Pinar del Río, Cuba. February, 2012

On our trip to this rainforest community, we got to visit with several artists who live in a colony there, with families, with folks who welcome foreign tourists into their lives on a daily basis. Even with “invasions” by tourists, there is still a sense of wilderness present. Example: this photo that shows both the pinar and the río that give the community its name. Plus a few dozen palm trees among the pines for good measure.

The Kasbah, Tangier. November, 2010

There is mystery wherever you turn in Tangier. Once you’ve managed to work your way into the medina, and through its twisty alleys, stairs and walkways, and wind up at the Kasbah at the top, you may be back in the sunlight, but maybe not in the clear. Who, for example, is that young observer behind those bars, eyeing Dr. Blake? And what are those bars anyway? And look at how blue the sky is. And the sea, even more blue. And the beautiful shape of that opening in the fortress wall. I loved all of the mystery. Jay did not, and he couldn’t wait to get back to the safety of our cruise ship. We’re headed back to Morocco this fall. Back to the mystery.

Madrid. October, 2009

In spite of two trips to the Spanish capital, we’ve never been inside the city’s renowned modern art museum. Only outside. At night. Like this. Why, I wonder? Inside is Picasso’s triumph, Guernica. And, oddly, maybe that’s why. When I was in high school and in college, this magnificent painting was housed in New York’s Museum of Modern Art (Picasso did not want the painting in Spain as long as Franco was in power.) I had a student membership and went their frequently, each time visiting Guernica as well as the many studies the artist had made that were on display nearby. In 1981, Spain finally reclaimed the painting and it now rests here in the Reina Sofia. Could a resentment be preventing me from enjoying it again?

Cartagena, Spain. November, 2010

I love the collages of artist Kurt Schwitters, always have. And the more I look at them, the more I wonder how much he may have been influenced by postings on billboards seen in his youth. Much more prevalent in Europe than in the USA. Layered, overlapping, ripped off, perhaps only partially. Look at the assemblage on this billboard here in the south of Spain. Except for the little bit of graffiti, this collage with its text, its strong colors, its own geometry... it could easily be something Schwitters might warm to. And given that the posting announces a strike (huelga), he might like it even more.

Lisbon. November, 2010

I sometimes joke that I know “menu French” or “menu Italian.” I can order a meal pretty easily in a restaurant. When it comes to Portuguese, I don’t even know that much. I remember the waiter in a small Lisbon neighborhood restaurant mimicking various animal sounds to let me know what the main ingredient was in several of the dishes. His “chicken” and his “pork” were the most memorable. Fortunately, when it comes to the pastry shops, I’m a little more fluent. Don’t ask me how. But I know the word for almond (those little tarts up top) and “snails of apple” on the lower right. We manage. And, mercifully, no one had to mimic “snail.”

The Bosphorus, Istanbul. June, 2007

I love to take pictures of people taking pictures. In this case, people taking pictures of me. Here’s my friend Nick on board the private boat run by the late Korfez restaurant that transported diners from the European part of the city to the Asian side, a bit north of downtown Istanbul under the shadow of the Fatih Sultan Mehmet Bridge. You can just see Sultan Mehmet the Conqueror’s 15th-century fortress of Rumeli Hisarı on the coast in the background. A wonderful day out of the touristed areas, a great lunch, a sleepy ride back into town...plus a stop for baklava at Güllüoğlu once we got back.

San Francisco. November, 2005

Seen from my hotel room, the Glide Memorial Church looks a bit ominous, no? Something out of Vertigo? Wish my visit had allowed me a weekend here, because I sure would have liked to have been a part of the fabled vibe here every Sunday morning. I’d first read about Glide in one of Maya Angelou’s memoirs. And since then, each time I’d heard it mentioned, it was always in some wonderful way that only reinforced my interest. Its website says it’s “a radically inclusive, just and loving community mobilized to alleviate suffering and break the cycles of poverty and marginalization.” And much as I wouldn’t have wanted to be in on the group conscience sessions that crafted that highly distilled statement, I do like the idea behind it. Less “church,” more people. Maybe.