Category: travel

A Road Trip in The Faroe Islands – Part II

Posted on by Nigel Williams

Getting To The Faroe Islands

The date for our departure on our long anticipated road trip in the Faroe Islands finally arrived on the 25th May 2023. Our first was flight from Stanstead, UK to Aalborg, Denmark, an old city on the Limfjord where Viking ships once sailed. As it was a late afternoon flight with a decent layover we had time to head into the city for quick dinner with our Danish friends who would be accompanying us in Aalborg.

The final flight, on Atlantic Airways, arrived at Vágar Airport  (Vága Floghavn in Faroese, IATA: FAE). This is the sole airport serving the Faroes on the island of Vágar. The landing was flawless, despite a nasty cross wind. The airport was built by the British Army during World War II and site was chosen largely because it was hard for German warships to observe from the sea! This is not the only legacy of the British in the Faroe Islands, as the locals apparently continue to enjoy British staples such as fish and chips and Dairy Milk chocolate. 

It was late when reached the Hotel Brandan in Tórshavn so we retired after a quick night cap.

For those interested in photography, in addition to the shots on this page, you can find my black and white gallery here. Also on this site, Part I of this blog provides a bit more background to The Faroe Islands and describes why it is well worth visiting.

Where to Stay in The Faroe Islands?

We had a short debate about where to stay in The Faroe Islands, particularly as to whether we should stay in a remote location or in the city. Although we found some lovely cabins out in the wilds, eventually we decided that it would be best to base ourselves in the capital city Tórshavn. We found this decision suited us very well.

We travelled to some fairly remote locations during the day and Tórshavn felt like a metropolis in comparison. The Hotel Brandan was comfortable, hotel amenities were very welcome, the staff were friendly and the excellent breakfast set up us nicely each day.

Road Trip Day 1. Rain, Vestmanna and The National Gallery

We awoke full of excitement on our first full day, and after breakfast headed for the village of Vestmanna (West Men), on the northwest coast of Streymoy, the main island. It is a short drive, just half an hour or so from our hotel. We took the scenic mountain road Oyggjarvegur and stopped near Kaldbaksbotnur, a village of just two farms, near Kaldbaksfjørður and took in the spectacular views of the fjord.

Amazing light in Kaldbaksfjørður, seen from Kaldbaksbotnur

Vestmanna is a medium sized Faroese village best known for boat tours to the Vestmanna bird cliffs. The boat was sailing that day, but as we had already booked two other boat trips and it was raining we elected to visit the Saga Museum by the harbour and grab a coffee. Piracy was a common hazard in Vestmanna for centuries and features quite heavily in the various stories told by the wax figures and accompanying audio at the Museum.

The Epic Voyage of St. Brendan The Navigator

The first of the waxwork figures we encountered is of an Abbot. This figure, and accompanying audio, tells the story of St. Brendan The Navigator, an Irish Monk. He is important in the story of The Faroe Islands because of the epic journey he is said to have made across the North Atlantic in the sixth century, which was recorded in a ninth century text. During the voyage, Brendan visited an island which he described as The Paradise of Birds and a larger island described as The Island of Sheep. It’s not hard to see how this could have been The Faroe Islands, an archipelago whose name means Island of Sheep.

The National Gallery, Listasavn Føroya

We returned to Tórshavn, a name that rather pleasingly translates as Thor’s harbour. For the mythologically inclined, Thor’s most nautical myth is an account of his fishing trip to catch Jörmungandr (Jormungand) the Midgard Serpent.

On the return journey we took the other (non-scenic, but still scenic!) road from Vestmanna. We had a pleasant walk around Tórshavn harbour before heading for Listasavn Føroya, the National Gallery of the Faroe Islands, which is a great rainy day location to visit.

The National Gallery houses a large collection of nearly 3,000 works of Faroese art of which only around 10% are displayed in the museum’s permanent exhibition. These are divided into themes, and the museum is well worth visiting. There was a lot of great work on show, but I particularly enjoyed the work of Sámal Joensen-Mikines, Edward Fuglø (particularly ‘Colony’) and Rannva Kunoy. There are trees around the museum which is quite a novelty on the Faroes, which is treeless across most of the islands.

In the evening we dined at Áarstova, a lamb and seafood restaurant in Tórshavn. It is named after the house two famous local poets, Hans Andrias Djurhuus and Janus Djurhuus, were born in. The food, setting and service were all excellent.

Day2 . Wind, Klaksvík and Gjógv

The second day we headed to Tórshavn to Klaksvík via Route 10 and the Eysturoy tunnel. This incredible feat of engineering, which took several years to compete, shortens the drive from just over an hour to a little over 30 minutes. All the sub sea tunnels charge a toll, which was applied by our hire car company. It was exciting to see the world’s first undersea roundabout (aka the jellyfish roundabout), after which we drove up the East coast of Skálafjørður, the longest fjord in the Faroe Islands, passing half a dozen or so small villages.

Encountering a Skrid

The view Gøtuvík near a turf-roofed farmhouse

There is a very small road about halfway across one of the narrowest parts of Eysturoy which provides wonderful views of the bay of Gøtuvík. We stopped and took a few shots there. It was so windy we could hardly stand up straight to take our photographs. Reading a local weather report later, that was hardly surprising as we were experiencing a skrid – a gale force (8) wind. Beyond that, at force 9, is a stormur a strong gale, and a hvassur stormur, which blows at storm force 10.

Syðrugøta – and a Saga

We rounded the end of Gøtuvík bay, passing Syðrugøta, where The Faroe Islands’ most famous Viking age Chieftain Tróndur í Gøtu (c. 945 – 1035) is said to have lived. He is a central character in the Færeyinga saga, the Faroe Islands’ saga which tells of the arrival of Christianity, and his opposition to it.

For those interested in the strange world of the Norse I can highly recommend a book that provides a thoroughly entertaining deep dive into it: The Children of Ash and Elm. This is written by a scholarly archaeologist who happens to posses a great sense of humour.

Shortly after we passed Syðrugøta it started to rain quite heavily and the wind picked up, but this didn’t deter the women playing football on a windswept pitch in one of the small towns we passed through. We were in awe of their resilience.

On to the Northern Islands

After crossing Leirvíksfjørður, the fjord that separates the islands of Eysturoy and Borðoy, via the 6km long Norðoyartunnilin (The Northern Isles Tunnel) we drove into Klaksvík, the capital of the four Northern Islands; Borðoy, Kunoy, Kalsoy, and Viðoy.  Borðoy was the only one of the four we visited, but we got great views of Kalsoy later that day from the village of Gjógv.

Klaksvík – The Harbour amongst the Mountains

The harbour at Klaksvík

Klaksvík is the main fishing port for the islands and the second largest city. Despite this, before the sub sea tunnel Norðoyartunnilin opened it must have been quite isolated. It is in an impressive location, sitting between two fjords and surrounded by high mountains that rise from the shoreline, which made for some great pictures.

A Faroese knitwear shop, Tógvhandilin, beckoned. Klaksvík is one of three main towns with shops, the others being Tórshavn (the clear leader) and Runavík. There is a knitwear festival in the islands each year. Each of us bought something – hats, mittens and a sweater. Faroese knitwear is very well made and amazingly warm.

My hat was certainly a welcome upgrade when we were out at sea later on the trip. Before we left we had coffee and something to eat at Fríða Kaffihús, a nearby café. This recommendation came from the knitwear shop and proved to be a winner.

Spectacular Gjógv

Our next destination was Gjógv, a small, colourful fishing village located on the northeast tip of the island of Eysturoy, overlooking the island of Kalsoy. It is about 30 miles from Klaksvík and is located at the end of a deep valley, with no other villages in sight.

The view of Kalsoy from Gjógv

We parked and walked down towards the village, which sits on either side of a river. The majority of Gjógv’s houses are modern but colourful and make for a lovely spectacle as you walk down the hill towards the sea. It was a lovely start, but it gets even better.

Walking down to the shore we found breath taking views over the volcanic shore to the Island of Kalsoy. One of our party observed that the coast resembled one she had seen in South Africa, and having seen something similar myself, I agreed. The village gets its name from a 200-meter-long gorge, which was used for centuries as a natural harbour and is also quite something to behold.

Some Welcome Waffles

After taking in the views for some time we enjoyed the local speciality of Faroese waffles (vaflur) with rhubarb jam at Gjáarkaffi, a tiny coffee house. It turns out that rhubarb is one of the few vegetables that grows in the tough climate of the Faroe Islands. My memories of British rhubarb and custard are not especially fond ones, but the slightly sharp jam was a superb accompaniment to the waffles.

One of the old photos in Restaurant Barbara

A Different Kind of Surf and Turf

We drove back to Torshavn, well pleased with the day, and completed it with dinner at Barbara. This is a fish restaurant, which serves a multi course tasting menu described as tapas. It is set in a very old turf-roofed house which has an interior full of character. I particularly liked the old black and white photos of life in the Faroe Islands in the early twentieth century. We had high expectations of the restaurant and it did not disappoint, though like all the best restaurants in town, the bill was quite steep.

Day 3. History: Kirkjubøur and Sandur

Next up on our road trip was Kirkjubøur. This is the country’s most important historical site and the southernmost village on Streymoy. Here, in close proximity, are the ruins of the Cathedral, the oldest church still in use, and an ancient log house which has been continuously inhabited since the sixteenth century by one of the leading families of the Faroe Islands. Most of the houses in the village are dressed in classic pitch-black with turf roofs and there are views of the islands of Hestur, Koltur and Sandoy.

Kirkjubøur was the seat of the Faroese bishop from the 12th century until the Reformation, and the church there was the most important in the islands. The medieval village was larger than it is today with around 50 houses. Most of these were washed away by a storm in the 16th century.

What remains is still fascinating.

Kirkjubøargarður/Roykstovan

The farm house Kirkjubøargarður is one of the oldest constantly inhabited wooden houses of the world and the oldest part, the Roykstovan, (the smoky room) dates to the 11th century. This part of the building is open to the public. The Patursson Family, who have played a number of important cultural and political roles in the history of the Faroes, has occupied the farm since 1550 and is still resident.

Faroe Islands
Kirkjubøur: St. Olav’s Church and St. Magnus Cathedral (Film, Nikon F3)

Saint Olav’s Church – Ólavskirkjan

Saint Olav’s Church or Ólavskirkjan dates from about 1250 (though I’ve seen older dates). What is agreed is is that it is the Faroe Islands oldest church still in use.

Saint Olav is the patron saint of the Faroe Islands (and of Norway). He is celebrated each year at Ólavsøka (Saint Olav’s Wake), a two-day celebration held on 28th and 29th of July. Many Faroese gather in the capital Tórshavn, some in traditional Faroese dress, greeting those they meet with “Góða (Good) Ólavsøka!”.

A set of carved pew ends from the church, known as the Kirkjubøur chairs, are now in the National Museum. We didn’t get to that museum on the trip, but there are some great images of them on a set of postage stamps issued by Postverk Føroya in the 1980s.

The museum also holds a runestone, the Kirkjubøur stone, which was found in the church in 1832. The glass art in the front gate was made by painter, sculptor, glass artist and explorer Tróndur Patursson.

The Epic Brendan Voyage – Part II

In 1977 this intrepid member of the Patursson family accompanied British explorer and historian Tim Severin across the North Atlantic on the Brendan, a replica of a replica of St. Brendan’s currach in an attempt to prove this feat was possible. It was! Setting out from Tralee, Ireland, this remarkable, two-masted boat of ancient design, wrapped with ox hides and sealed with animal grease, successfully made the 4,500 mile crossing, arriving in Newfoundland Canada. The voyage took over 13 months and the route took in the Hebrides, the Faroe Islands and Iceland.

St. Magnus Cathedral

The ruins of San Magnus Cathedral (Film, Nikon F3)

Close to both St Olav’s church and Kirkjubøargarður farm house is Magnus Cathedral, a ruined cathedral, built around 1300, which is commonly said to have been abandoned before it was a finished, though recent research suggests it did indeed get a roof. The ruins are the largest medieval building in the Faroe Islands and stand as a reminder of a time when the small village it looms over was the religious centre of the islands.

On an overcast day it has a pleasingly mysterious atmosphere, though curiously only my film shots were able to capture it. These were taken on a slightly battered Nikon F3, which was the camera that got me back into film photography.

As a black and photographer, I am fan of atmospheric ruins, particularly if they have a story to tell, and I have been photographing a local ruined manor in Oxfordshire for many years.

The Crossing to Sandy Sandoy

By way of extreme contrast to the epic Brendan Crossing, our first sailing in the Faroes was the short ferry crossing from Gamlarætt to Skopun on Sandoy. This is the only island in the archipelago with sand dunes.  The ferry rolled considerably in the swell but the journey took less than 30 minutes. This service will soon be replaced by a sub sea tunnel which is under construction. Our point of arrival, Skopun, is a niðursetubygd, a unique Faroese term for a settlement or village of modern origin (19th century) which has no outlying land belonging to it.

The Old Church in Sandur

From Skopun we drove down to the town of Sandur, walked around the old church which is the 6th on the site, and took in the view. The first of these churches was an 11th century stave church. Also dating from the 11th century is a hoard of silver coins that was found in the graveyard. The sandy beaches may have welcomed settlers well before the Viking age as evidence of settlement in the 4th-6th century was found on the island in 2007.

Returning to the harbour at Skopun we took some pictures of some old abandoned boats just beyond the harbour, before boarding the ferry and returning to Tórshavn via Gamlarætt.

A Literary Lunch

We had a late lunch in the Paname Café in Torshavn after a wander in the excellent bookshop that is in the same building. The fare in the café was first rate. The bookshop, H.N. Jacobsens Bókahandil, was established in 1865 and is the oldest in the islands. The building that houses the café and bookshop has the classic Faroese grass roof and red exterior and is quite a landmark in Tórshavn. It’s a great place to hang out for a while.

Another wander in the old town was followed by a short rest at the hotel and before we knew it was it time for dinner, which we took in the hotel. The bar was crowded with Icelanders who seemed to be having a most excellent time.

The road to the Drangarnir sea stacks

Day 4. Sea Stacks and a Waterfall into the Sea

Our last day of our road trip on The Faroe Islands took us on Route 50 back to Vágar, the home of the airport in the western part of the Faroe Islands. We crossed via the sub sea tunnel and drove through Sandavágur with its landmark bright red-roofed church. Soon we reached Sorvágur, a little town most visitors frequent only to sail to the famed bird island of Mykines.

Later that day we would heading out to the sea stacks by boat. After a short wander around the harbour and town we headed on to Gásadalur and its famed waterfall that empties into the sea.

A Miss and A Myth

We passed Lake Leitisvatn, also also known as Sørvágsvatn, and more commonly the Floating Lake because of the optical illusion it presents when seen from Trælanípa cliffs. This view requires a one hour hike. Though we planned to see this, to our regret we didn’t make it.

We did however, see the silver statue of a Nykur (also known as a Nixie or water spirit) at the lake. We took this to be a prancing horse, but despite its equine form this is no pony, but a sinister mythical beast and the subject of Faroese legend.

The Nykur has the rather unfortunate habit of luring the unwary to mount it or touch it, after which its sticky skin keeps them attached and they are dragged down and drowned in the lake. The word Nykur may well be related to Old English nicor (water monster) used in the epic poem Beowulf.

Gásadalur and Múlafossur

Road trip Faroe Islands

Gásadalur is home to the spectacular waterfall Múlafossur. There are only about 30 waterfalls that empty directly into the sea in the world and I had never seen one before. It is quite something, and made all the more special by the seabirds that fly in front of it.

A farm dog followed us as we walked towards the waterfall and wanted to play. We threw a stone for him which he ran after and jealously guarded for a while, before realising it. He stayed with us for some time.

Nearby the waterfall in Gásadalur is a café and guesthouse in a working farm, Gásadalsgarðurin, which sells local art and serves locally sourced food. Here I tried another local delicacy – fermented meat. The farm breeds bull calves organically and their fermented meat is used in a beef soup. The soup has been recognised at Embla, the Nordic Food Awards.

Drangarnir

We walked around the harbour and then to the boat, where we met our skipper, an avuncular and highly capable Faroese named Elias.

One of the Drangarnir sea stacks

We had booked the boat to sail to Drangarnir, the Faroe Islands’ most famous rock formations. There are two sea stacks, Stóri Drangur (large sea stack), a spectacular sea arch, and its companion Lítli Drangur (small sea stack).

Beyond the stack stacks lie Mykines. We had booked a trip to the island earlier in our stay but never reached it due to bad weather, which is not uncommon.

Elias talked of his life in The Faroe Islands and the childhood he spent there. It was great to hear directly from a Faroese. His description of an active life, bound by community and much closer to nature made a great case for life on the islands. We also learned that our food in Gásadalsgarðurin had been cooked by his mother and served by this sister!

Bøur Beach and Village

Road trip Faroe Islands
Our Faroese Skipper, Elias

We sailed past the picturesque village of Bøur, which must have one of the best views in the islands. It overlooks Drangarnir, as well as the uninhabited islands of Gásholmur and Tindholmur. There is a tiny beach of black volcanic sand nearby, which is likely be one of the quietest beaches in the world.

We finished the day at Katrina Christiansen – a fish restaurant with a history. The building is early eighteenth century and the informative website describes how it started as a barbershop, before becoming a general store and home to William Heinesen a well known Faroese poet, writer, composer and painter. The menu offers a choice of tasting menu, and both fare and service were excellent, with the cod cheeks and Faroese beef and mashed potatoes being the standouts.

Return and Reflections

A typical view on a road trip in The Faroe Islands

Our return to the UK was via Copenhagen as the connection at Aalborg was just too tight for comfort. I will confess to feeling a little lost when I returned to Oxfordshire and kept my slightly battered and much annotated map of The Faroe Islands in my pocket for a few days. The post holiday blues have passed now and I am extremely happy and grateful to have been able to make the trip.

A road trip in the Faroe Islands is a much more practical proposition than I had thought and the islands are quite unlike anywhere else.

I saw some of the most stunning landscapes in the world – rugged, sculptured, dramatically lit, and painted shades of green I have never seen before. They are also largely untouched and possess a distinctive and fascinating cultural identity.

Beyond The Faroe Islands: Other Road Trips on this Site

If you’ve enjoyed reading about our road trip in The Faroe Islands, you might enjoy some of the others I have made.

A Road Trip in The Faroe Islands – Part I

Posted on by Nigel Williams

Why visit the remote and northerly Faroe Islands? A volcanic archipelago of 18 islands situated between Iceland and Norway in the most turbulent part of the North Atlantic might not seem like the most promising destination for a road trip. However, as I found recently, the islands proved to be an epic setting for a motoring holiday .

The Gift of the Gulf Stream

The Faroe Islands are located on the 62nd parallel in the North Atlantic, northwest of Scotland and about halfway between Iceland and Norway. The island’s closest neighbours are the Northern Isles (Orkney and Shetland) and the Outer Hebrides of Scotland. 

This is generally a rather chilly part of the world; the Arctic starts only a couple of parallels up at 64.2°N. The icy Bering Sea, The Sea of Okhotsk on the Eastern coast of Siberia, Alaska and the Hudson Bay are some of the cold and rather inhospitable neighbourhoods at this latitude.

Fortunately, the Faroe Islands sits right in the heart of the Gulf Stream. This creates a temperate marine climate with minimal temperature variation. The average temperature ranges from around 3°C in winter, which is very moderate for so northerly a location, to an admittedly rather cool 12°C in the summer. The harbours never freeze and snow is short lived.

On the road in the Faroe Islands.

The Connected Archipelago

Like north west Scotland, the Orkneys and Shetland, the Faroe Islands are notoriously windy, resulting in extremely choppy seas. In years gone by this severely restricted travel between the 17 inhabited islands – especially in bad weather or at night.

This presents few problems today as the islands are well connected by an impressive series of sub sea tunnels, making it easy to travel across them by car. One sub sea tunnel even has a roundabout – the world’s first undersea roundabout, AKA the jellyfish roundabout. The Faroe Islands have a good infrastructure, with an excellent road network. Over half the islands’ electricity is produced from sustainable sources like wind power.

The archipelago is 113km (70 miles) long and 75km (47 miles) wide, with an area of about 1,400 square kilometres (540 sq. mi.). This makes it slightly larger than half the size of Luxemburg and the 170th largest country by area.

A road trip is an eminently practical proposition.

The Wild Beauty of The Faroe Islands

The Faroes are also an utterly beautiful and somewhat otherworldly place to visit.

You will never be more than 5 km (3 miles) away from 1100 km (687 miles) of spectacular coastline. This is deeply indented with fjords, dotted with imposing sea stacks and has many steep rocky cliffs, many of which are populated by colonies of seabirds.

Looking out to Kalsoy island from the coast at Gjógv

The rugged landscape, composed of volcanic rock and sculptured by glaciers, has high mountains, deep valleys and many waterfalls. Nothing much grows above ground, so the contours of the land are always on show and the treeless slopes contribute to the islands’ wild beauty.

With all this on offer, the Faroe Islands are a landscape photographer’s paradise.

The two photographers in our party took a medium format Hasselblad System V film camera, a Nikon F3, a Leica Q2, a brace of modern Nikon digital cameras and a selection of lenses from 24mm to 500mm. I also made use of my iPhone Pro, especially from within the car. We were both pleased with the results, some of which you can see in this article. You will find the main black and white photo gallery here.

Constantly Changing Light

Although the archipelago sees less than 850 hours of sunshine per year, the northern light is ideal for photographers and artists. The light is never the same for long; the changeable maritime climate produces brilliant sunshine one minute and misty hill fog the next. Rainfall and cloud are both frequent.

Why visit The Faroe Islands?
A sunlight valley under heavy cloud.

Our Faroese skipper on our sailing trip out to the sea stacks joked that it rains 300 days a year. That’s an exaggeration, as it only rains for 210 days! You can of course pick the month of your visit, and June has the fewest wet days at 12. As they say in The Faroe Islands (and in Iceland), “if you don’t like the weather, wait a minute.” Inevitably we encountered some rain on our trip, but it didn’t trouble us.

At this latitude the sun is also up (but not always visible!) for nearly 20 hours at the summer solstice.

A Fascinating History: Settlement of the Faroes

Unlike most of the world, human colonisation did not occur in pre history. Evidence of settlement on the Faroe Islands goes back to the mid-fourth century, though the people are unknown. This was followed by Irish monks in the eighth century, who may have established Christian communities.

Norse settlements followed in the ninth century, resulting in a Norse culture. The name Føroyar (Faroe Islands) is derived from old Norse and means Sheep Islands. The Faroese language, which is closely related to Icelandic, derives from the Old Norse language of these Norsemen, which developed into modern Nordic languages in the mid-to-late 14th century.

It’s possible there is some Gaelic language in Faroese as place names such as Mykines, Stóra Dímun and Lítla Dímun may contain Celtic roots.

The conversion of the islanders to Christianity came c. 1000 from Norway. In the same century the Faroe Islands may well have formed a stepping stone beyond Shetland for the journey across the North Atlantic to America. The islanders established their Althing (parliament), later named Løgting, at Tinganes in Tórshavn, the capital city.

The islands became a Norwegian province in 1035 and passed to Denmark with the rest of Norway in 1380. Later the islands became a Danish royal trade monopoly, which inhibited economic development for many years.

A Fascinating History: The Faroese Strike Back

Rising Faroese national identity and a shift to fishing as the islands’ main commodity led to the end of the Danish trade monopoly in 1856. Faroese national identity was further strengthened in the 19th century by the creation of a written Faroese language and the restoration of the Faroese Løgting (parliament). This body first sat in 825 and is likely to be the Parliament with the longest unbroken tradition. The Thingvellir of Iceland and Tynwald, on the Isle of Man, also make claim to this distinction.

The British occupation of the Faroes to protect against German incursions from occupied Denmark changed life in the Faroe Islands and strengthened demands for home rule. This resulted in autonomous status in 1948. As part of that move, Faroese was also given equal status with the Danish language.

Faroe Islands
The beautiful village of Gjógv.

The Unspoilt Faroe Islands

With a low population density, minimal industrialisation and tranquil untouched landscapes, the Faroe Islands offer a beautiful pristine environment that’s hard to find elsewhere.

The most substantial contributor to the the low level of industrialisation is the percentage of fishing and aquaculture in the thriving Faroese economy. This contributes virtually all the income from exports (around 95%). There is plenty of room for both of these activities: the Faroe Islands has self-identified as one of 15 Large Ocean States (LOS) with a maritime zone of 271,000 square kilometres. You will see Salmon farms in fjords and bays throughout the islands.

It’s also a very safe place with one of the lowest incarceration rates in the world. At the date of our visit, you wouldn’t quite be able to count the prison population on your fingers, but you could get pretty close! The prison is famous for its location, which has possibly the best views of the spectacular fjord Kaldbaksfjørður.

As you can see from the word ‘Kaldbaksfjørður’, the written language looks both Nordic and magnificently old. It contains the letter ‘Eth’ (ð) which is also to be found in Old English and Middle English.

Faroese Culture and Art

The Faroese people have a distinct cultural identity, rooted in their Norse heritage and many local traditions, including a long tradition of ballads (kvæði) and songs. These have helped to keep the Faroese language alive for centuries.

This is accompanied by modern Nordic design sensibilities, which are visible in many of the newer buildings.

For art lovers there are several galleries of Faroese Art to enjoy. The work we saw, which spans the nineteenth, twentieth and twenty-first centuries, really enriched our experience of the islands.

Heading for Drangarnir, the Faroe Islands’ most famous rock formation

Faroese restaurant culture has changed drastically within the last decade, particularly in the capital. It is now much more common for Faroe Islanders to eat out and traditional Faroese food has become part of a burgeoning dining scene with new restaurants emerging regularly. We ate very well during our stay.

Why Visit The Faroe Islands? Why Not?

I hope this short article answers the question ‘why visit the Faroe islands?’ Yet, as I write this another question occurs to me: why did it take so long for me to visit the Faroe Islands?

In part II of this post I’ll describe the packed four day itinerary of our Faroe Islands road trip.

Three Days in Venice

Posted on by Nigel Williams

Arriving in the afternoon from London, I took a water taxi into the city.  It’s a great way to arrive with passing boats throwing up spray as they speed past and I was in a high state of excitement by the time I reached my hotel, the Ca’ Sagredo, as this was also a much anticipated first visit to Venice.  The hotel is a very well-preserved former 15th century palazzo situated in the Cannaregio district – the largest of the six districts that make up the city. It is on the Grand Canal and opposite the Rialto Market.  it is, quite deservedly, a national monument.

I was most taken by the staircase with its marble cherubs and Scalone die Giganti (Fall of the Giants) frescoes, which I thought was one of the great interior sights of my trip.  During my stay I spent a considerable amount of time photographing the staircase with my Leica Q and eventually I was pleased with the shot that accompanies this post.

Staircase ca'sagredo venice
The Scalone dei Giganti staircase of the Ca’ Sagrada Hotel

The hotel is right next to a Gondola station; you can take the traghetto across to the area of the Rialto market for the tourist rate of 2 Euros (locals pay 70 cents), something I ended up doing frequently.

As soon as I had dropped my bags I took a Gondola trip down to the mouth of Grand Canal. I was captivated by the Baroque Santa Maria della Salute. The domed basilica is one of the symbols of the city and was built as a response to the plague which decimated the city in the 17th century. The basilica still hosts the annual Festa della Madonna della Salute each November, which gives thanks for the intercession of the Virgin Mary to end the plague.

Returning to the hotel in the Gondola, I explored the local area, walking across the famous Ponte di Rialto (Rialto Bridge) which connects the districts of San Marco and San Polo. Up until 1854 this was the only bridge across the Grand Canal and there are still only 4 bridges along its 3.8 km length. Later I walked up the Strada Nova, one of the main streets in the city. 

In the evening I ventured out once more and had drinks at the Gritti Palace, another 15th century former palace, once owned by Andrea Gritti, doge of Venice from 1523 to 1538.  This hotel is one of the most expensive in the city and has some of the best views as it is opposite the Santa Maria della Salute church.  Watching the Gondolas go past as the sun starts to go down from the hotel terrace is a great experience.

I walked back towards the Ca’ Sagredo and had dinner at the modest Osteria dal Riccio Peoco in the local square, Campo San Apostoli, which was inexpensive and delicious. 

Iron prow Venice Gondolier
The fero da prora of a Gondola

The next day, I took a a second Gondola ride, during which I photographed many sites, Gondolas and Gondoliers. I noticed they were speaking a language that didn’t sound like standard Italian to me and asked the Gondolier about it. He said they were speaking in Venetian dialect, which is actually a language and spoken around the Veneto region. We passed under the white limestone Bridge of Sighs that connects the Doge’s Palace to the prison opposite. It was  Lord Byron who gave the bridge this name – the suggestion being that prisoners would sigh at their final view of Venice before incarceration or execution. Like many stories that give rise to names it isn’t true, but the bridge is still used to transport low risk offenders to prison.

Returning to the hotel I set off to walk around the lagoon city.  I enjoyed seeing the winged lion in Campo Manin, a large bronze sculpture at the base of a statue of Daniele Manin – a hero of Italian unification.  The winged lion is the Lion of Saint Mark, and is the symbol both of the city of Venice and of the Venetian Republic.

I found the Leaning Tower of Santo Stefano, a 13th century, 66m brick-built gothic bell tower located in the Sestiere San Marc.   Though much less famous, its inclination is remarkably similar to that of the Tower of Pisa, at about 2 meters out of kilter. After the crowds of much of the city that day the square was extremely quiet.  I passed through it a couple of times after that and it was always close to deserted.

Next I visited Piazza San Marco, both the grand showpiece and principle square of the city. There’s a lot to take in including St Mark’s Basilica, The Doge’s Palace, the Clock Tower and the columns of Saint Mark and Saint Theodore. I walked the square and took in the entrancing view stopping for a coffee at Caffè Florian, one of the world’s oldest coffee houses. Later, I lunched nearby at Ostaria La Campana, a local’s place right in the midst of a tourist area.

As it was getting to that time of the evening I thought a Daqueri at Harry’s Bar would be a good idea. Sadly it wasn’t. I paid a visit, but I think I missed the time when it was a good place to go by many years. It’s a pretty terrible place now, as many online reviews attest. I paid the eye watering price for an OK Daiquiri to the aloof barman and left the place as fast as I could.

Venice Salute Grand Canal
The Santa Maria della Salute church from the terrace of the Gritti Palace

Close by the view of the the Santa Maria della Salute church beckoned at the Gritti Palace. I had a drink there and then dinner on the balcony at the Club del Doge. The view of such a beautiful church with gondolas gliding past and the sun going down plus a decent risotto (a Hemingway variant with scampi) meant I didn’t begrudge the hefty bill.

The next day city I took the river bus down to the Dorsoduro Sestiere to visit the museums there and to see the Santa Maria della Salute church land side. The Gallerie dell’Academia was my first stop. Here I enjoyed the neoclassical sculptures of Antonio Canova , took in Hieronymus Bosch’s disturbing Visions of the Hererafter and walked around a room dedicated to Lord Byron in Venice.

Lord Byron lived in Venice after he was forced to leave England to flee the many debts and scandals caused by his aristocratic excesses. He conducted his Venetian affairs in some style from a Grand Canal palazzo with his many servants and a menagerie that included monkeys, a wolf, a fox, a crow and an eagle. Seeking distraction and mental stimulation he also studied the Armenian language at a monastery on the tiny island of San Lazzaro in the lagoon.

After that I walked to the Peggy Guggenheim Collection, a modern art museum housed an 18th-century palazzo, which was once the home of the American heiress. it is full of cubist, surrealist and abstract expressionist work. I was most impressed by the works of by Picasso, Dali, Yves Tanguy, Max Ernst and Alberto Burri.

I spent the evening walking along the canals in the Cannaregio Sestiere, the northernmost of the six districts of Venice, walking along the Fondamenta della Misericordia/degli Ormesini/Capuccine. It is a beautiful area to walk around. It was quiet until sunset when it become quite lively though I still managed to find a Cicchetti place I could sit outside at.

Early on my last morning I went back to the Rialto Market, the city’s ancient main market, to see the fish market in full swing before my water taxi arrived. There has been a market there since 1097 and it is still going strong. I love the theatre of fish markets and enjoy visiting them wherever I can find them. Mid morning my water taxi arrived and took me to the station where I took the train to Densezano to spend a few days in Sirmione.

From Muscat to the Mountains Part 2

Posted on by Nigel Williams

The next day we left Muscat and headed for Jebel Akhdar – the Green Mountain. This forms the central section of the Al Hajar (Rocky or Stone) Mountain range, which run for about 700 km thorough Oman and the UAE. They are also known simply as ‘The Oman Mountains’. As their name suggests the range is mostly bare rock and desert. The ‘green’ of the Green Mountain starts at higher altitudes where there is enough rain to support shrubs, trees and agriculture. Damask roses, pomegranates, walnuts and apricots are all grown there.

The peaks of Jebel Akhdar surround a high plateau and have historically created a division between the relatively inaccessible interior and rule from the coast at Muscat. The mountain road is very good though access is relatively recent. As there is a military base on the mountain it was only in 2005 that the mountain was opened up to visitors. There is still a checkpoint at the bottom off the ascent but that is just to ensure that visitors are in possession of a four wheel drive vehicle and a valid driving license.

Birkat al Mouz and Old Birkat

Old Birkat Oman
Old Birkat

As we neared the mountains we drove up a steep slope to an elevated vantage point. Form there we had a view of the deserted mud brick village of Old Birkat at the base of the mountain. It was a spectacular sight and one I will never forget. I took the shot with the Nikon Z7 and the 24-70mm f4 S kit lens, which I used for all the landscape shots on this trip. I use the smaller and more discrete Leica Q for street photography.

Descending the slope we drove to the nearby town of Birkat al Mouz, which translates to pool of bananas. We drove though a large date plantation and my guide went to pray at a small mosque, leaving me to admire some deserted mud brick houses and the ancient Aflaj irrigation system. In 2006, the Al Sharieh Falaj system, built between 1674-1741, was designated as one of five UNESCO Heritage Sites. Falaj is the singular of Aflaj and this ancient system of water channels dates back some 5,000 years.

The Saiq Plateau and Wadi al Ayn

Continuing our ascent we drove up a series of very steep hairpin bends to the Saiq Plateau – a distance of a little over 30 km. We stopped and walked to the rim of the cliff at Wadi al Ayn, which provided another spectacular, and more panoramic, view. Diana, Princess of Wales, apparently enjoyed the view here on a royal visit to Oman 1986 and there is a viewing point named after her at the nearby Hotel Anatara. It is an incredible vista that takes in a huge gorge with terraced steps cut into the side complete with several villages precariously hanging off the cliffs. For the second time that day I was completely entranced. As we left my guide poured water over a couple of areas of rock to show me some fossils, including an ancient turtle. Finding a marine fossil at such a high altitude was surprising but the rocks of the Hajar Mountains formed under the sea. The Oman mountains, as it turns out, are a geologist’s paradise.

Returning to our Land Cruiser we completed the last of the 50km journey up the Jebel Akhdar to my hotel – The Alila. Here we greeted with typical Omani hospitality of coffee and dates. The Alila is in a spectacular location overlooking another huge gorge. It is built of dark grey local stone and is one of the best examples of modern design I have seen anywhere. It also has an infinity pool that is, for once, not misnamed and a great kitchen. I tried the famous local dish of Suwa and was not disappointed. They also served some delicious Biryani dishes such as Biryani Al Khadruat, B. Samak and B. Dilaj.

My guide had told me that it was market day in the town of Sinaw the following day where the Bedu would be selling their camels and goats. We promptly arranged a day out on that basis.

The Souk at Sinaw

Camels Sinaw Oman
The Souk at Sinaw

We met at 6.00 AM in the hotel reception and headed down the mountain. Sinaw is in the Al Sharqiya region, not far from the sands of the same name, and about 90 km from the Green Mountain. The town has a large Souk based around an outdoor courtyard and Thursday is market day.

We arrived at about 7.30 having stopped briefly for Qahwa (Omani coffee) and the market was in full swing. There was a continual procession of white Toyota Hiluxes arriving laden with goods and livestock. Tied to posts along one side of the courtyard of the souk were a long line camels, whilst under cover goats were being auctioned, and on the other side there was a substantial fish market. Around the edges vegetables, fresh and dry fruit, dates, dry shark meat, animal feed and much else was for sale. It really felt like a desert town, and only saw one other Westerner whilst I was there.

It was now lunch time and my guide was keen for me to sample camel so we stopped at a place he knew towards the sand. We were served both curried camel and braised camel – I preferred the former which reminder me a little of goat curry.

The Sharqiya Sands

After lunch we headed for the Sharqiya Sands (also known as the Wahiba Sands), stopping at a tyre centre in a nearby town to deflate the tyres to desert running pressures. The sands cover an area 180km North to South and 80km East to West with large longitudinal dunes, that can reach as high as 100m tall. There are no permanent human settlements there, although there are plenty of animal pens at the edge of the desert.

We travelled a few kilometres out into the desert and got stuck in the dunes. My guide was not troubled by this, and after letting a little more air out of the types we escaped and carried on, stopping at a Bedu tent for coffee and dates and a look at various items for sale. Someone had just caught a scorpion and put it in a bottle, which gave me pause for thought. A bit of quick internet research showed that there is an anti-venom available for scorpion stings in Oman, and though the venom typically causes ‘significant local pain and some swelling’, it doesn’t cause the ‘local and systematic toxicity, local tissue destruction and deranged blood clotting’ of local snake bites. I had no idea blood clotting could be deranged and it increased my inclination to avoid Omani snakes.

We hobbled back to the tyre shop using every bit of sand and rough ground we could as the tyres were practically deflated. After a top up my guide enquired if I wanted to head back out to the deep desert, but as we were travelling with a a single vehicle I declined, so I didn’t see the really huge dunes, and need to go back some time.

Wadi Bani Khalid

I had never seen a wadi close up so our next destination was Wadi Bani Khalid, probably the best-known wadi in country, which is also an oasis. The term wadi is a little confusing as it means both valley and riverbed fed by the rains – more of which later. Wadi Bani Khalid is famed for its large green pools which are fed by a constant flow of water though an eroded canyon strewn with boulders.

Perhaps because it is such a short walk from the car park to the pools, the wadi has been developed for tourism and has bridge and seating areas, where you can sit and watch the teeming fish. It is very popular with picnickers, but it was very quiet when we were there. There is a cave network near the pools but we decided not to go in. The sky above had become heavy with rain clouds and dangerous flash floods can develop quickly.

After that it was time to head home. It’s around 250 km drive from Wadi Bani Khalid to the Alila on Jabal Akhdar so we got back about 7 PM.

Nizwa – the Old Mountain Capital

Nizwa Market Goats Oman Mountain
The famous Friday market at Nizwa

The next day I was up even earlier, and met my guide at 5 AM in the hotel reception. Nizwa is a short drive away, but the action at the famed livestock market there is best seen early.

Nizwa is an ancient place located in the heart of the country at the base of the Oman mountains. It was the nation’s capital in the 6th and 7th century, and was an early to convert to Islam. Traditionally conservative, it was another destination that thwarted explorer Wilfred Thesiger during his time in Oman. His account of his time in the Arabian Peninuslar Arabian Sands is well worth reading and provides a glimpse into a vanished nomadic lifestyle.

As soon as we arrived, we headed straight for the market. It was heaving with activity and the auctioneers where busy leading sometimes reluctant goats round in a large circle for buyers to inspect. I stood on the outside and then made my way into the centre where I could shoot down on the action, capturing the image shown here.

Nizwa is known for its imposing fort built in 1668. It is one of Oman’s most-visited national monuments and was our next visit. It also has a good souk where you can find handcrafted silver Khanjars along with many other forms of silver craftsmanship. It is also known for pottery, goat wool textiles and high quality dates. Around the back of the market were some tables where Khanjars and old Lee Enfield rifles were for sale. That might sound edgy, but it really wasn’t at all – Nizwa is a major tourist destination and I felt perfectly safe all the time I was there.

We had a most delicious lunch of grilled lamb and a flatbread wrap of salad from a packed little kebab shop and then headed back up the mountain to the Alila, where I spent my final day in the Oman mountains admiring the astonishing view from in and around the hotel pool. It had been a fantastic trip and I would love to go back, the people, the culture and landscape make it one of the most interesting countries I have ever visited.

The Unexpected Wadi

My visit to the Oman mountains were a great adventure – even my return to the UK was a little more exciting than I had expected as it started to rain hard just as I was about to leave for the airport. The hotel told me to expect to spend another night as the mountain road is closed at the checkpoint when it rains, but it was only raining at the top of the mountain and my driver lived close so he arrived as scheduled.

It was an interesting journey down the mountain as the rain had dislodged a lot of shingle and small boulders and we can encountered quite a bit of flooding. Shortly into our descent, the driver told me we might have to wait for a little while ‘at the wadi’. We soon came across a raging torrent in our path. I eyed the fast moving water pensively. “That doesn’t look very much like the last wadi I saw” I said. My driver waved his hand in a dismissive gesture and told me that he lived on the mountain, that this was nothing out of the ordinary and we would cross without difficulty. I believed him on the first two points… Happily he was right on all points and we were soon through the flood water. The rain stopped as we got to a lower altitude and before long I was bidding farewell, but I hope not goodbye, to Oman at Muscat airport.

From Muscat to the Mountains Part 1

Posted on by Nigel Williams

Though I’ve seen a little of the Middle East from trips to Dubai and Doha, I didn’t feel like I’d really experienced much in the way of authentic local culture from visiting those sleek, high rise metropolises. Each time I was in Dubai I took the opportunity to venture into the sands of the Empty Quarter, which was exciting but almost entirely devoid of local people. It was these safaris which whetted my appetite for a more authentic experience and genesis for this trip from Muscat to the mountains. Unlike Dubai, Oman is not yet a widely recognised holiday destination, so reactions to news of my trip were often quizzical.

It’s certainly true that Oman, particularly the mountainous interior, has only opened up to the West relatively recently. The Omani coast was captured by the Portuguese in 1507 but by 1650 they had been driven out and tribal conflict made the country difficult to explore beyond the coast into the 1940s. Explorer Wilfred Thesiger’s superb Arabian Sands, a haunting tale of the last years of the Bedu way of life describes how challenging it was. Despite spending five years in the sands of the Empty Quarter he was prevented from exploring Jebel Akhdar, the Green Mountain, which would I would be visiting.

I planned a two centre trip to the Sultanate on the basis of some traveller’s recommendations, a chat with my excellent travel agent and a little research. I arranged to have guides, on this trip in both locations, as there is no substitute for local knowledge. Both my guides were excellent and made a huge difference to the trip. From my research I learned that Oman is safe, with a friendly and welcoming people, an incredibly scenic landscape, many heritage sites and a rich culture. Over the course of the week I found all this to be true. As a Brit, I was also interested to learn of the long-standing friendship and strategic relationship between the UK and Oman.

A Greeting with a Khanjar

I flew into Muscat via Doha on Qatar Airlines and stayed at The Chedi, a tastefully appointed beach front hotel in the Al Ghubrah district of the city and set in an oasis-style location. I was greeted by a smiling doorman wearing a Khanjar, a traditional curved dagger, in an ornate sheath. The Khanjar has a long history and is still worn ceremonially in Muscat and day-to-day in mountain cities like Nizwa. The image of a Khanjar forms part of the Omani flag, and is present on banknotes and all official documents. I had seen nothing like it before and it made me think that that the week was going to be a bit different – which proved to be the case.

Muscat sits between the mountains and the sea and extends down the coast for some 30km. It is a low rise, architecturally conservative city and very different from Dubai or Doha by design. As impressive as the skylines of those two high rise cities are, neither can match Muscat for heritage. 

Since 1970 Oman has been transformed by the current ruler, Sultan Qaboos, who has pursued a comprehensive modernisation program since he replaced his father, supported by the British military, including the SAS. Unsurprisingly, his influence can be seen most strongly in the capital.

Sultan Qaboos Grand Mosque

Grand Mosque Oman
Sultan Qaboos Grand Mosque

The first place I visited in Muscat was Sultan Qaboos Grand Mosque. This was built in Modern Arabic style to celebrate 30 years of the Sultan’s rule and one of only a few mosques open to non-Muslim visitors.

As my trip was in September when the temperature in Muscat is still quite high it was extremely quiet. When almost deserted the sheer scale of the design – which can accommodate 20,000 worshippers and took 300,000 tons of Indian sandstone to construct – appears all the more impressive.

I was struck both by the scale and and the elegance of the modern Arabic architecture. The latticed dome of the main prayer hall rises to 50 metres, and the main minaret is 90 metres tall. It is flanked by four half height minarets. If you have limited time in Muscat I’d make the Grand Mosque a must see.

My next stop was the Royal Opera House, which is another building developed at the Sultan’s request and was built in limestone by the same architects as the Grand Mosque to a similar modern arabesque design. The exterior makes the ROH worth a stop, and you can also take a short tour inside, where productions are being readied. 

The Port of Muttrah

From the opera House I headed west to the old port of Muttrah, which is close to Old Muscat.

The 4000 sq. m fish market is a modern Scandinavian design that takes pride of place on the waterfront of the Muttrah Corniche. Completed in 2017, the form of the canopy was inspired by the flow of Arabic calligraphy. The building replaces the open air bazaar of old. The attraction of fish markets for me is the animated negotiations of the fishermen and the fish mongers – it’s pure theatre and I’ve seen some great examples of that in Tokyo and Catania, Sicily on past trips. 

As always, if you can get to the market early, you’ll see it at its lively best. I arrived late on my first visit after seeing the Grand Mosque and the market was very quiet, so I returned at 8AM the following morning and was rewarded with a much more animated spectacle.

Souk Muscat Oman
Muttrah Souk

Close by is the Muttrah Souk, known locally as Al Dhalam (Darkness), after the original dim lighting conditions. It is one of the oldest markets in the Arab world and also one of the few markets you can purchase gold, frankincense and myrrh under one roof. That roof was originally palm leaves, supported by mud walls, but it is a modern structure today and you can whip through the main drag very quickly. You’ll see a lot more and get a better sense of the place If you venture off into the tangle of narrow alleys that branch off from the main artery, where the stalls are more varied. Wool pashminas, frankincense, leatherware and gold jewellery, which is sold by weight, are amongst the many goods on offer.

The accompanying photograph of the Souk breaks plenty of photographic rules, and I probably would not have used it before I came across the work of William Klein. I am glad of what I learned from the early master of street photography because the image captures a much better sense of the souk than any of my other pictures.

Further along the Corniche is the Muttrah fort, built by the Portuguese in 1580, which provides great views of the curve of the Corniche around the old port. On the day of my visit traditional dhows rubbed shoulders with the one of the Sultan’s yachts.

From the fort Corniche leads to Al Riyam Park which is overlooked by giant frankincense burner, which resembles a white 1950s UFO.

Old Muscat

Old Muscat from the road Oman
Old Muscat from the road

I was keen to photograph Old Muscat from the road – you can see the shot on the left. The old town is located in a rocky valley and looks specular from when viewed from the road. The old town contains the Al Alam Palace and the Bait Zubair Museum, both of which I visited.

The Bait Zubair Museum is a private ethnographic museum and part of a cultural foundation. It is much smaller than the National Museum but it is well worth the time.

A visit provides some good insights into Omani traditions, including clothing, jewellery, household items and historical weapons, including the Khanjar. Carrying rifles and earlier long guns is a tradition in Oman and the association between Oman and Britain was evident from the rifles on display including modified Lee Enfield and ‘Muscat Martini’ rifles. These were heavily decorated with silver which still plays an important role in all things decorative today.

The Al Alam Palace, which means “The Flag” in Arabic, is one of the Sultan’s six royal residences. It is used only for official functions and you can’t enter the palace or grounds. The palace is is flanked by 16th century Portuguese forts perched on rocky hills so the approach to it is extremely impressive.

I finished my stay in Muscat with dinner at The Beach Restaurant, an excellent seafood restaurant where you can watch the sun go down over the Gulf of Oman amongst traditional Arabian fire pits.

The next day I was up early to head for Jebel Akkdar, which is the subject of my next post.

Death in Tijuana

Posted on by Nigel Williams

This is the last post in a short series that covers a week-long roadtrip from Vancouver to Tijuana with two old friends, and to be clear – no one dies – that was just an unreliable forecast of how the trip would end.

To recap: our planning was pretty limited and covered just the start point, the end point, and the hotels we would stay in.  All other details would be determined en route.  The hotels, which were my responsibility, were rather unequally distributed, but that was where the way points fell on this trip: Vancouver, Seattle and Portland are all quite close together. On day three of our seven day trip we had covered only 300 or so miles southward (though our mileage was actually much higher), and still had around 1,100 miles to cover – most of them on slow coast roads.

From Portland onwards ‘You do realise we have to be in Mexico on Friday?’ became a more frequent refrain, particularly whenever I was setting up my tripod as our anxiety about our slow start increased.

Don’t go to Tijuana

Tijuana sugar skull girl
I didn’t meet death in Tijuana, or in Palma, where this shot was actually taken.

Another common theme on the trip was the consistent advice we were given on the subject of Tijuana; everyone was very clear that we really shouldn’t go there as it is was too far dangerous. The most memorable example of this in advice came from an ex US Marine in Harry’s Bar, Pismo Beach:  ‘Don’t don’t do it man’, was his advice.  ‘Don’t go to Tijuana.  I was there recently and I saw a man get kicked almost to death by school children’.

This alarming anecdote from an ex-military type was only sightly worse than we had heard all week.  From Vancouver to Pismo Beach we were told that a trip to Tijuana meant we would almost certainly be robbed and were likely to encounter much worse – in this case meeting a violent end at the hands of school children.  This was to be the case until we reached San Diego and got some more balanced, first hand advice.

We reached the Andaz Hotel in San Diego late in the afternoon, having set out from Pismo Beach fairly early that morning. The traffic around the sprawl of LA (a city none of us are fond of) was horrible, but there really is no way round it. The Andaz has a great rooftop bar and taking refreshments there we got the first sensible advice about visiting Tijuana we’d heard all week. We were told the best way to visit was to take a taxi to the border, walk across and then take a taxi to our destination – in our case Mission 19 restaurant. Re-assured we booked a taxi, but I elected not to take my camera, which is why the image that accompanies this post is not from Mexico, though it is from another Spanish speaking country.

Mission accomplished

We executed the plan without a hitch, though I did find our time on foot in Tijuana a little intimidating, and had a memorable dinner at Mission 19. The tuna with trout roe and green chilli, sea urchin soup and braised beef short rib were all outstanding. From the restaurant we took a taxi back to San Diego and had a night cap in the Double Deuce in the Gaslamp Quarter – watching people attempting to ride the mechanical bull. There was a pleasing symmetry to ending up in Gaslamp as we’d started in Gastown, Vancouver, just six days previously.

Ron Burgundy is not far away…

The following morning was our last day and we elected to see a little more of San Diego. After a leisurely roof top breakfast at the Andaz we returned our hired Chevy Suburban and headed for the Hotel del Coronado, one of the last surviving wooden Victorian beach properties in the US. Over a pleasant, if insubstantial, seafood lunch there we got talking to our server who told us there was a ‘Ron Burgundy tribute bar’ in the city. It turned out to be no such thing, but Urban Solace is worth a visit anyway and a picture of the great man does indeed hang behind the bar.

‘Is your name, literally, like…Nigel?’

After a beer in Urban Solace, my companions Ted and Nick were keen to explore the area whilst I was still hungry and decided to stay and get something more to eat. No sooner had I finished than I received a video on my phone from Ted, featuring a local woman asking me if my name was “literally, like, Nigel?”

Naturally, the video ended with some encouragement to join them all in a nearby bar. I did, and was greeted by Nick and Ted at a table of slightly inebriated people all keen to get their photo taken with me. I never did find out what my friends had told these people about me, but whatever it was, it was undoubtedly far from the truth. As we toasted for the last time before we left for the airport, they started to chant my name for no discernible reason – which was a memorable if sightly puzzling way to end what I can only describe as a truly epic trip.

From San Francisco to Pismo Beach

Posted on by Nigel Williams

On day 6 of our trip from Vancouver to Tijuana we awoke in San Francisco.  From there we would continue down the coast to our stop for the night at Pismo Beach –  a  small city between San Francisco and LA.  We started the day by not going to Lombard Street.   I had seen it, and Ted was now a local, leaving only Nick wanting to drive on the crookedest street in the world.   When quizzed Nick on how he keen he was to go, given the traffic was likely to be heavy, he seemed a little diffident, so we skipped it.  As Nick started to complain about this omission, not visiting Lombard Street become one of the highlights of the trip for Ted and I.

After a brief visit to see Ted’s home and family in leafy Palo Alto, Ted took us to the best coffee shop in the area, the ZombieRunner Cafe & Running Store on South California Ave, just off El Camino Real.  Close by was the dive bar he typically visits on a Friday night – Antonio’s Nut House.  For afficionados of dive bars, this is the real deal, and the last of its kind in the affluent city.  In one corner is an animated ape in a cage, which Ted claimed never to have noticed before, despite his many visits.

Carmel-by-the-Sea

From Palo Alto we headed to Santa Cruz to pick up Highway 1, and in an hour from there we were in Carmel-by-the-Sea on the Monterey Peninsular. It is a beautiful town, and much loved by artists.  There are around 100 galleries in Carmel, many of which can be found along one road – Ocean Avenue.

Our first stop was the Mission Ranch.  This nineteenth century ranch was restored by the former Mayor of Carmel, Clint Eastwood, and is now a hotel and restaurant.  We had planned to have lunch there, but finding the restaurant closed we headed to the old Spanish Mission of San Carlos Borromeo del río Carmelo.  

The Mission

Carmel Mission Pismo BeachCarmel Mission was founded in 1770 and is one of the oldest of California’s 21 missions.   These are all located on or near El Camino Real, a road named in honor of the Spanish monarchy which provided the finance for expeditions to California.  It is also the only Spanish mission in California that has its original bell and bell tower.

It has been carefully restored and today it is both an active parish church and a museum.  I was pleased to find a small statue and two paintings so beautifully lit in chiaroscuro fashion it would surely have found favour with Caravaggio, the orignal master of darkness and light.  I took the shot shown here with my Leica Q, and was glad of its fast f1.7 lens, which operated in the gloom at only ISO 1,600 with the aperture wide open.

Being hungry by that time, we searched for somewhere to eat and were fortunate to come across to Tree House Cafe.  Here you can dine on a combination of  dishes from the Mediterranean, Greece and Thailand on a beautiful rooftop veranda. 

Detour on Route 1

After lunch we got back onto route 1, eager to see Big Sur and to enjoy the views of the coast down to Pismo Beach. We stopped at the spectacular Bixby Canyon Bridge for me to take a few shots, though sadly the light was not great.

Just south of the bridge we found the road was closed  due to a landslide.  It was only then that we remembered that our friend James had mentioned landslides back in Portland,   Sure enough, when we examined our much annotated map, James had routed us inland to avoid exactly what we were going to do next – drive all the way back up the Monterey Peninsular before taking Route 101 to avoid the landslide.

Unwilling to give up, Ted scoured the map for another route, and eventually came up with a small dotted line that crossed the mountains that separated coastal Route 1 from inland Route 101.   Nick was skeptical of our Chevy Suburban’s off-road abilities, and we debated it for a while.  I settled the matter by declaring the dotted line a goat track, and quite impassible.  With the matter settled and no other options, we turned around and headed north.  ‘Did I mention we need to be in Mexico by Friday?’ asked Ted once again.

On to Pismo Beach

With the detour it was dark when we arrived at Pismo Beach, once famed for an abundance of clams.   Back in 1957 in an episode of Bugs Bunny, the eponymous rabbit  and traveling companion Daffy Duck emerge from a tunnel,  into what Bugs believed to be Pismo Beach with ‘all the clams we can eat.’  The clams are much diminished in numbers now, but there is still an annual festival in their honour, and the city claims to be the clam chowder capital of the world.  A large clam statue at the southern end of Price Street ensures no visitor can miss the association.

The Pismo Beach disaster

Soon after I returned to the UK from the trip I was watching the US crime drama Ray Donovan, when I was startled to hear Bunchy, Ray’s brother exclaim ‘Jesus,  I moved my fucking family back from Pismo Beach for you, Ray!’   It’s also been mentioned in Futurama, Robot Chicken and the movie Clueless, which references the fictional Pismo Beach Disaster.

At night the back streets reminded me somewhat of Brighton in the UK – my second favourite seaside town after Deal, in Kent.   We checked in at the very pleasant Inn by the Pier, and stopped for a quick pre dinner sharpener at the bar.  Asking about the local hotspots our charming barmaid, Bobby, told us that wherever we went sooner or later we would end up at Harry’s.  Everyone did.  It sounded like destiny.

Dinner before destiny

Not wishing to meet our destiny on an empty stomach we went for dinner at the nearby Oyster Loft at which we made a second enquiry about where we go for drinks afterwards.  We were curious to be directed to the city of  San Luis Obispo, some 20 minutes drive away.  The courteous and professional staff there at the Oyster Loft also advised us that on no account should we visit Harry’s, which was 5 minutes walk away in Pismo Beach.  I took a look at our options online; San Luis Obispo’s best known landmark appeared to be bubble gum alley – a narrow walkway with walls coated in used gum.  In local news a female resident had just been sentenced to 8 years in jail for slashing her boyfriend’s throat with a box cutter.  By way of contrast Harry’s Beach Bar and Night Club looked innocuous enough.  We decided to go to Harry’s.   

Death in Tijuana

Harry’s was not the worst bar I’ve ever been to by any stretch of the imagination, but I couldn’t recommend it.  It was large and noisy and filled with older crowd whose careworn features and less than pristine dress gave the appearance that they had endured what we call in the UK ‘a hard paper round’.  The charm that any good dive bar has was completely absent.

It was my round and I approached the bar. The woman next to me had drunk herself to the point of insensibility.  She muttered to herself and swayed alarmingly on her stool so I moved to avoid a collision.  A tall man to her right steadied her and started to take control of the situation, enquiring how she was going to get home and whether he could help her into a taxi.  He seemed genuinely concerned and helpful.  Surrounded by people who seemed likely to be considerably less noble than this, I silently gave thanks for his good citizenship.

I brought the round of beers to where Nick and Ted were standing.  They had fallen in with a group that appeared less villainous that the rest of Harry’s guests and were discussing our forthcoming trip to Tijuana.  ‘Don’t don’t do it man’, offered the largest person in the party, who was an ex US Marine.  ‘Don’t go to Tijuana.  I was there recently and I saw a man get kicked almost to death by school children’.

This alarming anecdote from an ex military type was only sightly worse than what we had heard all week.  From Vancouver to Pismo Beach we were told that a trip to Tijuana meant we would almost certainly be robbed and were likely to encounter much worse – in this case a violent end at the hands of school children.  This was to be the case until we reached San Diego and got some more balanced, first hand advice.  Ted was phlegmatic about it.  ‘As long as we remember the Spanish for help, we’ll be fine’ was his assessment.

Though the Redwoods to San Francisco

Posted on by Nigel Williams

This was day 5 of our trip from Vancouver to Tijuana and our longest drive.  We had to cover some 400 miles, mostly on twisting two lane highways, from our lodge near Gold Beach on the Oregon coast  to San Francisco, a journey which would take more than 7 hours – if we didn’t stop.  This was also to be our day amongst the Giant Redwoods.  Initially, our progress was slow as we were constantly distracted by the views from the coast road.  Most of the time we were able to pull over in a layby, but to view Arch Rock, a massive rock formation along one of the most rugged sections of the Oregon coast, we needed to park up and walk a short trail.

Avenue of the Giants, San Francisco CaliforniaFirst Sight of The Redwoods

Stopping at the mysteriously named Trees of Mystery, located at Klamath, California, we were greeted by a very kitsch 49 foot tall Paul Bunyan, a giant lumberjack of American folklore, and his proportionally large Blue Ox, Babe.   Whilst these are really very large statues (most visitors would not reach Babe’s knee), they did not prepare us for the sheer scale of the Giant Redwoods we saw as we walked the trails.  Whilst they are the world’s largest single trees, they are also both the largest and oldest living things on Earth.  These incredible trees can also be viewed from the top of the forest via a gondola ride, though personally I found their majesty was best appreciated at ground level.

Taking the opportunity for brunch, we visited the Forest Cafe just across the road.  Unsurprisingly, it was forest themed and even more kitsch than the statues.   One of the specialities there is local dish called a Monte Cristo, which we sampled .  This is an XXL French toast sandwich, filled with ham and Swiss cheese, fried, dusted with icing sugar, and served with side of hash browns.   I think of it as the Mr Creosote of Croque-monsieurs.

The Avenue of the Giants

The next waypoint on our trip had the advantage of being one we could see without stopping – in theory at least.  This was the Avenue of the Giants, actually State Highway 254, which we entered from the northern end a few miles south of the town of Fortuna, and is pictured here.  The road was once was part of Route 101 until it was bypassed in the 1960s.  It was an incredible driving experience; the highway is lined with magnificent Coast Redwoods and runs parallel to a small and picturesque river.

Coast Redwoods (aka California redwoods) are also astonishingly large.   Curiously, the height these redwoods can attain is related to the availability of fog.  This is because transporting water to such great heights by conventional means is extremely difficult and the upper leaves supplement their water supply by extracting it from fog.

Shrine Tree Chevy Suburban California RedwoodsAlong the route there is a drive-through Redwood, and it seemed unreasonable not to sample it, especially as, unlike other examples, the opening in the trunk is natural.  As we paid for our $8 ticket (the tree is privately owned), we were told that our Chevy Suburban was the very largest vehicle the Shrine Drive-Thru Tree could accommodate.  Nick drove, I assisted from the passenger side and Ted took photos of the unlikely sight of a huge SUV passing through a tree.  At points there was barely an inch to spare either side, but the paint was still all on the car as we exited.

Shoreline Highway

From the Avenue of the Giants it is just 30 miles or so to California State Route 1, also known as the Pacific Coast Highway (PCH) and the inspiration for our trip.  North to South, it runs 750 miles inland from Leggett, in northern Mendocino, along the coast to Capistrano Beach, which is about 50 miles South of Long Beach.   The stretch we were on passes through Mendocino, Sonoma and Marin Counties and is known officially Shoreline Highway until it reaches the Golden Gate Bridge at Sausalito.

The Shoreline Highway is a beautiful but slow, windy stretch of two-lane blacktop that hugs the coast.  it is not what most people think of as the PCH, which is the section that runs between San Luis Obispo and Monterey, passing through Big Sur, Carmel and Monterey.  I read online that the drive between Leggett and Sausalito could be done in a day, ‘but it would be a tiring one’.  This amused me somewhat as we were already 5 hours into our drive at Leggett.

San Francisco Golden Gate BridgeGolden Gate Bridge

After about 3 hours we arrived at Sausalito, cheering in unison as we caught sight of San Francisco’s most famous landmark, the Golden Gate Bridge, resplendent in International Orange.  Ted knew of some places with good views up in the Marin headlands just north of bridge, so we headed under the 101 and up a narrow winding road, which you can see in the photo.

Whilst there are many places to shoot the bridge from this is actually one of the best vantage points in the late afternoon or early evening. Parking, however, at one of the few designated areas, is really difficult.   Once parked up we enjoyed a great view of this truly amazing piece of engineering.  It was constructed in the 1930s and had to overcome wind, fog, deep water, tides and vested interests opposed to its construction to span the Golden Gate strait.  At that time, at 746 high the towers were taller than any building in the city of San Francisco.

J Town, San Francisco

I love Japan, so I was excited to be staying at the Hotel Kabuki in the J Town (aka Japantown and Nihonmachi) part of San Francisco that evening.  This affection for all things Japanese had only become stronger since my 10 day roadtrip across the country the previous year.   There are far fewer Japan Towns than China Towns in the USA, with just 3 versus around 50.    San Francisco’s is both the largest, and oldest.

J Town covers 6-blocks and has many Japanese restaurants and shops mostly along Post Street, between Fillmore and Laguna Street.  Next to our hotel in Post Street is the Peace Plaza, which contains a 5-story pagoda, a gift from the city in Osaka in the 1960s.   We were really pleased with the recently renovated boutique Kabuki, which mixes Japanese and western influences to great effect.    We strolled the few blocks of the area and ate dinner at Izakaya Kou.  Izakaya are Japanese gastro pubs that developed from sake shops which allowed customers to consume the drink on the premises, and typically serve tapas style dishes.  The food was delicious and beautifully presented.

Back at the bar of the Kabuki we reflected that our trip was rapidly coming to an end; we had only our penultimate stop at Pismo Beach before our final night’s stay in San Diego.  The day’s drive had been an epic one of more than 400 twisting miles from our lodge in the Oregon wilderness. At a mere 254 miles the road to Pismo Beach was going to be a breeze in comparison. 

The Magnificent Oregon Coast

Posted on by Nigel Williams

US-26 To the Coast

Camp 18 Logging Museum Oregon CoastIt was day four of our epic roadtrip from Vancouver to Tijuana, and time to hit the Oregon coast.  Over the past three days, of the 1,823 miles we would eventually travel between Mexico and Canada we had covered just over 300.  We were also now heading slightly northward so that I could shoot Cannon Beach.  Nick and Ted were impatient to head South, but 60 miles from Portland on US-26 we saw an incredible assortment of rusting and antiquated machinery, and decided to stop.  Barring our short visit to Gas Works Park, Seattle, the trip had not been a photographic success so far.  Heavy cloud in Vancouver, heavy rain in Seattle and heavy drinking in Portland had all got in the way.

We had pulled over at Camp 18 Logging Museum, so called because early logging operations always numbered their camps and the museum is located at mile post 18 on Highway 26, 18 miles from the coast.  There is a great collection of old logging machinery outside in the car park, including steam engines, giant mechanical saws. tractors and the battered old logging truck shown left.

Logging is central to Oregon’s history.  Kick -started by California’s gold-rush and boosted hugely by WWII, the demand for lumber grew and Oregon became a central national and international timber producer with thousands of logging operations.  Today natural resources are a much smaller part of Oregon’s economy, which has shifted to manufacturing, services, and high tech industries.

It was too early for lunch but the restaurant made for interesting viewing – the massive doors are opened with axe handles and the dining room room is held up by an enormous log some 85 foot high and weighing many tons.   There are also several very large wooden statues of the local cryptid Big Foot.  In the gift shop Ted enquired if the shop assistant had ever seen one of the giant wilderness-dwelling bipeds, expecting a dismissive reply.  “You wouldn’t be able to see one if it were stood right next to you”, was her surprising response.  Inspired by this, Nick downloaded an app to track sightings of cryptids in the US and kept us informed of the latest in our vicinity throughout the rest of the trip.   It turns out that cryptid hunting and crypto zoological groups are quite popular in the US.  Big Foot has plenty of legendary company as this map shows.

Cannon Beach Haystack RockCannon Beach

Ever more mindful of the distance we still had to cover, we got back in the Chav Wagon and headed for the coast.  We arrived at Cannon Beach, named after a ship’s cannon that washed ashore in 1846, around noon.  The beach each is famous for the 235 ft high monolith Haystack Rock, which is flanked by the Needles – a pair of tall companion rocks.  It is one of the largest sea stacks on the Pacific Coast and is home to a colony of Puffins.  Canon Beach is probably the best known beach on the Oregon coast, certainly to photographers – but there are several others to explore, which are well described in this article on the best beaches in Oregon.

I carefully set up my tripod from a couple of different angles, watched with a mixture of mirth and frustration by my travelling companions, who were both feeling the chill on the windswept beach.  Focused on my photography I barely noticed the cold, or that the odd hour or two that had passed.

The Oregon Coast Highway

We had coffee at Sleepy Monks near the beach and then joined the Oregon Coast Highway, which would be our companion for the rest of the day.  Its a spectacular piece of two lane blacktop, but subject to landslides, which require a diversion across the coastal range of mountains we had just crossed.  Google Maps showed a distance of 285 miles and a journey time of 6 hours 28 minutes to our next destination, which was Gold Beach.   We paused at Neahkahnie Viewpoint, near Manzanita to admire the view of the apparently endless curve of the beach and numerous other scenic spots along the coast before stopping for lunch at Gracie’s Sea Hag in Depoe Bay, which claims the world’s smallest harbour.  

In addition to the coast views we were much taken by the many fine bridges we crossed, such as the Siuslaw River Bridge at Florence.  They were constructed in the 1920s and 1930s and the product of one man’s vision.  This was Conde B. McCullough, the Oregon state bridge engineer from 1919 to 1935 who combined  Gothic Art Deco and Art Moderne sources to great effect.

The Road To the Lodge

After lunch we made a few more stops for photography, most notably at Humbug Mountain, which we considered to be the perfect habitat for American Hobbits.  By the time we got to Gold Beach it was about 8PM, and we were feeling tired and hungry again.  Gold Beach (originally Ellensburg and renamed after gold was found on a nearby beach), is not the most prepossessing of seaside towns – its known for its jet boat rides on the Rogue River and little else.   The only reason we were stopping there was that we had found an interesting place to stay which conveniently broke our journey.  This was  the Tu Tu’ Tun Lodge, located some miles outside town on the Rogue River.   The road to the lodge was impenetrably dark, somewhat narrow and fearsomely winding.  On our right hand side there appeared to be some precipitous drops into we knew not what.  This combination did not suit vast bulk of our Chevy Suburban particularly well.   To increase our peril, every mile or so a deer would leap out into the road in front of us, seemingly tired of life.  We were relieved to arrive at the lodge safely but found it to be extremely quiet; the main building was locked and deserted.  Our keys were in envelopes outside.  We inspected our rooms which were cabin style found them to be very well appointed with a good sized wood fire.  A wood fire was all very well, but our thoughts at this point were on dinner.

Gold Beach

Oregon Coastal HighwayI remembered that there was a small shop some miles back towards Gold Beach, so we set off towards the town.  After a few more close calls with deer we came to the Rogue River Grocery and Tavern in the apparently invisible community of Agness.  As we entered the grocery, lit with an eerie yellow light quite possibly not of this earth, I noticed a large and rather disreputable looking stuffed turkey in one corner.  The head had been removed at some point and glued back on, with a visible white join.   The tavern was out back and in near darkness; a lone drinker sat motionless in the dark.  Reviewing our our choice of ingredients for dinner we found them be be rather limited and settled on a couple of tins of spam, some burger rolls and a copious amount of assorted beer.  With the certainty of eating established, albeit not very well, we quizzed the store keeper about what dining options there might be in Gold Beach.   He shook his head disapprovingly.  “You won’t get anything in town at this time of night.  It’s all shut up now.”   He spoke to us as if we had rolled in at midnight expecting dinner, but actually it was only 8.30 in the evening.

Unsure that this assessment was sound, we headed into town and found the Sea Star to be open.  The Sea Star was a local’s place, but friendly enough, though I was a little wary of the man who paced up and down the bar the entire time we were there.  We some ordered bar snacks, but as they turned out to be rather insubstantial, we finished our drinks and headed back to the lodge.  We lit the fire in my room and Nick cooked spam over the wood fire, which we ate in the burger rolls as we tucked into the beer.  Surprisingly, this turned out to be a better supper than we had expected.

The next morning we awoke to the full glory of being out in the Oregon wilderness.  The Tu Tu’ Tun Lodge really is in a beautiful location.  It’s primary disadvantage for us is that it really is a very long way from Mexico.  This was to be the big mileage day; we had to be cover the 408 miles to San Francisco, which Roadtrippers estimated at 7 hours 15 minutes.  Somehow we also had to find time to stop at least a couple of times to see the giant Redwoods of Northern California.  As soon as we hit the coast road we saw a succession of beautiful beaches.  The beaches of the Oregon coast are long and wild.  The forests come down close to the shoreline, and the shore is decorated with bleached white driftwood.  Offshore, there are large rocks and sea stacks.  In the soft early morning light they were quite breathtaking.   Road tripping on the Oregon coast is often shaded by neighbouring California, but having travelled the length of the US West Coast I can honestly say that it was Oregon that impressed me most.

The Fine City of Portland

Posted on by Nigel Williams

Fire Hydrant outside Loyal Legion Portland
Fire Hydrant outside the Loyal Legion

On the third day of our epic roadtrip from Vancouver to Tijuana, we took the I5 Interstate from Seattle to Portland.  It is the main and most direct North-South route in Washington State and the drive takes less than three hours if the traffic is good.  Given a few days to spare, there are mountains, islands and lakes to explore, but there isn’t a lot to see from the interstate.    Arriving at the boutique HiLo Hotel, we dropped our bags and set out to get to know Portland a little better.  Within five minutes of our hotel we stumbled across Jake’s Famous Crawfish, which has been in business since 1892.  Being unfamiliar with both Jake and his renowned Crawfish we stopped there for lunch and found the both the food and beverages to be excellent.

The Loyal Legion

We spent much of the meal debating whether to go on the bike-bar tour of Portland that Ted had booked.  Billed as ‘Beer, Bike and The Portland Way’, it was a 2 hour, 3 stop pub-crawl on a pedal powered bar.  In good weather this would have been quite compelling, but the cold weather, combined with our inherent fear of exertion put us off.  After some debate, which required a few more rounds of drinks to settle, we cancelled the tour.  We had reached out to a friend in Portland, James, before the trip and whilst chez Jake we firmed up our arrangements.  The plan was that we would meet at the Loyal Legion, an establishment whose sole purpose is to celebrate the Oregon Craft Brewing tradition.   Re-orienting our sole purpose to the same, we took a taxi across the Willamette River.

None of us were in particularly good shape when we arrived at the Loyal Legion, as we had been slightly over served at lunch and all felt tired and somewhat listless.  As we stood outside the bar, taking in the bracing air, Ted noticed a man pacing manically back and forth between two posts on the other side of the road.  He remarked that the pacer had the right sort of idea, a comment that refers to his habit of pacing away a hangover.  This was a technique he had used extensively at Nick’s house one particularly painful New Year’s Day, and became known as ‘Ted’s Turkish prison walk’ after a scene from the film Midnight Express.

1,000 Years of Silence

Starting to feel the cold, as none of us had brought adequate cold weather clothing, we ventured inside the Loyal Legion.   Portland has more breweries per capita than any other city in the world, and the Loyal Legion has a fine selection of their beers: 99 in fact.  Looking at the extensive menu I was most taken by a stout called 1,000 Years of Silence from the Fort George Brewery, which I duly ordered.   Nick chastised me for not reading the small print, as the beer is rated at a startling 10.5% ABV.  It was a magnificent brew, but not one you could drink a lot of and remain concious.  James arrived shortly afterwards and we had a great evening with him.  After a good spell in the Loyal Legion we had dinner at the Trifecta Tavern next door and then headed to James’ cigar bar: McMenamins Greater Trumps, where he gave us each a fine cigar.  We participated in the pub quiz and I helpfully illustrated each of our answers, which later proved to be popular with the quiz markers.

Mexico By Friday

Ted had invested in a large scale map of the West Coast, which we pored over with James during the evening, carefully recording his advice on the map.  Our inattention to one of his carefully inked annotations – about landslides – would cost us a great deal of time later in the trip.

The next morning we loaded the Chav Wagon early and were about to set out when a homeless person set about us.  ‘God has a plan for you!’ she screamed, spitting at us with rage.  Sympathetic to the poor woman’s plight but not particularly keen to hear more about God’s plans for us, we set off.  We were headed for Cannon Beach, a renowned beauty spot on the coast.  Getting there meant taking Highway 26 across a small mountain range – and heading slightly North.  ‘You do realise we have to be in Mexico on Friday?’ Ted remarked pointedly as we headed back the way we had come.  This became a frequently used phrase on the rest of the trip – particularly whenever I was setting up my tripod.

From Vancouver to Tijuana

Posted on by Nigel Williams

Vancouver Library RoadtripAt the end of April 2018, I embarked on a week long roadtrip from Vancouver to Tijuana with two old friends.  Our planning was limited to some banter on WhatsApp and covered just the start point, the end point, and the hotels we would stay in.  All other details could be determined en route.  We excluded Alaska from the scope of the trip – albeit with some regret, as it added another 40 hours of driving.  The hotels, which were my responsibility, were rather unequally distributed, but that was where the way points fell on this trip: Vancouver, Seattle and Portland are all quite close together.

Misplaced Confidence

We were confident we could easily do the trip in a week – after all, we had covered 2,332 miles in 10 days on a Route 66 trip that took in Monument Valley (something  most experienced travellers will tell you is inadvisable) and this was somewhat shorter.  As we found out later, there is a world of difference between driving on the arrow straight roads of the South West and the winding Pacific Coast Highway.  We had also not factored in getting through the vast, traffic logged urban sprawl of Los Angeles.

We had established a high mileage rhythm on the previous roadtrip – we rolled in a 5,600 lb. beast of a vehicle, shared the driving and were untroubled by long periods of time on the road.  For us, that is what defines a roadtrip and gave us our misplaced confidence that the trip would be a breeze.

We saw so much in a week that a single post would never do our West Coast trip justice.  Instead I will break it up into sections and give selected highlights their own posts, such as Seattle’s excellent Gas Works Park.  As this post describes the start of the journey, our itinerary is below.  The mileages and time estimates come from the app Roadtrippers – which is really quite useful.  For those planning a trip like this, bear in mind that these are most direct routes, not necessarily the most scenic; our actual mileage, as you can see below, was rather higher as a result.

The Itinerary (with Link to Posts)

  • Vancouver, British Columbia
  • Seattle, Washington (141 miles, 2 hours 28 minutes)
  • Portland, Oregon (173 miles, 2 hours 47 minutes)
  • Gold Beach, Oregon (301 miles, 5 hours 31 minutes)
  • San Francisco, California (408 miles, 7 hours 15 minutes)
  • Pismo Beach, California (246 miles, 3 hours 55 minutes)
  • San Diego, California (249 miles, 4 hours 55 minutes)
  • Tijuana, Baja California (20 miles, 27 minutes)

Estimated roadtrip Total: 1,589 miles, 27 hours 20 minutes
Actual roadtrip Total: 1,823 miles, approximately 36 hours

Vancouver

My friend Nick and I flew from London Heathrow and were met by Ted, who now lives in Palo Alto, in a wine bar in Vancouver airport.  He was clutching a glass of red wine and a welcome sign that had us in stitches.   We headed to our hotel – the Fairmont, which turned out not to be the one Ted had recommended.  It turned out that there are two Fairmont Hotels in Vancouver.  Our very poor planning was already starting to show.

Having checked into the wrong Fairmont we took an enjoyable evening stroll in Gas Town, taking in the famous Steam Clock.  We finished the evening with dinner at the excellent Pourhouse and a night cap in the hotel bar.

In the morning we were up early and took a bracing walk from our hotel along the seawall to Stanley Park, stopping to admire Douglas Coupland’s superb Digital Orca and the many seaplanes in the harbour on the way.  From there we took a taxi to the iconic Capilano suspension bridge and enjoyed a walk amongst the old growth Douglas fir trees.   We took a taxi back into the city and took in Vancouver’s striking Central Library (shown here), the design of which is based loosely on the Colosseum. After that we visited Earls in Yale Town for a late lunch and then it was time to hit the road.  We couldn’t hire a car from Vancouver to San Diego (we didn’t plan to drive in Mexico), so we had arranged to pick up the hire car in Seattle.  As the train times didn’t line up with our chosen departure time we booked a car service to get us there.

An Old White Stretch

Ted took care of this and a slightly seedy looking white stretch limo duly appeared, with a Russian driver who looked like an unreformed alcoholic.  He made it plain that whilst having alcohol in the car was against the rules, he wouldn’t be checking up on us.  We loaded the car, including some local beverages, amongst which was a promising sounding beer called 33 Acres of Darkness, and set off.  The sound system in the ageing stretch was temperamental but eventually we got our play lists loaded.  We crossed the border into the USA, narrowly getting ahead of a coach load of excitable school children.  Our driver was severly chastised by US customs for bringing an alien orange with him, and was required to leave it in Canada.  Otherwise our border crossing was unremarkable.  We took the most direct route and so we didn’t see much in the way in scenery, which later reading revealed to be a mistake, but it was a fun and relaxing leg of the journey.

Seattle

Seattle was cold and overcast when we arrived and it soon started to rain heavily.  I am sure Seattle is a great city, but it wasn’t at its best for us on this trip.  Nick and I were tired from the flight, the section of bars we took in missed the mark, and whilst we had an excellent dinner at Canon, the waitress made it quite clear that we were incompetent diners who were quite incapable of ordering either food or drink without close supervision.   Between bar and restaurant the rain turned to hail.  As we passed a bedraggled line of Millennials, queuing to watch comic JP Sears and vainly trying to shelter from hail stones the size of marbles, I was glad we would soon be heading South and into better weather.

At breakfast in the W Hotel  we debated where to go in Seattle before we headed for Portland.  Naturally we all wanted to see the Space Needle.  I had read that the best place to view of it from, as part of the Seattle skyline, was from Kerry Park – so we duly headed there.  Mercifully it was dry but somewhat misty.  When we arrived I also found the sun to be entirely in the wrong place to get a good shot of the skyline.   Nevertheless I set up my tripod and did my best with the light I had.  Nick and Ted, meanwhile, started chatting with a drone photographer who was operating next to me, humorously comparing my DSLR, cable release and tripod setup very unfavourably with the agile 4K equipped aerial device.

Determined to get at least one good shot of Seattle, we headed for Gas Works Park, which was a revelation – the link will take you to my blog about it as a one of the photographic highlights of the trip.  Though it was still bitterly cold, it was bright and sunny by the time we arrived.  We were incredibly impressed by the rusting collection of industrial era technology, partly overgrown and daubed with graffiti, that forms the unlikely centre piece for the park.  There were also great views of the city skyline over Lake Union.  We spent quite a while at GWP and then went to collect our vehicle.

Getting our Wheels

Unless you are renting an exotic of some description, it is impossible to specify the exact make and model of vehicle you would like.  Our hope was for another Chevy Suburban, but aside from knowing that it would be a large SUV, we had no idea what we would get.  We were pleased to find Hertz had a Suburban for us, though it looked a little bit of a chav wagon in white compared to our preferred US Government black; Suburbans, albeit in HD form, are used extensively by the FBI.   The 2017 Chevy Suburban is 18.5 feet long, can carry nine passengers and will tow a handy 8,300 pounds.   Whilst that might sound excessive, when you are in a vehicle for up to 10 hours a day a bit of space makes a lot of difference.   With its ladder frame chassis and soft suspension it is no driver’s vehicle, but it has huge presence and the big 5.3L V8 makes for effortless mileage.   Content that we we had a proven set of wheels under us, we loaded up and headed for Portland, Oregon, with little idea what we would find when we got there.

The Industrial Beauty of Gas Works Park

Posted on by Nigel Williams

Gas Works ParkOn the north shore of Lake Union, overlooking the skyline of downtown Seattle, a rusting collection of industrial era technology, partly overgrown and daubed with graffiti, forms the unlikely centre piece for Gas Works Park.  I found myself there on a stop on an epic road trip from Vancouver to Tijuana with a small group of friends.

We were much taken by the Industrial Age monument, with its giant tanks, labrythine pipework and tall smokestacks, which now sits in green parkland.  From a distance it looked to me like Howl’s Moving Castle.  Closer, and out of its original context it has the air of a giant art installation.  It is incredibly photogenic.  I shot the accompanying picture with my Nikon Df using a circular polarising filter.  The sun was just at the right angle to bring out a lot of contrast, and the clouds help give it a steam punk vibe. 

Concrete train trestles greeted us at the park entrance. Part of the original 1906 gas plant, they apparently mark where the train tracks ended and coal was delivered, though as we had no idea what function they served at the time, they appeared completely abstract to us.

Reading up on the park after our visit, I was surprised to learn that during its productive life this was one of 1,400 coal gasification plants in the USA, converting superheated coal and crude oil into synthetic gas.  Like a static Dr Who, it is now the sole survivor of its kind.  It is also one of the earliest post-industrial sites to be transformed for public use through reclamation.   Gas production ceased back in 1956 and the 19-acre site was acquired by the City in 1965, opening to the public 10 years later.

The story of its Gas Works Park usage starts with the arrival in Seattle of visionary landscape architect Richard Haag in 1958.  An unsuccessful but well regarded finalist for another landscape project, he was subsequently awarded Gas Works.   The idea of industrial buildings being preserved in parkland was unheard of in the 1950s.  Unsurprisingly, there was considerable public debate about the site and its usage, but park supporters carried the day.

In addition to the Gas Works, the park features an artificial kite-flying hill created from on-site spoil.  On the summit there is giant sundial constructed from glass, ceramics, and stone, where you can put your shadow to good use in telling the time.

As I mentioned earlier, my visit to Gas Works Park was on a stop on a West Coast road trip. Seattle’s weather was, as it is all too often, extremely wet.  As the trip was at the beginning of April we were also subject to hail.  Our one respite from bad weather there was the morning we visited the park – it was bright and sunny, though bitterly cold.  We concluded that our trip to the park had been the highlight of our brief stop in Seattle.  It is well worth a visit.

The Blues Trail – Mississippi & Arkansas

Posted on by Nigel Williams

Into Blues Country

It was in the Mississippi Delta that sharecroppers first fused the rhythms and tones of Africa with the scale and instruments of American folk music to produce the blues.   This new musical form was was first described by touring musician WC Handy in Memphis in 1903.  By the 1920s the first blues records were being made.  By the late 1920s  Charley Patton had emerged from an anonymous folk tradition to become a blues superstar.  He was followed in the 1930s by many more stars, most notably the hugely influential Son House and the legendary Robert Johnson (though Robert was little known in his own lifetime).  The Delta blues started to move beyond the South, up the Mississippi river into the Midwest, aided in its spread by the phenomenon known as the “juke joint”.  This was an informal establishment, sometimes a “shotgun shack”, that provided music, dancing, gambling, and drinking for the sharecroppers, whose lives were exceedingly hard.  In the 1940s the blues evolved into electric, urban forms such as  Chicago Blues, popularised by Muddy Waters, which later formed the basis of  rock ‘n roll.

Highway 61

Blues Trail Tunica GatewayThe City of Clarksdale is located in the heart of the Delta, at the intersection of Highways 61 and 49.  This is the crossroads famed for Robert Johnson’s legendary Faustian pact.  From Memphis it is about an hour and a half’s drive down the “Blues Highway” (Highway 61) which follows the Mississippi river for much of its route.  Highway 61 is much more than a road in the US; it is second only to Route 66 as the most famous highway in American music.   Many blues artists have recorded songs about this storied road; “Honeyboy” Edwards, Big Joe Williams, and Mississippi Fred McDowell amongst them.  Bob Dylan said of it “Highway 61, the main thoroughfare of the country blues, begins about where I began. I always felt like I’d started on it, always had been on it and could go anywhere, even down in to the deep Delta country. It was the same road, full of the same contradictions, the same one-horse towns, the same spiritual ancestors … It was my place in the universe, always felt like it was in my blood.”  Needless to say, I was happy to take the Blues Highway to Clarksdale.

Gateway to the Blues Museum, Tunica

The Gateway to the Blues Visitors Center and Museum was my first stop.  It lies directly on Highway 61 between Memphis and Clarksdale, close to Tunica’s casino area (Mississippi’s Las Vegas), and less than an hour from Memphis.  The Museum is housed in a beautifully restored one-room, nineteenth century train depot, and serves as a gateway to the blues music scene across the the Mississippi Delta.  It was, for me, more impressive on the outside that in, but that is no criticism – for a photographer that is often the case and it is a really iconic building.  Inside there is a great collection of guitars, information on the hundred or so blues trail markers, and a good selection of blues merchandise and literature.  I got talking to the staff at the museum as I was buying some merchandise (a Robert Johnson T shirt), and admitted to being an amateur musician. In fact being a musician was my first choice of career and I’ve always felt a little regret that I ‘sold out’ to pursue a more conventional job.   I characterised this a little thoughtlessly, given where I was, and what I was buying there.  I used the phrase ‘sold my soul to the devil’ to describe the (alleged) sell out.  I’ve used the description before more than once before and received a smile as a result, but that wasn’t the case this time.  Note to self – never make reference to selling your soul to the devil in the Deep South!  One of the women nearly jumped out of her skin and the other looked most discomforted.  I assured them that this was not literally what I did, and that it was just a figure of speech, and apologised for alarming them.

Speaking of my music, there’s a link to one of my blues tracks below.  I think the song is well crafted enough, but the recording is very much demo quality at best and the lead really needs re-doing as I just went at it full tilt and lost the plot a bit – I am by no means a shredder.  That said, I know I’ll never re-record it.  I have too many other tunes in my head that I need to get down, some of which I wrote many years ago.  I rarely get time to record, which isn’t helped by the inordinate amount of time I take to lay down a track on my old school 16 track recorder.

The Delta Blues Museum

I headed into Clarkdale itself, to the Delta Blues Museum. It is located in an old freight depot built in 1926.  The area it is situated in was deserted and a quite run down, and I was convinced that I was in the wrong place until I saw the Museum’s sign.  It was established in 1979 as the first museum devoted to blues and moved to its current location 20 years later.  Bearded guitar ace Billy Gibbons of ZZ Top played a big role in raising funds for the museum.  He was also instrumental in bringing the largest and most important exhibit to the museum – the cabin where Muddy Waters once lived on the nearby Stovall plantation.  The museum covers the who’s-who of the blues very comprehensively and I wandered around it contentedly for quite some time.

blues trail clarksdale alleyBlues Alley and Robert Johnson

The Delta Blues Museum is at number 1 Blues Alley.  Right across the street is the Delta Blues Cafe, which has an old Cadillac art car parked outside and a haunting, peeling mural of Robert Johnson, the most potent legend of the blues, on the side of the building.

It was at crossroads of Highways 49 and 61 in Clarksdale, where legend has it that Robert did a deal with the devil, who retuned his guitar in exchange for his soul.  Formally a harmonica player and an indifferent guitarist, he returned with such a mastery of the blues that Son House and other older guitarists were incredulous.  The story circulated that Robert had sold his soul to the devil at the crossroads.   “Cross Road Blues” and “Me and the Devil Blues”, have both contributed to the myth of a pact with Lucifer.  In the latter song, Satan visits Robert early in the morning. “Hello Satan,” sings Robert, “I believe it’s time to go.”

Graveyard Versus Crossroads

In fact Robert had met and moved in with guitar player Ike Zimmerman and his family, and Ike became his tutor.  They practised together amongst the tombstones in the quiet of a local graveyard.   It is quite likely that the origin of the Faustian story came from another blues musician, named Tommy Johnson (no relation).   Tommy cultivated a rather dark image to help promote his act.  As part of this, according to his brother, he claimed to have sold his soul to the devil at a crossroads in exchange for mastery of the guitar.  Robert made no such claim.  Tommy lived until 1956, whereas Robert only lived until 1938 (he was 27 when died and so later became a member of the 27 club.)   Almost nothing was known about Robert until much later when some serious research was done and the story attached to the more mysterious figure.  When I first heard of Robert in the 1980’s there were no known photographs of him.  Even today there are only two.  Robert recorded just 29 songs between 1936 and ‘37.  Like him, most of these tunes have attained mythic status: “Cross Road Blues,” “Love In Vain,” “I Believe I’ll Dust My Broom,” and “Sweet Home Chicago” are all Robert’s compositions.  The Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, Eric Clapton and the Allman Brothers have all recorded his songs.  In 1933 Robert settled in Helena, Arkansas, where he met and played with bluesmen Robert Nighthawk, Elmore James,  and Howlin’ Wolf amongst others.  Helena, Arkansas was only a little out of my way on the way back to Memphis, so that was my next destination.

Blues Trail HelenaAcross The Mighty Mississippi to Helena

The light was just starting to fade as I drove down Highway 49 through Lula and crossed the Mississippi River to enter Helena, Arkansas.  Now in serious decline, the town played a significant role in blues history.  It flourished during the steamboat era as a river port equipped with all music, gambling and night life the locals and deckhands could want.   It was also the birthplace of a major blues radio show that began broadcasting to the Arkansas-Mississippi Delta in 1941.

Ghosts of the Historic District

I visited the Delta Cultural Centre, which is well worth a visit, and then started to wander in the atmospheric historic district.  I immediately came across an iconic blues marker ‘Mississippi to Helena’.  The area was deserted and in many places tumbling down.  I stood in front of an abandoned storefront at 119 Missouri Street which used to house a juke joint called the Kit Kat Cafe.  This is one of the few places we know Robert Johnson actually played.   It was crumbling, and a faded and cracking picture in the window lent it an unsettling air.   I continued to wander.  In places the buildings are cordoned off as their tumble down state is so unsafe.  At 201 Frank Frost Street (shown here) I took a shot of a building which I later found out was featured in the documentary ‘In Search of Robert Johnson.’   It had broken windows and a large sign saying ‘NO LOITERING’.  I walked, entranced by the near ghost town, until there was no more light.  At that point the slightly spooky nature of Helena was greatly amplified and I returned to my vehicle in a hurry, suddenly keen to return to the bright lights of Memphis, Tennessee.

The Blues Trail – Memphis, Tennessee

Posted on by Nigel Williams

At the age of 14 I was listening to a Pirate radio station broadcasting from the North Sea when I heard a track from George Thorogood and the Destroyers.  It was probably a song from from their self-titled album of 1977.  George was playing furious electric slide guitar and I had never heard anything like it.  The power of that sound, along with that of punk, especially the Sex Pistols, inspired me to get an electric guitar and play it hard.  Guitar driven music, especially the blues, has been part of my life ever since.

Nearly forty years later I found myself in Nashville, which is only a 3 hour drive from Memphis, which in turn is close to Mississippi and the Delta, so I took the opportunity do something I had wanted to do for many years: get on the blues trail.

Sun Studio

I started at Sun Studio, Memphis, one of the most revered landmarks in blues, country, rockabilly and rock and roll.   Originally the Memphis Recording Service, Sun was founded by by the equally legendary Sam Phillips  in 1950.  Elvis, Johnny Cash, Carl Perkins, B.B. King, Jerry Lee Lewis and many others started their recording careers there.  Once our tour guide arrived, the few of us that had gathered in the adjacent cafe which is the rendez-vous point for the tour, went upstairs to the museum where he told us the story of Sun – an extraordinary tale of one man’s vision and persistence.   Then he took us down to the studio to finish the story.  He told the tale well – with knowledge, humour and great timing.  The studio itself is tiny, but it is at is was in the 1950s, right down to the original acoustic tiling.  One wall is lined with guitars (including Scotty Moore’s) and there is a stack of vintage Fender amps against another.  When the tour finished, I got talking to the guide (or preacher as he refers to himself) and he was kind enough to show me the interior of the minuscule control room.  As I had a recording on my phone of  a track dedicated to Scotty Moore I asked him if I could play it in that hallowed space and he agreed.  It was a magic moment.

The Blues Trail MemphisBeale Street

There is a shuttle that runs from Sun Studio to Beale Street, which stops close to the Gibson Factory.  The factory offers a tour of Gibson’s Memphis facility, and being a guitarist who plays a Gibson ES-Les Paul made in the same factory, I was keen to see how it was created.   The tour guide walked us through the factory, pausing at the various stations dedicated to the shaping, assembling and finishing the instruments and providing us insights into the process.  It takes about three weeks to make one of their hollow body guitars .  Sadly, the facility is moving from Beale Street at some point, though Gibson say they are committed to retaining a presence in the Memphis area.  From Gibson I walked to Beale Street proper.  The area was created by an entrepreneur in 1841, and by the 1860s black traveling musicians had begun to perform there.  By the 1900s, Beale Street was largely African-American owned, lined with clubs, restaurants and shops and the home of W. C. Handy, known as the Father of the Blues and the creator of the “Blues on Beale Street”.  It continued to be home to the blues, and between the 1920s to the 1940s, Louis Armstrong, Muddy Waters, Albert King, Memphis Minnie, B. B. King, and other blues and jazz musicians played there, contributing to what became known as Memphis Blues.  B. B. King got his famous initials from his billing as there as “the Beale Street Blues Boy.”

Today Beale Street is a very much a tourist destination, but it has a unique look and feel and if you get into a bar with live music it is really special.  Of the shops, easily the most interesting is the old fashioned general store A. Schwab Trading Company, established in 1876.  It is housed in the oldest remaining building on Beale Street and contains the Beale Street Museum and two floors of quirky merchandise, including some hoodoo (folk magic) items.  Seeking give music, I found Vince Johnson and The Plantation All Stars at the atmospheric Blues Hall Juke Joint.  The picture of them was taken with a Leica Q, (f2.8, 1/100, ISO 3200).  I also saw Eric Hughes (solo) at the rather oddly-located wrestling themed King Jerry Lawler’s Hall of Fame.   Both were excellent.

Also on Beale Street is the Memphis Rock ‘n’ Soul Museum – an exhibition by the Smithsonian Institution, which opened its doors in 2000.  The museum provides a journey from the rural origins of blues and soul in the 1930s, through the explosive growth driven by Sun and Stax labels up to the 1970s.  It’s worth a look, not least because it provides some insights into the lives of the black and white sharecroppers whose music so influenced blues and soul music.

Memphis BBQ

Still on Beale Street, I had lunch at the Blues City Cafe, a pint of Guinness at Silky O’Sullivan’s (you have to go to see the goats), and dinner at BB Kings Blues Club.   Much of the food on Beale street is Memphis-style barbecue, which is distinct from the other US regional BBQ styles of Kansas City, Texas and Carolina.  Memphis-style barbecue is usually pork ribs slow cooked in a pit prepared either “dry” or “wet”.   I had no idea what this meant before coming to Southern US.  The difference was explained to me at a visit to the One & Only BBQ. “Dry” ribs are covered with a dry rub and eaten without sauce, whilst “wet” ribs are covered with sauce throughout cooking.  Half wet, half dry is usually an option, and is what I tried. Portions are huge and the sides include devilled eggs, black-eyed peas and slaw mac-n-cheese.  There are many starter options, but I particularly enjoyed the Polish Kielbasa sausage – which was smoked, dusted in dry rub and grilled and served as part of a sausage and cheese platter – a Memphis tradition.   Being a tourist location, you’ll inevitably eat better off Beale Street than on it, but the location and live music more than make up for it.

Blues Trail MLK Room 306Room 306 of The Lorraine Motel

The story of the blues, and of the South, is closely entwined with the story of black Americans and their struggle for equal rights, so it no is surprise that the National Civil Rights Museum is located in Memphis.  In fact, the location is that of the assassination of Martin Luther King at The Lorraine Motel.   Dr King was staying at the motel in April 1968 when he came to Memphis to support a strike.  He was standing on the balcony of room 306 when he was fatally shot.   The room has been preserved exactly as it was during his stay, a wreath hangs from the balcony and two white cars from that era – a 1959 Dodge and a 1968 Cadillac are parked in front of the motel.   The picture of them and room 306 was again taken with a Leica Q (f8, 1/200, ISO 200).  The air of regret and respect from visitors is tangible as you stand in front of room.  The Motel is now the home of the Museum which guides visitors through five hundred years of history, from early slave resistance to the protests of the civil-rights movement.   It is a very worthwhile visit.  Reading about the motel afterwards, I learned that it has a strong connection to the blues as black musicians would stay at there while they were recording in Memphis, due to its long standing status as a safe haven for black visitors to Memphis.

The Blues Hall of Fame

Only two minutes walk from the National Civil Rights Museum is the Blues Hall of Fame.  Initially this was not a physical building, but a listing, started in 1980 by the Blues Foundation.   Many of my favourite blues artists were inducted in that first year, including Lightnin’ Hopkin, Son House, Howlin’ Wolf, Elmore James, Robert Johnson, B.B. King, Muddy Waters and T-Bone Walker.  The Memphis museum opened in 2015, and pays tribute to the 400 or so inductees. There are several galleries with interactive touchscreen displays for visitors to listen to music, watch videos, and read stories of the members of the Hall of Fame, and each gallery houses some memorabilia.

Graceland

No visit to Memphis is complete without a trip to Graceland.  From the perspective of any musical journey, Elvis’s fusion of blues and country into rockabilly was a unique achievement.  It also laid the foundations for rock and roll.  The visit completed the circle from my start point on the blues trail at Sun Studio.  That was where owner, Sam Phillips, who in 1954 was looking for a white singer with a black blues feel, put Elvis, guitarist Scotty Moore and bassist Bill Black together.  This resulted in their first single, a cover of blues singer Arthur Crudup’s 1949 blues standard “That’s All Right Mama”.  The song was recorded with just the trio playing, without drums.  The single sold around 20,000 copies, which was not enough to chart nationally, but it reached number 4 in the local Memphis charts and Elvis, Scotty and Bill were on their way.  Graceland is about 9 miles from Downtown Memphis, close to the Mississippi border. It is preserved as it was appointed and decorated last, in the mid 1970s.  That was when Elvis transformed the Southern Colonial mansion into a Rock n Roll palace.  Accordingly, it is fabulously over the top.  The Jungle Room has green shag pile carpet not only underfoot…but on the ceiling. The TV Room, with its mirrored ceiling and multiple TV screens, was apparently inspired by a comment from the President at the time who watched multiple televisions at once.  The Pool Room has some 350 yards of fabric covering the walls and ceiling. It is hugely opulent, which is in strong contrast to the next part of the blues trail which took me deep into Mississippi and across the river into Arkansas.

 

Darkness in Las Vegas

Posted on by Nigel Williams

Dark Vegas

Through the eyes of a lifetime resident

Today’s Las Vegas is very different to how it was in its formative years, when it grew to provide gambling and other adult entertainment to dam construction workers partially funded by Mafia investment.  The influence of organised crime in the city lasted well into the 1980’s so it’s still relatively easy to meet people who remember the days when the mob ran the city.

On my last trip I met a couple of them – a barman and a taxi driver.  The taxi driver had a business card that described him as ‘driver and lifetime Las Vegas resident’.  He described how he and his mother had both worked for mob-run casinos and lamented the decline in standards and increases in petty crime in the city since the mob had lost control.  Back in the day, he maintained, the city was cleaner, safer and generally a better place to live.

After asking a few questions, this apparently utopian picture unravelled into a much darker reality.  He admitted that now and again those living on the edge of the city might find find a human body part “sometimes a femur, sometimes a skull” brought home from a desert burial by their pet dog.  I was horrified by this and commented that, to me, that was too a high price to pay for a tidier looking city!   Unsurprisingly he was unmoved and adamant that those deaths were not a real issue.  His argument was that ‘everyone’ knew that if you were stupid enough to steal from the mafia you would be killed, and only those that did so ended up in shallow graves in the desert.   I remained unconvinced,  but it was really interesting to meet someone who had seen Las Vegas in its mob days, and to be misty-eyed about a past many consider awful.

Before we parted, he told me about the mob museum (Formally know as ‘The National Museum of Organized Crime and Law Enforcement’ which is well worth a visit and also has an excellent blog.

A .38 revolver, a wad of hundreds and a small bag of white powder

Curiously enough on the same trip I also met a barman, who I’ll call Michael, with even more direct experience of the same era.  He told me a couple of stories about legendary mobster  Anthony Spilotro, who was portrayed in the Martin Scorsese movie Casino as Nicky Santoro and played with terrifying menace by Joe Pesci.

Michael was sitting next to Tony Spilotro on the other side of the bar where he was working as he was off-duty.  There had been talk in the city about a serious falling out between Spilotro and his fellow mobsters, and to avoid getting caught up in potentially lethal action, Michael slid down a couple of bar stools saying ‘I hope you don’t mind Tony, I just don’t want to catch a bullet’.  Spilotro laughed, but two days later he was dead and buried in a cornfield.  In the movie he was buried still breathing, but that is unlikely; later mob testimony revealed he was beaten to death in a basement and moved to the burial site afterwards.

On another occasion Michael was asked to retrieve and return Tony Spilotro’s wife’s purse (or handbag in British English) from the bar he was working in, which is where she had left it.  He couldn’t resist taking a peek at the contents.  Inside the handbag was a .38 snub nose revolver, a huge wad of hundred dollar bills and a small bag of white powder…

Spilotro’s story is an interesting one: he came into contact with organised crime at an early age as his parents ran a Chicago restaurant that was adopted by the mob.  He became a “made” man in the 1960s and was sent to act as the mob representative in Las Vegas in the 1970s.  He founded a burglary operation, known as the Hole in the Wall Gang with his brother; it was their unsubtle entry methods that earned them the gang nickname.  Unfortunately for Spilotro this overtly criminal behaviour led to him being blacklisted by the casinos, which compromised his official mob representative role.   This did not sit well with his bosses and associates.  In January 1986, at a high level mob the problem of Spilotro and Las Vegas was debated and the agreed conclusion was to ‘hit him’.

Downtown Las Vegas

On that trip I spent most of my spare time in Old (Downtown) Las Vegas, which for me is by far the most interesting part of the city; it is full of characters and rather gritty in comparison to the glitzy experience of The Strip, which personally I don’t care for much.

You can find the pictures from this and my other trips at the Las Vegas gallery on this site.  There is also an earlier blog on Las Vegas.  The accompanying picture for this post was shot with my Leica Q at f1.8, 1/5000 of a second with -0.6 EV, using the electronic shutter.   The leaf shutter on the Leica Q is virtually silent and will go to 1/2000s after which the electronic shutter takes over on the way to a maximum 1/16000s – making the Leica’s fast aperture usable even in bright conditions.

What I like about this shot is the strong full-length shadow, the inclusion of the big Fremont street neon signs in the background and the gentleman’s white jacket, hat and shoes which contrasts nicely with the dark tones that dominate the shot.  The Leica Q’s incredible sharpness on the subject compared to the background helps make that contrast even stronger.

Encounters with Japanese Dragons

Posted on by Nigel Williams

Encounters with Dragons screenThe ryū

“In Japan, the dragon is a good guy, not a bad guy.”    This was the comment of our guide in Kyoto on a recent trip across Japan, where we had a few memorable encounters with Japanese dragons.

Benevolent, auspicious, just, a bringer of good fortune and wealth, the Japanese dragon (Ryū), like its Chinese ancestor, is an ancient mythical creature that is very different from its malevolent, treasure-hoarding Western equivalent.  Like many mythological creatures, it is a composite beast and has the head of a camel, the eyes of a hare, the antlers of a deer, the neck of a snake, the scales of a carp, the paws of a tiger and the claws of an eagle.

Our first dragon encounter was in Shinjuku, Tokyo, a name that refers to both one of the 23 city wards in the metropolis and more commonly to the large entertainment, business and shopping area around Shinjuku Station – the world’s busiest railway station.  Painted on a wall behind a statue of a female deity playing a lyre lurked a fabulous white dragon on a black background surrounded by stylised swirls, it looked like some great, nameless tattoo artist had decided to take their artwork to a much grander scale.   I was mesmerised and spent some time shooting the combination of the statue and the dragon mural with my Leica Q whilst my companions retired to a nearby bar.  You can see both this image and the others mentioned in this post in the Japan Gallery.

A long history

The Asian dragon’s origin predates written history, but had achieved its present form of a long, scaled serpentine body, small horns, long whiskers, bushy brows, clawed feet and sharp teeth by the 9th Century, by which time it was part of Buddhist mythology as a protector of the Buddha and Buddhist law.    These traditions were adopted by the Japanese and the character for dragon (龍) is much used in temple names.  Dragon carvings also adorn many temple structures and most Japanese Zen temples have a dragon painted on the ceiling of their dharma halls, often painted inside a circle in the centre of the ceiling.

In Kyoto

At the Zen temple of Kennin-Ji, in the Gion district of Kyoto, we had two dragon encounters in rapid succession.  The first was an incredible dragon painting on a sliding fusuma door, which is shown in this post.  The horns are larger than normal, the whiskers are so long they look almost like tentacles, and the dragon appears to be swimming through time and space; peering at us with us eyes that give a hint of otherworldly vision and knowledge.   The second was the vast painting of Twin Dragons that covers the entire ceiling of the Hattou (dharma hall) of Kennin-Ji, the oldest temple in Kyoto.  Kennin-Ji was founded in 1202, though the earliest surviving structure the is the Chokushimon (Imperial Messenger or Arrow Gate) that is dated to  from the Kamakura Period  of 1185-1333.  This building still bears the scars from the Onin War that reduced much of Kyoto to ashes during the 15th century in the form of  arrow marks.  The dharma hall that houses the Twin Dragons was constructed later, in 1765.  The dragons themselves were painted in ink on paper by Koizumi Junsaku (1924 – 2012), a noted painter and pottery artist, between 2000 and 2002, and installed in 2002 to mark the 800th anniversary of the founding of the temple.   The dragons cover 175 square meters rather than occupying the usual circle in the centre of the ceiling.  This was at the bidding of the abbot of Kennin-ji who requested that the artist make dragons “rampage across the ceiling”.  They rampage in spectacular fashion and I spent a good while admiring them.  A bought a copy of the painting and it is now framed and up on the wall at my home in Oxfordshire.

In modern Japan, Zen temples and Shinto shrines often stock their garden ponds with carp, which grow to great size in a spectacular range of colors.  Keeping them is partially inspired by Koi-no-Takinobori, the Japanese name for a Chinese legend of a carp that became a dragon after swimming up a waterfall.  We saw many incredible Koi in Tokyo and Kyoto, but I will not count them as dragons.

A water spirit

Unlike the Western dragon which is essentially a winged fire-breathing lizard, and a creature of the earth, the Japanese dragon is a wingless (but sky dwelling) water spirit.   At the Hakone Shrine (Hakone Jinja), at the foot of Mount Hakone and along the shores of the lake Ashinoko, our dragon encounter was at a Shinto shrine dedicated to the deity Ryujin (龍神).  Ryujin is associated with rain, good catches for fishermen, and with agriculture.  According to the Encyclopedia of Shinto ‘The dragon kami is connected with agriculture because of its characteristic as a water kami. Prayers for rain were performed at rivers, swamps, ponds, and deep pools which were regarded as the abodes of the ryūjin.’  At the shrine is an extraordinary  Chōzuya (purification basin), where holy water spouts from each of the nine dragon’s heads.  It was the dragon highlight of the trip.  Four dragon encounters is not a large number, but they were of the highest quality and I will never forget them.

10 Days in Japan

Posted on by Nigel Williams

trees gardenBetween 13th and 23rd May 2017, I travelled across Japan with a small group of friends on a trip organised by Trailfinders.  I have wanted to go for more than a decade and my expectations were sky high, and I am happy to say I wasn’t disappointed.  I wasn’t sure what lenses to take with me, so I took both my Leica Q and the Nikon Df with 20mm, 35mm and 85mm fast primes.  I ending up using the Leica Q (28mm) and the Nikon Df with the 85mm fitted almost exclusively, both slung across my chest in readiness.  You can see the gallery here.  This was our itinerary:

Day 1 – Arrival in Tokyo

We flew from London to Tokyo on British Airways.  Given the time difference we arrived with time to spare on our first day, which gave us the opportunity to explore the area around the excellent Park Hotel in Shiodome, our base in the metropolis.  Shiodome is close to the Ginza District, the upmarket shopping area of Tokyo, so had a short walk around the area and a lunchtime beer at the Ginza Lion Beer Hall with an accompaniment of delicious hoho-niku (tuna cheeks).  We noticed the displays of plastic food (sampuru) outside the beer hall, which seem to be ubiquitous in Japan.  None of us had slept well on the flight and our rooms had not been ready on arrival, so we headed back to the hotel to clean up and rest.  On the way back we came across Hakuhninkan Toy Park, which introduced us to the mad world of Japanese toys and collectables.  That evening we ate at Tsukada Nojo which was most notable for moromi-miso; a chunky condiment made from miso served with raw vegetables, of which we could not get enough.

Day 2 – Tokyo

  • On our first full day in Tokyo we were accompanied by our guide Akiko, who was very knowledgable and helpful.  We headed for the Meiji Shrine (Meiji Jingū), in Shibuya, a Shinto shrine dedicated to the Emperor Meiji and his wife.  Entering through an enormous Torii gate (made from a 1,500 year old tree) we passed into a large forested area which covers 175 acres and consists of around 120,000 trees of 365 different species from all over Japan.  It is both tranquil and beautiful.  There is also a huge decorative display of sake barrels (kazaridaru) in the grounds,  which relates to the offering of sake every year to the  deities at Meiji Jingu Shrine.  As we walked though the three Torii gates, Akiko told us that we should not walk through the centre line of the gate.  This is called the Sei-Chu and is the area designated for the enshrined gods to pass through.
  • Being British and in need of a restorative cup of tea we stopped at a Cat Cafe located near the entrance to the Shrine.  Japan holds the record for the most cat cafés in the world, with as many as 39 in Tokyo.  I took a bit of a risk entering the place – I am asthmatic and allergic to cats, which is not a great combination, but observed the rather bizarre spectacle without consequences.
  • Next was Takeshita Street or Takeshita-dōri, a shopping street in Harajuku, which was packed with fashion concious teenagers, followed by Omotesandō, an upmarket tree-lined avenue, once the official approach to Meiji-jingū. These days it is a fashionable and architecturally notable shopping strip.
  • After a spot of excellent sushi we moved on to Sensō-ji, an ancient Buddhist temple located in Asakusa. The temple is dedicated to Guanyin, the Buddhist Goddess of Mercy, and is one of the most widely visited spiritual sites in the world.  We approached it though the spectacular Thunder Gate, and a walk down the wonderful Nakamise Shopping Street.  I found a gorgeous picture of the Thunder Gate in one of the stalls, which I was keen to buy, but the price tag was far out of reach as it was an original.  Prints will, the vendor, told me be available in about 30 years.  Not far from the temple we came across a small park with the most spectacular collection of koi we had ever seen.
  • We moved on to Kappabashi, or Kitchen Town and visited the Kamata knife shop. I enjoy cooking, and love Japanese steel, so I purchased a very beautiful chef’s knife made by Ryusen.
  • We returned to the hotel via a cruise of the Sumida river and ate in the hotel, quite worn out.

Day 3 – Tokyo

  • The Tsukuji fish market is the biggest wholesale fish and seafood market in the world and is located within walking distance of Shiodome, between the Sumida River and Ginza.  Visiting it involves making a choice of either arriving at 3 AM to queue to see the tuna market open at 5 AM, or arriving by 10 AM to see market wind down.  We chose the latter.  The market handles more than 400 different types of seafood (many of which look like nothing on earth) and the place is a whirr of activity – most notably the ‘Turret Trucks’, which are extremely hazardous to the unwary.   Whilst we missed the tuna market, we did see tuna being carved with extremely long knives, variously called called oroshi-hōchō, maguro-bōchō, or hanchō-hōchō.
  • We took the tube to Shibuya Crossing, considered a must see for many visitors, and located outside the Hachiko exit of Shibuya Station. This exit is named after a famous dog, whose statue has become a popular meeting place.  Shibuya Crossing effectively is a crossing point at the meeting of five roads in one of the busiest parts of the most populous city in the world, and the spectacle of up to 1,000 people crossing the road concurrently is quite astonishing.
  • I was keen to visit a guitar shop in Japan, particularly as Fender Japan are noted for being quite innovative.  G’Club, Shibuya did not disappoint and I purchased a low cost, light weight Japan-only Fender Telecaster that plays extremely well.
  • That evening we took in Akihabar (or Electic Town), which is  famous for its many electronics shops, its otaku (diehard fan) culture, and many anime/managa shops before exploring East Shinjuku/Kabukichu, in all its neon splendour.  It is a red light district and supposed to be somewhat edgy, but we were so mesmerised by the neon lights, if there was any menace there it passed us by.  We were not tempted to enter any of the establishments that beckoned us.

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Shooting Las Vegas

Posted on by Nigel Williams

Gambling Las VegasOrigins

Las Vegas is undoubtedly one of the stranger places in the USA.   Its sheer scale, the juxtaposition of replicas of famous landmarks, the relentless 24 hour gambling and the fantasy element of the place all contribute to that strangeness.  It is also hard for me to get over it’s origins, summarised here by history.com:

A desert metropolis built on gambling, vice and other forms of entertainment…the city was founded by ranchers and railroad workers but quickly found that its greatest asset was not its springs but its casinos. Las Vegas’s embrace of Old West-style freedoms—gambling and prostitution—provided a perfect home for East Coast organized crime. Beginning in the 1940s, money from drugs and racketeering built casinos and was laundered within them. Visitors came to partake in what the casinos offered: low-cost luxury and the thrill of fantasies fulfilled.

The chain of events that led to Mafia involvement in the development of the city is straightforward enough. The state of Nevada legalized gambling in 1931, but no one paid attention until after World War II, when the Mafia, in the form of Meyer Lansky and Bugsy Siegel, saw business potential.   Siegel opened the showcase 105 room Flamingo Hotel and Casino in December 1946 and whilst he paid the ultimate price for skimming from Mafia operations the Flamingo was successful under Lansky and other crime families moved in.  Properties such as the 1,000 room Stardust, the Desert Inn, and the Riviera followed.   In 1959 the Revolution in Cuba removed President Batista, who had been in league with Lansky, and with him the gambling concessions he had made to the mafia.  It also made Havana a no go destination for many high rollers who re-routed to Las Vegas, accelerating its development.     Today a significant proportion of the largest hotels in the world are on situated the Strip.

Downtown

Downtown Las Vegas, the original site of the town and gambling district of Las Vegas, centres on Fremont Street.  It has had significant investment of late but still appears to be the poor relation to The Strip, or offers a more vintage experience, depending on your perspective.  On one trip I had breakfast with a fellow photographer before heading out to Fremont Street and we discussed our approaches to photography.  Fred is an out-and-out street photographer; his interest is in people, pure and simple and he has a practised technique to get in close and yet not be noticed.  I work differently as I am very interested in the relationship between the background and people in the frame.  I suppose that makes me more of a travel photographer; I want to capture something of the spirit of place wherever I am at the time.  In the shot here I wanted to combine the large ‘Gambling’ sign with the women dressed as show girls. For this shot I used a circular polariser, which required an ISO setting of 2,500 for f8, but the boost in contrast was worth it.  The noise the Leica Q produces is relatively filmic and if it appears excessive I apply Topaz DeNoise.   The other shots from my various trips to the desert metropolis are in the Las Vegas gallery.

Route 66 & Monument Valley Road Trip

Posted on by Nigel Williams

Route 66 Ranch House CafeThe typical advice you will find on the web about combining Route 66 and Monument Valley on a trip is ‘don’t’, and I will admit that we (myself and two old friends) cranked out some substantial mileage in 8 days to accomplish this (2,232 miles in all, taking in Antelope Canyon and Death Valley for good measure).  It was well worth it.  Taking a large vehicle like a Chevy Suburban (in FBI black) helped.  My gallery for the Route 66 shots is here.  Our planning was sketchy, but here’s our itinerary:

  • London to Dallas/Fort Forth
  • Margaritas and dinner at Javier’s, Dallas, which is a fine establishment.
  • Morning in Dallas, visited the 6th Floor Museum, which is sombre but well worth the visit.  None of us give much credence to conspiracy theories but all agreed something wasn’t right with the conventional story.  18 witnesses disappeared… Our taxi driver, Charlie Ratcliff, of Cowboy Cars (+1 214 284 9919) was a witness who didn’t disappear.  He saw the shooting as a boy and can be seen in the Zapruder footage with his father.  He gives tours of the city, though we were pressed for time and could not take him up on his offer.
  • Drove to Amarillo, Texas.  Passed the leaning water tower at Groom, Texas (this is 1 of 2 things to see or do in Groom according to Trip Advisor).  We had dinner at the Big Texan, a well known Route 66 waypoint.  Kitsch does not do it justice, though the steak was a little disappointing given the hype.  We were taken to and from our hotel in a battered town car with steer’s horns on the front.  We avoided the 72 ounce steak challenge.
  • Headed back onto Route 66 and stopped at Tucumcari, New Mexico to take some shots and have a coffee at the Circa Espresso Bar.
  • Drove to Sante Fe, New Mexico.  Our route took us through Gallup and stopped to see the El Rancho Hotel, another Route 66 waypoint.  On arriving at the beautiful city of Santa Fe we sampled the fine beer and pizza on the balcony at the Draft Station with a view of the plaza.  We stayed at the La Posada de Sante Fe, which is highly recommended.  It is haunted though, apparently…
  • Drove to Monument Valley – we were all blown away by it.  Breathtaking is an overused word but it is fair in this case.  We stayed at Goulding’s Lodge, which nestles under the cliffs and has an old world charm. It is one of only two hotels in the valley.  We enjoyed the local Navajo bread as part of dinner, but missed a beer as the reservation is dry.
  • Took a tour of the Loop Road, Monument Valley and saw the breathtaking John Ford’s Point – complete with a Navajo man on a horse on the point.  He had been hired by a Japanese photography group.  The shot is on the home page a couple of images in.
  • Drove to Antelope Canyon, a slot canyon near Page and took a photographic tour with Adventurous Tours.  The canyon is absolutely stunning, though difficult to photograph because of the intense light and shade.  Our guide was very knowledgable and this helped a great deal.  Interestingly he had been into the canyon with Peter Lik, who shot the world’s most expensive photograph, The Phantom, there.
  • Drove to Flagstaff Arizona, which is great base to explore the Arizona section of Route 66 from.  We stayed at the Little America Hotel and played Pool and Shuffleboard at Uptown Billiards before dinner at a good noodle bar, Sosoba.
  • The following morning we walked the Ponderosa Pine trail at the back of the hotel and saw – in addition to quite a lot of pine trees, various kinds of ‘critters’, none of which we could identify.
  • Headed to Williams, Arizona – my favourite town on Route 66.  Stopped at the ridiculously named ‘Bearzonia’ on the way.  The bears and wolves most impressive – especially an evil looking wolf we nicknamed ‘Evil Dick’.  We met some great characters in the two Western outfitters in Williams and had a burger at the Cruiser Cafe.
  • Spectacular drive along Route 66 through the Black Mountains (listed on dangerous roads) to the Ghost Town of Oatman, where 100 or so people hang on in a place barely changed since the 1920s and wild burros wander the streets.  We had a beer at Judy’s Saloon and wandered through the town – it is quite something to behold.
  • Drove to Las Vegas, Nevada.  It’s not my favourite place, but it was on the way and we had a good dinner at Sushi Samba.
  • Visited the impressive Titanic Artefact Museum in the rather oppressive Luxor.
  • Headed out to Death Valley equipped with very little in the way of a plan or provisions – which is not advisable.  Stopped at Furnace Creek and Zabriskie Point.  We were all surprised by how beautiful the scenery was.
  • Arrived late at night in LA having skipped both lunch and dinner in the name of mileage.
  • A final breakfast of Eggs Benedict and saw a little more of old Route 66 on the way to LAX airport.

Hours in the car – around 40, photographic keepers about 30, fun – almost unlimited.

The Cuban Jungle in a ’55 Chevy

Posted on by Nigel Williams

Chevy Bel Air Column ChangeIn 2014 I visited Cuba. I had been shooting with professional photographer Ramses Batista for several days in Old Havana when it occurred to me we should take a trip out of the city into the jungle in one of the old American 50s cars that still do service as taxis in that city.  Over a beer we discussed this and Ramses, who is something of a fixer, knew a driver with an immaculate ’55 Chevy Bel Air.  He suggested we took this out to Soroa, where there is a picturesque waterfall.  En route we would stop at a former coffee plantation and later take in an abandoned villa out in the jungle.  The next day our driver, Joe, pulled up outside my hotel with his gleaming wheels. It was immaculate and had been modified to hot-rod specification complete with a chrome skull on the end of the column change.

I declared it perfect. We set out and drove to abandoned coffee plantation.  We parked the gleaming Chevy and set off on foot.  Vulcher like birds circled above us as we took in the views of the valleys below us.  As we walked I could hear the sound of distant drums and enquired where they might be coming from.  Ramses pointed out some buildings far below us ‘It’s a kind of community’ he said.  Voodoo, I thought, unreasonably.  To be fair, my overactive imagination had been fueled by a couple on incidents during the trip.

The first had been a few day’s previously on a quest to shoot angels at Havana’s fine old cemetery (Cemetario de Colon).  On the way out the boot of the car was searched by the man at the gate.  ‘What is he looking for?’ I asked Ramses.  ‘Human bones’ he replied. ‘There are old religions in Cuba, and some need special ingredients like animal blood and human bones.  He’s just checking we didn’t take bones with us.’  A little bit of web research introduced me to read about Palo Monte, one of the darker of Cuba’s syncretic religions which uses these ingredients to enlist the help of deceased ancestors.  The second was when I saw a tethered goat in the street in Old Havana.  When I commented on it Ramses told me it was most likely a sacrificial animal.  Given these two recent experiences I suppose it wasn’t entirely surprising the distant sound of drums in the jungle prompted me to think of voodoo.

As we walked Ramses pointed out some jungle fruit and explained how to eat it without ingesting any germs from the outer shell.  I was skeptical but it proved to be delicious.  Returning to the car we drove on towards Soroa and parked up near a jungle restaurant.  The scene, was pretty bleak; a man sat in the remains of a house near an abandoned ’50s car.  Walking away from us were two men wearing filthy vests and carrying machetes.  ‘Don’t point your camera at anyone unless I tell you it’s OK’ said Ramses.  I nodded, feeling that this was an entirely reasonable request.

Lunch was better than I expected, and after we had eaten we walked down a flight of twisting stone steps to see the waterfall. I hadn’t brought a tripod with me, so I couldn’t blur the water the way I wanted to, but it was still very picturesque. We journeyed on to the abandoned villa, which looked to be of relatively recent construction, though it was quickly falling into disrepair. The entrance proved to be a good spot to shoot the Chevy, though the cloud cover was becoming an unfavourably uniform white by that time of the afternoon.

Our last stop was a bar, a place so remote I was surprised it would ever attract custom.  There was a little podium near the bar with the holy trinity of Cuban cocktails on it: the Mojito; the Daiquiri and the Cuba Libre.  Given the heat and humidity we opted for cold beers, which were very welcome.  We returned late in afternoon and followed our normal ritual of a review of my shots over another beer with a commentary from Ramses, which I always found helpful.

Cuba is an incredibly vibrant country, but in 2014 I did feel an almost post-apocalyptic vibe about the place.  Scarity has created a culture of ingenious and almost endless recycling, particularly with vehicles, that, with the benefit of replacement engines and transmission, go on almost indefinately.  Things are changing now in Cuba, and hopefully for the better, but I am keen to get back before it loses that extraordinary look that is the result of all that ingenious recycling.