Photosensitive Contributions

Just found the Photosensitive Life of Energy website where 5 of my photographs are published in their gallery www.photosensitive.com/energy/gallery. My third project and third book with Photosensitive. First was Water is Life- Cowichan Bay Road flooding, Second was Cancer Connections- Cowichan Dragon Divas in Cowichan Bay, and now Life of Energy with photos of Peter and his ill-fated carbon buster bus, Aaron bicycling recycling, Lance and Simone and their $5,000 house and Zane in his cold storage and solar heated outdoor shower. Thanks to all of them for helping me complete this documentary series. The book is available through Photosensitive for $30.

Welcome back Paul

After a difficult and very challenging 2011, I am returning to the Fletcherfoto Studio/Gallery, my travels and my photography. The troubles started with my March Mexico trip being cut short by a medical crisis. Rushed back to Vancouver for treatment but ended up being pulled off the plane in Seattle and having quadruple bypass surgery. Wow! Five days later I was back home and in recovery. Since then I recovered enough to take on our local Mayor for his position in the local elections. Didn't win and I am now out of the political process after six years as a Councillor, which is actually good news since I am still a round peg in our square hole when it comes to working with politicians. Now the year is winding down, teaching is wrapping up, the Cowichan Swans Festival is behind me and the grandkids are calling for my attention. Glad the year is ending on such a positive note. Next year is looking great. Mexico in March, leading a Long Beach Photo Workshop in the spring and then Europe in the summer. Planning on shooting a lot of stock here, there and everywhere to send to my new stock representative, LPI- Lonely Planet Images. Stay tuned as I return to Life.

Happy December

December arrived at Fletcherfoto with 3 days of Teeny Tiny artwork on sale by Arts Council members. The show ends Sunday Dec 5, so if you are reading the blog today you should get down and check it out as there are some wonderful small artworks for sale. The show opened with the debut of my new track lighting. What a difference good lighting makes. Thanks to Don Skerik for donating the installation labour. This was very appreciated and demonstrates the value of community sharing, a big mantra in my life. The plan now is to fix a lot of holes, slap on a fresh coat of paint and rehang my work in time for any Christmas sales.

Good news on the website front. I have finally figured out how to show my photographs in galleries linked to my website. Where before you could only see the same old small collection of images, now you can view over a thousand images in different galleries. To visit the galleries, click on image galleries in the navigation bar and, voila! your there. Please give me some feedback, it would be appreciated.

More good news on the Cowichan Art Scene is the opening of a new gallery, Points Art Gallery, just around the corner from me at 225 Canada Ave, the old location of Pacific Travel.

Owned by David Martinello (Sculptor and Furniture Maker) and Caulen Elder (Painter), the gallery is a tight white space filled with their wonderful work. I visited the other day and was very impressed with both artist's work. They have an opening "meet and greet" Thursday December 9th 4 to 7pm. Why not drop in and let them know how welcome the arts are downtown.

November Rains

Welcome to November

Kris Kann's photo show in October was a great success with lots of visitors and many sales, Congratulations Kris! My photographs now grace the walls for the first time since last spring and will remain in place until Dec 1st when I am honoured to show the Cowichan Valley Art Council's Teeny Tiny Art Show and Sale. This is my first ever collaboration with CVAC after 20 odd years of membership and I am hoping it will not be my last. This show will also provide many local artists with their first look at Fletcherfoto and perhaps may trigger some additional showings in the new year. The Teeny Tiny show ends Sunday December 6th and my photographs will return to the walls in hopes of becoming one of a kind Christmas gifts for someone who has everything (except for a Fletcherfoto on their wall. Thanks for all the ongoing support and great comments about the gallery and don't forget to tell folks about the March phototour to Mazatlan, Mexico.
Also check out my new image galleries by clicking image galleries in the nav bar on my website.

The Colour and Culture of Mazatlan Phototour March 14-21

Please find details below re my first Phototour of Mazatlan. Please contact me if you require additional information

THE COLOUR AND CULTURE OF

MAZATLAN

7 hot days

LIVING, LEARNING and BREATHING PHOTOGRAPHY

as we explore, and photograph

the rich and vibrant

culture, customs, colour

and landscapes of Mazatlan

Package & Price includes:

B&B accommodation in old town Mazatlan

Full chef-made breakfast everyday

Three guided country tours

Lunch and drinks on country tours

City walking tours

Evening critique sessions

Wrap up Fiesta night

Airport pickup and drop-off

La Playa beach afternoon

Price $1,250 USD per person

Double occupancy

Paul guarantees that you will return from this tour

with a much better understanding of your camera’s potential, a much improved eye for images, some great new friends and a lot of superb photos!

More info paul@fletcherfoto.ca, 250 732-0462

September events

We have returned from an excellent month in England and Wales. All will be normal again in the gallery after September 1st. We currently are showing Robert Burke's excellent acrylics see below. Robert's show will be followed by Kris Kann's retrospective photography show opening Friday September 24. Following Kris will be the Return of the Swans Festival group photo show in late October and then a group showing of 3 photographers and their unique styles. More on this later.

Robert Burke- Raven Dream State

Chipewyan first nations artist Robert Burke exhibits his series “raven dream state”at fletcherfoto gallery 109 Ingram street downtown Duncan B.C. from August 21st through September 18th 2010. Robert's vivid and colourfull contemporary aboriginal paintings are fuelled by imagery inspired by his bi-racial cultural heritage; Burke's father being an African American soldier and his mother a Chipewyan from Fort Smith N.W.T. Burke's exhibition histiory includes shows at The Victoria College of Art, Grunt Gallery in Vancouver, Maltwood Gallery Uvic, Nanaimo Public Art Gallery, museums in

Yellowknife and Fort Smith and future exhibits at Victoria's Winchester gallery this fall and next year at the Helsinki cultural centre in Finland. Robert's hallucinatory style seems eerily familiar his iconography being loaded with

archetypal images yet the work is not derivative of any other contemporary aboriginal artist and forges its own territory in the genre. This exhibition is guest curated by Jeffrey Birkin.

Website Up!

The new website is finally up after years of dreaming. Thanks to Zuk Design in Cowichan for a wonderful job. If you ever need a website done I can highly recommend Patricia at Zuk. The newest adventure starts July 8 when we hit England and Wales for a month of photography and future Photo Tour planning. It will be rough but we will persevere I am sure. Email is always on so business can still be done from afar if the need is great. Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Fletcherfoto Gallery for those in the know, Jeffrey Birkinn's show, Mexico Revisited, has been extended until my return and the gallery will be open on Saturdays with Jeffrey at the helm showing his work. Enjoy July and stay in touch.

May 11, 2010

The Blog is alive again. To compliment my new gallery, new tours, and refreshed website I will be providing weekly updates re gallery events, new tours. The next show opens May 16 and features my high school students from Brentwood College Their show is called glance. See the poster for more info. Stay tuned for my new slide show, tentatively called 5 years which will be shown in the gallery sometime in Mid June

Robbery!

I have travelled to many places and have heard the horror stories of people being robbed, mugged and experiencing other bad tourist experiences but never did I believe it would happen to me. It did. I had moved into the Samara villa that my friends were renting for my last two days in Central America. We were having fun, celebrating our adventures together, and living pretty casual in a foreign country. This was apparently our undoing because the local blackhearts had obviously noticed us and had decided to put a damper on our fun.

It was two o'clock in the morning when I woke dying of thirst. Fresh from sleep I was in no mood to go searching for water so I laid there for a minute trying to decide whether to get up or not. Laying in the comfort of bed I noticed a flashlight working outside. Peering thought the curtains I saw two guys standing by the pool. At first I thought maintenance workers, since lots of work is done at night to avoid the heat of the day, and to likely avoid inconveniencing the tourists, but it didn't seem right. I headed for the kitchen and noticed the guys heading down the road, looking over their shoulders back at the house. That's when I knew that this was no maintenance call. I checked quickly for the laptops that were usually lying around the living room. Missing! I quickly raised the alarm and I was off down the road looking for the crooks while Dave woke up Alonzo, the housekeeper. By the time I got back a few minutes later the police were pulling up and were spilling out of their truck. Strangely enough we had not called them and they had come from the beach, a short dead end road that ran by the house.  

Of course the police did not understand us apart from the simple translations provided by Alonzo. They took notes, appearing interested, and then took off to do a search. I took off on my bike thinking I might also spot them. I didn't find the guys, nor did I see any cops searching. The cops returned soon after me and reported that  a witness had been found- a guy who sleeps by the roadside had reported that he saw the two men jump into a little red car. This was good news since there was only one main road and a turn off for Nicoya. How hard would it be to find a little red car at 3 am in the morning in a community of a few hundred people? Harder than we thought since the cops did not find them despite the roadblocks that they said were set up all over the place. I questioned the success of the roadblock idea since the only 3 cops in town were all with us and not available for roadblock duty. Dave, the girls, and Alonzo left for Nicoya, an hour away, to file the report at the 'real' police station leaving me and Rick to guard the fort. They did report on their return that they too had seen no roadblocks.

Putting things together, since we had nothing to do except talk while we waited everyone's return, Rick and I started to realize the possibility of a setup, a setup that likely involved the police. The cops did little in the way of investigation and did not seem the least bit interested in fingerprints, boot tracks or the other miscellany of evidence that TV has taught us about. They had arrived within minutes of not being called- the fastest response time I have ever seen in my life. And why were they so close on a road that went nowhere? The car was never found and the roadblocks never happened. If the cops had examined the window that the crooks broke in through, they would have discovered, as we did earlier, that the window had a broken catch and was not lockable. On further examination we found that a screw had been placed inside the catch making the lock inoperable. Everything screamed setup and there was nothing that we could do about it. 

The final loss tally was 2 laptops, a couple of cameras, a video camera, Dave's bag with his passport and a small amount of cash and a bunch of meaningless other stuff that we later found scattered around the yard. I lost nothing simply because I was leaving the next day and had everything packed close by my bed. The amazing part was that the crooks had the time and the balls to take a load to the car and then come back for a second load, even having enough time to root through things and toss aside the uninteresting stuff. They obviously felt quite relaxed with the police so close by.

This was not the last challenge of the blackhearts for Dave & Michele. They also had their rental car tires slashed when they went to San Jose to replace the passport. Another couple, wedding guests who had left a few days earlier for the airport, reported that they were pulled over for speeding (when they were not speeding) and had to give up the last of their cash to the local policia so that they could continue on their way to the airport. He thanked them very appreciatively.

And to think that people had warned me that Nicaragua was supposed to be a dangerous place

Fishin with the boys

The day after the weddin I went fishin with the boys. Rick, one of the 'boys', described our charter  boat perfectly when he said he thought it was a being used as a planter on the beach. It wasn't. It had nothing but a motor and a plank for a seat. No radio, lifejackets, tools, or beer. The boat was captained by Raymond, a stressed out looking Quebecois who owned the motor, and first mate was Bertran, a very laid back Costa Rican who was still bleeding from wounds received in a motorcycle accident the night before, who owned the boat. The day was beautiful and the sky calm when we headed out with no worries.

One hour out and still trolling I hooked the big one. What excitement, The rod was almost bent in half and I was sweating with exertion, determined to bring in the first and the biggest. Rick had also had a strike and lost his just as he got it to the side of the boat. It was all me now. Fifteen minutes passed and everyone was excited and cheering me on. Raymond announced that it was probably a 100 pounder. Cool! Then Raymond announced El Roca! I did not know what kind of fish this was but I did not care, I just wanted to land it and celebrate as great hunters do. Well the simple translation of El Roca is a rock and that's what I had hooked. All my effort was simply reeling the boat backwards to the rocks which at this point were only a few feet below the boat and not far from a reef with huge waves crashing over it. We got the lure free and escaped only to hear Bertran explaining to Raymond, neither of whom really understood each other, that the engine was malfunctioning. They fixed this with a piece of fishing string and we were fishin again.

We rolled in circles for a while since this was THE place for fish. Finally Rick hooked a good size tuna-like fish and then Otto caught a Laguna, a pencil shaped fish with a long snout filled with razor sharp teeth. The sun had set by this point and it was time to head in. That's when we noticed the storm clouds and the lightning and the quickly darkening sky. Raymond booted the motor up to top speed and the closer we got to Samara, the worse the winds and waves became.

This of course didn't stop Bertran from gutting and filleting the fish in the dark with a very sharp knife as we bounced around the waves. The storm's tempo increased, we were getting very wet from the rain and the waves breaking near us, and the lights of Samara seemed miles away and fading into the storm. I fantasized about losing the groom to the sea and being in deep trouble with his new bride. 

Finally we entered the bay in the pitch black, no longer heading into the storm but running from it. We really got it now! Pouring rain, high winds, waves and spray coming over the sides and soaking us further. Since I am writing this we obviously made it to shore safely. We did and very happy about it too. Much beer was consumed later at the villa and the tales retold (with the fish getting bigger all the time) to celebrate the adventura muy buena.

El Paradisio

Samara, my last stop on this trip, is paradise at the end of a road. No other description could better describe this little oasis on the Pacific. Just like in calendars, or in exotic location advertising, this has it all-perfect palm tree lined beach, numerous little bars serving basic food and ice cold beer and crashing Pacific waves that feel like tepid bath water. Not only all this but there is also a Canadian owned restaurant that serves beer at 9am in the morning and has a Harley Davidson parked outside. Influenced by my sighting of the Harley I immediately went out and rented a motorcycle for a week- a 125cc Yamaha. I can honestly say that it is nothing like my Harley sitting lonely at home but it sure beats walking and it is kind of fun, helmetless, in shorts and sandals, buzzing along at a reasonably safe speed. If I had enough hair it would probably feel great whippin around in the wind just like the old days but alas, those days are long gone.

Samara is the end of the road. I know there are roads heading north and south but the reality is, once you step off the bus here, it could be very dificult to leave. All I seem to do is walk the beach and daydream. There are many other dark skinned gringos here that look like they were hooked and never left. There are Howler Monkeys in the trees, huge iguanas sauntering along or climbing palm trees, bats divebomb me at night, riderless horses walk by on the sidewalks, the early morning cacophony of waking birds is better than any alarm clock and then there is the 24/7 crashing surf in this small bay protected by an offshore reef.

I have done the wedding photos that first drew me to Samara. Dave and Michele's wedding was a beautiful event on the beach at sunset. Officiated by Fabiola, a local lawyer and music by Dylan, Dave's son, who sang a song that he had composed only the day before that was perfect for the occasion. The tune still rings in my mind. The photos came out great despite my equipment shortages and dwindling light. We headed back to the villa, horns a-honkin, well one horn-a-honkin anyway, to our second sumptuous feast of the day. Earlier it was Octopus, Lobster salad and fresh-caught Laguna Cerviche, now it was the full meal deal -Blackened Tuna caught fresh by the guys yesterday and a beautiful chicken. The evening wound down with Paulette, Dave's gregarious sister, taking the pool plunge in her maid of honour dress.

Punta Mayalas

My second day in Plan territory I explored and photographed some other Plan communities and projects including the community of Punta Mayalas on the east shore of Lac Nicaragua. It is 26km from Juigalpa along one of the worst roads I have ever encountered. This has to be one of the poorest communities that I have ever seen. Houses are basically shacks but at least most have new latrines courtesy of Plan. Surprisingly the people appear happy despite their daily struggle.

The beauty of the place cannot be described. In the distance, no less than 3 volcanos can be seen, one of them active on the Island of Ometebe. The only livelihood in the village is fishing and one of the reasons we were here was to eat fish. Apparently people come from miles around to eat here despite the kidney jarring trip to get here. 

We chose our own fish from the icebox and it arrived whole and headed. I ate most of mine but my Nicaraguan friends sucked every bone clean including the skull. I went and took photos not wanting to witness the pure joy that they were experiencing.

On the way back we took a detour to visit the Mayalas Nature Reserve located at the junction of the Rio Mayalas and Lac Nicaragua. What an incredible place. Bird life in numbers that I have never witnessed before waded, flew, and just generally hung out. We were given a free boat ride upriver where we saw numerous birds and I got some great photos including a stunning photo of a huge Egret shadowed by the Ometebe volcano.

All good things must come to an end and we headed back to Granada, passing on the way through Managua, the capital of Nicaragua, a place that guide books and previous visitors told me to avoid. What a hole of despair. Rivers were flowing with garbage, every available space was covered in bad grafitti, emanciated dogs ran free everywhere, the streets were filthy, the housing mostly shacks apart from the rich areas and the people basically bored with nothing to do. The pollution from the numerous buses and moto cabs was intense. We quickly passed through and I was back to Granada, a haven of colonial tranquility in a mad Nicaraguan world. There I ran into John Oliver, my rastafarian street artist friend who has slowly been telling me his story. Tonights chapter was the time he fought with the Contra´s in Nicaragua´s civil war. As he explained, you either fought for the Contra´s or the Sandanista´s or one of them killed you. Pretty hard to imagine but that is Nicaragua!

Visiting Mariela, my sponsored child

One of the significant aspects of this trip was my plan to travel to the village of my sponsored child´s family on the east side of Lac Nicaragua, near the city of Juigalpa. Mariela, her sister Martha and their mother Josepha live in the small community of San Pedro, a very poor community of 5,000 people, supported by Plan International (used to be called Foster Parents Plan) who I have worked with before in Pakistan. The plan was to spend half a day with Mariela and her family and then do some photography of nearby Plan projects the next day as part of my ongoing volunteer work with Plan.

The trip to Juigalpa took over 3 hours through very dry cattle country. It is summer here (the dry season). Winter (the wet season) is the other season and it starts in May. The trip to San Pedro took another hour travelling on a gravel road. Along the way we had to dodge car sized potholes, roaming cattle, numerous cowboys on horses and many smoke belching buses. We arrived in San Pedro and pulled up in front of Mariella´s house where the family was waiting along with some of the community volunteers. Both Mariela, who is 10 years old, and her sister, Martha, who is 11 years old, are beautiful children who did not speak a word out of shyness. Josepha, their mother is only 26 years old and single, as it is very common to have children at a very young age in Nicaragua and very common for the menfolk to walk away once the children are born. They live in a shack with a dirt floor which is swept clean daily. The front wall is cinder block and both sides of the shack are planks with gaps in them. There are 2 separate partitions for the bedrooms and a kitchen in the back has a 3 burner propane hot plate. An open area out back is home to a cinder block shower stall and a wash tank for laundry. The tiny property behind the house is occupied by a couple of plants and a latrine in the back corner. Josepha has bricks and cinder blocks to do some improvements once the father of the children has time, or the inclination, to do the work

On my arrival I was served a drink of corn, cinnamon and cacoa which was quite delicious but somewhat granular. I also had some hard bisquits also made of corn. A little later we were served pasteles (cake) and coke. On the wall in the front room were cut out letters saying Beinvenidos Paul and a cut out drawing of what they thought I looked like. I had a hat on and was round. I was very touched by this act. I handed out gifts including some hand made bracelets from the Duncan Downtown market, some totem pins, and an English/Spanish dictionary to help Mariela when she was writing letters to me. They were gratefully received but still the girls did not talk. My spanish is getting quite good and I was able to have a conversation with Josepha while only needing help from the interpreter a few times. I was especially pleased that I could do this.

After the goodies we went for a tour of the town. First the baseball stadium, then the bullring where the men ride the bulls, and then off to Mariela and Martha´s school for a presentation. Arriving at the school we were met by a group of grade 4´s who officially welcomed me and led the way into Mariella´s classroom where she was supposed to introduce me. She was still tongue tied so we went ahead with a question and answer period with me answering most questions in spanish with a little help from Ellen, the Plan interpretor. Mariella has 45 classmates, a typical size class in Nicaraguan terms the principal explained to me. The school is in desperate need of most supplies, especially pencils and exercise books, since the government does not give much money to the school system. The school did not even have a single computer. After the presentations we all filed outside for a group photo and then repeated the process with Martha´s class.

Next stop the San Pedro church, built in 1952 and a very important part of the family´s life. The church is being renovated because, after 56 years, like myself, things are falling apart and need work. Old churches in Central America, like this one, are very fascinating with all their collected icons and memorabilia and the community is very proud of it. I was then shown the basketball court and told out that the youth had no basketballs to play with. Crossing the street we went to meet the Mayor as I was apparently a very important visitor, but he was busy so I met the assistant Mayor instead and he told me about all the great work Plan is doing in the community.

Last stop was the Rio Mico where I watched people wash their cars, do laundry on the rocks and swim. Ellen acknowledged the issue of pollution from these activities but said that the local municipal government was not concerned and did not see this as a problem. I didn´t say much because I am not there to judge but to witness. With all the other issues and challenges the community faces I can understand why the river pollution is pretty low on the radar.

It was time to say goodbye. This was really tough and emotional since I had been corresponding for over 2 years with Mariela and a couple of hours of visiting seemed so short especially since the children had hardly spoken. They did, however ask me when I was coming back. I told them as soon as I am able. Hugs all around and we parted ways, none of us looking back. One of the hardest goodbyes I have ever had to experience.

Granada, Nicaragua

After a long and tiring bus ride, and a very drawn out immigration affair at the border where I was left sitting for 2 hours,- thanks for the heads-up John M, you were right, I arrived in Granada, one of the oldest cities in Nicaragua. The history of this city is intense and includes a major burning of the city by an American who once took over the country. He eventually was hanged when he was stupid enough to come back and try it all over again. The violence continued over the years and right up to the early 80´s giving the world a sense that this is still a dangerous country. This is far from the truth. I have discovered some of the most wonderful people and some of the greatest natural country that I have seen in all my travels. I am staying at the Hotel Corona right on the Parque Central, (every city in the Spanish world seems to have a Parque Central. Horse and carts fight for street rights with Hummers and bicycles. The people are extremely poor and begging by all ages, especially children, is prevalent. I have made some good friends here already including John Oliver, a black Nicaraguan street artist from the east (English, Rastafarian and Carribean) coast. In many ways this is a country divided by it's inhospitable and difficult to access centre.

Took an all day tour yesterday with my new friend Megan, a jailhouse worker from San Francisco. The tour was a relaxed one with the tour vehicle being the personal car of one of the employees. It started with zip lining through the jungle tree tops at high speed on the side of a dormant volcano. Talk about heart stopping. If that wasn´t enough, we did tricks as well- hanging upside down with arms hanging down and flying like superman, screaming and yelling like an idiot. . There were 13 lines each ending in a platform high in the trees. The final line treated us to being flung up and down, almost bungee like by the guides, as we raced to the end. What a thrill. Someday I will grow up

Later that day I took a boat tour with my new friend Megan, and guides, Leo, Jose, and Maurice, thru the 300 odd mini-islands that form the coastline near Granada. We had the 14 passenger boat all to ourselves as we cruised amongst the tiny Islands, most the size of a a large house lot and usually owned and occupied by foreigners, a growing concern for Nicaraguans who are seeing their land being bought up by outsiders. After a couple of hours we stopped at Paradise Island, at least that's what I called it. It was crowded with Nica (Nicaraguan) families enjoying their Semana Santa (Easter week) holiday. Drank lots of Toña beer and ate whole fish with the head on and eyeballs staring at me, got over it and enjoyed it thoroughly and then went swimming in Lac Nicaragua, supposedly occupied by ocean sharks that have found their way into the lake from the Atlantic Ocean via the Rio San Juan in the south. Did not see any myself but did see numerous birds and some eager monkeys on, of course, Monkey Island. As it must, all good things come to an end, and I was dropped at my Hotel and another great meal with my new friend, on the Avenida des Comidas, Thai this time. The wind was up from the nearby Lake and the fabric street-side drapes were flapping and cracking dramatically as we ate. A fitting end to the day and our time together since we both head in opposite directions tomorrow.

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Good Friday, Liberia

Today is Good Friday and in good Christian fashion everything is closed. When I say everything I mean the entire town is closed. If there were doors at each end of town, they would be closed too. Went for a morning walk and ended up in the Good Friday parade, an event that is obviously as old as the country. Basically the whole town gathers on a side street close to the town centre and main church. Mannequins in the forms of Jesus (with a cross) and 3 others, who I expect are important but forget who they are, are held aloft on the shoulders of townsfolk. Jesus leads the procession but is first greeted by the other 3 mannequins who are then lowered in deference and then walked behind Jesus to form a processional. The route is lined by the 12 disciples ( I assume this since there are 12), all dressed in the robes of the time. Mary Magdalene then anoints Jesus´s feet with oil and then he is lowered and the cross removed and placed on the shoulders of another man who walks at the head of the procession. Then everyone starts to walk slowly towards the church, walking to the staccato beat of a snare drum that gears up into a full brass band crescendo before dying back again to the single snare. With the smoke and the noise and the moment I felt a religious moment come over me but I soon got back to the raison d´etre- shooting photos, and I got some good ones. The procession made its way into the main church where we parted ways, Jesus to the alter and Pablo to the pool!

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Los Chiles, the end of the earth

Los Chiles, or the end of the earth as it feels, is a little town close to the Nicaraguan border in central Costa Rica. You reach it by driving two hours thru pineapple and sugar cane plantations and nothing else. The town sits on the Rio Frio and it is the river gateway to San Carlos, Nicaragua. It´s a strange place and feels a little frontier-like. Lots of people just sitting around, waiting for something to happen it seems. Flat bottomed river boats arrive and depart depositing groups of people on shore while across the river, Howler Monkeys roar and swing amongst the tree tops. On arrival I tried to sign up for a river boat tour and almost ended up going to Nicaragua the wrong way, being that this is the terminus for the riverboat buses ferrying the people back and forth. There is a large policia presence here due to the immigration problem of poor Nicaraguans entering the country illegally. Apparantly 20% of Costa Rica´s population is made up of Nicaraguans, many of them illegals.

I am staying at the Rancho Tulipan Hotel, built by a dutch company who are involved in reforestation projects in the area planting and harvesting fast growing Teak and Acacia trees for export to China and India and other countries. They also employ a large percentage of the community for which the community seems quite thankful for. I learned all this by hanging out with Max and Paul, two dutch foresters who work on the plantations. We shared a lot of beer since tomorrow the Easter holiday starts and no more alcohol is allowed to be served until after the holiday. We talked about trees, environment and world affairs late into the night (10pm is late in Costa Rica and the bugs were out in force). We didn´t solve any of the worlds problems but we made good friends. I love these friendships made over beer.

I took the riverboat tour at 6 am the next morning (with a headache from the beer last night) and had the 30 passenger boat all to myself and my guide/driver and headed down river for a 3 hour excursion. The wildlife, especially the birdlife, is prolific and that is only what I can see. Numerous species are nocturnal or are hidden by the jungle vegetation. The skies are full of birds flitting and flying here and there, lizards crawl the banks and run across the water (the Jesus Christ lizard) and Caymans, small alligators, lurk lazily in the narrows and beneath tree trunks waiting for prey. The rain, which fell all night, continued unabated throughout the entire journey, sometimes drizzling and sometimes just dumping on us. Thank goodness the boat has

a roof a roof.

Coming around one bend in the river there was a large white thing in the mud on the river bank. I asked what it was- Cow the guide said. I thought that this was some kind of spanish word for a wild animal. It wasn´t. It was a cow and it was up to it´s neck in the soft riverbank mud. All that was showing was the top of it´s back and it´s head. It was in dire straits. A cow here is very valuable to the poor people so we had to get it out. My guide lassoed the horns and then tried to drag it out of the ooze with the boat. Fifteen minutes later and a lot of tugging it came free. I was sure we had killed it because the dragging would pull it´s head under the mud for long periods. We then dragged it alongside the boat (doing our best to drown it) to find a place for it to climb ashore. Our first effort resulted in it getting stuck again because it stopped to eat half way up the bank. Finally we found a place to land the dumb brute and after a lot of ass-smacking it made it to high ground. My reward for this rescue was a Fire Ant bite and a lot of mud all over me.

We continued up the river hoping that we would find no more cows in trouble. There were none. Tons of wildlife. The highlights of the trip included 3 of the 4 Costa Rican monkey species including White Faced Monkeys which were as curious about us as we were about them, a Wood Stork high in the tree tops, and a couple of Yellow Keeled Toucans which were surprising good flyers despite the fact that half there body weight was hanging from their faces, or so it seemed.

All good things have to come to an end and my guide soon announced that it was time to return to Los Chiles. Arriving back at the hotel I had a hotel breakfast $2 and some more really bad coffee. Then I headed back to Liberia. I took a back road through the Cano Negro Refuge. This was a dirt road, or what we would call a gravel road except that in Costa Rica they use boulders as gravel and the potholes would better be described as craters. Had fun though blasting along the road making big splashes ( it´s a guy thing). I must admit that after 2 hours of this I was dreaming of tarmac. Finally reached the end of the road and headed south on a real road. Got a little lost and, when asking for directions, was told to go back the way I came. I was sure it was staright ahead across the mountains so I went for it. As luck would have it I was right but it was another Costa Rican dirt road but I made it to Arenal and the highway home in good spirits.

Arenal Volcanoe

Today I hiked to the base of Arenal Volcano, the  most active volcano in the America's,  where I witnessed the rumbling and explosions of boulders erupting from the volcano leaving a lava dust trail as they rolled down the volcano's side. I never seen anything quite as impressive as this! I realized today that I have been on a volcano search since visiting Mt. St. Helens in 2005, and then the Colima volcano in Mexico later that same year. Well I saw a big one today, I was thrilled and now I want more.

The volcano tour was the second to last of the days adventures that I shared with my guide, Miguel and our driver Guilermo. It all started yesterday when I found my hotel room by luck after getting a tip from a German couple in a tourist information booth. The original plan was a nights stay in a little luxury before heading north to a much less tourist oriented habitat. That quickly changed after reading the 'tours available' binder at the hotel reception. I couldn't help myself, and since I wanted an intense experience in little time, I signed up for the all day excursion with a local tour company. They would pick me up at 7am the next day.

The next day I was up early, ready to roll. Then I sat at the reception waiting. 7:15 a tourismo van pulls in and a short stocky guy, not much younger than me, jumps out, looks around and says someone's name. Wasn't my name for sure. He hurries to the reception- a fast blathering of spanish and off he goes to the guest's room. Before long he's back, no guest and after another short discussion we all realize it is me they are looking for. Hop in the van, Miguel, the stocky guy starts talking a mile a minute doing introductions, there are others in the van including the driver, Guilermo, and off we go. First stop the hanging bridges, 13 bridges and trails through the forest canopy and forest. Miguel turned out to be a great guide, well informed and funny when necessary. We learned a lot about the canopy, jungle trees, and other growing things. I heard my first Howler Monkeys and Miguel found a Blue Jeans Black Leg Frog the size of my thumbnail with legs. 

We exited to Arenal Volcano. Most of the cloud had cleared and I saw it clearly for the first time. Wow is all I can say. Miguel bought out cold beer to celebrate. I like this guy!

Next stop- drop the other guests then grab a lunch back at my hotel, the Casa Luna, all part of the package deal. And it was a great lunch. Top of the menu stuff. Stuffed! I discovered the next tour would be to the La Fortuna waterfall, a short drive from my hotel. Arriving there I discovered that it was a short drive but then it was a serious long way down via stairs and coming back up was going to be a killer especially after a large lunch. Oh well, down we went. It was incredible. A high, thin spout falling from way above into a pool. The water was icy and fresh. The spray smell reminded me of childhood. Swim done, we hiked all the way back up which was not so bad after all.

Next was the late afternoon volcano hike. We picked up a family and headed off to the 'other' side of Arenal, the dangerous side. At the parking lot before starting up the trail, Miguel got all excited and told us to see if we could see anything on a tree. We couldn't see anything except this small yellow looking fungus type thing. The yellow thing was actually an extremely poisonous yellow coral snake, and yet it was tiny and looked harmless. Not so Miguel explained as he showed pictures of 21 more deadly snakes including the easily provoked Fer de Lance. The ladies in our group were well freaked by the time we started up the dense Bamboo Palm lined trail to the volcano. The trail ended at the bottom of an old lava flow but the spectacle above was pretty cool. Below us is a jungle and then Arenal Lake which flows into the distant horizon. Flocks of Yellow Keeled Toucan's were flying between the trees in the fading light.

Miguel rounded us up and led us back. Driving back to town we saw lightning bugs flicker all over the fields and memories of Quebec nights returned.

Last stop was at a thermal pool resort where the guys left me for a soak and dinner. The soak was in a series of cascading rock-lined hot-tubs- hottest at the top, this one had a small waterfall that poured boiling hot water onto my bald spot. Sure wasn't as relaxing as the brochure said. Looking around I noticed the hot springs had this huge fence with barbed wire the length of it. As well, loud erratic disco music was playing out of very old speakers making a beautiful place very weird indeed. Ignoring the noise I worked my way down the pools with a couple of Negra (beer) stops along the way. Hopped out for dinner feeling pretty good.

Dinner was part of the package and as I sat eating a delicious meal of Sea Bass I loud explosion went off just behind the restaurant. Nobody seemed bothered and there was no screaming so I forgot about it until my driver, Guilermo picked me up and asked if I had noticed all the armed security guards outside.  I hadn't noticed which is not unusual since there are plenty of guns in Costa Rica, even beer trucks have flak-vested armed guards. He went on to explain that there were two thermal pool operations side by side and the older operator was very angry at the new operation and was doing his best to destroy the business with loud music, homemade bombs (everyone does this here) and other tactics. There had even been a shooting recently. I thanked Guilermo for this info. 

I jumped into his van, now loaded up with his family, and they dropped me back at the Casa Luna. A great day indeed!

Liberia, Costa Rica

I am here and it is hot and humid and bug ridden. My first night I went to bed covered in bug welts. I guess that is what bug spray is for. Today is simply an unwind day, heal from uncomfortable plane seats day, and find a good coffee day. The day started with no power for the entire city, not even water would run out of the taps. Everything is good now. Wonderful fresh fruit for breakfast, and lukewarm coffee due to no power. I am already sweating and it is time for the pool and further R&R before starting my travels. 

First impressions- The heat and humidity, the demolition derby traffic, the weird money, 2,000 Colones for a beer, lizards everywhere, noseeums everywhere, weird birds, weird bugs, dodging huge ripe Mangoes dropping from sidewalk trees, dodging bird s*** from those same trees in the evening, the square and the church, and weak beer till I discovered Negra!

Mountain bikes and markets

My cousin, Michael, and I decided to rent a couple of mountain bikes as he had done so in the past and enjoyed the experience. Being an avid bicycle rider (in the distant past) I was liking the idea and pictured a leisurely ride along the coast checking out the sites and shooting some pics, after all that´s why I am here. Michael obviously had other ideas when he pointed to a distant mountain top almost obscured by haze and announced ¨that is where we are going- Cape Formentor¨. I first thought he had said Cape Tornmentor which seemed the perfect name. Now I am well known for my enthusiasm and somewhat foolhardiness but very soon, I seriously doubted my ability to mount the peak so to speak and I spoke my words of caution but they fell on deaf Welsh ears (thank goodness this quality is one welsh trait I was not born with). So what the heck and not being a quitter, we headed off.

The coast ride was nice despite Mike´s need to race ahead. I simply sauntered behind at my own pace evaluating where the pains were going to first appear. My legs I guessed would be the first to go, perhaps my heart considering my advancing age, no maybe my neck from being hunched over with my head held up by neck sinews. I got it all wrong as it was the slowly developing blisters on my back end that started to shout for mercy- the screaming would come later.

We made it to the next village and I stopped for a chocolate croissant- fuel you know. I offered Mike one and he showed me his small apple and smiled saying ¨this is all I need mate!¨ I wished I could be like him as I devoured the freshly baked, chocolate oozing delicacy. Fueled up we started up the hill that went forever. Again Mike was soon far ahead and I was in the highest gears the bike could achieve and still I continued to slow. It then came to me that I could walk faster than I was pedalling and it would save my derriere as well. So off I got and got into my Pembrookshire rhythm and was soon making good time up the hill. Apart from the fear of cars racing up behind me and the sweat that was making my entire body a walking bath I was doing all right plus I had the added bonus of being able to easily stop for photos. Other bicycle riders would occasionally pass me with friendly hola´s and the occasional bus would also pass me coating my wet body with oily exhaust but what the hell, I am on vacation here and enjoying it.

Miles and hours later, or so it seemed I made the first lookout where Mike was waiting. The plan was to go on to the next and he kept asking me if I really wanted to go. Like as if he really did not want to go because he had practically killed himself doing the first leg but needed me to say no, I am too tired, just to y¡take the pressure off him. I played along to make him feel better and we then hiked up to the lookout with the other couple of hundred refreshed looking tourists to the lookout over the sea and coast. Incredible views and an amazing coast line. What a treat!

The ride back down was at high speed, pedal free, hair in the wind breathlessness. I loved it and managed to break some land speed records doing it. Coasting back into the village we stopped for some fresh zumo- juice and cafe con leches. Then back on the road to home. I manged to develop a new style of riding on the way back, one that allowed me to avoid placing my blistered butt on the wood (or so it felt) seat. Back at the apartment it was time for cerveza´s, a swim, and some bragging to anybody that would listen. The best part was the fact that Michael still complains 3 days later of sore everythings, while I am pain free.

The market in the old town of Alcudia is a site to see. Two days a week the parking lots and city streets fill with stalls, hundreds in numbers. Everything from vegetables to the imported beach vendor useless things is on sale. Mixed in were artisans selling their wonderfully crafted wares. The streets and aisles between vendors is practically impassable at times and I am soon covered in free suntan oil from rubbing up against so many people. I have become a potpourri of oils and smells. Despite the variety and opportunity I buy nothing as I am overwhelmed by variety and people but it has been fun to experience.

The Alcudia beach is another story of crowds and colour. The best time to experience it is late in the day when all the tourists have left and the Spanish take over. It is also cooler and quieter. My daily ritual is a walk along the beach with frequent stops at the cafes for some liquid fortification then on again. Once I have gotten as far as I think necessary for the days efforts I turn back again seeking liquid refreshments to keep me liquidated. Sometimes a veer into the ocean and walk7swim out as far as I can go and then float on back with the added buoyancy of the salt water. Then I slowly swim acroos the beach coming into land at my starting point. Not the greatest adventure but sure feels good. Again I have to celebrate this good feeling with another cafe visit to rest from my vigours.

Walking back home from the beach or from the cafe later in the evenings I am continously struck by the colourful display of the tourist´s beach paraphernalia hung on the high rise hotel balconies and every other possible place to dry for the next day´s use. I take photos to illustrate the some what whimsical efect of this tourist art.

Majorca, Spain

I arrived in Palma on the Island of Majorca, without my luggage. It seems that the airline forgot to put it on the plane! This was kind of a drag especially after reading lots of lost luggage horror stories in the British tabloid press (is there any other kind of British press?). Already tired on arrival from the previous night attempting to sleep in the airport waiting areas built-for-discomfort chairs, it wasn´t long before my patience wore thin especially after an additional couple of hours searching and lining up for info about my lost pack. Finally my turn at the wicket and I was told it would arrive at 1am the next morning. Great! I took a taxi into Palma, got a hotel room and then lit out on the town.

The Island of Majorca is legally Spain but once here it feels more like a separate country. In many ways it is a seperate country with it´s Castillian roots and long, colourful history. After the poverty and insanity of Pakistan, the remoteness of the Welsh coast, and the the English lifestyle plainness, Palma, the largest city, was a visual and aural treat. Everywhere there was beauty, life, music, people, and art. Tons of art. One museum I went to had Picasso´s and Dali´s. Outdoor sculptures abound, many of them huge and many of them quite challenging for the artist within us to accept. Take for example a miniature version of an upside down, half-built house or a row of huge, alien-like, Russian doll figures made of steel. One open-aired building, almost a sculpture in itself, has been built strictly to house ongoing exhibitions of outdoor art.

Palma has a rich and long history well illustrated in it´s architecture. It´s central feature is a huge cathedral surrounded by lesser, but equally impressive heritage buildings. Fountains, waterways, and statues of ancient warriors and gods fill the architectural gaps. Outdoor cafes , and street buskers fill every inch of available sidewalk creating a daily street carnival of the likes that I have never seen before. Around every corner is a new show, different food, and a thousand faces from all corners of the globe. I spent a lot of time sitting in the shaded outdoor cafes just watching the world parade by.

The joy of all this was lost to me when I returned to the airport at 2am to locate my missing luggage. After a couple of hours arguing and lining up again I managed to get back into the luggage arrivals area and found my pack sitting lonely and abandoned on an empty carousel. Thank goodness it wasn´t stolen as airport security, despite all the hype, is notoriously lax when it comes to departing luggage. Then back to my hotel room to sleep for what was left of the night.

After a few hours sleep following the early morning airport adventure I continued to explore the alleyways and back streets of Palma before returning to the airport again, this time to meet up with cousins arriving from wales and travel with them to Alcudia on the far side of the Island. We learned very quickly that the law in Majorca is 4 to a taxi only (no such thing as a mini van- at least not at the airport), so it was 2 taxi´s and a very hefty price tag for the 5 of us to Alcudia.
Alcudia is a strange but beautiful place. Beautiful because it sits beside the Mediterranean Ocean, the warmest body of water I have ever experienced. Strange because it is just like being in England except hotter.The Spanish are hard to find due to the thousands of Brits that flood the Island every week or two. British pubs, British fish & chip shops, stores with British papers, and British tele shows flicker on hundreds of screens on the main drag. You can keep score of a big football game by the roar of the crowds and the proliferation of England football shirts out on the day of the game. Signs often read: English owned; fried toast available here; full English breakfast; Guinness on tap; and so on. The beaches are full of very white, or very red, British bodies occasionally mixed with the deep browns of the Spaniard. The smell of sun tan oil smeared on very burnt skin seems to be the national smell of the Island.

The weather in Alcudia is very hot during the day and humid at night. While here the rains came a couple of times and the traditional uniform of the tourist- football shirt, designer T shirts and baggy shorts, was quickly replaced by cheap raincoats- multi-hued plastic bags with tight little hoods. The humour of it could not escape me and I had a large smile on my face as I watched the procession of pastels paraded by me as ducking in and out of the tacky tourist shops featuring cheap wares from all over the world. The rainwear colours were actually quite beautiful on the beach where I watched some brave souls wading colourfully in the afternoon rain.

Pembrookeshire Walk

I arrived at Newgale midday ready to walk 50 miles up the famous Pembrookeshire Coast Walk, a 186 mile walk along the wild Welsh east coast from Cardigan to near Tenbigh. My pack had been packed and repacked several times with the goal of lowering my carry weight. This was critical due to the weight of my camera equipment and I wanted success not crushing defeat.

After being dropped off by my cousin I looked at the trail climbing dramatically from the beach. I immediately started to question the fun of this venture but doggedly started on my way. Fortunately, being a photographer, I had the advantage of stopping every few feet to shoot a photo of the unfolding drama below. In reality I needed to catch my breath. I finally made it over the first hill only to find a long walk back to a beach level and then another climb, even steeper. This became the rhythm of the day till I arrived at the port village of Solva, a picturesque collection of buildings and pubs at the head of the bay. I gratefully quaffed 2 pints of reverend James Real Ale and devoured a plate of prawns. Refreshed I headed out for the next leg to Caerfi Bay which I arrived at, exhausted and sweaty, early in the evening. I was lucky to find a campsite, and luckier still that it was located next to a pub- the Welsh are so civilized!

Next step in the program was to set up my newly purchased ultra light, ultra modern tent. Being a reasonably bright man who always refers to instructions I learned that the first step in setting up this tent was to set it up at home first to get familiar with the process. Obviously I did not due this and paid the price in time and comments from passing campers (on their way to the pub of course). A typical comment I heard was "you shoulda set it oop at ome afore ya tried to do it ere yu know!" After an hour, Success. In my opinion it would have helped if the instructions were a little more clear but what the heck. The good news is that I made it to the pub with time for a meal.

Caerfi Bay is only a mile into St Davids City, the smallest city in Britain and home to the magnificent St Davids Cathedral named for the patron saint of Wales. Arriving in town I decided to spend the day to take in the sights and do a bunch of photos. The real reason was aching muscles and feet from the previous day. I found a B&B for the night figuring one night in a tent was already suffering enough and it was time for some well deserved pampering. I soon found the best cappuccino in all of Wales and I was happy. I explored St Davids cathedral and walked the town taking lots of photos. Also found the Farmers Arms, the city's most popular watering hole. Life was now complete. I then walked a couple of miles out to St Justinians on the coast where I took a jet boat ride around Ramsey Island, a bird sanctuary. Saw amazing landscapes, some of the highest sea cliffs in all of Britain and deep sea caves going deep into the cliff walls. Returned at dusk for a long walk back into town and my soft bed.

The next day I explored and photographed the empty town in the early morning before a full English breakfast at the B&B. The breakfast room was full of grey haired couples who all seemed to know each other. It turns out that the men were all members of the famous Welsh Men's Choir in town for their annual performance in the cathedral famous for it's acoustics. They gave me a cd as I could not make the performance as they reminisced of their past visits to Victoria. I left, full and replenished and walked back to St Justinians to rejoin the coast walk. Five minutes up the first hill something made a funny twang in my right calf and I was soon hobbling along the rail with a badly pulled muscle. I crippled my way into the next campsite at Whitesands Beach and set up my tent there. I spent the day walking the damage out and limped back into St Davids for a revitalizing cappuccino and dinner. I also got lucky and got to hear the Welsh Men's Choir doing their rehearsal and now appreciate the famed accoustics of the cathedral. Then another walk, slowly back to Whitesands.

Day 3 I left the camp set up at Whitesands and walked slowly back along the coast between Whitesands and Caerfi Bay arriving in St Davids exhausted and hurting badly. Reverend James generously provided some excellent medicine and I walked back in the dark to Whitesands.

Day 4 I again left the tent set up and walked the wildest part of the coast from Whitesands to Trevine stopping only in at Porthgain Harbour to meet my old friend R James. This was an 11 mile hike up and down some of the most rugged hills. My arrival in Trevine was heralded by rain and major exhaustion. Every muscle ached and getting up from the pub table was equivalent to raising the dead. I now what it will feel like when I am 100 years old. Fortunately there was a bus back to the campsite and an oncoming gale that had emptied the site of all my neighbours apart from a very drunk group of youths who generously sang me to sleep.

I woke up on my final day to grey skies and slugs in my tent. Four buses and 8 hours later I completed the last 100 miles of my adventure back to Ammanford and the welcoming soft bed of my cousin's house.

Back to the sixties

England for me represents my past, my childhood. It seems so strange to hear the crack of a cricket bat and, in my mind, feel the weight of the hard ball as it hits the English hardwood. Same goes with smells as a particular tree fragrance takes me back to the parks of my British youth.

To continue the theme of memories I attended an outdoor festival in a soggy farmers field outside of Wickham in the south of England. The occasion, me bruva's 50th birthday, whose wifely gift was concert tickets to the headliner at tonight's performance- Jethro Tull. The show is under the big top of old travelling circus times, a massive tent held skyward with 4 columns and hundreds of guy wires stretched taut. It is huge and the over capacity crowd is dwarfed by the structure. The stage is close and brightly lit. Nearby is a long tent occupied by 20 mini-bars and long lineups, with cold beer (can you imagine) the beverage of choice. Standing next to the bars, in typical British organized fashion, are the porta potties with equally long lineups. A uniqueness that I have never seen before are the large 'Gents' portas that can occupy ten at a time, much like a revolving door- in one end, out the other, and back to the beer lineup for more.

The festival grounds are much like our own folk festivals, dozens of vendors hawking everything from JT T shirts to typical ex hippie paraphernalia and clothing. The track between the displays is churned mud and it wasn't long before the inevitable mud started to climb the inside of trouser legs. The rain had just ended and, in a god-like fashion, the bigtop was blessed with a huge rainbow ending above the highest point of the tent, the pot of gold waiting for us all inside.

Jethro Tull were phenomenal, Ian Anderson outstanding as he contorted, danced, and slithered across the stage making the finest music with his trademark flute. One old favourite after a another caused time to speed up as the performance raced to it's climatic end and a huge outcry for more. The crowds cacophony was quickly rewarded with the return of the band and an even more rousing rendition of Aqualung. Following the song, Jethro Tull exited with hands held skyward in Churcillish Victory signs and the crowd exited ever so Britishly into the nights darkness. A great evening for all, and the happiest of all was me Bruva.

Streets of Rawalpindi

I am back in the saddle again after a week of home rest in the Islamabad Diplomatic Compound, recovering from what I discovered to be an intestinal infection, likely brought on by lunch in Mansehra, where I ate some (freshly washed!!!- should have known better) tomatoes. After 6 days of suffering and hardly eating, I was invited to one of my new friends, Dr Shaukat Malek, an eminent cardiologist, for a going over. After a quick visit to his house on a Sunday (try that in Canada) I left with a prescription and a recommended diet (all on the same piece of paper). I went to the Chemist's, had the prescription filled in a matter of minutes and was again happily on my way. One day later- Cured! Unfortunately my remaining days, since I had shortened my trip due to the 'troubles' including a suicide bomber close to our compound area, had been sucked up and all I had was one day left to take advantage of Shaukat's, and another new friend's, Syed Kazi- President of the Photographic Society of Pakistan, offer of a tour of neighbouring Rawalpindi.

Rawalpindi, or Pindi as it is known here, is the big sister city of neighbouring Islamabad. Where Islamambad has only been around since the 1960's, Pindi has been there a lot longer. A city of 4 million+ inhabitants it can be best described as bedlam spread. Intense traffic, noise, pollution, and a potpouri of smells all blend together in a urban whirling dervish except without direction.

Syed and I hit the streets just as the temperature was hitting 40 degrees, not too hot yet according to some residents. We were in the market area of the city, famous throughout Pakistan for the variety and sheer amount of saleable goods including one section, called the smugglers area where items, that had 'fallen of f the back of trucks' was openly displayed and sold. You can get anything you want...... and so on.

We wandered the market streets and back alleyways for a couple of hours shooting stalls, colours, people, beggars, anything and everything, If my camera had a barrel it would be hot to touch after a couple of hours of amazing images,. Every direction I turned their was image magic, all made better by the friendliness if the people. 'where you from', take my picture', 'how are you', and hello were the introductions of welcome as business people and residents welcomed me into their midst.

The back streets, better described as alleyways, are much like the alleyways of Marrakesh, but dirtier, rougher, and smellier as raw sewage runs in narrow culverts on each side of the elevated sidewalk. Power wires run everywhere, political posters cover the walls and the remnants of old campaigns, paint jobs are random and often incomplete as the if the paint ran out and no more was to be had. Motorcycles, donkeys, all manners of beggars, shopkeepers, and all the other myriad of humanity that is needed to create a city coursed up and down the streets like ants going to , and retuning from, their daily errands. One of my favourite memories, and one that I will likely propose to my city council on my return to Vancouver Island, is Pindi's imaginative way of resolving badly parked cars- they simply pick them up with a forklift and head off to a parking lot where the car can be reclaimed for a price. What a sight to witness, a car, 15 feet in the air, travelling along and above the heads of hardly interested shoppers. Such is life in the Pindi mall.

I was not a rare site in the streets, just a long not-seen sight, as few tourists visit Pindi anymore when compared to several days ago when the political situation was more stable and foreigners need not fear for their lives. In reality in all my time here I have never feared for my life. In fact I have felt more welcomed here than some of my travels around my own country. I am hoping that one day Pakistan's troubles will once again be over so that the rest of the world can experience the incredible welcoming warmth that I have experienced here. Alas, many Pakistanis openly do not see better days in the future.

The tour ended at the Pindi's Pearl Continental Hotel's Chinese restaurant where Syed and dined on a most amazing authentic Chinese meal, including my very personal experience with an unnoticed hot pepper (should do wonders for the tummy at risk and my 8 hour flight tomorrow), and several return visits to the vastly colourful and delectable dessert bar.

I will be back and have already stated planning for my next trip to visit again all my new and old friends that I have made here.