From Paris to Berlin

When I wasn't exploring the many museums of Paris, I was exploring its neighborhoods and landmarks: St Germain Boulevard, Bastille (especially Rue De La Rocquette and Rue Poppincourt), Rue Oberkampf, Triumph Arch, Eiffel Tower, Cathedral Notre Dame, Hotel De Ville, Cimetiere Montimarte, Place Vendome, and plenty of time walking the banks of the Seine River.

After nearly a week in Paris, I made it a point, on my final day, to revisit Rue St Andre Des Arts, a small street in between St Germain Boulevard and the Seine River, to eat some of the best food I had while in Paris, Lebanese street food. My final choices on how to spend my final day were to either eat that Lebanese food again, or visit the photography museum a second time. It was a close call, and if I wasn't hungry right now I might say I made the wrong choice.

I almost didn't find the Lebanese place. I visited the wrong neighborhood, Bastille instead of St Germain, and only on my way back to the hotel to retrieve my bag before heading to the train station, after I'd already eaten somewhere else, did I accidentally stumble upon the Lebanese place. So I ate a second time, even though I was pressed for time. After 13 or 14 hours on an overnight bus, I've arrived in Berlin, where today it is a rainy and cold summer Sunday.

Photography in Paris

Focusing on the photography I enjoyed while in Paris.

The first and third museums are exclusively photography, and although the Centre Pompidou is mostly work other than photography, there is an impressive collection of Paul Strand photographs on display there. A couple of weeks ago, while in the Groninger Museum in the Netherlands, I was impressed to come across some original Larry Clark photographs, including his iconic photo of the pregnant mother shooting heroin. After spending a week in Paris, I've lost track of all the iconic photographs I've seen. With France being the birthplace of photography, it is not surprising that Paris has so much wonderful photography on display.

Maison Européenne de la Photographie, Ville De Paris, is without hesitation the best photography museum or exhibit I've ever seen. It took more than three hours to see everything, and my only regret about Paris was not visiting this museum twice. Just when you thought you'd been wowed for the final time, you'd turn around and there'd be yet another iconic photograph. There was an extensive collection of works from American photographer Jane Evelyn Atwood, an exhibit covering four decades and at least five themes: prostitutes, blind people, women in prison, Haiti, and victims of landmines. It was incredibly moving, and at times disturbing, as was the Shadow of War exhibit, which featured nearly one hundred war photographs, from the beginning of photojournalism (Spanish Civil War) until 2007. If you've ever seen an iconic war photograph, chances are an original print is hanging in this exhibit: Robert Capa (Normandy, Spanish Civil War), Eddie Adams (execution of Vietcong prisoner), Nick Ut (napalm in Vietnam), Joe Rosenthal (raising of flag on Iwo Jima). And that was just two of the five exhibits on display at this museum. Incredible.

Centre Pompidou: Being the most comprehensive modern art museum in Paris, this museum features far more than just photography, which is only a small part of their collection. But it's an impressive part. Centre Pompidou features (or perhaps featured; I think, but am not positive, that it is part of the permanent collection, as opposed to a temporary exhibit) an extensive collection of Paul Strand photos, approximately 70 prints donated after the photographer's death in lieu of taxes. I thought it was interesting that the museum made it a point to call attention to this fact, that the artist (and/or his estate) donated the photos for tax purposes, and it left me with the feeling that somehow the museum was bitter to have not received these photos under different circumstances. Paul Strand was one of the first straight (i.e. objective) photographers, preferring to avoid manipulation or excessive abstraction. He worked with Henri Cartier-Bresson when Cartier-Bresson visited America, I believe in the mid-to-late 1930s. The Centre Pompidou also features an extensive collection of Duchamp, Picasso, Matisse, Van Gogh. The Andy Warhol on display seemed boring by comparison. I thought the same thing about Warhol (i.e. overrated, boring) when exposed to Soviet pop art while in Russia.

Galerie Nationale du Jeu de Paume: This museum featured two extensive photography exhibitions, the first by Santu Mofoken, entitled Closing Shadows, which covered 30 years of his photography, and the second, featuring the work of Claude Cahun (born Lucy Schwob, 1894). The work by Mofoken was a bit disjointed and unsatisfying with its lack of an overall, cohesive theme: There were photos of Africans worshiping on buses while commuting to wherever it was they were going, and also many photographs of billboards across Africa. Many of the photographs were just not that impressive, as though he took snapshots of every billboard he could find. The photographs of the Africans worshiping on buses were full of energy, but there were even more photographs of billboards, and those felt terribly static and uninteresting. The work of Claude Cahun was confronting, intense, clearly talented, and at times uncomfortable even today. She was a lesbian who fell in a love with another woman (Suzanne Malherbe), two years her senior, as a teenager. Shortly thereafter the parents of the two girls married, making them step-sisters, which may have prompted the artist's name change to Claude Cahun. She took many self-portraits, and created many photo-montages that by today's standards and with today's computers would be considered boring, the type of thing to be hung on the bedroom wall of a teenage girl, but for her time, to have created them in a darkroom, it is quite impressive. Usually when I think of brave photographers, I think of war photographers, not people taking self-portraits in their bedroom, but there are few adjectives that better describe the work of Claude Cahun than brave. She identified and worked extensively with Dadaists, and especially Surrealists, which no doubt influenced her willingness to push the boundaries of convention.

Museums in Paris

Below are some of the classical museums that I visited this past week in Paris. There are also great modern museums and exhibitions in Paris, including the most impressive photography museum I've seen at any time, in any city, in any country: Maison Européenne de la Photographie.

Musée Jacquemart André: The Jacquemart-André Museum is a private collection, featuring works by 18th-century Flemish, French and Italian painters. You get to see Rembrandt, for example, without the crowds of the larger museums, and also without the feeling that you're in a museum, because even though you're in a museum, you're not in a museum: You're in a private mansion that once belonged to a French husband and and wife, after whom the museum is named, who dealt and collected art.

Musée d'Orsey: A nice alternative to the overwhelming, and overwhelmingly crowded, Louvre, which for my taste is too full of ancient sculptures, reliefs, and borderline-boring works that are often no more interesting in person than they are when viewed in an art book. At the d'Orsey you'll find Cézanne, Van Gogh, Monet, Rousseau, Seurat, Gauguin. There was an amazing self-portrait done by Van Gogh, one you'd probably recognize as being iconic (1889), but unfortunately I didn't see Starry Night Over the Rhone Arles. It's possible it was not on display due to renovation. It appeared as though maybe 20 percent of the museum was unavailable due to construction, etc.

Musée du Louvre: I was disappointed with the Louvre. Partly because my feet hurt and I didn't feel like walking the many miles it would take to cover all of the grounds, but also because quantity doesn't always equal quality, or to put it more fairly, quantity doesn't always equal satisfaction. Seeing the Mona Lisa was especially disappointing. For reasons I can't quite figure out, the museum allows photography of the Mona Lisa, which means that nobody actually looks at the painting, they look at the LCD screens on their digital cameras, ostensibly to confirm that the photo they took is far less interesting than the many photos of the Mona Lisa that could be found online, and isn't that why you visit museums in the first place, so that you don't have to look at a photo? You can't really get too close to the painting, and it's tough to enjoy, and nearly impossible to enjoy it peacefully. There was a subtle buzz of crowd hysteria, a constant hum of people moving together, back and forth, like a wave, or flock of migrating birds. There is so much to see at the Louvre, but it didn't draw me in, and I didn't want to be there, so I didn't stay too long. Probably not more than an hour, definitely no longer than two.

Musée de l'Orangerie: The opposite of the Louvre's Mona Lisa, at the Musée de l'Orangerie you get to enjoy Monet's Water Lillies in peace and quiet. It's written on the wall before you enter: Please enjoy peacefully, or something to that effect. The paintings are eight massive panels, spread out across two oval rooms, painted white, as per Monet's original instructions. The first room features four scenes of the same place, from morning to sunset, the passage of time. The second room features four panels that collectively make up one place, i.e. there is no passage of time. The panels in the second room also feature willow trees, which gives things a bit more perspective. The first room, the one with the passage of time, is just waterlillies: no foreground, no background, just lillies. You'll also find works by Picasso, Sisley, Cézanne, Renoir, Rousseau, and Matisse. I was especially impressed by some of the Matisse works that I saw in Paris. I can't remember specifically if those that impressed me most were at the l'Orangerie or at the d'Orsey, or perhaps the Jacquemart-André. Of the museums listed here, this was perhaps my favorite.

Belgium: Ghent to Liège to Landen to Hasselt

After two nights in Ghent, today I took the train to what I thought was Hasselt, but instead I ended up in Liège. All three of these cities are in Belgium.

When I purchased my ticket in Ghent, I asked if I needed to transfer trains. I was told, No, it's direct. After two hours on the train with no sign of Hasselt, I asked another passenger and then the conductor, both of whom told me, You needed to transfer in Landen.

I thought this train was direct to Hasselt, I said.

It is, but you have to change trains first.

(That's not direct.)

So I got off the train at Liège. My brief stay in Liège (less than one hour) was enough to differentiate it as a French-speaking region of Belgium as opposed to Flemish (i.e. Dutch).

I arrived in Hasselt a couple hours later than expected, but I'm here, staying with my friend Daan and his girlfriend Loes (pronounced like the first three letters of Lucy, or loose). It was Daan whose band played the Ghent Festival, and tonight his girlfriend and I will go watch his band play again, at a former gelatin factory that is now home to music, beer and miscellanea.

Gentse Feesten (Ghent Festival)

It was an easy train ride from Amsterdam to Belgium.

I arrived yesterday evening in Ghent, as it is spelled in English, or Gent, as it is spelled by Dutch-speaking locals. French-speaking locals (Belgians speak either Dutch or French) call it Gant.

It is an old city with all the charm of Amsterdam, even more so, but none of the crowds. There is a 10-day festival held her, annually, for the past 175 years or so. It is called Gentse Feesten. Last night I saw a Belgian band called Balthazar perform. All of their songs were in English, which I suppose is a necessity in Belgium if you want to make a global career out of your music.

Today I visited a local musuem with an extensive collection of photography, including a current exhibit on documentary Belgian photography (i.e. Belgian photographers working around the world). One of the photographers on display was Carl de Keyzer, one of the few Magnum photographers from Belgium. His were photographs from the Siberian prison system and culture.

(Ed: The photography exhibit was called, In the Margin, and was at the Museum Dr. Guislain, which in addition to photography featured a permanent collection exploring psychiatry.)

Anne Frank House

After a week in the Dutch countryside, I returned to Amsterdam for one night, en route to Belgium. While in Amsterdam I visited the Anne Frank House, where I expected to see her diary, but instead it was just a replica. The real diary is in safekeeping for the sake of preservation, because of its fragility. I never knew that Anne Frank spent so much time editing her own work, with an eye toward having it published after the war. She wrote and wrote and rewrote.

Dutch countryside: Heino, Groningen, Lemelerveld

I've spent most of the past week in Lemelerveld, a small village outside Heino, and this weekend I took an overnight trip to Groningen. The Dutch countryside is beautiful: landscaped meticulously, green and clean, sheep and ponies grazing as if they belong on a postcard.

Groningen is especially nice, somewhat large by Dutch standards but still small enough to walk everywhere. I ate some delicious traditional Dutch food (croquettes and other deep-fried meat-and-potato snacks) and visited the Groninger Museum, which I later read was designed by a famous Italian architect, Alessandro Mendini. The museum itself is built on the water, so when you're on the ground floor, you look out the windows to the canal at eye level.

The Groninger Museum featured an exhibit by Chinese photographer, Chi Peng, whose digitally manipulated images are too dramatically contrived for my taste, but impressive in large format.

To get from Lemelerveld to the train station in Heino, I cycled about 30 minutes by some farms that made me wish I had a Dutch passport so I could retire in some anonymous, beautiful corner of the world. The entire country is flat flat flat, so it's easy to cycle anywhere and everywhere.

Leica 35 Summilux: Amsterdam

Photos taken with Leica MP, 35 Summilux ASPH (II), Kodak Ektar 100.

Park, south of the Rijksmuseum; Amsterdam, Netherlands.

Bicycle in Amsterdam.

My favorite food in Amsterdam: savory Dutch pancakes.

Museums in Amsterdam

With five full days in Amsterdam, I was able to see quite a bit, strep throat be damned: FOAM Photography Museum, Huis Marseilles House of Photography, EYE Film Institute, Stedjelijk Contemporary and Modern Art Museum, Rijskmuseum, Van Gogh Museum, and the Hermitage [Dutch branch (for restoration) of the Hermitage in St. Petersburg, Russia].

The only thing I didn't do was rent a bicycle.

The Amsterdam Hermitage was disappointing, if only because I have almost no interest in religious art, especially not Russian religious icons, where rigid requirements of composition make a thoroughly explored topic even less interesting: the same depiction, over and over again.

The two photography museums were cool, the Rembrandts at the Rijskmuseum even more so, the Van Gogh Museum darker than I expected given what I've seen of his work in other countries and collections, and the Rembrandt House itself more enjoyable and less dry than I expected.

This evening I will take a train to the Dutch countryside.

Arriving in Netherlands

My first 24 hours in Amsterdam, not so great.

Thanks to a severe throat infection, I spent most of yesterday between hospitals and doctors and pharmacies. Two-hundred Euros later, I will be spending too much of the next four days in bed, trying to recover. Not exactly how I planned my first visit to the Netherlands.

Two-hundred Euros for something I could diagnose myself on Wikipedia.

Also, side note: Netherlands and Holland are not the same thing.

Protests, democracy; Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia

I spent most of my only day in Malaysia in the back seats of various taxis, primarily in and around Putrajaya, south of Kuala Lumpur. Putrajaya is the administrative center of Malaysia, and from the airport it is on the way to Kuala Lumpur.

We hit one police roadblock, which the driver explained to me was in place to keep an eye out for anti-goverment protesters, who I learned the next day while watching Al Jazeera and Russia Today in my hotel room in Amsterdam, were planning to protest this weekend in Kuala Lumpur.

(I think it was Al Jazeera. Russia Today was busy talking about how, now, after the United States has suspended its space program, that only Russians will be able to spend men into space.)

The protest group is known locally as Bersih 2.0 (Bersih means clean, in the Malay language) and exists to call attention to election rigging and other anti-democractic behavior. Bersih wears yellow t-shirts and has been declared illegal, with hundreds having already been arrested and imprisoned indefinitely. Not knowing anything about Malaysian politics, I do think it is a bit suspicious that the same party [Barisan Nasional (National Front)] has ruled Malaysia since 1955.

My driver, wearing a yellow shirt, said to me, Don't worry, we are OK. Taxis always OK.

Portraits of Indonesian children

Candid portraits from the Gili Islands.

Most of these (i.e. all but one) were taken in the villages on Gili Meno, the smallest of the three Gilis (local population: ~200). The final photograph was taken at the harbor on Gili Trawangan.

Indonesian children: Gili Meno, Gili Islands.

Indonesian children: Gili Meno, Gili Islands.

Indonesian children: Gili Meno, Gili Islands.

Indonesian children: Gili Meno, Gili Islands.

Indonesian children: Gili Meno, Gili Islands.

Indonesian children: Gili Meno, Gili Islands.

Indonesian child: Gili Meno, Gili Islands.

Indonesian children: Gili Meno, Gili Islands.

Indonesian child: Gili Meno, Gili Islands.

Indonesian child: Gili Meno, Gili Islands.

Indonesian children: Gili Meno, Gili Islands.

Indonesian child: Gili Trawangan, Gili Islands.

Portraits of Indonesian people

Taken on Gili Meno, a tiny island (local population: ~200) off the coast of Lombok, in Indonesia.

Indonesia: Man rides bicycle on Gili Meno.

Indonesia: Local spear-fisherman teaches Japanese tourist how to spear fish.

Indonesia: Man buries dead mice from a mousetrap, after (I think) killing them with his machete.

Indonesia: Villager in Gili Meno, Gili Islands.

Indonesia: Pian, a young man from Lombok who works in Gili Meno.

Indonesia: Two local women on Gili Meno.

Indonesia: Pian and friend; Gili Meno, Gili Islands.

Indonesia: Two construction workers from Lombok, working on Gili Meno. The guy on the left is named Muhammad; I forget the name of the guy on the right.

Indonesia: Local shopkeeper in the village on Gili Meno.

Jakarta vs. Bali

I arrived in Jakarta late afternoon yesterday, and I am already back at the airport. There was only one thing I heard repeatedly about Jakarta; well, two things actually, the other being that it is dirty: traffic, traffic, traffic.

So I didn't get to see much of Jakarta besides the inside of my hotel room. I arrived hours early for my flight to Malaysia this morning, because I'd been told that the trip to the Jakarta airport could take anywhere from an hour to two hours or more. With no traffic it took me less than 40 minutes.

I'll spend the day in Malaysia before taking tonight's red-eye to the Netherlands.

So here I am, in the Jakarta airport, where there isn't much to do at eight in the morning besides eat fried rice and/or chicken for breakfast. No thank you.

From the backseat of the taxi, Jakarta did appear dirty, congested, and frankly not all that appealing. I did wonder, though, where Obama lived when he lived in Jakarta.

I'd return to Bali or Gili Meno, but I'm not sure I'd ever want to return to Jakarta.

Sleeping gecko [confirmed dead; Ricoh GRD III, also dead]

At first I couldn't tell if this lizard was sleeping or dead, but apparently geckos have feet that are like suction cups: This dude is just sleeping, and has been this way for two hours or more, completely motionless, jaw slightly slack, even with the camera only centimeters away.

[Edit #1: Wayan laughed at my suggestion. "Dead, yeah; not sleeping." Unfortunately correct.]

[Edit #2: My Ricoh GR Digital III camera also died, shortly after these photographs. I bought the GRD III new, on the gray market in Taiwan, but it lasted maybe two months before the electronics failed. I managed some great candid portraits using the Ricoh in Indonesia.]

Gecko sleeping in Sanur, Bali.

Sleeping gecko.

Galungan in Bali

Galungan is a ten-day holiday in Bali, the most important holiday for Balinese Hindus. Galungan occurs every 210 days, and it lasts for 10 days, which makes it one of the more difficult holidays to track. This summer there is a Galungan that begins tomorrow: July 6, lasting through July 16.

During this holiday the spirits of deified Hindu ancestors return home, to Bali, and therefore must be entertained with a big celebration thrown by their living relatives. If your ancestors have not been cremated but are instead at the cemetery, then you visit them there and provide offerings.

Penjors, large bamboo decorations, are placed at the front entrance to the home. The ones that I have seen are about eight meters long, with bamboo leaves and sometimes food offerings attached. I asked, and an eight-meter bamboo pole costs about $3 USD (25,000 Rp).

Many Balinese people work on parts of the island different than where they were raised, so they try to return home to their village so as not to miss their ancestors. Today the villa where I am staying has no workers; they have all returned home to celebrate with their ancestors.

Galungan, Bali: Penjor in front of villa in Sanur.

Galungan, Bali: Hindu offering.

Galungan, Bali: Penjor, made of bamboo.

German Consulate & Swastika

The sign for the German consulate in Bali is across the street from the entrance to Swastika restaurant. The consulate itself is about 50 meters down the street, toward the beach.

German Consulate, Bali.

Swastika; Bali.

Fourth of July in Bali

Last night was my first-ever Fourth of July party hosted by an Englishman, living here in Bali. His daughters made an arts-and-crafts American flag from scratch, quitting at 12 stars until their mother, a Chinese-American woman, suggested a thirteenth star, for the original colonies.

Afterward we went to the beach for fireworks that definitely would have been illegal in all 50 states. These fireworks were shooting thirty, forty meters (or more) into the air.

I've never been a fan of illegal fireworks (although to be fair these weren't illegal fireworks, but you know what I mean: Fireworks set off by regular Joes who probably know next-to-nothing about explosives. For me, the excitement of fireworks have never outweighed the dangers.

After the main event, one of the parents said something to the effect of, OK, now we've got [something] for the kids. I can't remember exactly what they were called, but based on the name and based on the fact that they were for children, I assumed they were whipper snappers, those tiny relatively harmless things that go Bang when you throw them on the ground.

It turned out they were not whipper snappers but instead tiny sticks of what appeared to be dynamite, and not really all that tiny: four or five inches long, an inch thick, but fortunately with no discernible wick. Because nobody could figure out which end to light, none of the children were given sticks of dynamite. These kids were four or five years old, some maybe seven or eight.

I really couldn't believe anyone would give those to children.

I've noticed that many ex-pats living abroad appear to be irresponsible in their parenting, perhaps taking too many cues from local cultures, where maybe it's OK for your child, sometimes even infants, to ride on the front of a scooter with no helmet. I think American parents tend to be a bit overprotective at times, but there is no reason to put a small child on the front of a scooter, especially with no helmet in a beach town where taxis start at less than $0.60 USD for the first few kilometers. More often than not an adult with a child-sans-helmet will have their own helmet.

Balinese names: Wayan, Dewi

In the Balinese language, Wayan (pronounced Why, not Way) means first-born.

At least half of the men you meet in Bali are named Wayan. At my friend's villa in Sanur I've met four security guards, three of whom are named Wayan. When I was on the Gili Islands, whenever someone asked me where else I'd been in Indonesia, or where I was going next, I'd say, I'm staying in Bali with my friend Wayan; you know Wayan? It was usually good for a laugh.

I've also noticed the name Dewi (Day-we) quite a bit, a bit like my name but in Bali it's a name only for women. My friend Wayan told me that it's not really a Balinese name, but it's common on the island. It's probably from a nearby island or community or slightly different dialect.

Taxis in Bali

It's easy to catch a taxi, official or otherwise, in Sanur, although usually pointless: It's a small town and you can walk around pretty easily; on the other hand, when it's a longer walk, the taxi won't be much more than a dollar or two.

One advantage of taking a taxi is that once you are already inside the taxi, you don't have to listen to other drivers wanting to take you places: "Transport? Transport? Transport? Transport? Transport? Transport? Transport? Transport? Transport? Transport? Transport? Transport?"

You'll hear it roughly every 30 seconds while walking in Sanur, Bali.

If it's not that, it's a driver slowing and honking his horn, on the incredibly off chance that you're struggling to find a taxi, which is even more unlikely considering that you're probably walking straight ahead, maybe head down, not even remotely on the hunt for transport.

So if you learn one word (two words?) while in Indonesia: it's jalan jalan.

Jalan, or a similar form, means many things in Indonesian (e.g. street, travel, walking). I think, but am not positive, that jalan jalan means walking, but either way it works in response to, Transport?

#11: Crystal Bay (Wedding Point), Nusa Penida; Bali, Indonesia

Crystal Bay was one of my two dives today, the other being Manta Bay, also in Nusa Penida.

Nusa Penida is a small island off the southeastern coast of Bali.

Crystal Bay featured drastic temperature changes because of currents and surges. From hot to cold to hot, and back to cold, all in less than one minute. This continued for the entire dive.

It was only myself and a guide, who ran out of air before I did, which meant we had to cut the dive short. Poor planning on his part, but he was otherwise a fantastic guide: enthusiastic, and he even did magic tricks during the 45-minute boat ride to Nusa Penida. At one point during our dive, he turned to me, pointed to his fins, on which he had written MAGIC, and smiled.

During the dive we saw a school of baracuda, a large puffer fish, an exceptionally large moray eel poking its head out of the massive wall of coral, and thousands of glass fish schooled underneath a mound of coral that resembled a mushroom. The mushroom was maybe five meters high, and it looked as though it belonged in Super Mario Bros. The school of glass fish was not visible until I descended all the way to the sandy bottom and turned my body parallel to the ocean floor.

Scuba diving at Crystal Bay (Wedding Point), Nusa Penida; Bali, Indonesia.

The cover of my diver's log book.

#10: Manta Bay, Nusa Penida; Bali, Indonesia

Manta Bay, not to be confused with nearby Manta Point, was an amazing dive.

At Manta Bay, off the coast of Nusa Penida, I saw at least a dozen manta rays, the largest of which had a wingspan of six meters or more: 20 feet, from tip to tip, and nearly 3,000 pounds.

Even before entering the water I spotted three or four manta rays from the boat, swimming close the surface. While diving, I also saw a stingray (much smaller) and one giant sea turtle.

For at least five minutes, I hovered without really moving, just watching one manta ray swim toward the surface, turn around and swim back toward me, before returning again to the surface. We were close to the island at this point, so looking up out of the water it was possible to see the manta ray silhouetted against the sunlight entering the water, and to also see the waves above teh ocean's surface, crashing against the island's steep (i.e. essentially straight up) cliff.

The manta rays are massive, amazing creatures.

Scuba diving at Manta Bay, Nusa Penida; Bali, Indonesia.