on the charlotte-essex ferry

want an umbrella?  buddy asked from his machine on the ferry.
no thanks the rain will stop soon
i wasn’t talking to you but to the young woman.
his wife asked what i was going to do because of the rain
get wet.

the windows closed i went for shelter. noticed their maryland number plate.

when the rain stopped and they opened their windows.
so where in maryland are you from?
seeing a hesitation. mentioned where i grew up.
- know there area
where my mother lives
live close by
that i went to friends
-we have a nephew there
but i went in the stone age.
you’re young i’m 75.

as we were docking and saying good bye. he introduced himself as d.h.
h.? i went to school with a.b.
our niece.

so here i am in an area that has what i tend to look for. water and because of that ferries and  boundaries. i went without saying that i would enter my manifest destiny way of thinking and go out and make use of this.

the plan was to hire a push bike. ride down to the ferry at charlotte, cross into new york at essex, bike up to port kent, then take the ferry back to burlington. it would be a bit difficult but within my range of possibilities - some 60 odd kilometres - the unknowns here would be hills.

everything went pretty smoothly, hired the bicycle with out a problem a hybrid - i haven’t been on a road bike in a long time and those thin tyres make nervous. the geometry was a bit relaxed which caused a bit of a problem on hills but that was granny gears are for.

hot but it didn’t seem to be bothering me. biking down to the ferry, kept passing these sites that i remembered from the last time and didn’t get a chance to document. the motel and hotel row along shelburne road, which wasn’t the most pleasant of roads to bike along. it seems that burlington like to end bike lanes at the most inappropriate moments. there was an apiary along bostwick road. a ball park and beach in lake road. beaches here are about as inviting as the rock strewn ones along the south coast of england. here though the rocks are bigger and sharper.

at the ferry, waiting, i rethought everything. i could make do what i had planned but that would mean racing up the east coast of the lake to make sure that i caught the ferry - the cycling equivalent of making time - telling myself that i would return to make the snaps the next day.

was still undecided on the ferry ride. 

in essex, wanting something cold, and using the post office the enforced slowing down - a great milk shake and a litre of water downed, a walk through an art gallery, a minor ride along the coast - had me decided to return on the charlotte ferry and make the snaps that i saw on the way down. 

my legs spasming may have had something to do with the decision.

at the end of last year when i was stubbornly holding to the “all film all the time” tenant, bought a resesky/recesky/recesky build it yourself twin-lens camera kit. really couldn’t go wrong as the kit cost $10 with shipping included. thought about taking it to rio.

well actually i could go wrong as the kit came with broken parts. thought the camera cool as it was yellow until i realised that the yellow wasn’t light safe. wrote the company i bought it from and received replies that had the appearance of being run through google translate.

gave up. it was only $10. i re-gifted it.

found the same camera on another sight but this time it was all black - less hipster but functional i was hoping. for the luxury of having a camera that actually worked there was a surcharge of $2.00. again shipping was free.


was trying them out as i was having a hard time using dianas and holgas. to me it seems a bit odd to pay more for the film that is used in a camera than the camera itself and it was pretty much getting down to that. 

saw blackbird fly cameras - in colour - but again $110 this seemed destined for the urban outfitters set. like the blackbird fly camera i had qualms with the resesky/recesky which to make it more marketable was called the holga resesky/recesky it seems that holga is needed to add validity to this type of camera. the main one being that it makes vertical snaps. the instructions say that there is an eyelevel finder built in but my chinese isn’t what it used to be and cannot seem to be able to figure out how to use it.

put the camera together a month ago but it sat. it sat with film in it until bored and knowing that i would be away from film i tried it out. the excuse was to add more options to my class in the autumn as the gulf between technologies grows.

it was like having a diana again. because  there is no film counter, i had to watch this spinning dial on the side. i even had to remember how many snaps i had taken. the spinning dial works sort of. if i press down on the back while advancing the film it functions perfectly. if not there are long periods before the dial moves. needless to say the spacing between frames can be highly varied. it leaks light - occasionally - not like the true dianas - not the lomography ones. but it was rare. no need to tape up the cameras.

frames can be overlapped. there is a nice vignetting. apertures can be changed but the lens has to be dismantled and placed back in the camera  which could effect the focus if one actually tried to make the focus calibration accurate.

i am used to a wide angle lens so the more “normal” focal length was a bit claustrophobic for me. i could see the camera as a documenter of things.

bought two more.

this was to be an “all digital all the time” wander. there have been postcards traded over the subject of the suspicion of digital, all writing saying that while we all use it, something simply doesn’t feel right. since i was only here - here being vermont - for three days. i reckoned that i would take only bostinha the sony - well and the charger, the extra compact flash card.

the idea behind this was to see if prejudice became truth. taking bostinha would mean no hassles with x-rays, lighter baggage and that i could make a complete piece while i was here.

since there isn’t really an object with digital, i downloaded i-photo to have another option for mini books. the logo on the back cover for made on a mac is more subtle than that of my publishers overwhelming logo.

while there were doubts and glances over at the other lads until we were in the machine heading for the airport coach, i realised that i had used digital for sometime now and really don’t have any problems with the image quality. it only changes my work as it is in colour. i do have to get used to that brittle sharpness equal to an mp3 file when one is used to vinyl.

it was fun when staying with the lyngberg’s in denmark - having that slide show of what i had done that day.

i felt like such and adult at the airport. not worrying about film not having to explain to the tsa while watching them swab them for explosives.

that all ended.

i thought that i would fit in now but no again behind the times. everyone i saw was using their phones for snaps. while we were wandering burlington awaiting the room to be ready. i was doing the usual. no culture shock. i tend not to look at the back if the camera while i am making snaps. a pity as it seemed that a camera dial had moved from raw to some sort of flower setting. set it back.

a while later wondered why the exposures seemed long. the iso setting had magically been changed.

going into lezot, i hid bostinha.

film or digital rob said as i entered. sheepishly -making sure that the bostinha was well inside my bag babbled on about being film but reluctantly making the move as it is becoming a rarefied world. was saying all of this while drooling over the leica m7 used in the showcase.

i have to be careful now as i see myself becoming the home for wayward  35mm cameras. almost picked up a sweet nikkormat last week, here there was a black olympus om2sp - which i didn’t care for at the time due to the longer time lag - i found myself fondling the bankcard.

feeling guilty being there with bostinha, i continued my babble the way carnivores, justify their penchant for meat in front of me.

so ok this was a mistake, still i was going to make these mini books do all the work from here and have them sent out as if they were postcards and antidote to postagramme

ah well no, i actually couldn’t afford that as both my publisher and i-photo make multiples they would have to be sent to me and then sent out.

that’s fine change is good. i can deal with this.

i now remember the evening ritual when i was heading north of sixty and when following the coastline of the st. lawrence and the atlantic. even though i would find a room relatively early, the next four hours were consumed downloaded, labelling and dumping files as well as recharging batteries. in fátima i would dump the film number the rolls and go to bed.

i forgot about all the peripherals that make supposedly digital so easy. i didn’t so much run out of file space but battery power. worryingly i watched the percentage drop.

it seems like with digital i like everyone else. five files on the laptop nothing being done with them. there is no distance from the event to look at them coldly.

again the illogical aspects of my qualms show. with film i make the snaps, number the rolls and then go out and do something else because of the primitive aspect of the medium makes me delay work - i did notice that the bath in the bed and breakfast has no windows…  while the same can apply to digital it really doesn’t. the fact that it can be seen immediately - think polaroid and not looking at it for days after the snap was made - and thus guilt builds when they are left to sit.

they are sitting though. i prefer to be out instead of in front of a laptop.

one more nail in the digital coffin…

sky schmutz from the sensor

the main concern in returning from baltimore was the choice. fast and expensive via the tollways, or slower but free via mid-state ohio and indiana.  I-81 through virginia had been deadly . i knew that i wasn’t to see anything along the interstate but i had to make time. i sort of had to do the same thing returning to the pissoir. i felt that i was back to those days when we would have to get up at 4am to beat the traffic and make good time

there was an added wrinkle to the choice. i would be more bothered by taking the more direct and costly route if there were constant construction. i chose the southern route.

i have to stop hurrying and i could get a slew of timbits in columbus. the added incentive of the southern route is the bypassing of the onslaught of boredom when between cleveland and south bend. it only becomes better at south bend as i then can start to count down the miles until i am out of the state. the southern route has hills, it only barely bypasses cities. like wanting to follow the blue ridge parkway through virginia one day i want find time heading to baltimore to drive the national pike. the national pike, the blue ridge parkway, routes with names. two long delays that at first irritated me then allowed me to slow down more. at least i wasn’t paying for the privilege of sitting in a tail back if i were on the tollways.

with the forced slowing, i diverted. left the interstate at columbus and took a series of state roads to the the lincoln highway fort wayne. rounding columbus headed into a strong thunderstorm that slowed traffic again but the storm passed quickly. although it didn’t seem so as traffic didn’t stop, it must have been a strong one as we at times had to dodge branches.

now on the “blue highways” i was passing things interesting. once again i had to force myself to switch from making time to making snaps. quite a few u-turns along state road 117 heading into lima.

thought myself very lucky as i would come across these drive-ins that were closed. thought it must have been bad luck to have these close as they were in such good state.

entering lima and needed gasoline, i thought it strange that gas bars would be closed so early in the evening as was the walmart, the dunkin donuts, the mcdonald’s.

finally caught on. that storm that slowed me down a bit slowed down lima and really everything between and fort wayne a great deal. power outages everywhere. finally found gasoline on the west side of fort wayne - knew there was power here as the queue for the mcdonalds stretched down the highway. but people were talking about the outage the way that bodega bay talked about the birds.

when i finally get myself to slow down, i really do go to extremes. now i was stopping for anything that had potential. the only reason that i made it back to the pissoir by 1am was when it finally became dark and all i could do was drive - through another thunderstorm.

canada day

in chattanooga foodless. the time zone change at the city limits meant that most restaurants had closed. would even have settled for a subway, instead i had a stale egg salad triangle wedged sandwich and salt and vinegar crisps washed down with a poweraid at a gas bar after giving buddy waiting outside my change so he could feed his dog.

-looks like he’s dead doesn’t it?

in the motel room i pull out what pradip gave me in exchange - the third heaven - and was glad that i didn’t dally. in comparison to what he gave me, my drop off looked like something i would have brought home from kindergarden to be pasted on the refrigerator. while his was in a portfolio box, mine was wrapped in black photographic paper bags - two though mind you. while his used archival book tape to make a pristine accordion book complete with mickey mouse gloves, mine was book cloth binding four pieces of definitely non archival raw book board - it was meant to mimic the feeling of the snaps now i feel it looks pathetic. something one would make just before they were allowed to use sharp objects again.

while mine was as straight forward as us road 24 between el paso and chatsworth illinois. his ebbed and flowed circled back on itself. his was paul graham like mine weekly reader. while mine was the page version of genuflecting in front of the image his pages, spreads and images at time were so interwoven that i had to slow down and actually look.

as soon as i was marvelling at the dance between image page and spread. the premise would change. black and white, images not crowding the page, space to breathe, people.

when i thought that i had sussed this out another change. i had to stop i wanted to expand the book like i would a yamamoto but there was no place in the room to do so. the book was a shock from his website, pradip seems so calm, there is a quietness to his work that i thought mimicked his life. now i am looking at a work that vacillates between over caffeinated manic-ness that would put me to shame to the pradip that i had come to (think that i ) know.

am thinking that if he put the book in his studio i can sneak back and retrieve it before he has a chance to see it.

mal(de)function

determined not to be dithering about technologies, i loaded the machine with joãozão and clodoaldo, packed a road atlas but picked up a road map at a rest area on I-57. i had consulted google maps but determined that both options - interstate all the way and the more direct route - weren’t suitable. the direct route was hardly that. 

in truth what even what i had entered into google maps wasn’t really truthful as i was heading to baltimore via southern tennessee. one could think that i simply couldn’t take that deadly stretch of tollways through northern indiana and ohio but i had packages to deliver.

as i wrote - stopping was a problem until i did but then i was doing my usual uturns, pulling over, hoping out without locking the machine, and heading off. 

i found that i was photographing stereotypes - closed bowling alley, the many memorials along the backroads and us41, a monster truck rally stadium . didn’t try to stop myself simply added, wind farms, non descript intersections anything that would make me question rural and southern. 

thought downstate illinois too hilly, the skies to grey. thought of saskatchewan. also noticed the difference in the grain elevators - maize not wheat - and the railway - they seemed less present.

wanted more time in terre haute, vincennes and evansville.

wish that i could have stopped crossing the ohio.

liked the confusion of my primitive ways, never knew what time zone i was in always anticipated the state lines. somehow it was neat in summer to head east and lost the hour only to gain it again heading south into kentucky and tennessee. finally losing it at the chattanooga city limits. wonder if that would drive an i-phone crazy

two drop offs, one in nashville, which i knew would be relatively easy. people never look out their windows, if there was no movement, i would be safe. stopped the machine hopped out left the package on a table on the porch and drove off. 

the second would be difficult. when i wasn’t distracted by the scenery during the interstate driving. i was making plans. everything was against a seamless drop - a long driveway where i would have to do a uturn and there would be no reason to be there so i would cause curiosity. i could  park on the road and walk the 30 metres or so to the house but again movement with windows looking out where no-one is supposed to be. the tug of making time - i was even thinking of what the best time would be - duckish? dark?

leaving the interstate at mounteagle, after the climb, the coolness of the air, the lack of traffic, the local shops closed, i finally entered the domain. by then i had decided to drive in park behind the studio, hoping that if i were seen i would be perceived as some wayward farmer, drop the package off at the studio door then hightail it out farmer. 

before i could turn by the field house, i had to wait for three machines to pass. when they turned right by the stadium, i began to panic. what if the puckish platinotypist was having some sort of soirée - there weren’t too many houses left. 

quick thinking had me come up with a plan to hand the package to one of them and heading out but it seems in true hitchcockian fashion they stopped at the last house before my destination. i waved as i passed.

things looked good. no light were on but one on the upper floor.

the front screen door was open.

then things looked bad. passing the gap between the house and the studio - these poor southerners always have to have their outbuildings - i heard chatter. i saw rachel  who craned her head. 

it was too late now the only thing left was shock and awe. i parked where i had planned 

came around the side of the studio in full view, marched with purpose, handed over the packages and tried to leave hoping that they wouldn’t abandon their guests.

but a bout of manners took over, an espresso and package to take back  - the gaul having me come all the way down so that postage - substantial postage - can be saved. i made a run for it as he was getting his camera - some digital thingy no doubt - reviewing what had happened mentally. planning what i will do next time.

it is hard to arrive at that balance when an outing has a goal. having to make my way through chicago from the pissoir, when i finally hit the open road of the interstate the make time compulsion takes over. interstates help as rather than join they bypass.

this necessitates using the national - but even better - the state roads. i have to slow for towns but stopping is another problem, it is hard for me initially to synchronise my awareness with the brake pedal.

the first stage in the process of slowing down is justifying what i saw really wasn’t that great and there will probably be many more scenes that will not only be similar but better.

the second stage is registering what i saw while continuing realising that it has potential and making a u-turn some kilometres away, making use of peoples’ driveways and breaks in the two roadways in divided highways. this is the usual working method when moving at 100 clicks.

finally i anticipate, and slow when there is potential.

after a while realising that forward progress has slowed- this usually starts when i realise after mentally recalculating an estimated arrival time to be so late that finding a room and food will be impossible - i have to reverse the strategy. this is as difficult as slowing down. now everything has potential in cities i have to kill the urge to park the machine and walk away. along strips on the outskirts, there is an overload of stimuli. the continual delay doesn’t phase me as much as it should but this is where the interstate comes to the rescue. the relative sameness of the view coupled with the relative impossibility of the u-turn - off ramp, on ramp, reversed direction, pass scene, off ramp, on ramp finally the locale making sure there are no state patrols - keep me focused on the destination.

i lied.

i assured everyone at goldmiths’ that not only was i coming with enough funds to survive for at least a year but that i would have a place for my studio.

the funds ran out before the course began, and as for the studio. with less than a fortnight to go i was still at snow’s hotel, spending my time in the bar listening to the horror’s the male prostitute would have to endure by his rich clients, watching the saudi men attempting to pick up the blond aussie bar keep while buying me free beers.

i was out and about every day trying to find a place but it seemed that i was baffling all the people i had to talk to. when i asked one agent for a place south of the river - this is 1980 remember - there was this blank stare as if all she could think of was brighton.

one agent became angry when i insisted on living alone.

after seeing a place that i liked a great deal in streatham,  a flat that opened out onto a garden with my own kitchen and bath - but apparently wasn’t suitable as the person renting it sighed and said she was looking for a doctor, i was in the offices of the college confessing to my dilemma when a retired tutor who lived in peckham, said that she knew someone who had a place to went in her house along grove lane, she would ring her and i could go over to-morrow.

it wasn’t streatham, a good thing as i was within walking distance of the college - goldsmiths’ then was in cormont road, camberwell was - to my mind - the best place to be south of the thames as it was close to victoria, charing cross and the city. i could walk to the oval.

the following day i knocked on the door, a lady answered, invited me in showed me the flat - kitchen bedroom shower up the stairs - shared but in truth she used the bath on the other landing. she showed me how to use the reinforced locks, handed me the keys and said that she was off to switzerland the next day for a month she would see me when i got back.

that’s how i met alison, a vegetarian - like me - well not really. she told me that she was on a retreat once and the soup had meat in it, as i was commiserating she told me that she asked them to take the meat out. i was invited to come upstairs and watch the television whenever i wanted - only did so during the world cup as television wasn’t needed. i had radio 4.

while doing improvements to her part of the house she put in a sink in an alcove for me so that i could not only wash up without heading upstairs but also rinse my film -at night my kitchen turned into a darkroom.

i helped her wallpaper the top floor.

she loaded the ford cortina with two women from the states and me and took us around southern england - corfe castle, swanage, studland bay

on the the fourth of july after i had come back from america - actually the america, which is   which is outside ely in sutton in the isle. told friends that i had walked to america  between boston and cambridge - she had sparklers that we lit in the back garden.

we traded food, i met her friends, penny and alec, daisy and her mum, bruce who would always corner me to talk about his leica m3 with the sumMIcron lens and wondered if he should have bought the sumMIux instead. 

when it was finally time to leave britain she helped me move by taking all my books to the post office - i moved back to the states by royal mail. when i showed up in december for the external show - which the tutors thinking that i wouldn’t return, “forgot” to hang my work - i went back to my flat.

i stayed there again when i went back to teach at richmond college the next summer.

i appalled her when once she arrived back from switzerland early only to find my largish prints washing in her tub. she confessed that she didn’t use the bath for a month after that. i promised that i would never do it again.

i sent post cards constantly she would reply with letters. at christmas there would be a calendar or something arriving.

she moved out to essex - manningtree - to be close to her friends. she said the place was small but there would be space if i chose to visit. never quite got around to it. oddly enough what blair did to britain didn’t much have me want to visit - this coming from someone who had to endure the thatcher years.

when she moved to oxford, i continued to send my usual postings to her until one day, a relative wrote saying that alison’s place was small and there wasn’t any room for my mailings could i please stop.

i didn’t alison was a friend writing her kept her alive for me. stopping would be casting her off. in the end, however, i feared seeming a typical overbearing yank in ignoring the wishes of her family and i stopped.

earlier this year matthew wrote. matthew whom i met when he was about three. he said that alison was in hospital for a bit but was back at her room alert but weak. he was going up to see her in a few weeks.

i had realised that in stopping my part of the correspondence had in essence consigned her to those of my friends who had passed away. hearing this from matthew, had the effect of making me feel ashamed that i had listened to her relatives and that i thought she had died.

sent a post card feebly starting off since i last wrote… with the intent of crowding her room again.

not soon after matthew wrote that she had passed away. 

so now it does stop. but i found this snap that i made of her when i did finally leave for the states for good. her on the front stairs seeing us off as we made our way up denmark hill for the train, seeming to make it seem more like one of my many awaydays half expecting us back.

needing batteries, i cross the frontier into pikesville to the rite aid. entering i see that my reference to what was once called the third world is incorrect, i find that a more relevant comparison would be the old soviet block.

the first thing that i notice is the queue to check out. although there are four wickets only one is open and there are a dozen people waiting to pay. there is no self check-out.

groaning i search the shop for the battery display. seeing the amount of empty space on the shelves the shop looks as if it is closing for good. finding the self serve display i try to pick up two packages as if i buy two the second is 50% off. i pick the only packages where there are two as most of the slots are empty.

after trying to lift the packages off the hooks in the self service display i noticed they were locked. i had to find a clerk to unlock my selection. the only people i can find are in the queue.

finally seeing someone dart by and start to rearrange a shelf, i track her down, tell her my predicament. she heads over to verify the situation, fetches the key, i pick out the two remaining battery packs and queue up to pay.

a transaction that normally would take five minutes takes 30.

day pass wander forgetting to pack a meal

thinking that baltimore with its infrastructure a complete basket case, would be ideal to force me not to rush and allow time for making snaps.

this realisation came from trying to simply travel five miles using public transport and finding that it is quicker to take as indirect route as possible than the logical direct one.  i thought that i would leave that to another entry.

t0-day armed with a day pass, i walked into pikesville to wait for the 53 bus which would be along in 20 minutes by the schedule. i could also take the 59 bus which would be along in 21 minutes. logic would have it that if you have two buses along the same route for a while you would stagger - ah logic and baltimore. it seems that when two different buses share a route they come within five minutes of each other - ah now i have started. i was trying to hold off to broach this another.

the 58 and 60 duplicate their route to a great extent and run within 10 minutes of each other. that would sound good if the buses didn’t run every hour. miss one chances are you miss both. 

i’ll try to stop and get back to how i made use of this. 

i was heading up to pikesville to go to the post office. that task completed i would await the next bus in either direction to head over to what is becoming a serial ding don ditching - my uncle must be getting gun shy whenever he opens his front door. 

because a bus in either direction wouldn’t be around for a good 20 minutes i could wander the alleys of pikesville and marvel at the empty shops along reisterstown road. 

a southbound 53 left me off at mondawmin where i asked three people where i could catch the number 51 north and got three different answers. i took the 52 instead. 

having successfully leaving the package unseen, i again played the waiting game for a number 51 again either north bound or south bound. another 15 minute wait - more opportunity to make when two north bound 51’s came. 

it is here where the game begins. i could try to catch a number 33 across town to the light rail but who knows when it would arrive. in baltimore it is best to cover one’s bus betting by finding a stop with as many options as possible. this would be the rogers avenue metro station. 

thought that i would be in luck as there was a crowd at the 27 stop but i could also catch the 33 to the light rail. again a 20 minute rate but here no real place to make snaps and i was held prisoner of the schedule as the 27 was overdue.  so 33 it was retracing the route of the 51 to cold spring road then watching the bus pack up with students i finally get down at the light rail to head to lutherville only four stops while there are quite a few stops in the less desirable parts of town the good people of ruxton make sure there is no chance of all those rowdy swarthy people get down in their neighbourhood. 

one would think that light rail having its own right of way would be reliable. ah but this is baltimore. after a 30 minute wait i made the 15 minute ride to lutherville.

while i am only through the outbound part of the wander, what i had been expecting was that with regular transit service i could hop off and on buses to make snaps and while i knew that this would not be possible the way it is in chicago where buses with all their problems run with a schedule that germanic in precision compared to baltimore. there i can get down in a neighbourhood that i am not sure about make a few snaps with the assurance that there will be another bus along shortly. along lower reisterstown road there were all sorts of potential photographs but not being assured of a bus coming any time soon i didn’t get down. 

i am sure that if i sent photographs of this area of baltimore to the favelados in rio de janeiro they would be more than happy to send funds to help out those less fortunate than them. i also forgot how there are great swaths of the city that would be considered poor in the poorest of the old third world. i forgot about the devastation along lower park heights, liberty heights, druid hill avenue and mccolloh streets, all of west baltimore, the alemão complex was less depressing and actually more life affirming.  

i diverted again.

i also found that thinking that the infrequent bus service would free me up to make snaps was wrong when buses come so infrequently and irregularly, i tend to hover around the bus stop not even venturing from one to another, fearing i’ll miss one and will have to wait another thirty minutes to an hour.

even with the diversions the total distance of the wander was only 10 miles maximum. it took four hours. this was four hours of not missing a bus - meaning letting a bus go by as i would catch the next - it was four hours as even though the longest time i was on a bus was from pikesville to mondawmin - the total wait time was over two hours. the return trip was 30 minutes of actual travel, an hour waiting. nevertheless a few snaps that seem to have potential.

ah balamer

riding the light rail up howard street just passing the armory, i see a bullet ridden range rover on a wrecker turn up park avenue.

signs that i have crossed the mason dixon line

while it seems that i am reluctant to enter the 21st century at times, for the most part i cannot see a reason why one would do so. this doesn’t mean that i don’t try to have an open mind.

take mobile phones. i have now owned one on three separate occasions. on the wander north of 60, i carried one as there was a fear that i something would happen on those vast tracts of highway where only weeks later i would be found .  of course in these same vast tracts there was no coverage, a tower isn’t needed where there is no one. i found that i was checking in more on land lines in places like toad river or stewart’s crossing good luck in fireside. these areas of non coverage reached down to northern alberta and saskatchewan. the clock still worked though.

i had one during my stay in fátima. i even sent texts. this was great in meeting up at the botequim of the day.  it was useful there more for the texts than the phone as i could rarely hear when it rang or even vibration. on the streets i could barely hear. but i did think of renting a bike using it. back in the states it wasn’t a great loss to give it up.

now due to an emergency when it seems that i need to be in available, i am in baltimore lugging around one again in case i am needed. i have been. the phone has rung three times, every time while i was driving. by the time that i could pull over safely, open the phone and press the correct button, the person had rung off. i checked the text messages and all seem to be spam.
one constantly saying “check out these bitches…” the one time that i could answer the phone in time i was in front of where the caller was - i was being asked where i was.

needless to say i don’t really see the use of a mobile. unless one is walking with the phone constantly open there is no way that it can be used safely.

a pity as i received a postcard that had been made with a smart phone camera sent to postagram - http://postagramapp.com/ -  then mailed to me. the message saying something about coming on over to the dark side as the person until now while using a dslr was still using all sorts of film and dealt with tangible items.

it seemed an acceptable compromise - artefacts would be sent, i could make postcards of places where they are harder and harder to find, i wouldn’t have to search out a post office which is as difficult as finding post cards themselves. it only costs 99¢ which is less than a past card and postage.

the downside - while there is the generic quality of the pixture postcard, it cannot be made personal by the cancelling of the post office. they all stem from someplace in the u.s. so there is not that  “proof” of travel. the snap is square and can de detached for framing within the postcard format so it feels more like those postcards that littered cafés about a decade ago. i am not sure about my separation from the process.

nevertheless i have been researching smart phones for their cameras and cheap data plans so that i can move forward into this brave new mashing of technologies - fully realising that i wouldn’t be send them from those spots where i was searching for a land lines - locales where i tend to find myself more and more often - even so the first signal, the first hotspot and… post cards of carmacks as well as grand bruit.





i did get even with the person who started this temptation sent a resesky do-it yourself twinlens 35mm camera kit.

this week-end has simply shown me that the phone part still seems of little use as the phone vibrated again announcing another porn-like text.

it is the last day of the term, i hang around just enough to not look like i am racing out of the building but too late to take the train back to peasant’s pissoir. but i had a plan i would take the train to a bus then walk through bits of illinois beach state park to my bike at the station where i went into chicago.

i was reasoning that this would get me out of this grand lethargy of the part four months. the three mile walk through the park with clodoaldo would get me in the habit of not only making snaps but forcing me to slow down.

near the end of the walk i passed the house, the one that used to have the new pratt designed flag that disappeared a few years back. the machine’s plate in the driveway  still is NEWFIE.

as i pass a couple leave the house.

-excuse me but where do you belong? i ask
-i’m from corner brook newfoundl…
-yeah i stayed in curling in the old bank of montréal building that my evil twin used to own.

she was born in curling, used to walk the railway tracks downtown.
i could place her house.
we talked of taylor’s shop.
she knew tom my barber.
when i mentioned bonne bay, reminisced about the ferry to norris point.
she had family in englee, conche in fact all along the great northern. 

been exiled here for some time sister in ontario
her neighbours think that NEWFIE  means that she has a newfoundland dog.
still has the house in curling.
the flag was ragged and in the back
she should get another
invited me back for a mug up.

for some reason felt somewhat energised.

praça xv

rua francisco de castro ao redor da rua almirante alexandrino

bondelândia - santa teresa

muro rua andré cavalcânti - santa teresa

avenida henrique valadares - bairro da fátima

rua carlos sampaio - bairro da fátima

o homem que usava filme

avenida primeiro do março  e rua da assembléia

rua do rosário e rua miguel couto

a cocotá

no campo do inimigo...

aqui sou eu  portão 34, terminal 2 do aeroporto do galeão tom jobim.  em frente de mim a cidade inteira pão de açúcar, central do brasil, corcovado, complexo de alemão sumaré. está na hora em que as reflexões são a mesma intensidade do que a luz ambiente lá fora na cidade onde já não faço parte. oficialmente creio não estou mais no brasil, o duty free tem preços em dólares. o passaporte já estava carimbado mas mesmo assim lá é.

um dia frustrante. novamente esqueci algo bem importante e por causa disto fui limitada em que podia fazer. fui um dia feriado e esqueci de ir trocar dinheiro ontem, por isto comecei o dia com R$ 40 reais.

também tive que subir em santa teresa novamente para pegar a minha cartão de crédito que a balconista não devolveu. acordei bem cedo querendo pegar a cartão assim que a loja abrisse. problema é que ainda não abriu.

nervoso, feriado, loja fechada. falei com a gerente do mercado do lado que quis me ajudar mas não sabia quando ela abria.

deve abrir hoje é dia de feriado tem capacidade de ganhar bastante dinheiro.

tirei as últimas três fotos com ubaldo da loja que teve a minha cartão e do espirito santa.

o dia será dedicado à leiquinha e as coisinhas que mesmo sem perceber faz parte do ambiente carioca. com a leiquinha sempre chego mais perto.

não querendo gastar o pouco dinheiro que tive desci a pé que me deixou em frente do multi market.

tive que me acalmar a gerente disse que talvez meio dia ou uma hora. não quis esperar e gastar as horinhas que tive.

fui ver se o câmbio que usava estava aberta mas também querendo que este seja um dia como qualquer outro fui verificar o email.

estava fechado.

escolhei a rota até praça mauá que me levava pelo saara. tudo fechado. e numa dia dedicado à leiquinha. usei as sombras, a portas meia abertas, os postos, lâmpadas, e fachadas, fita duma banca que pareceu um signo do zodíaco.

estava fechado o câmbio. no mesmo tempo lembrei que quase tudo seria fechado não haverá lugar onde comprar presentes. precisava de R$15 para chegar ao aeroporto. mas o resto podia ser gasto em açaí e transporte.

tomei um ônibus a laranjeiras, precisava fotografar o butequim de coimbra, e também o lanchonete onde tivemos açaí certo. com a leiquinha o passeio foi diferente. se vi algo fiz uma foto. com 35mm não penso em rolos nem imagens e deixa para mais tarde as decisões que normalmente faço antes de apertar o botão.

indo ao largo do machado realizei que era mais ou menos duplicando o mesmo passeio do primeiro dia. decidi voltar a pé para economizar dinheiro e porque ainda faltava tempo até que a loja abrisse.

desviei subindo benjamim constante, achando mais uma maneira de subir a santa teresa mais ladeira no calor, mais um gato descansando na ladeira, fiquei no lado assombrado da rua.

e decidido detesto santa teresa durante o dia. novamente o largo de guimarães novamente com gente que pareciam perdida. no banco na parada de ônibus, nas calçadas nem bebendo nem comendo simplesmente esperando.

entrei na loja e a balconista me entregou a cartão. disse que correu atrás de mim ontem mas sem sucesso ela foi na direção do largo e para espirito santa. pediu desculpes várias vezes mas não ofereceu nada em recompense. o meu último dia como carioca foi comprometido.

sumi ainda em santa teresa, querendo achar o trampolim e o lugar onde fiz a foto do grupo há 10 anos. não sei porque faço questão de fazer estas coisas nunca deu certa, a realidade não é telenovela, a gente se encontra uma vez e pronto.  todo o mundo funciona como o filme before sunrise.

achei o lugar, o hospital fechou-se e claro não houve ninguém. os meus estados aqui não tem nada que ligam salvo de mim.

finalmente desci, desci pela paula matos que me deixava nem 500 metros do apartamento.

para celebrar um açaí de 500.

ue tá cedo!
não sabia que tive horário. posso deixar para mais tarde.
não um agora outra mais tarde também.

bebi parti sem perceber porque novamente ela estava ocupada. e a semana que vem quando não aparece…

bem além de ter só 15h estava na hora. realmente não pudia fazer mais no bairro, falta de dinheiro, não quis ficar no apartamento esperando, arrumei as malas, tranquei a porta  joguei as chaves embaixo dela. deixei o chip e com isto o meu número de telefone e mensagens, exclui todas.

tomei um ônibus até praça xv que foi um problema porque as ruas no bairro da fátima foram bloqueadas.

andei até a estção das barcas e vi ônibus que precisava fingir de não me ver. andei até santos dumont e finalmente… mauá, rodoviário,  cidade do samba, são cristovão futebol clube - ie não fui, lá na distança o complexo de alemão, penha e tom jobim.

o aeroporto - ao menos terminal 2 é uma bosta, um lanchonete, levou mais duma hora comprar um queijo quente com um café com leite - quis uma focaccia caprese - o primeiro sanduíche veio com presunto e frio o segundo quente e com presunto. tomei o café antes que o terceiro sanduíche chegou.

isto parece mais um aeroporto de macaé.

preciso dum açaí

com o pânico dos últimos dias - último dia - quis fazer importante fazer algo que prorrogava. mas no mesmo tempo quis enganar-me que estou habitante desta cidade. 

abandonando a zona norte recentemente decidi de ler todas as obras do profeta gentileza. avenida brasil esta vez é o que o aterro foi no passado.

mais uma vez desci, pensei em entrar no cajú e no cemitério mas achei que vi um ingresso e caju… o calor, a falta de gente…

assim decidi de encher os meus pulmões com poeira da avenida brasil e a linha vermelha.    um passeio poucas fotos, uma da praça ao lado, outra com uma escrita com a fiscalização por cima.

quis ver se o rodoviária foi tão movimentado como antes. fui mas mais limpo e mais clara.

ônibus até o jardim botânico. desci no parque lagé reconhecendo que nos 70 confundi os dois.

agora sei onde quero trabalhar. lá no meio do parque há uma escola de arte que até nas aulas de fotografia ensinam cianotipo. lá num prédio aberta com jardim no meio com café cristo redentor por cima uma escola que a meu ver parecia tranqüila.

me imaginei ensinando platínotipos, e outros processos antiquados. mesmo se nunca uso uma câmera.

o parque parecia vazio mas sempre quando quis fazer uma foto alguém ou - pior - um grupo apareceu. 

acabei que fazer um retrato dum banco de concreto balançado por um árvore quando este cara para, esvazia seus bolsos, tira camisa, e telefona.

subi a piscina dos patos. há peixe tipo - koi - perto do superfície, com a leiquinha tento fazer algo com o peixe, a reflexão e o brilho. uma tentativa fraca de falar de distância. paro porque tenho de trocar filme e uma turma de coreanas chegam.

subo um pouco tentando ver a cascadinha quando  um estrangeiro lá em cima está pulando de uma rocha a outra.

partindo ponho ubaldo na bolsa mas erradamente. a máquina caiu e bateu na escada de pedra. estou achando que a parolos tomou a maioria do choque mas o punho quebrou.
verifiquei o foco, exposição tudo parecia em ordem.

espero que sim. continuei fotografando vi uma exposição que não entendi - música bossa nova na floresta ao longo duma trilha vou à floresta por causa dos sons ambientes. não bossa nova.

não fui ao jardim botânico - cobram, quis fazer uma foto da via principal mas houve gente lá fazendo fotos de se.

o joquei, e finalmente a razão do passeio. fla. finalmente compraria uma camisa - não oficial não algo de bom gosto vermelha com o CRF. fiz a compra, saí, e lá a foto

indo ao ônibus de volta lá do outro lado da rua - a arquibancada do fla com um gigante CRF. que coisa linda. lá depois do vasco, Botafogo, e até flu, o campeão do mundo.

bem sabia que se entrasse no clube teria uma foto perfeita mas R$10 parti.

voltei

entrei

ingresso gratuito por causa da minha idade.

passei uma hora lá. fotografando do campo do todos os ângulos, fazendo imagens formais, com o signo do clube. com cristo redentor lá em cima. subi na arquibancada que altura. fiquei com vertido. mais umas fotos.

como escrevi espero que tudo esteja certinho com ubaldo.

voltei à laranjeiras esperando encontrar com alceste que não estava novamente. novamente levou mais tempo chegar até lá que prevenia. não houve cadeiras na calçada só mesinhas. fui tomar o meu açaí antes de subir em santa teresa uma última vez para jantar no espirito santa.

indo  primeiramente verificando o email - o céu escureceu, escureceu ainda mais esperando o ônibus. estava pingando água entrando a loja que teve a camisa do bonde chorando. depois de comprar estava chovendo quando entrei no restaurante.

mesmo assim quis sentar fora. mesmo com uma mesa molhadinha. houve uma tempestade. e porque houve tempestade não duraria muito. o grupo ao meu lado entrou no restaurante assim que ouviu trovoada. eu li.

moqueca que banana e devassa escura e ruiva.  continuei lendo estrangeira.

na hora de pagar faltou a minha cartão. a dona não devolveu depois da compra.

corri à loja mas estava fechada. paguei com a desagradável bankamericard bem sabendo que seria uma das milhares taxas que tem.

a balconista disse que tenho cara de brasileiro. ela é de uruguai.

desci determinado de subir assim que a loja abrisse.

-  tem identificação?

estava procurando um pouco de sombra logo depois de fotografar uma igreja lá na morro da previdência. ubaldo precisava de uma troca de filme.

-  tenho uma fotocópia do passaporte e visto.

aparece que a polícia da pacificação tomou um interesse em mim. mostrei ele revistou e quis algo mais autêntico. além do fato que reconheceu que levando passaporte há um risco de ser roubado dele. mostrei a minha carteira de motorista.

parece que isto foi o processo de pacificação das “comunidades” a upp conhece todo mundo que mora lá e entrevista gente que querem entrar. nem sabia que estava numa favela. só notei que a rua acabou e tive que acender o que pareceu milhares de escada.

-  houve algo de errado aqui? disse que houve um cara lá embaixo que disse que devo subir também falei da gente no centro cultural correios que disse que devo subir.

-  não até que é mais seguro aqui do que abaixo aqui pode andar à vontade tirar fotos que o quiser salvo dos meninos. até que há uma mirante por perto que… e me levou à mirante. foi no caminho que perguntei sobre a u.p.p. ele está sempre ao lado da igreja que fotografava. e disse duma cruz bem velha um pouco mias para cima. pena que hoje foi tão abafante. pedi se fosse a bangú que achei um pouco estranho mas sim. ele estava pensando na escola de samba.

passei bastante tempo lá com a máquina fora falando com gente mas me senti como um colonizador sabia que podia sair, e agora sabia que estava lá porque houve o u.p.p.

o gozado é que senti mais seguro aqui do que nas ruas chegando até aqui. ninguém me suspeitou podia entrar numa conversa sobre mengão. o cara me mostrou o novo banco itaú de 34 horas. fiz retratos das praças, dos gatos, e também das calçadas usando as sombras para confundir o espaço. mesmo sentindo aquele tipo de turista, pude dedicar-me ao que me interesse. os pontos humanos que vi. roupa secando, decorações nas casas. coisas que celebra o indivíduo.

logo antes que isto parei um pouco mais embaixo para fingir de fotografar um lanchonete quando realmente quis fotografar três saquinhos de lixo pendurados. tive que esperar até uma idosa passasse.

passando ela pensando que quis fotografar a vista, falou que a vista do seu apartamento é melhor ela morava no morro um 45 anos. quis fazer uma foto dela mas disse que com 75 anos era velha demais e negou a oferta. vendo nós dois conversando um funcionário - o robinson - veio falas sobre outras mirantes no morro. que estou seguro aqui falei que estava nos estádios de futebol da antiga guanabara e falou da copa das favelas deste fim de semana. novamente fico triste.

além de me sentir mais calmo ainda esconde a máquina tirando-a somente quando for preciso. claro como disse isto atrai ainda mais atenção.

descendo finalmente guardei as máquinas a fui a morro da conceição para explorar o parte que não vi por falta de filme. mais atenção à humanidade. porque também estou habituado a comer só entrei dois restaurantes para ver os cardápios nada para mim.

fui a livraria da travessa no centro cultural do banco do brasil à fim que comprar uns livros mas sabendo que posso comprá-los dos estaites sem ter mais peso nas malas saí sem compras. mesmo assim entrei mais uma livraria antes de voltar ao apartamento.

no segundo passeio quis achar a loja fotográfica na voluntários da pátria. claro que não achei e claro que com mais gente fiz menos fotos. mas achei um elevador num morro lá que quero subir.

ainda na procura de presentes fui à feira do posto seis e finalmente vi o oceano. a feira me parecia cínica a maioria das barracas vendendo a mesma coisa.

um açaí de 500 antes que ir a pizzaria guanabara para uma pizza mussarela. sentei afastado de grupos, tirei o livro e li. logo depois outro cara da minha idade sentou por perto, pedi uma pizza comeu e saiu com pressa. falei um pouco com o moço que teve problemas com a cartão de crédito. mais uma pessoa que passa pela vida da gente.

agora a falta de tempo pressiona.

sábado.  o último porque a livraria saraiva foi tão lotada decidi tentar mais uma vez de achar uns livros fotográficos e de design. também  achei uma mapa decente numa banca.

novamente um dia quente e por causa disto tentei que andar um pouco mais lentamente e no lado assombrado da rua. não ajudou muito.

foi um dia da leiquinha. agora estava mais levando a máquina quando sair do que saír para fazer foto. vendo que estava do museu hélio oiticica entrei querendo saber se tiver uma biblioteca.

a funcionária lá me reconheceu e por causa disto tive que fazer uma foto dela. quis o fazer no primeiro dia que estava lá mas de repente o museu virou movimentado e não tive chance de pedir.

ela sugeriu a livraria no centro cultural do banco do brasil.

em frente do museu fotografei uma cadeira vazia na esquina enquanto um mulher idosa na outra cadeira distante me vigiava. bem quis fotografar o travesti cujos seios caíram da blusa. logo depois que fiz a foto da cadeira a idosa sentou lá.

no caminho entrei numa livraria de livros usados e vi uns de que gostaria ter.

por causa disto fiquei bem deprimido. em vez de comprar tive que pensar bem, o peso, o tamanho por causa das malas. cheguei à realização que entrando uma livraria trairá esta depressão na livraria da travessa no centro, vi uns vinte livros que queria e não pude. procurei livros pequenos. sai sem compras.

fui também à banca na rio branco que tem postais interessantes. lá comprei nove.

-   nove porque não dez

-   porque só tenho nove amigos. quando arranjar mais volto.

mais uma vez com o calor subi à chácara do céu. esta vez aberta. seria um passeio normal se não fosse a sala de desenhos e aquarelas de debret. passei a maioria do tempo lá. gostei da maneira que mostraram as obras.

insistindo em ficar em santa teresa fui achar o museu de bonde mas como sempre desviei e fui a paula matos. achei um restaurante que tem refeições vegetarianas. mas não gostei tanto do largo de guimarães muita gente `a toa. nem nos bares nem fazendo compras centenas de turistas simplesmente perdidos.

depois do largo porém fiquei um pouco inquieto quando vi um bairro um pouco mais normal. no termino do bonde houve uma pracinha com dois idosos conversando.

voltando quis ver onde eu fiz a foto da turma do russo lá no trampolim do joão. um erro um morro que quase me matou chegando no fim cansado tive que adivinhar a direção adivinhei certo mais não quis subir ainda mais no bairro. desci passando o bonziland onde  um artista fez esculturas e pinturas do que achou por perto. houve um lago de escultura.

ele me deixou fotografar à vontade e bem quis comprar algo mas as malas, o peso e a volume.

conflito, gosto de santa teresa mas não gosto dos ônibus de turismo que está passando por aí.

gostei da livraria no largo de guimarães até que comprei um livro de poesia - preparativas de viagem de mario quintana.

lugar agradável cadeiras para ler e tomar algo, afastadinho do largo próprio.

mesmo detestando o lugar fiz o que tudo mundo faz. fiz compras para presentes. passei mais uma vez no restaurante que tem opções vegetarianas. o moço me viu e disse que a comida é excelente, pensei em ir mais tarde mas depois de descer não quis subir novamente.

na descida umas fotos metáforas e formais, na descida encontrei uma idosa numa cadeira rolante em frente da casa dela lendo tranqüilamente. gostaria de saber o que faz quando ela precisa ir à cidade.

um açaí de 500.