Ortiguiera, Galicia.

Welcome to Ortiguiera. There is forest here, which is enough to make any New-Englander in Spain feel at least a little more at home. There are gorgeous beaches and a different language. We are here for a Gaelic music festival, but there is much more to enjoy than just a concert.

I’m dreaming in present tense. Let’s get to the history.

The three main spots were the beach, the forest where we camped, and the pueblo of Ortiguiera. As usual, I’m going to follow my photographs, so there might be some jumping around.

The first point of interest is that Andres, Javier, and Remco also made it up to the festival. Andres and Javier are friends I met in Salamanca, and Remco is a friend from Madrid. Andres is a really cool dude, and I snapped some shots of him on the beach, as he was showing us some of the jewelry he makes.

We spent a lot of time on the beach. Juggling, drinking cheap beer or calimoxo (pronounced cali-mocho – red wine and coke), and meeting interesting people. I also swam a bit but the others thought it was too cold. Julia started passing with a guy she met, so I took some shots of her as well.

If you look to the left of this photo, you’ll see a small green island. There was also a sandbar that showed up every low tide so you could walk out. Very Milford, if you’ve ever been to that sweet Connecticut shore.

Now I guess we will follow the crew into town for the first night of the festivities. The interesting part is that the entire pueblo is a fiesta. The streets remind me of the hallways in a house party, where everybody is trying to move in one direction but is forced to slow themselves to a crawl. Groups of musicians carry big drums strapped around their necks and pound them so you can hear them from 6 or 7 streets away, and the crowd circles and follows them in a pack, cheering and drinking and dancing.

Then, just as you think you are just going to stay in the street and party all night; these musicians are the festival, and there is no stage or lights, you hit the main plaza. There are vendors (called “puestos”) that line the streets selling everything from fine fabric to cheap food to juggling balls and jewelry. The stage was also quite impressive, and the crowd was absolutely massive. Vamos a ver.

Even in the pouring rain (it rained lightly often, but heavily only once), most of the crowd remained. In fact, for the people who did hang around, it seemed to enhance the experience. As soon as the first torrent of rain fell everyone started cheering and dancing. It seems to be the Spanish way — if it gets cold, dance yourself back to warmth. Either that or get underneath a bank of trees and grab a beer.

Back to camp. The forest was a large span of evenly-spread Eucalyptos (Eucalyptis?) trees, very tall and homey. There were hundreds and hundreds of tents, almost on top of each other, and people had set up puestos and little towns of tents as well. The people that show up to this type of event generally fall into three categories.

There are hippies. The thing is, the hippies I have met here are REAL hippies. Their children run around all day without clothing, and are about as mature as you could possibly imagine. When one of them asked for a lighter to start a fire (keep in mind, she’s 10 years old and completely naked), my friend said politely, “don’t you think it’s a little dangerous?” She didn’t even respond, she just gave him a look that a 5-star chef might give someone who says “be careful with that knife.”

The hippies are inspiring. They aren’t completely cut off from society, but almost. They eat simple foods, they wear simple clothing that they often make for themselves, and they sell jewelry or drinks at festivals to get by. They are extremely resourceful and very peaceful. They have dreadlocks (called “rastas” in Spanish). Everything you might expect from a hippy.

The second type of people are the “punkies.” This is the Spanish name for punk-rock style kids who show up to any type of music festival with the intent of bringing their own party. They have vans that they set up in any free space, and they have lights and turntables and large speakers to start a dance party. I saw at least 4 or 5 of these Easy-Mac night clubs, including one on the beach. 

The third type of people is everybody else.

In this type of festival (of which I have now seen 2), you are bound to see all types of strange things. People who walk around naked (usually hippies), druggies, bonfires, bar-b-ques, organized sport, drinking and debauchery, the whole nine yards. What seemed to stand out in my mind was how well it worked. I didn’t see or hear any fights, anyone injured or robbed (although with this many people someone always gets robbed) and in general the spirit was always positive. It seemed to be the lack of formal organization that let the party stay relaxed and self-governed. Very, very cool.

From here I’ll let the pictures speak for themselves. The beach was gorgeous, the forest was very homey and perfect to camp in, and the pueblo was everything you would expect from a ton of crazy Spaniards with nothing to do but celebrate.

Oh yeah, one more thing. For much of the trip, I was wearing a Pamplona joke – the classic white t-shirt and red bandana – since San Fermines was taking place around this time.

Big Sur… Tarifa, Conil, Cádiz, Sevilla.

Get in a car somewhere in Spain, drive for a few hours, and find yourself in a totally different environment. The south of Spain is exactly what I expected it to be. The sun makes you feel like you’re in Africa, and the culture has the characteristic “stay in the shade until nighttime” attitude. The beaches are fantastic, with strong winds that literally do not stop blowing. Tarifa is known as a kite-surfing mecca, and though I don’t have a picture of it, the main beach there looked like a kite farm.

I’m going to let the pictures walk us through this one.

Madrid – 6am. We hit the road early to avoid traffic leaving Madrid. Unai – a friend who you will learn more about later, Vicky, Julia, and I hop into Unai’s car at about 5am. This picture is close to the city and shows you what the sun looks like when it rises in Madrid – a fireball. I was happy to be traveling in a car, since much of my traveling has been big busses on serpentine Spanish highways and I have been known to experience motion sickness from time to time.

If I remember correctly, we didn’t get to Tarifa until mid-afternoon, maybe 2 or 3pm. Nine or ten hours in a car can really bring you down, but we had tons of food and the end of the road had one hell of a welcome mat. You come down from the mountains into Tarifa like you’re on a plane, with the African coastline 12km in the distance. I was also impressed with the number of windmills… but then again, if you’re going to put windmills anywhere, put them here; it never stops blowing.

When we got to Tarifa, the sun was strong and we tried not to suffer too badly at the beach. Unai and I tried to find a surfboard to rent, and it took trips to several different beaches to find one at a reasonable price. The waves weren’t big that day, but we heard there would be some swell that week. For now, we got a sunset and Julia’s friend Pepe, who brought a skimboard to toy with.

Unai… picture first, introduction after.

Unai is a really funny dude. He’s really quiet, and often when he spoke to me it was in English since he wants to practice, but he kept me laughing. He also is amazing at everything to do with juggling or circus tricks. For example, he juggles 5 balls at once (I’m still working on 4), juggles fire, and can do all of this while on a unicycle or a skateboard. Intense. This picture is when I found out he can do backflips. Sweet.

Welcome to Cádiz. I didn’t spend all that much time in this city, but it’s quite impressive. You don’t know you’re near the water until the buildings stop dead in their tracks and you hit the boardwalk. There is a ton of cool architecture to see and I wish I had gotten to walk around a bit more. We basically stopped by on the way to Pepe’s house… but I got some more shots later.

We surfed for a few days near Pepe’s house. He has a wonderful house in a really nice location, about 5 minutes from the beach. He also has a really nice family, and while staying there I got to try a few foods that are typically Andalucian. They eat a lot of fish and pasta dishes, and they serve them very hot so that you sweat and cool off in the brutal climate.

We found this gatito walking around the main plaza near Pepe’s house. Very friendly and very cute.

Back on the road again. This time heading towards Sevilla.

I would say that this section of the road trip was the most typical of Southern Spain. Acres and acres of fields, including large patches of dense sunflower banks, washed-out yellow and green in the mid-day sun. There were also pueblos jutting up out of the fields, with low buildings (to avoid the heat of a 3rd or 4th floor) built with white (stucco?) walls and clay shingle roofs. We also saw a field fire right next to the highway.

We got to Sevilla in the late afternoon, so the sunlight was filtering through the streets at a low angle, and everything was nicely lit. I took a bunch of pictures but we only had a couple hours of daylight and we were moving around a lot, so the winners are limited. We also spent some time in a plaza juggling for a bunch of little kids. Julia had a group of them attentive for about an hour. Don’t ask me how.

I also really dug this café we stopped into. In fact, I liked the style of it and the friendly attitude of the bartender enough to buy a glass of Rioja (4 Euro is a lot for a traveling bum) and enjoy it inside. The walls were covered with classic Spanish photographs, black and white.

The rest of my stay in Sevilla was spent around two of the main plazas there. The architecture is fantastic and the ambiance is everything to be expected from a small friendly city. I also had the opportunity to be given a mini-tour by one of Julia’s friends who lives there. My favorite part about this was a tiny plaza, maybe the size of a three-car garage, which had orange trees growing in it. Of course I had to climb them to get some oranges, and I ripped my shirt in the process. It was worth it.

Sevilla oranges are bitter, but for some reason my first bite was actually pretty sweet. After that, though, I couldn’t eat it… it makes your eyes water. Still worth the climb.

Salamanca, España

When I arrived to Spain, I had about 48 hours in Madrid before Julia and I took a train to Salamanca. Salamanca is great because it’s a college town, and Julia has cool friends in high places. OK, so it’s a bad pun, but her friends do have the top apartment at the top of the hill that Salamanca rests upon. Needless to say, I woke up every day to a wonderful view of this small city.

When we arrived, Salamanca was in the final days of a 25-day festival of art and music. This meant art exhibits in the streets every afternoon and concerts in the Plaza Mayor every night.

In Salamanca I realized that everything is later in Spain. To leave the apartment at midnight was not unusual, and I saw the sun rise several times during my week in Salamanca. To a certain extent, this may be the result of the heat, which breaks rapidly in the evening to give way to wonderfully cool temperatures at night. At any rate, practicing my super-rusty Spanish at 4 o’clock in the morning was difficult at times.

Julia’s friends in Salamanca were a blast. We wandered around the city at night with juggling pins, rings, and balls (all juggling items are called “malabares” in Spanish – I don’t know if there’s a general word in English). One of her friends named Javier was also a fantastic improvisational poet, and would approach any person on the street to engage them in ridiculous conversation or theatrical sketch. Any pictures you see with me in them were taken by Javier, who filled my camera with about 50 pictures of random people on the street.

I spent most of my time in Salamanca salvaging what little Spanish I could remember and improving my vocabulary and grammar. Days were spent wandering around Salamanca, viewing the intricate sculpture work on the sides of the ancient buildings and sitting in the shade drinking cheap sangria. It was an amazing way to start my Spanish trip, and I made friends that I hope to never lose.

Finally, a view of the mountains surrounding Madrid. Taken from the train ride back from Salamanca.

Paris, France

I met Milan in Dublin. Actually, he was one of the first friends I made while studying at UCD, and we often dined together since we lived in the same building and both enjoyed discussing the curiosity of idiomatic expressions, and he knew enough English for me to explain the ones he had heard but didn’t quite understand. He is also a fantastic cook, and French cuisine has a reputation.

Milan was my ticket to Paris. When he invited me, I considered respectfully declining since I had been to Paris twice previously in my life. Later I realized that I have fun with Milan no matter where I am, and so I decided to take one more trip to the city of light. I am very, very glad that I did.

Milan lives in Le Perreux Sur le Marne, a fantastic and adorable little town about 20 minutes outside Paris on the RER train. He lives with his mother, his sister, and his pet cat named Potiron (French for Pumpkin). I ate amazing food and found that after 10 days his house felt like home. Here are a few shots.

I also visited the Louvre and got a picture of the traffic in the main lobby, underneath the famous glass pyramid. 
 

I have several friends from France, all of whom I met during my time in Dublin. I met up with a few of them, including a large group at a party for “Erasmus” students. “Erasmus” is the name for European study-abroad programs. We ate dinner at Emilie’s apartment, and of course, Milan cooked.

I also had the chance to stay with my friend Caroline, who lives in a beautiful apartment in Paris proper. We ate dinner, along with Milan, at our favorite restaurante called L’entrecôte. The name comes from the only dish they serve, which is steak and fries. Now, don’t get the impression that I spent 30 Euro for steak and fries. This steak (really the sauce that makes it so good) is worth every cent. It’s what makes French food famous, and I can’t get enough. I have been twice and will hopefully go a few more times before my life is over.

 

Also, since I think the picture that Caroline took of me by the Seine is actually quite well shot, I include a picture of your humble narrator, complete with tourist T-shirt (that isn’t even mine!)

The rest of my stay in Paris is comprised of many things that words cannot do justice to. I visited a gigantic park just outside Paris called Parc Floral, a magnificent castle which I can pronounce the name of but couldn’t spell if my life depended on it, and a trip to the Eiffel tower – not to go up, but just to visit. As my trip has progressed, I have become less and less concerned with tourist attractions and more interested in spending time with the friends of my wonderful friends. After a while the history and landmarks of Europe begin to lose their allure, while the people I meet continually surprise and interest me.

Tramore, Co. Waterford

We arrived in Waterford just in time for the rugby match between Munster and Toulouse. Bronagh met us at the bus stop (she had come home a few days earlier) and we immediately dropped our bags and ran to their favorite local pub called “The Victoria House” — known to Bronagh et all as simply “The Vic.” The place was electric as we walked in. Munster had just tied up the match to 13-13… and there were only minutes left on the clock. After several turnovers and even more tension, Munster sealed the deal and the place went crazy. The rest of the night hinged on that win, and people filled the streets later that night due to the buzz from the big Heineken Cup win.

The one and only Bronagh MacManus – she is probably about to say something like, “Aw c’mere Luke, leave me alone, will ya?”

Bronagh knows everyone in Tramore. I suppose it’s a small enough town, but it’s great to see how close everyone there is. I had to snap a picture of this beautiful rose that Mabel (Bronagh’s lovely mother) had growing in her garden.

Also, the word on the newsstands is that aliens do exist. Fascinating.

And on the very same street – an American tourist forgets to pack lightly – and gives himself away with this horrendous vehicle. (I don’t know if it was actually an American tourist… it’s just the knee-jerk reaction most Europeans have to this type of extravagance). This stretch Hummer is larger than the bed & breakfast it’s parked outside of.

We took a walk down to the shore and grabbed some french fries with salt and vinegar at one of the local “chippers.” Bronagh’s friends are great people and we ended up spending most of our time in Tramore with them.

Later on we stopped by what they call “The Park.” Basically it’s a permanent amusement park set up right along the shore. It was fairly busy, even on a rainy day, and we had a good time.

We spent the rest of our time in pubs and walking around — enjoying the cliffs along the coast and the easy life of unemployed summer. The weather wasn’t great but Tramore was wonderful, and I miss Bronagh already.

Crumbling Walls and the Two-Part Pour

My lovely Irish friend named Bronagh McManus met me at Dublin International Airport. A Colgate classmate named Dave Levie had arrived earlier that morning and we soon met up and caught a bus towards Dublin city centre. Dave studied in Edinburgh this semester and jumped the puddle to discover the wonders of the Emerald Isle.

First things first. Guinness. We went directly from the airport to Doyle’s Pub, one of the UCD favorites just across from the Trinity College campus. My friend Art O’Connor, who gives tours at Trinity even though he studies at UCD, stopped in after he got off work. My French friends Milan and Caroline stopped in and within hours of arriving in Dublin I was in a pub with a group of my closest friends. Quite wonderful, really.

Grafton Street always has interesting street performers and swarms of tourists and consumers. Still, I have never seen something like this.

There were mobs of people watching her move gracefully around, and when I pointed the camera at her she smiled and posed wonderfully. One of the most creative displays I have seen. Don’t ask me how she got into or out of that ball, or how it was inflated.

Just at the bottom of Grafton (the next day), sitting in front of a statue of the famous Molly Malone, I saw a familiar face. I have never seen the girl with him, but this man must spend a lot of time performing in Dublin – and he has the classic patchwork on his hat and vest.

Dave and I went out to explore Dublin on one of our final days there and we met a great middle-aged guy who spoke with us about Eurovision and various other cultural phenomena. He also shared a very interesting story regarding Guinness and the Irish harp logo used by the company. Observe. 

I think the difference between the harps should be easy to spot. If not, look again.

At any rate, the story is the interesting part. Apparently, according to this funny Irishman in the pub, Guinness “betrayed us” seven years ago by selling out and moving most of its operation to Australia or some other far-off nation. The Irish government, however, was not ready for its most famous beverage to walk off with its national logo (the harp is featured on the 2 euro coin, seen above, and on the national coat of arms, seen here) and they told Guinness to surrender the logo. What did Guinness do? The crafty codgers flipped the harp logo and made off with it anyway. I was interested in the validity of this story and I found a couple of sketchy online sources that confirm the story, but the only credible source on the topic was the BBC - http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/business/7106277.stm.

After leaving this pub, Dave and I walked along a few back streets just north of the River Liffey, and a nice security guard saw me taking pictures of him as he entered a door marked “DANGER – DO NOT ENTER.” He promptly invited me in to take pictures, and I took him up on the offer, of course.

Once inside, I saw how completely gutted this building was. Crumbling walls, graffiti, broken glass, wire in tangles and really nowhere to walk without some sort of debris or rubbish to maneuver around. Taking pictures inside was fun, but Dave was waiting outside so I kept it as brief as possible.

This last picture is quite intense. Of course, I didn’t see the “asbestos removal” sign until I’ve already “kicked up dust” all over the shop. It’s a good thing I don’t believe in germs.

Dublin was amazing. Seeing my friends was certainly the highlight, but the charming city of pubs and pints also reminded me of why I enjoy Ireland so much. A few days into our stay, Dave, Caroline and I went to visit Bronagh in County Waterford. We took a three-hour bus ride from Dublin city centre and showed up in Tramore at about 18:30 (6:30pm). Our timing was perfect. I took one last picture before I jumped on the bus:

 

Roofs of New York

For all the pictures click here.

My summer travels begin with a day trip to the Big Apple. Took a mid-day train into Grand Central and met up with Milo, a good friend of mine from junior high. He’s been living in Brooklyn and I make sure to give him a call whenever I head into the city. Grabbed dinner at the deli beneath his apartment, checked out his digs, and watched the sunset on the roof with two of his jazz-musician roomates. A dog named Remy Martin made an appearance.

We took the A train back into Manhattan and headed to the Park to meet up with two of my Colgate friends. After some wine in the park and some fun with the local raccoons, we went to a Colgate alum’s apartment to drink more, well… legally. I met Anand through Dev, his younger brother who was on my floor freshman year. Both are fantastic guys. We eventually made it to Anand’s roof before heading our separate ways.

I caught the last train out of NYC towards Milford – 1:46am. I sat down and started reading (Hells Angels – Hunter S. Thompson) and within five minutes some drunk suit no older than 25 stumbles into the car and spreads himself across three seats opposite me. The only three times I saw him move during the entire ride involved dragging himself into the bathroom. I turned the music up in my headphones so that I wouldn’t hear him vomit. As we approached Milford a guy in his late 30s asked me if we had already passed Darien. I told him he missed it by three or four stops – he looked half dead and half lost. He got off in Stratford.

The Dalai Lama at Colgate

See a few more pictures here.

On April 22nd I was fortunate enough to see the Dalai Lama speak at Colgate University. What’s more amazing is that my position as a photography intern for the Communications Department got me press credentials so I could join the swarms of photographers in the front rows of the field house during the event.

Unfortunately, the experience was not without problems. Being so close to the Dalai Lama was amazing, and the photos I got were shots I can expect to get just once in my lifetime. This is precisely the problem. Upon bringing my photos of the event to the office, the memory card with 200 of my 250 shots of the event failed, and the pictures have yet to be recovered. My boss tells me there’s still hope, but I have basically given up on retrieving them.

On the bright side, I still have about 50 shots from the event, though only one or two of them are the close-ups which were so amazing to shoot. Regardless, the Dalai Lama is an amazing human, and his speech (from what I could understand through the thick accent and heavily-amplified voice) was just as incredible.

I remember him saying something like “80 percent of all hate you see in others is projected upon them by you.” His entire talk focused upon the way that our outlook influences our happiness and the way the world seems to be. I have tried to embrace this attitude, as difficult as it sometimes is.

Salamanca Charra

Click here for Jordi’s blog.

I know him only as Jordi, so I suppose the back story is the only story. I met an amazing Spanish girl named Julia during my semester studying in Dublin. She introduced me to contact juggling through her friend’s videos, and we spent a lot of time juggling during our various adventures around Ireland. I have been trying to read and listen to as much Spanish as possible before I head to Europe for the summer, and I stumbled across Jordi’s blog today only to find myself watching every video on his page. I will be in Salamanca for an art festival the day after I get to Spain, and I will meet Jordi. Enjoy.