next morning I opened the curtains and realised how wrong we had been. Denali had revealed itself in all its glory. The mountains of the day before were just the beginnings of the mountain range; the foothills. I cannot describe my joy at this revelation. I dragged OH out of bed to gaze at the spectacle. Even he was impressed. 

My dream had been fulfilled. Denali is only visible on average one day in three.
We got lucky.

Denali, Alaska

My lack of a telephoto lens on this trip meant I could not capture the mountain as I would have wished. This was a downside of attempting to travel light.

What I hadn't appreciated is how far away Denali is from any road; over 100 miles!  Or that the road to see it closer up in the National Park is blocked by a landslide, caused by melting of the frozen tundra. It won't be repaired for at least another year.

Our pre-imagined landscape can be very different from reality, and what we see in TV programmes and holiday brochures isn't always what we find when we reach the destination. A hiking guide I know who takes photos for travel brochures is instructed to have blue sky in most of his images. We all know how different a heavy grey sky can make to an experience. The lack of light and shadow makes for very dull photos.

We found more inspiring and dramatic landscapes on the drive south-east from Fairbanks. And amazing clouds. Weather and skies play such a vital part in the experience. This is why I prefer to stay longer in one place, to see it at its worst and at its best. The longer you stay, the more likely you are to get great conditions for photography. A residency is perfect!

White spruce forest, Alaska

Typical Alaskan scenery.

I would like to share my wonder at the Alaskan forest floor; a lush covering of berry rich bushes, ferns and mosses. I have more photos of the undergrowth than of anything else.

Alaskan forest undergrowth.

same picture, different edit, different mood....

same picture, happy vibes....

But I am meandering.

I don't have a strong story to tell. I didn't come back with thousands of images.

This was a family holiday. Not a photography trip. A fly-drive, not a hiking trip that would have got me deep into the tundra scenery away from the other visitors. I will save that for another day.

I ate a lot of salmon. We did a lot of driving. OH and I survived 14 days together

I realised a dream.

And yes, we did see bears, and I am now an expert on how to behave if you see a moose, a brown bear or a black bear.

Just dont mix them up or you will possibly end up dead.

Black bear, Alaska

the best laid plans........ on journeys and destinations

Chamonix, France

​Son gave me a wonderful Christmas present.

A night in a mountain hut in Chamonix and a hike on top of the world. I couldn't have been happier. Probably the best gift I have ever received.

Son currently lives in Chamonix, for he is a digital nomad. So he can live where he pleases. I wont say 'he is lucky', for he made it happen. All the best realised dreams come from personal endeavor. That much I do know.

The chosen hike involved a significant climb. I was worried that I wasn't fit enough. Son is not massively tolerant of slow people. He runs up and down mountains every week. 

So for the last five months I have been doggedly trying to get 'mountain ready'. Following an exercise programme that seemed to involve one step back for every two steps forward I experienced different body pains after different exercises. Trying to balance progress with what my body would tolerate. Hiking up hills with a heavy rucksack on my back. Leg, arm and core exercises in the living room. I made progress, but altitude was something that I couldn't prepare for.

​I did my best.

 
And so I arrived in Chamonix.

I nearly missed my flight due to unplanned underground delays and a 'body' on the line. My hiking poles didn't make the journey in their special tube. Hiking poles are too 'dangerous' to take on board as carry on.  It was not an easy start.

But I arrived happily in the mountains. And the sun was shining.

Delicate clouds were drifting over Mont Blanc and the Glacier Bossons. 

Mont Blanc and the Glacier Bossons

​I had a day to myself before the big adventure.

Time to think about all the kit that I had gathered in my preparations for the hike and our night up the mountain. Sharing a room with strangers was the part that I was least looking forward to. I practised using my foam earplugs.....

For the first time in my life I had gathered together almost all of the recommended essential items for hiking in the mountains, plus a couple of luxury items that would permit me a shower if I felt the need. 

​

​I didn't have a knife..... nor was I sure what I would use one for. Son had a knife. I had a bandage and some plasters......

We were fully equipped.

Time for a hike and a wander around town. Chamonix is a trail running mecca. While I was there it was a weekend of marathons; 90km, 42km and 23km, all involving many thousands of metres ascent and descent. The Mont-Blanc Marathon. Marathons for tough people. 

The shops are full of trail running gear. To me it was a whole new world. ​Most appealing are the shoes..... joyfully coloured and light. No matter that they will be splattered with mud as soon as they go into action.

And then there are running vests with double water bottles that squish down as you drink, superlight clothes and anoraks, and superlight folding hiking poles. It is a world of specialised gear. One that I do not belong to. For I am just a humble hiker, with a normal, non collapsing water bottle and normal hiking poles.

I soaked it all up. And treated myself to a superlight sun hat. 

trail running footwear

mountain marathon runners' kit

I practised hiking with my kit. 

My hiking poles were delivered by courier by mid morning on day two so I was ready for action. I hiked on the opposite side of the valley, looking across to the location for our big hike the following day.

The remains of the winter snow were rain stained and dirty looking. Shorts and t-shirts were the order of the day. It was hot. Ice-creams were selling like hot cakes in town.

​The view across the valley was spectacular. 

​I wondered why I was carrying so many clothes. I probably wasn't going to need my warm emergency layers. 

​

Chamonix from Petit Balcon Sud.

 
And then the big day came.

After watching and cheering folk arriving back to the finish line of the 90km marathon our time had come.

Except that it didn't. One hour before we were due to ascend the mountain using the Aiguille du Midi chairlift, the lifts closed down for the day. High winds and a possible storm had arrived.

The top of the mountains disappeared into the clouds, and we had to cancel our outing. We looked up to see the Refuge du Plan de l'aiguille sitting tormentingly out of reach. So near and yet so far. 

​All that preparation and no way to get up the mountain to the starting point for our 'adventure'.

Refuge du plan de l'aiguille just to the left of the chairlift pylons.

And yet, strangely, it didn't matter. Not in the grand scheme of things. I really didn't mind.

Most of my enjoyment had already been had; in the anticipation and preparation.

I was in the mountains with my son. We didn't have to sleep with snoring strangers, and we were able to share a delicious cheese fondue with his friends.

And the following morning we approached the mountain by a different route, still cloud shrouded. We visited the Mer du Glace glacier with its ice caves carved out of the sea of ice.

protective sheeting against sunlight on the Mer du Glace glacier.

Having visited the ice caves we climbed up the stony path on the hike that we should have done, in the opposite direction, until we were immersed in cloud. It was grey, damp, steep and rocky. Around us were wild azaleas, pink and bright.

I never got to see the spectacular views across the valley, or to see Mont Blanc from the Aiguille du Midi. 

But that is the nature of adventures. We cannot outsmart the weather, and not all goals are achievable. I tried to imagine the disappointment of going to Everest and not making the summit. Statistics tell me that of those who travelled to Everest Base camp in recent years about two thirds reached the summit. Which means that one in three people do not achieve their goal. I was surprised to discover that women are more likely to succeed. 

Between 2006 and 2019 0.5% of women and 1.1% of men died during the Everest summit ascent/descent. It is a risky business.

Obviously my adventure was seriously tame in the grand scheme of things. The weather won on this occasion, but I am still alive, and the mountain will still be there on my next visit. I can try again.

Meanwhile son will continue to set himself big challenges, and I will continue to be happy to set myself smaller ones.

Having goals and setting oneself challenges is one of the keys to happiness. as discussed in the very last interview on BBC Sounds by Michael Moseley with psychologist Paul Bloom on 'How to Live a Good Life'. I absolutely agree; I have had so much pleasure preparing for this mini adventure. It is the journey, not the destination that matters.

And now I am busy thinking about what my next challenge will be, and looking forward to a week's hiking in Spain later this year. 

On mastering the art of indolence in a hot country. 11/2/2024 0 Comments   ​OH ( my other half) and I are just returned from a trip to Mauritius. We met in Mauritius 44 years ago as students, and OH was keen to revisit the beautiful island that holds many happy memories. Memories of spending afternoons on the beach snorkelling over an incredible coral reef, listening to a young boy lying in the sea playing his trumpet. Of a bed and breakfast accommodation complete with cockroaches and geckos, and a cyclone that brought 60 inches of rain in just 14 days. It was so wet that we ended up travelling around the island in our swimming costumes, as there was no point wearing clothes; we were completely soaked within seconds. many years ago....... I am not a fan of heat, or of beach holidays. I am no longer able to lie for hours perfecting an unhealthy tan. I am a restless individual who can cope with no more than 30 minutes lying on a sun bed before craving some action. OH, on the other hand, likes nothing better than to lie for hours reading a good book, barely bothering to swim or to stray from his lounger. We are incompatible in this respect.  ​ In the past we have chosen activity holidays such as hiking or sailing. But this was to be a regular beach holiday. The potential for activities was there, but the heat of the tropical sun is more than I can bear on my ageing skin, and I can only be happily active before the sun reaches any significant height in the sky. So, determined to get some daily exercise, I got up at 6.30 every day to walk before sunrise. I left OH in bed and crept out with my camera and a desire to explore.  Our first location was a beach hotel. I was not the only one walking very early in the day. The sand was heavily foot-printed, and the beach pleasantly shaded. ​ Early morning walkers at Flic en Flac, Mauritius.  I searched for things to photograph. Mostly I was drawn to the dead corals, lying on the white sand along with sea urchins and a few shells.  Sadly, most of the Mauritian reef coral died after an extreme heatwave a few years ago. Snorkelling over it made me feel very sad, as I have memories of extraordinary beauty just off shore in the shallow waters protected by the outer reef. ​But the remains of coral washed ashore held me captive with their extraordinary patterns and variety. remains of coral reef, Flic en Flac, Mauritius It is illegal to remove coral and shells from the beach, so I took only photographs.  ​ sea urchin and seaweed  Every morning I walked, often passing the same people going in the opposite direction. When i tired of the sand I walked on the road to the village. A village that didn't exist 44 years ago. Everything was so different. A large part of me prefers to remember it as it was rather than how it is now. I passed  many coloured food trucks beside the road, closed up for the night. I was thinking of Ed Ruscha's photobook entitled '26 gasoline stations'. I envisaged my own version...... '26 food trucks'..... But I never completed the series. I was with OH, and we were on the move, so the opportunity didn't arise. After a few days at a beach hotel we moved to an airbnb in a small town. I was beginning to feel restless and frustrated with the heat. My morning walks became even more important. This time, along a busy road with no pavement until I reached the beach. I passed gateways to homes of many types, and tried to avoid being killed by the crazy bus drivers hurtling along the road  at break neck speed. ​ gateway, Pereybere, Mauritius scene from a morning walk, Pereybere, Mauritius gateway, Pereybere, Mauritius Here was another potential series; the contrast between the old and the new,  but I would have needed much more time walking the streets before breakfast., gathering more images. We were only there for 4 days. Not nearly long enough. ​ food outlet, Mon Choisy beach I started taking videos instead of photographs. They seemed more able to capture my mood. The word 'indolence' kept passing through my mind. I was conscious of a slow changing of my mood. Seven days into the trip I was irritable and wishing myself somewhere cooler. But as we settled into a routine of beach visits and snorkelling, people watching and novel devouring, I started to feel calmer. I spent long minutes watching palm trees swaying in the breeze, and the locals standing in the shallow water chatting for what felt like hours.  beach corals, Mauritius We moved on to our final destination; a fancy hotel in the east. Fancy and expensive. This was a birthday treat and another chance to revisit old memories. The son of our B&B hosts all those years ago was a chef at the hotel, and we dined there as his guest as students. I just remember a clean, white modern dining room, far beyond our budget. I have no idea what we ate. This time we were able to stay and make use of the beautiful surroundings, but my morning walks took an unexpected turn for the worse. I could either walk up the long drive of the hotel to the main road in blazing sunshine ( no thank you), or stroll along the local beach , which was not very far. I gave up this option after one day due to encountering a large amount of litter as soon as I left the main hotel grounds, and the distance not being far enough to call it a 'walk'. So I settled into a state of indolence, and carried on making videos and some cyanotypes with paper brought from home.  I got better at it day by day.  I watched clouds, and the weaver birds building nests. We took a boat to an island beach and lay under the trees drinking ice cold water. And when I got home I made a very short video of calmness. It is far from perfect, but my first  photobook course is starting this week, so I wanted to make it while I had time and was fresh from the trip. No more indolence now........ OH won't like it, as the music is too melancholy, the sun isn't always shining. there are no pictures of our adventures together, and it isn't a rip roaring ride through 14 days of sun and sand.  For that he will have to wait......... patience is a virtue. Some of us have more of it than others!