BMAD

I Can See for Miles (and miles)

2008-09-27T18:03:00.013-04:00

I thought I would steal the title for this posting from The Who, since this is the second End of the Blog posting I have put up, third if you are reading into it.
What follows was written about a month ago while I was lakeside at Summer Wind in Muskoka, just before moving back into my place after an 11 month 3 week absence.

30, 000 miles later, and I am back where I started
Since my return to the glorious nation of Canada over a month ago, I have been asked many questions about my trip. What was my favourite place?...the best moment?...did the trip change me? Before I left, I could have probably anticipated these exact questions, and would have imagined that the answers would have been of a non-discriminating and oblique nature: "It's really impossible to say which place I liked best...they were each so different and wonderful in their own way, yadda yadda". But, in actuality, I have had very little difficulty jumping straight to the answer: "Rome!" And, as for a best moment, there was one of those, too: my spine-tingling experience of the Bernini sculptures at the Galleria Borghese in Rome. As for me being a changed person: yes, of course I have changed. A year has passed, and even if I were at home and teaching everyday, I am quite sure I would also be a changed person. What I have learned from being away is certainly different, and exciting, but in general I would say that I am still the same person, with the same values, idiosyncrasies and desires. Before I left my extremely decadent and cushy life here in Canada, I was already aware of the fact that my friends and I had won the birth lottery: being born in Canada in the late part of the 20th Century is like being given a 90 metre head start in a 100 metre race. And, as long as you don't look at life as a race, it is hard not to find a happy way here. Seeing less fortunate parts of the world, where life is more difficult merely reinforced this idea. So, instead of crossing the street and discussing these ideas over an imported beverage at Boo's with Phil and co., and at other times feeling overwhelmed and somewhat oppressed by the massive amount of material stuff in my life, I lived out of a suitcase for a year. A suitcase with cameras costing more than an entire family's worldly goods in certain places; while in other places all my travel belongings combined cost far less than the watch on the wrist of the chic women walking past me.
Oh dear, I have just caught myself trying to come up with a conclusion of some kind to my trip/year off/what have you. This however, seems impossible, since such a year cannot exist in any kind of exclusivity from life in general. However, if I had to make a general conclusion about my year off and my round the world trip, it would be that we humans are eerily similar in our ways and desires, for better or worse.

As for change, let me share a journal entry from February 5th, 2008:
Some (people) say that India changes you. Well, I have changed. I used to be not just afraid of rats, but rather, I thought they were the embodiment of pure evil. Now, I see they are just another cog in the scavenger hierarchy; which here includes cows, cats, dogs, humans, crows and yes, rats. I just saw another massive one here at the train station in Varanasi...and I didn't jump 10 feet. Yes, a changed man I am.

Meanwhile, here I am up north, writing at the lake just days before I return to my teaching job after 14 months off. And, I am most happy to end this travel blog by saying I am looking forward to it.

Oh, one more thing: I really missed my bath. I am listening to Sigur Ros, thinking about how fantastic it will be to be back in my tub and listening to them again.

Home

2008-07-31T17:56:00.001-04:00

Before leaving Vancouver, I did, in fact, pick up one last souvenir from my trip: a 1983 Toyota Landcruiser. Here is my new truck (relative to my '66 El Camino) on its way from sunny BC to rainy Ontario. If you look closely, you can see that the 'cruiser is bringing the sunny weather with it. You will also see that I chose to ship it home, rather than drive it. I sent the Landcruiser (half toy, half winter transport) home on the Matchbox Racing Team truck. This photograph was taken as it rode along the Canadian Shield, a couple hours north of Toronto.

Like the '83 Landcruiser, George Michael is another survivor from the Eighties. One of the reasons behind my decision to not drive the newly acquired truck back home myself was that I had tickets to see George again, this time in Toronto. Here he is at the ACC, as photographed by EO. The Wham! I'm Your Man man was just as awesome the second time around. The video, lighting, staging, concept and direction was by Willie Williams, and was the best I have ever seen. If you're going to do it, do it right! ...Right?

Well, this travel blog is pretty much done. I returned home mid-July, but could not move back into my home because it was rented out for another month and a half. Thanks to my friends and family who put me up while I was homeless at home.

Vancouver and Lions Bay

2008-07-31T17:50:00.019-04:00

An El Camino outside the Great Canadian Superstore in Greater Vancouver. The strange rickshaw bumper sticker reminded me of India. I feel the design of the rear end of this fifth generation Camino (1978-1987) to be rather intriguing. It has the license plate holder located in the centre of the tailgate, which usually is a no-no, but somehow the chrome frame here adds a certain formality, which seems to work. Then there are the tail lights, low set and integrated into the bumper. Not necessarily the best for safety and visibility, but their absence from the body allows the sheet metal to curve around the corners smoothly, with little interruption. The shape of the red plastic lens recalls Clint Eastwood's eyes in the Good, the Bad and the Ugly, squinting and staring down the enemy with controlled fury...yet parked in the handicapped spot?

Very little of my time in Vancouver was actually spent in the city of Vancouver. Most of the time I was on the prettier and cedar scented north shore. My brother, his son and I visited the old family house in North Van, hiked alongside the Seymour River, and waded in the frigid river where we used to ride old truck inner tubes as kids. I don't recall the water being so cold back then; nor do I remember appreciating how clean and clear the river is. It was so beautiful, the kind of perfect sunny day that makes you want to live there.

Before my brother and nephew came over from Nanaimo to pick me up, I was staying with the G family in lush Lions Bay, around the corner from West Van. Their home is a modern, minimalist tree-fort of a house perched on the mountain side looking out onto beautiful Howe Sound.
After so much travelling around, it was a pleasure to spend time with old friends, and meet their lovely children. I celebrated Canada Day with the G family at Lions Bay beach, after which a fateful event occurred: Mr. G wanted to ride back up to his house with Mrs. G and kids in the G wagon, and asked me if I would follow them in his Landcruiser. I have always loved the look of these trucks, especially, most especially, the wrap around curved back windows. And, I had enjoyed being a passenger in Mr. G's Landcruiser many a time, fully appreciating the headroom and sight lines. But, as soon as I switched sides, got into the driver's seat, started the diesel engine and drove off, I felt an unexpected rush of good feelings. My friend Cal taught me the word the French use to describe this pleasure one feels fully: jouissance. When left unchecked, this joiaissance business can lead to somewhat irrational behavior: like the searching for Landcruisers on-line after realizing I must have one, and that it is the thing I have always "needed", but never realised because my life is cluttered with rational thoughts and careful decision making. So, after many hours of searching and researching with Mr. G, I decided that BC was a good place to get one, and I should see what's available while I was there. As it happened, the day before I drove the Landcruiser I had test-driven a new VW Eos hardtop convertible with Mr. G. Having rented a couple on my trip, I had decided a my next car should be a convertible (lots of headroom with the top down). Although the VW was smooth and new, it provided little in the way of jouissance. Long story short: on the day my brother took me to the George Michael concert I found a suitable Landcruiser in nearby Coquitlam, and we went off to investigate.

Looking out from Dad and M's house in Nanoose Bay on Vancouver Island. Looking at the birds flying, thinking about flying home myself. It's time.

San Francisco

2008-07-31T17:49:00.011-04:00

Further north on El Camino Real, I spotted a real El Camino. This one is a '65 and is the of the same generation as my '66. The front clip, bumpers, rear lights and interior are just some of the year to year differences. Back in the Sixties, when GM ruled the roads of a booming America, they could alter models each year and still make a profit. This owner and driver was proud to point out that the paint was original. And, sad as it is to say, this paint seems to have faired better than GM in the last 45 years.
This picture was taken in Corte Madera where I was staying with Chad and Amy. It's in Marin County just across the Golden Gate bridge, after you drive through Sausalito (...in a Rambler, if you're being true to the Diesel tune, "Sausalito Summernight" which in 1981 rose to #25 on the U.S. Top 40. It reached #1 in Canada. I did not know that. That is weird, wild stuff.)

After a few days of R and B (Rest and Blogging) I left the heat of Corte Madera and went into San Francisco for a few days.
One of the first things I did there was to visit the DeYoung Museum with my favourite barmaid, who had just moved out there with her man.

The DeYoung, designed by Herzog and de Meuron, is a sublime structure with incredible details like this fine line where the wood veneered wall meets the gypsum clad wall.

On Thursday June 20, I went to the opening of a show of drawings and prints by Jon Carling in the back room of the Bell Jar, on 16th Street in San Francisco.
I remember being in Halifax back in '94/95 and hearing the singing style of The Cranberries' Dolores O'Riordan coming out of a beautiful pixie called Michael. She was unique in her Tinkerbell-ish-ness and man-name-ish-ness, but not so much in trying to sound like Dolores. It was pretty common back then, even in Halifax during its when-hipsters-cared-about-Sloan-and-friends-and-therefore-Halifax-was-cool era. It would seem people took the Cranberries' album title "Everybody Else Is Doing It, So Why Can't We?" to heart and started copying their sound. Now, judging from what the singer I heard at this art opening, Leslie Feist has the sound-du-jour that so many people are clamouring to emulate. This is not a bad thing.
My good friend EO would love this shop, and she coincidentally not only looks a bit like Dolores, but is also an English teacher and would appreciate the nod to Sylvia Plath.

This bookstore called Abandoned Planet, on Valencia, was in fact abandoned during my days in San Fran. It was a very inviting space, to which no one was invited. It was unclear whether it was shut down temporarily or permanently.

There were many beautiful vintage motorbikes on the streets of San Francisco, but this is the only one I saw with a solar panel attached. I know not what its purpose is. If you come up with a something...let me know.

One more El Camino for the road. This down and dirty beast was so perfectly colour-matched to its enviroment that I couldn't resist a short photo shoot with her.

Santa Barbara, SLO, Paso Robles

2008-07-31T17:47:00.008-04:00

This 63 Ford Falcon is the predecessor to the Ranchero that was atop the Los Angeles posting. Even though Ford beat GM to the market with this car/truck hybrid vehicle, it is the El Camino moniker from GM's Chevrolet division that is synonymous with this type of vehicle (in North America, whereas in Australia - and I assume in New Zealand - sorry for the assumption kiwis- they are called Utes). This one was parked across the street from my hotel in Santa Barbara. As it happens, my first car accident was in a Ford Falcon, in Scarborough of all places, to add insult to the injury. As soon as I thought out "first car accident", I immediately became aware of how messed up and North American that statement is. And then I began to think: "How many car accidents have I been in?". Six is how many crashes I can recall: one in Mom's Falcon; one between a '74 Impala and a ditch and a series of fence posts on a Friday the 13th in rural Ontario, just before I was the 13th parachute jumper out of the plane later that day; another one in a NYC Taxi in Queen's on the way to Laguardia; one in an '83 BMW in Vancouver; one in a Buffalo snowstorm in a 95 Nissan pick-up; and one between a VW Jetta and a fire hydrant, also in Buffalo. All pre-airbag, two (maybe 3) without a seat belt (not recommended). I was the driver in just one, the snowstorm accident.

There is, actually, a slight, perhaps bent, connection between the car above and the Santa Barbara Mission seen here. In California, El Camino Real usually refers to the 600-mile California Mission Trail, connecting California's 21 missions, 4 presidios, and several pueblos, stretching from Mission San Diego de Alcalá in San Diego in the south, to Mission San Francisco Solano in Sonoma in the north. I am not sure if this is related to the alarming popularity of El Caminos in California, but I willing to believe that it might be, at least subconsciously.

Inside the Santa Barbara Mission church.
Above: St. Francis of Assisi and St. Clare.
Below: JC and MM
(all in bronze, all by Bruce Wolfe, Anno Domini Nostri Iesu 2000)

Whilst out for a walk in Santa Barbara, I stopped in my tracks to admire this 1970 Cadillac. Shortly thereafter, a man in a eighties Mercedes station wagon pulled up alongside my spot on the sidewalk and asked: "Do you like that car?". I answered: "Yes, I love it!". He told me it was his car, and proceeded to pull the Mercedes into the lot of the car repair shop he worked at, and that I was standing in front of, apparently. He then walked over to me and we shot the breeze for a bit in the California sun. His name was Mason, and he bought the car from a guy that was driving through town and had to unload it. It wasn't clear to me why the previous owner had to sell it, but it was clear that Mason loved this car.

After Santa Barbara, we headed up to San Luis Obispo, where I saw this Pacer.

Soon after sighting the elusive Pacer, I came upon another AMC product: the Concord. I suppose if you are going to drive one of the ugliest cars ever made, it might as well be brown. In language, we have a term for words that sound like the thing they describe: onomatopoeia. But, is there a word for things that are the colour of the things you associate with them?
The Cheech and Chong dolls on the rear dash seem to be asking for the Border Patrol to impound the car.

From San Luis Obispo we drove to Paso Robles and visited the winery belonging to my friend's son, Minassian Young. When we left the winery, the thermometer on the car read 105 degrees, and 15 minutes later when we reached the coast at Morrow Bay it was down to 68.

Los Angeles

2008-07-31T17:45:00.006-04:00

Sky blue Ford Ranchero, Silver Lake, Los Angeles.
I had a mini Queen's BFA Reunion in LA. My architect friend GS flew in from Toronto, and together we visited our classmate from Kenya, in Santa Monica. We first met at the car rental shop where I had booked us a convertible, which GS had rightly insisted was necessary for LA, especially since we'd be looking at a lot of architecture, and the open top affords a less obstructed view. Despite it bring Pride weekend, there was in fact a Chrysler Sebring waiting for us, and not just a reservation for a car, which I worry about ever since seeing that episode of Seinfeld.

The Getty Villa in Pacific Palisades, near Malibu.
The remodeling of the J. Paul Getty Museum (a re-creation of the Villa dei Papiri, a first-century Roman country house) was by the architecture firm of Machado and Silvetti. The stunningly detailed renovation cost so much money ($275 Million) that the super-rich Getty Foundation had to actually borrow money, in order to not dip into their 4.4 Billion dollar endowment. It was oil money that created this vast fortune. Getty used it to buy approximately 44,000 Greek, Roman, and Etruscan antiquities, and re-create a Roman Villa to study and house them. All this without the use of slaves, who likely had a fairly integral role in the creation of the original villa in Herculaneum, and in the making of the Getty Villa's collection. I mention this because I am of the opinion that oil, which is maligned for obvious reasons, helped end slavery. It is nice to think that after thousands of years of slavery humans all of a sudden became enlightened. But, seeing as how the demise of slavery came on the heels of the the industrial revolution, one is lead to speculate that if we didn't have oil-powered machines to do the things that were once man-powered, then there would still be slaves. This takes me back to something Ed Burtynsky said at a talk he was giving on his shipbreaking photographs. He said that in Bangladesh, where it is cheaper to get 100 men to carry a cable, than it is to run a diesel engine for an hour to do the same task, the man-powered option is exercised. So, yeah for oil! It helped end slavery, and built some pretty fantastic museums in LA (which are free, btw). Not only that, I am fairly confident that Getty oil money is also subsidising the restaurant at the Villa: two glasses of Chianti and a platter of artisan cheeses for two cost only $26! So when you plan your visit, plan to eat there, too.

When money is no object, the objects that you are afforded to create can be quite sublime: structural bronze railings, cast bronze stair treads, and concrete detailing that lovingly partners with the ever present sunrays of Los Angeles.

After seeing the art of bricks and mortar at the Villa, it was off to the metal and rubber shrine: The Petersen Automotive Museum. In addition to the permanent collection, there was an exhibition of LowRiders, like this sick Buick Riviera. Notice the coffin in the back seat. This is the kind of machine I want to ride in to celebrate the Day of the Dead.

There was also an exhibit on the Pixar movie Cars. It was great to see the original hand-drawn sketches and process work, for a production that is such a technical tour de force in the digital revolution.

Just down the street from the Petersen is the Los Angeles County Museum of Art. We actually walked there, on sidewalks free of any other pedestrians, but after deciding to stay a bit longer, had to walk back and move the car out of the Petersen lot. Otherwise, it would be locked in, and we'd be stuck in downtown LA without a car and horror would quickly ensue!
The LACMA also had a pretty sweet fence detail, sans horizontals.

This Nigerian water spirit was known for his excellent light-sabre skills and heavy breathing.

After we moved the car from one parking lot to another, this little guy was one of our new neighbours.

The house we stayed at in Silver Lake was perhaps THE find of my trip: views of the Hollywood sign out the windows, sandwiched between two Rudolph Schindler houses, a deck with a BBQ, all in a great location in trendy/bohemian Silver Lake. Four nights=$450. Wifi, full kitchen and organic fair trade coffee included.

Brite Spot diner down the street in Silver Lake headed towards Echo Park.

Richard Neutra's VDL Research House is a paradigm of his perceptions and beliefs. This house faces the lake in Silver Lake and the large vertical forms (louvers) on the right side of the house rotate to adjust to the sun's position.

After Frank Lloyd Wright sent him to Los Angeles in 1920 to supervise the construction of the Hollyhock House, Rudolf Schindler established his practice there in 1922 with his own Kings Road House, seen here behind a site colour co-ordinated GS.

It was a real treat to see this amazing David Hockney image on display at the Getty Museum in Brentwood.

Dropping GS off at LAX, the "Theme" building undergoing construction.

Honolulu

2008-07-12T15:08:00.006-04:00

I spent five weeks on the Hawaiian island of Oahu. The first week was spent travelling around the island, checking out the North Shore, Windward Coast, and Pearl Harbour.
For the next four weeks I stayed in a rented condo in Waikiki, and made lithographic prints at the Honolulu Printmakers printshop.

The condo I lived in is the plain white one on the left. The one up front, with the wicked cantilever, was my daily eye-candy on my bike ride to the printshop. I had hoped to see some great mid-late century concrete buildings like this one in Honolulu, and was not disappointed. I was disappointed, however, in the lack of all things pertaining to Jack Lord: 20 ft long black Ford coupes, long sleeve Aloha shirts, "Book'em Dano" t-shirts. Seriously, he is all but forgotten, ditto for Magnum, only the TV show Lost matters now.

Looking out my condo window over the canal and golf course. I was near the Diamond Head end of Waikiki.

I met Gary on the way home from the printshop one day. He asked if I was the guy photographing his car the other day. I confessed. The next time I came by, he was there again, applying bondo to the body of his Camaro. He offered me a Bud, then I took this picture of him giving the Bud salute.

The Academy of Fine Arts building, home to the Honolulu Printmakers printshop, a gallery space and a ceramics workshop.
Below, the litho room, where I spent most of my time. The stone sitting on the press has my "AfterLife" image on it.

Kyoto

2008-07-08T14:14:00.010-04:00

Kyoto: temples galore and geishas. Before visiting Japan, this was the city I was most interested in seeing. It turned out to be my least favourite place in Japan, but was still pretty great.

I left my little yellow journal in the back pocket of the seat in front of me on the Hiroshima-Osaka train. By the time I realised this, I was sitting down and drinking a coffee near the Kyoto train station. I went to the Lost and Found there, and they called the Osaka station. As you can see, someone turned it in, and they had it at the Lost and Found in Osaka. Japan is amazing that way. I actually do believe that passengers back here in Canada would be good enough to turn such a notebook to a Via Train employee, but I also believe they would just toss it in the trash, rather than have to fill out a form and file it.

Hiroshima

2008-07-08T13:50:00.010-04:00

The Atomic Dome, Hiroshima, April 21, 2008.

I took the ferry and train to Hiroshima and checked in at the Business Ryokan Sansui, where the whiteboard sign greeting me read: Burke Taters. In Hiroshima I visited the Peace Memorial and Museum, all set in a lush green, tree-filled park. All this, right at the spot that was devastated by the A-bomb in 1945, just below the huge fireball that lit up the sky and burned everything for miles in an instant. On a beautiful sunny day, in such a civilised country, this is all difficult to imagine. But, the museum does a good job to tell the story of the day that made this city famous.

For my second day in Hiroshima, I had a choice: 1) visiting the floating temples at nearby Miyajima*, or 2) tour the Mazda Museum and factory. As you can see from this photo, I went for the Zen experience, and kept the appointment for the zoom-zoom tour I had made when I arrived at the train station's tourist office the day before, when I arrived.
The car pictured above is a 1967 Mazda Cosmo, the world's first production rotary engine sports car, and a blatant rip-off of the Alfa Romeo Spyder.

This 1969 Mazda Luce, was designed by Giorgetto Giugiaro of Italy.

A mini-El Camino built by Mazda, for mini people.

After the tour of the museum, we were allowed into the factory to observe the assembly line. Watching the factory men at work was truly Zen, as I know it. One is easily lead to contemplate the existence of man, and the intricate relationships of everything in this universe. To see just a slice of the incredibly intricate infrastructure and labour that goes into assembling a car is mind-blowing. Everything is designed to flow, so that the production line never stops. And, to think that as complex as everything in the factory is, it is nothing compared to the earth's living systems.
I watched as one guy worked in tandem with a robot to install pre-assembled dashboard units. He was moving non-stop, quite quickly, too. The tour guide told me the workers get a 15 minute break in the morning, and one in the afternoon, and a 45 minute lunch break. Not too far off Lang's vision in Metropolis, I thought. Around the corner, however, there was a woman working on another part of the assembly line. She didn't appear to be busy at all, and in fact stood around while waiting for the next car to arrive so she could install the rocker panels covers. I asked the guide about this disparity and was told that woman don't do the difficult jobs. It certainly looked that way.
I really do think that watching the factory assembly line at work was one of the more incredible experiences of my year abroad. Here are some of the contributing factors: 1) cameras were not allowed in the factory, so the experience was of the moment, and not filtered through a screen of viewfinder, 2) the repetition and movement was strangely organic, like watching worker ants, because it was a multiple vehicle assembly line, 3) there were only 3 of us on the tour, so quite often I was standing alone, leaning over the catwalk railing looking down to the factory assembly line, the worker's unaware of my existence - again, like watching marching ants, and 4) It was mesmerizing, like watching the water fall over the edge of Niagara Falls.

Form and function merge pleasantly on this bench for the elderly and infirm on the local train in Hiroshima.

The morning tram in Hiroshima.

* as for floating temples, I can wait until I get back to Toronto and bike down to admire Eb Zeidler's Ontario Place. Way cooler.

Mystery Artist on TV in Japan

2008-07-08T13:35:00.011-04:00

The following is based on notes I wrote on my WikiTravel print outs for Naoshima, and some from my little yellow notebook.

Sunday April 20, 2008.
Looking for a place to eat on a Sunday night. Everything was closed, and I am the only guest in my lock-less guest house. I felt like I was the only foreigner on this dark seemingly deserted island. The gent at the ferry terminal was kind enough to sell me some snacks, even though it was not his job and he was already into overtime: nuts and dried fried noodles. Then, I went by a vending machine, got some chips and figured this and a couple of beers from the vending machine at the guest house would be dinner. Then, just past Seven Beach (my guesthouse, that is not actually on a beach, FYI), I discovered a small cook-food-over-an-open-flame-yourself place that appeared to be open.
When I went in, the proprietor asked if I was staying at the (Seven) Beach house. Feeling more than ever like the only foreigner on the island, I said yes, and she told me I could pay her for my 2nd night there. As it happened, she was the mother of the woman who ran my guesthouse, in which I was the only guest that night. I suppose, had I not found this place, she would have come to the guesthouse later and asked for my payment.
I asked her if I could get some food, because everything else was closed. She agreed, at first somewhat reluctantly, but soon came around, and after my meal gave me free beer...and the mini KIRIN beer glass I said I liked so much and wished to purchase.
She said I looked like a movie star. I told her I wasn't, and that I make and teach art. With only her limited understanding of English, she was able to communicate to me that making art is a lot of work for very little money.

After getting back to the completely empty Seven Beach House I turned on the TV and started writing a bit. On the TV was a show about a Japanese artist. I couldn't understand a word of it, but the images alone allowed me to construct my own story.I was able to decide who the curator was, the museum director and also the mentoring senior artist. I really liked the platform she used to float over her art as she painted.

(I wonder if I will ever discover the artist's name? I like her work a lot. It inspires me.)

Naoshima

2008-07-07T21:50:00.030-04:00

Yuji and Maasa on the beaches below Benesse House, Naoshima.
April 19, 2008.

Naoshima was a great surprise to me. I had never heard of the place until I read about it in the back of the Wallpaper* Tokyo guide book, in a section called Escapes. These handy little guides are actually pretty cool, even if the hotels they list are way out of my price range. So, I feel that I must thanks the editors, because Naoshima was completely amazing!

Naoshima is an island located in the Seto Inland Sea of Japan. It is reknowned for its collection of contemporary art galleries and exhibits. Naoshima is best known for the Benesse House complex. There has been extensive domestic attention to the recently (2006) completed radical Chichu Art Museum. -Wiki

Benesse House, a contemporary art museum and hotel designed by Tadao Ando.

Benesse House dining room: where you get to eat if you are a guest there. You also get exclusive transportation around the island's various art sites in the Benesse shuttle bus. If you stay at the Benesse House, you also get to wander around the museum closes; long after plebs like me have gone off to their 3500 Yen ($35) a night guest house.

The Chichu Art Museum cafe, 4/20/2008

Every single detail has been attended to at the ChiChu, right down to the problem of how to carry your drink and quiche to the outside terrace, without resorting to the all too common prison-style two-handed tray maneuver? Put the drink in a basket, with the quiche over top.

Posting a photograph of one of James Turrell's ephemeral artworks seems almost blasphemous. But here is one form inside the ChiChu, anyway; not to give you the feeling of the piece, but to remind you that there are 4 of his works on permanent display on this wee island that you need to go and see.

ChiChu was also designed by Tadao Ando. The entire museum is set into the ground, so as to not disturb the natural lines of the mountainous island.

In addition to the two fanatastic museums by Ando, there are six Art House Projects, all within renovated traditional houses on this small island.

A detail of the charred wood finish used on one of the Art Houses.

The idea of Naoshima is brilliant: create a series of sublime art experiences on a beautiful island in the inland sea. The idea of wrapping a waffle around a chocolate topped ice cream bar, so that it doesn't drip, seems equally inspired.

If I hadn't been locked in the train and forced to miss my stop, then have to double back, and thus miss the ferry, I would not have met Yuki and Maasa. We had a great time touring all the sites of the island together.

We even had fun with Godzilla in a traditional Japanese bar, just around the corner from our guest house.

This is the ferry terminal on Naoshima. If you ever find yourself in Tokyo, and are a lover of contemporary art and architecture, then you must go to Naoshima. It is just difficult enough to get to to keep away the tour bus crowd, but easy enough for the devoted to make the pilgrimage without getting lost. Here is how I got there: Bullet train from Tokyo to Okayama (4 hours), Okayama-Chayamachi-Uno (40 minutes), Uno ferry to Naoshima (20 minutes).

Tokyo

2008-07-07T20:41:00.006-04:00

The notes for this posting were transcribed (mostly) from notes I made in the back of my Lonely Planet Tokyo Encounter guide book. I recommend this small city guide and map combo, if you are Tokyo-bound with not much of a clue, as I was.

Sunday April 13.
Harujuku reminds me of Queen West and Kensington Market. Lots of skulls, American vintage-sque tees; plus Vivienne Westwood punk, and other UK gear. The girl dressed as a killer doctor in a blood-stained labcoat wearing a pirate's eye-patch seemed uniquely Tokyo youth, circa 2008.
Later, watched I Manchester United beat Arsenal at a pub in Ukebukuro.

In Japan, my Honda Ruckus scooter is sold as a Zoomer. This Tokyo hipster-child has stripped his down a bit further by removing the fenders.

Tuesday April 15.
Ueno Park. Met Jiro, his girlfriend Naomi, friends Assami, Kai and Yoko. All college students studying photography and shooting with old Nikon SLRs. Had cook it yourself dinner together in Ueno. Okonomiyaki is the name of this type of restaurant where you make Japanese 'pancakes', mostly cabbage-based with egg and shrimp.

Wednesday April 16.
-met Keith, went to lovely private Japanese garden, saw a crane eat its catch, then moved onto a gallery building where the first gallery had some nice paintings and beer garden table rubbings. From there to Ginza where I saw the new Nissan GTR and bought a Magnum photographer t-shirt at UNIQLO. Then Keith went home, and I went to Muji for dinner, underwear and tea! Later at home I watched Lost in Translation again. This time, with the Tokyo bits being less exotic, I found the two characters flawed to an even greater degree. She is a spoilt, lost soul and he is a philandering has-been who is selling-out instead of doing a play (his words). But his advice to her is good...keep writing.

Thursday April 17.
Planned, then went and booked all my train tickets for my Japan Rail trip. Tokyo-Naoshima-Hiroshima-Kyoto-Tokyo. Then went to Roppongi Hills Mori Museum to see BMW Art Car Show (weak show, I liked Stella's 3.0 CSL best) Then I met up with Keith again, saw the group show he was in. It was really great...work by stylists, photographers and make-up artists. All very well made, excellent craft and attention to detail - professional, as it were. From there we went to see Lee Friedlander's exhibit at the Rat Hole Gallery where I bought the Lee Friedlander book they published, and a copy of Anders Petersen's book Cafe Lehmitz, which is the source of the image on Tom Wait's Raindogs. From there to an excellent dinner in a place that was a kind of Japanese-beer-hall-tapas-bar-a-rant

Friday April 18

Copied from the back of a guide to Ueno Imperial Park:

I got really excited, like ahhh! Open mouth excited when I glimpsed at all the big sculpture in the Met Museum - the Japanese League of Sculptors.
Then I went and saw the finely made Japanese crafts – masks, ceramics and lacquerware.
Now, I am sitting having a $5 cup of coffee in the National Museum of Western Art (their logo NMWA, all joined in one zig-zag line). I've come to see the Venus exhibition (1400 yen). I am yawning, so I need this coffee...it is a dreary, rainy, yawny kind of day. Okay for a museum...if you have coffee.
Had great sushi for lunch after a late departure, approx. 2-3 pm, from the hotel where I spent the first part of the day booking my hotels for Naoshima, Hiroshima and Kyoto. All booked, including trains, yay!

My Bollywood-stickered Canon and my CBC tee. I truly missed my CBC Radio weekends during this year spent away from home. I am excited to hear the new show Under the Covers by Danny Michel; one of my favourite musical artists, who, without CBC Radio in my life, I might not have discovered. Which would be a shame, because my life wouldn't be nearly as rich.

Hong Kong

2008-07-07T20:12:00.003-04:00

I loved Hong Kong. This shot is looking down Hollywood Road on the way to the fabulous store G.O.D. (Goods of Desire). I found it to be a great walking city.

The oppression of high fashion and the tyranny of choice* associated with retail in the west is ever present in Hong Kong.

Having come from socialist West Bengal in Calcutta, where fly-overs (raised highways) obscure the beautiful facade of their national museum, it was interesting to see this moment where the right of way was given to a tree. This in Hong Kong, one of the world's most free market economies in its day.

Signs of the former British rule are felt in a general, somewhat intangible way; and sometimes posted more directly.

* I credit this phrase to Samuel, MBA

Thailand

2008-07-07T12:54:00.007-04:00

Bangkok, Chiang Mai and Kyoto. Three places I visited where the first thing I photographed was a car. True story. Oh, and they all have a lot of temples, too. This sweet little Triumph was in Bangkok, near San's apartment, where I was staying in style. If my room at the Hotel Neelam in Calcutta could be described the kind of place where Hezbollah might "interview" hostages, my room at San's in Bangkok was more like the place the where UN diplomats might sleep while doing nothing useful to help solve the world's problems.

These are images from Wat Pho in Bangkok. The quiet bliss one might experience whilst watching this restoration artist paint is how I felt about Bangkok in general. It was so clean and quiet compared to Calcutta. The new skytrain and malls you can see from the raised platforms were all so shiny and new. The streets were full of new german cars, everything seemed to work and the air felt fresh. Of course, this is all relative, I realise. But still, I was very impressed by this metropolis, despite the lack of constant horn honking and general chaos to which I had become accustomed.

Within the city of Bangkok is a little piece of paradise known as the Jim Thompson House. I loved it there, and wanted to move in for a while. Don't pass it by if you find yourself in Bangkok.

After Bangkok, I flew up to Chiang Mai to see my old friend and former classmate and collegue Suzanne. She and hubby and child live outside the city in the surrounding mountains on the beautiful campus of an International School. The temple in this picture is from within the old city of Chiang Mai, which is surrounded by a moat. There are heaps of temples in Chiang Mai. My tour of Europe back in the early nineties was nick named the ABC tour (Another Beautiful Church). Yatta-Yatta is what I will call my Thailand tour (Yet Another Temple To Adore, Yet Another Temple To Adore).

These lanterns are being lit and sent into the sky to land who knows where. Maybe the gods where, since they are often sent up in their honour. We saw this happening after the dinner and show at Khum Khantoke, which bills itself as "The Ultimate Mega Center of Lanna Arts and Culture" (I am always amused when I see Arts separated from Culture).

I stayed both at Suzanne and Peter's up in the mountains, and also within the city walls at CM Blue House. It was only $10 a night and included newness, cleanliness, towels, toilet paper and hot water, none of which I received in Calcutta for $8 a night.
The owners of CM Blue House also own the Rama bar around the corner. One libation I quite enjoyed in Thailand was the premixed scotch and soda by Johnny Walker, who battles it out with Buddha for total omnipresence in the Kingdom. These chilled wonders were much enjoyed when I was in my recovery mode. You see, I so enjoyed the peace and tranquility of Chiang Mai, that I decided I would stay an extra week or so and take a yoga course. You know, start bending and stretching my 10lb lighter post-India body. As it happened however, my body was thrown across the pavement at about 60 k. On the way down the hill from S and P's the rear wheel of the borrowed 125 Honda Wave I was riding hit a small bit of tree debris that had fallen in the recent rain. I was leaning a bit into the approaching corner and bridge and quickly went down with the bike. Because I was in 35 degree Thailand, I was in shorts and t-shirt, so it was my skin that did the tango with pavement. With my cellphone cracked, but still working, I called Suzanne and asked her to come get me. Then I looked down at my scooter seat and saw big drops of blood, and then re-examined my new skin art. Hmmm...nothing seems to be "dripping blood", so where is it coming from? I wondered in my state of shock. My face? I vainly thought for a moment. I soon realise the blood must be related to the flapping bit of skin hanging from my chin. Apparently I broke the fall using my chin as well as my wrists, elbows, left shoulder, right leg and upper pelvic bone. That was at about 10 am. By 12 pm I was stitched up and in a kind of euphoria because I knew it could have been much worse and that I came out on the winning side of my tango with death.
I was healed enough by the time I got to Hawaii to enter the ocean without screaming. I have a wee scar under my chin and some discoloured skin. I'd say I was really lucky, but that would be a lie. Really lucky would be not falling at all, falling and living is just lucky.
The stats: 1 surgeon, two assistants, lots of iodine and bandages, 16 stitches (8 inside, 8 outside), one cycle of antibiotics and a week of pain killers (not including the Johnny Walkers). Total bill in dollars: 136. Yep, that's all, in a super clean, friendly and efficient hospital (it's no wonder why so many westerners are going to Thailand to get plastic surgery). And, when I went back a week later, the removal of the stitches was free.

Calcutta: chai, coffee, and the ghats

2008-07-06T20:23:00.005-04:00

This is the last of the Calcutta posts. I couldn't complete my brief picture of Calcutta without mentioning the chai wallahs (tea men) who are found all over India. This guy here, had a spot on the sidewalk near the Seagull gallery where Dave's show was hanging. The sidewalks in Calcutta are usually for selling and sleeping, which is why there are so many people walking on the streets. That, and because there are just a whole lot of people there. The art adorning this tea stall is quite typical: calendars with Hindi gods/goddesses, and a photo of the deceased father of the current proprietor. The small tea cup he is pouring into is made of fired clay. It is used once and thrown on the ground, with the other garbage. FYI, a cup of chai like this costs between 2.5 and 4 rupees. ($1 = 40 rupees)

Doodh-man. Dude-man. Milkman. Milk is a very important ingredient in Indian tea (chai). The are many doodhs like this riding throughout the streets of Calcutta. Not all of them have such stylin' mudflaps.

Not even in competition with tea, coffee can be found at some places in Calcutta, but almost never in a street stall. The most beautiful and famous place for a cup of (pretty terrible) coffee is The Coffee House, a co-op that was the meeting place of many of the more famous Bengali intellectuals, like Tagore, whose picture hangs on the wall.

Looking down for the Coffee House stairwell. You can see our bikes parked beside the motorbikes.

I rode by this stretch of Bentick Street almost everyday. The green mosque is in the background. It is about half way between Hotel Neelam and Mr. Ghosh's shop. One day, I was on foot here on the way to the art store to buy all of the large french paper I could find in the city (10 sheets). It was then I realised how visible a minority I was in parts of Calcutta, because people I had never met were all asking me "where is your bicycle" or just smiling and saying "bicycle" while miming the holding of the handlebars.

Sundays usually ended with us down at the ghats near the flower market. It was here that I saw one of my favourite Indians: a content little boy with little scissors cutting up little discarded pieces of coloured foam. He was all we should ever want to be.

Retour de Flamme

2008-07-02T23:20:00.004-04:00

Calcutta is full of suprises. I would never have imagined that I'd ever be sitting in the grounds of an Anglican church in India watching a frenchman play piano accompaniment to lost film, which had been found and restored films.

It was magical. Among the many great shorts, I saw the world's first animated film, a Buster Keaton picture, and this hand coloured picture filmed in Gwalior in 1908! For more info on Retour de Flamme click here.
Serge Bromberg is the driving force behind Lobster films, a company that finds and restores these "lost" films. He was the presenter and piano player, and a great ambassador for the preservation of the world's films.
Speaking of lost images, the images here and in the last posting were lost for a bit. The memory card from my Canon became corrupted during a download attempt (thank you very much, Evil Microsoft) and I couldn't get to the files. But, using my Apple Powerbook and a photo recovery program called Klix, I was able to recover them.

Calcutta Sundays

2008-07-01T13:50:00.002-04:00

Sundays in Calcutta were usually spent riding our bikes and exploring different neighbourhoods. After a ride northbound beside the Hoogly (Ganges), we cut back into the city streets and came across this bus. Watching the painter create the numbers was amazing. His hand was fast, accurate and fluid.

After painting "lovley" on the crossbar of Dave's black bike, which he bought in Dehli from Mr. Lovely 3 years ago, he painted "Best Qwalitey" on the rear fender. Painting "best quality" on an Indian bicycle is a bit like painting "we mean no harm" on the side of a B-52 bomber.

Where whitey goes, a crowd will grow.

This horse sculpture has a bamboo armature inside it and is made from mud from the Hoogly River. It will be painted, then brought to the river and thrown in as an offering for the gods during a pooja. The armatures will eventually be fished out and the whole process will be repeated.

"A patina is the surface that bridges the gap between art and nature" -Dave Trattles, on the phone to me in Calcutta while he was cycling to Chennai with Jada and John.

A saree hanging out to dry in north Calcutta.

I think one reason India is so great looking, and therefore an excellent place for taking pictures, is because the people there are a rather inquisitive lot. This means they do things like stand in doorways looking out - framing themselves for the camera lens. They also congregate in groups around all kinds of activities, providing an audience for the mundane, turning a flat tire into a spectacle.

Bodhgaya

2008-07-01T01:14:00.005-04:00

The last stop on my railway crossing of northern India was Bodhgaya, the place where Buddha attained Enlightenment under the bodhi tree. For Buddhists, Bodh Gaya is the most important of the main four pilgrimage sites related to the life of Gautama Buddha.

According to Buddhist traditions, circa 500 BC Prince Gautama Siddhartha, wandering as a monk, reached the sylvan banks of Falgu River, near the city of Gaya. There he sat in meditation under a bodhi tree (Ficus religiosa). After three days and three nights of meditation, Siddharta attained enlightenment and insight, and the answers that he had sought.

Diary excerpt from February 6, 2008.
I just had lunch at the OM Cafe here in Bodhgaya. This place also has clothes for sale (and other wooly things and purses and beady things). The whole place looks and feels like the (hippie) places on Bloor Street in the Annex that sell the same stuff. The sameness is startling. There were places like this in Kingston and Buffalo too.
Everyone here is drinking tea, except for a table of monks (in maroon robes with shaved heads). They are all drinking Coca-Cola from the bottle with straws.

Not far from the filth here, I went to the Japanese Temple and joined their daily 5 pm meditation. Compared to the rest of India I had seen, just being in such a clean space took me half way to nirvana. After only 1/2 an hour of meditation, I had attained enlightenment; proven by the fact my right leg had completely fallen asleep, thus signifying a separation of the mind and body.