As I was packing up to leave the office I got an idea… no, it wasn’t an idea to raid the office ice cream freezer again, although that is a daily temptation which I’ve been thankfully able to curb.
I’ve always wondered how long it would take me to walk home. I guesstimated somewhere between an hour and a half to two hours, depending on which route to take, of which there are many options. Today I decided to try it, time it, and see if I calculated correctly. I did a fair amount of zigzagging, choosing paths which had the fewest traffic lights rather than the most direct route to my house.
Once I arrived home I replicated my route using Google Maps, which reports that my distance was about 8.6 kms (5.8 miles), and minus the photo stops it took 1 hour 40 minutes. You’ll see by how many fountain photos I took that I was really faffing about with the cameraphone in the Exhibition Grounds, then on the bridge near Dufferin Arch, waiting for a GO train to go by so I could take the shot above. I also wanted to get a shot of BMO Field, where fans were gathering to watch a match, but I took too much of a detour and decided to try it again another day (with a proper camera).
Now that I have that challenge out of the way, my next challenge is to forego buying a July Metropass (since the TTC didn’t mail them out, anyway, due to the postal strike) and see if I can get myself to/from the office using a combination of tokens and walking this summer. If things go well, I’ll sell my August Metropass and maybe buy a bike to replace the one that was stolen ages ago.
I have two posts sitting in draft that just get longer and longer but I don’t have time to finish them. Brevity must prevail today! Work calls. So, I’ve uploaded five photos of the beach where I spent my birthday afternoon, near Aveiro. There was a little girl playing in the sand and running from the waves rolling up the beach, which was cute to watch and I waited a bit to take some photos that would make a series. The lighthouse in the background, Farol da Barra, is Portugal’s tallest lighthouse (see where it ranks in height according to Wikipedia); its light can be seen as far as 43 km out to sea.
The beach was a perfect spot. It wasn’t crowded, there was plenty to photograph (the birds even co-operated!), and the temperature was just right, mixed with the ocean breeze. Thanks, Paulo!
Childhood living is easy to do
The things you wanted I bought them for you
Graceless lady, you know HOW I am
You know I can’t let you slide through my hands
Wild horses couldn’t drag me away
Wild, wild horses, couldn’t drag me away
I watched you suffer a dull aching pain
Now you’ve decided to show me the same
But no sweet, vain exits or offstage lines
Could make me feel bitter or treat you unkind
Wild horses couldn’t drag me away
Wild, wild horses, couldn’t drag me away
I know I dreamed you a sin and a lie
I have my freedom, but I don’t have much time
Faith has been broken, tears must be cried
Let’s do some living after love dies
Wild horses couldn’t drag me away
Wild, wild horses, we’ll ride them some day
Wild horses couldn’t drag me away
Wild, wild horses, we’ll ride them some day
Greg recorded/posted this video to YouTube on September 4, 2007, just a few weeks before he died in a motorcycle accident in Lisbon at the age of 28. I moved mountains trying to get to his funeral, but in the end my passport renewal timing worked against me (it didn’t arrive in time to catch my flight), and instead of attending a funeral in France my car broke down in Bath, New York.
For two years, since before the time David entered cancer treatment, Greg was a consistent presence in our online lives: email, Skype, messages, doing whatever he could to stay in touch. He was in the same online community (Orkut) where David and I had met, but we hadn’t met him yet. We’d been planning a honeymoon in Europe that included a stop in Lisbon, where he was living at the time with his Estonian wife.
Greg was an exceptionally talented guy, an artist: musician (guitar, piano), photographer, designer, an expert in post-production just like David, and would communicate with us in these ways. In the second half of 2005 he sent us messages of encouragement, prank Photoshopped photos, music files, and kept reaching out to us. After David died, he tried to Skype with me all through 2006, but I was depressed and didn’t feel like talking. In 2007 Greg was still living the good life in Lisbon — surfing, always going out, busy. But he hadn’t given up trying to get me to visit Portugal. Greg loved it there, and he thought I’d love it, too, but I don’t think I was in the right headspace to enjoy it properly yet.
By Summer 2007, after my trip to Iceland, I was beginning to live outside of my head again and Greg was finally able to persuade me to Skype with him. I don’t have a webcam on the PowerBook G4, so it was just me viewing him and me on a microphone. He played a Damien Rice song on his guitar and we talked for at least an hour, maybe even two. I lost track — there was a lot to say. There is no archive of that Skype session, but what I would give to live it again… by coincidence, it was exactly four years ago now and all I remember is the good feeling afterward, that we could talk about David and me and finally make some plans for me to visit him in Portugal and get a taste of his life.
And then, in the early hours of September 29, Greg lost his life. I later realized exactly where I was at the same time when the accident happened in Lisbon, five time zones away. I was also driving around, but in Pennsylvania, in the pitch dark rural roads of Lake Wallenpaupack, searching for the way to my friends’ house. I was overtired, driving after work from Toronto like I always do, and nothing looked familiar. I was running out of fuel and I couldn’t find a station that was open. It was the middle of the night. I’d been lost for over an hour but I didn’t want to call and wake anyone up. I was in the danger zone for being able to drive. For the first time ever, I made the decision to find a place to pull over in the blackness and sleep by the side of the road. Meanwhile, Greg was in Lisbon after a night out with friends and faced the same decision — stop or go — but he chose to go, to ride his motorcycle home. From what his friend told me, Greg likely fell asleep at the wheel and was killed on impact.
That was a huge wake-up call for me. Pun intended. Since 2007, I have pulled over and slept in my car many times on the long distance trips I’ve taken since. Most of them have been 8-10 hours of driving in a single stretch, more than most people attempt. I used to push through the sleep barrier, but I don’t anymore. Last December, when it turned out I had pneumonia, I slept in the car at a service plaza along the New York Thruway for four hours with the engine running until the snowplows woke me up.
I think about Greg from time to time, especially when people search for him online and find my website, which shows in my stats. I also think of him in random moments: whenever I see Sony Alpha DSLRs, guys playing guitars, motorcycles, maps of Estonia, surfing, and other disconnected things. When I think of Greg I can’t help but think of Portugal. He was from France, but he really loved Portugal. I’m sure my subconscious (and Greg) has been prodding me to go ever since, and this year I finally listened.
I kept my promise, Greg. Wild horses couldn’t drag keep me away.
What began as a little picnic break in the middle of the afternoon at the lakeshore by myself morphed into a meetup with a friend for a walk by Humber Bay Park East that turned into a full-fledged dinner by the Etobicoke waterfront. I arrived home after midnight, almost 8 hours after I left the house to get a sandwich and buy groceries. (I still haven’t bought groceries.)
Consequently, all my photos were craptastically shot by smartphone rather than DSLR. I think my favourite shot is of the orange Triumph that was beside me in traffic along Lakeshore Boulevard. It was a gorgeous evening to enjoy by the lake without lugging a camera bag, and the bonus of the stroll through Humber Bay Park East is that I stumbled upon the local memorial dedicated to the victims of Air India 182 — a place I’ve been wanting to visit for a while now.
I’ve been adding more photos to the album, and it has over 200 photos in it thus far. There are several ways to view it, the best way is as a full-screen slideshow in Flickr which shows the photos larger, with more detail in the images, and autoplays the videoclips. If you’ve seen some of the photos already and don’t want to see those all over again, you can also view the set’s thumbnails (arranged in chronological order) to see the new ones. Or, just sit back and watch the smaller slideshow below (give it a minute to load):
KAMA Indian restaurant, King Street West (a la carte this time)
KAMA Indian restaurant, King Street West
TD Toronto Jazz Festival
Jordon John & the Blues Angels, TD Toronto Jazz Festival
Jordon John & the Blues Angels, TD Toronto Jazz Festival
Aretha Franklin, TD Toronto Jazz Festival
Aretha Franklin, TD Toronto Jazz Festival
What’s missing is showing Sigrid (from Norway) around downtown after work, and then five hours later the serendipity of bumping into a local photography contact at the streetcar stop on the way home — someone I’ve been wanting to meet for years. Then reaching my house and joining the next-door neighbours’ backyard party at 11:30pm. A fine way to end a summer evening, I must say.
I wanted to post a better-quality videoclip of Frankie Chavez playing live since my little digicam did a rubbish job of capturing the sound and video from his performance last Saturday. The guy deserves better! He brought five guitars on stage with him and played them all, including a Portuguese guitar that I was told was meant for fado (the traditional Portuguese mournful music). It’s the third photo below. Opinions were split among our group whether this went over well, but to each his own. Personally, I love guitar and to see someone playing five different ones is a treat, especially since it was my birthday*.
However, I’m a huge dork about obeying the “no photography” rule at concerts — I get easily embarrassed if I’m scolded about breaking rules so it takes a lot for me to break them, even if I’m surrounded by people completely ignoring them. Remember the Sistine Chapel a couple of years ago? Everyone was taking photos, but it still took me ages to actually bring out my camera.
Well, my dorkness — and the fact that I’m shooting with a DSLR — is what kept me from getting in better positions for these photos. I was there for the music, and the photography came second. But at least I thought ahead and put on the discreet prime (50mm f/1.4), timing my shutter release for the louder moments, because that mirror clap has the aural equivalent of a door slamming when it’s quiet (something I’m very aware of during religious weddings).
* Turns out it was also the venue Tertulia Castelense‘s 9th birthday, which means I predated it by exactly 30 years. Oy!
Portuguese blues guitarist Frankie Chavez at Tertulia Castelense, Maia
Portuguese blues guitarist Frankie Chavez at Tertulia Castelense, Maia
Frankie Chavez playing blues with a Portuguese guitar
Portuguese blues guitarist Frankie Chavez at Tertulia Castelense, Maia
Portuguese blues guitarist Frankie Chavez at Tertulia Castelense, Maia
drawing out my last sunset in Portugal as long as possible
If I could have a dollar for every time someone said “You should travel for a living” I’d be a rich person. Or, at least have enough to travel more
In 1995, when I repatriated myself back to Canada after some years abroad, I enrolled in a six-month course at a travel college to get a job in the travel industry in my own country. I was 22. I figured it was the natural next step. After all, I’d worked in the hospitality industry on and off, I had travel experience, I’d be good at it, and it seemed like a good fit. After I completed the course, I did a three-month internship at a small international tour operator and was hired on afterwards, then promptly laid off just before the end of my three-month probationary period (a tactic not uncommon to this company, I later discovered). I worked a grand total of six months in the travel industry, and learned from observing tour guides, agents, hotel reps, cruise reps, and other industry people that this is probably not the ideal working environment for me. It’s not that I disliked customer service, it’s that the type of jobs with travel perks (discounts) which paid enough were with companies I would never use, anyway. It seemed to defeat the purpose of working within the travel industry in the first place.
In retrospect, getting laid off paid off, because I moved on to work in marketing research for a couple of years, originally a part-time job that I had to put myself through the travel college. Then, thanks to some savvy Vancouver headhunters who had faith in my abilities, I took a big unexpected leap into another domain — equity research — where I learned a great deal more. Fast forward a move across the country, cross-border to the USA, then repatriation again following tragedy, this time to Ontario, where I discovered after working for the provincial government in finance for about a year and half that I missed the research environment. I wasn’t expecting that at all. I returned to it in 2009, part-time, to support my freelance photography.
Where did this leave travel? Where it should be: purely for fun. I know quite a lot of people who have moved for work but I have yet to be one of those people, and likely won’t (although, never say never). People ask me if I would like to shoot destination weddings, and I have my reasons not to pursue those. This latest trip to Portugal confirmed for me what I have always thought about travel, and how I’ve felt about its place in my life: it is the one area where I absolutely need to be free.
In 2007 when I was in flight school I had to make a decision about ranking my (main) interests in order to afford to do them all. I can’t travel, photograph, and learn to fly at the same time — something had to give. It was then I came to the conclusion I must rank travel as something I had to do no matter what, photography would come second, and aviation would be third.
In the past couple of years the business of photography has taken over much of my life and I travel less internationally than I used to (I was abroad at least 2-3x per year), but it hasn’t stopped me from taking my average 12-14 leisure trips per year, trips that re-energize me and make me a better person. If I travelled for work I’d be frazzled and stressed with deadlines and pressure and clients — I already have those in photography — but more importantly, I wouldn’t be able to travel the way I want to and the work travel would certainly NOT make me a better person. I’d eventually come to resent it, I’m sure. The full-time photographers I know barely have any time or energy to take personal photos anymore. Commerce has a way of killing passion.
You might be surprised that on Day 2 of my Portugal trip I only took 12 photos total. Seriously! I was in Lisbon staying with my first couchsurfing host, Antonio, and all I wanted to do was talk with him. Taking photos was purely secondary. In the morning he was having trouble with his computer and I tried the usual various ways to diagnose/fix it, but the problem was more serious than a simple repair so we spent the rest of the day by the waterfront, just walking and talking until I met up with Berit and Justine. If I didn’t take any photos at all on Day 2 it wouldn’t have been a huge disappointment because I had other opportunities to photograph, while Antonio had very little spare time. I wasn’t going to waste it by making him stop every 10 metres so I could frame and shoot. If I were a travel photographer I wouldn’t have nearly as much time to spend with the locals as I’d like, I’d be too busy fulfilling assignments.
Freedom comes at a price, and I gladly pay it in exchange for being able to travel the way I want. I book my own flights, I arrange my own accommodation, I do my own research. I stay where I like and do what I like. I learned at a young age the mechanics of the travel industry which, apart from airlines, is largely unregulated and subject to uncontrollable and wildly fluctuating market conditions, not to mention suspect business and labour practices. I know most (if not all) people who suggest that I work in travel have never worked in this industry or scrutinized it from an employee’s point of view. For me, I know from what I’ve seen even as a traveller that I function better working elsewhere, leaving the travel for the imagination rather than the employment contract.
For the glass-half-empty people, the longest day of the year is over and every day from here will get shorter. For the glass-half-full people the summer has just begun. Which one are you?
I’m home! Posting a few bits from my last full day in Portugal before I settle back into Toronto life and go through all the photos and video.
Some scenes from Barcelos, where we discovered a medieval festival happening that afternoon:
medieval pig roasting -- Barcelos, Portugal
medieval festival -- Barcelos, Portugal
The view from a high point further south:
overlooking region north of Porto
My last sunset in Portugal was a beautiful one:
last sunset in Portugal
last sunset in Portugal
last sunset in Portugal
last sunset in Portugal
Then, we were on a mission to find a place that served francesinha on a Sunday night so I could try it before I left. Finally, after some searching, Paulo found a place! How to describe this sandwich? Reminded me a lot of poutine, except this version is even MORE heart attack-inducing than the French Canadian version, if you can believe that:
Just booked a floatplane joyride tomorrow morning (10:00), departing Billy Bishop Airport. You still have time to get in on the flight! #fb10 hours ago
Calling all #aviation buffs! Booking scenic ride in floatplane tomorrow am out of YTZ, takes up to 3 pax & need 2. DM me if interested! #fb12 hours ago
