Smiling
One of the many children eager to be photographed, at the Migowi Healthy Center in the Phalombe District of Malawi.
Matt Feldman PhotographyInspiring you to get out there, in the distance, and see it for yourself.
Matt Feldman Photography
One of the many children eager to be photographed, at the Migowi Healthy Center in the Phalombe District of Malawi.
Biking through the center of Migowi, just a few hundred meters from the Healthy Center.
I take pictures. The Eiffel Tower. A Baltimore snowstorm. A mountain in Morocco. A glacier in Argentina. But two hours off the main road through the Phalombe District, around the base of Mount Mulanje, in the southeastern corner of Malawi, it’s a different feeling.
Seen from the passenger window of my taxi, on the way to the offices of UNICEF Malawi.
The woman behind the front desk, Olivetta, said there is violence in the city today. Police are clearing out the hawkers and touts from the main road toward the Capital City neighborhood, and people on the streets are reacting by throwing stones and resisting the police. “Don’t go there.”
Roadside meat for sale, between the city and Lilongwe International Airport. I didn’t stop, but wished I could have.
Preparing to travel to sub-Saharan Africa brings a host of health requirements and recommendations. Western clinics respond by offering us vaccines and pills and sprays and solutions and nets. Three sets of vials are on the counter in this photo: Meningitis, Polio and Yellow Fever. A few dollars, a few needles and a few minutes later, I’m protected from diseases – more than 10 in all – that continue to take massive toll around the globe. It’s all so easy for us. Yet for millions on the continent where I’m headed, getting such protection is anything but easy. These are some of the things we take for granted.
Torquil Campbell, Amy Millan and Evan Cranley, of Stars, perform live in Baltimore. Taken on March 8, 2013.
Taken on my amazing Mediterranean trip in 2004, I’ve reprocessed this one to have more contrast and detail from inside the train. I’ve missed the photography of European…
In the sweltering heat of Philadelphia’s First Unitarian Church, Stars gave another fantastic performance. With the show split into two sets, they first played their entire upcoming record,…
After a night of incredible performances, getting to meet some of the musicians was an extra bonus. Heading to the subway, I walked around to the front of…
Amy Millan of Stars. Live at the Trocadero, Philadelphia, September 19, 2008.
The speaker blares to life and startles me back to consciousness. It has been just under a year since traveling in a Muslim country and being woken by one of the five daily calls to prayer.
Back in Selcuk, a working-class town devoid of much decoration or fanfare, I await my next bus while taking photos of kids playing in the streets. After a quick meal at a neighborhood eatery, my next stop is Pamukkale.
I am no fan of organized bus tours, led by the half-interested guide,with too-brief stops at too few places. So in the face of a thousand brochures for package tour operators, I set out on my own on regular bus service to Selcuk. Stashing my backpack at the bus depot, I set out to walk the 3 km back to my intended destination: Ephesus.
From Barcelona, Samy and I head to Perpignan, France, to stay with his aunt and their family. It is an exciting three nights of cultural immersion, culminating in the highly enriching experience of an elegant night of fine French cinema at its intellectual best: The Punisher (in French).
The temperature has risen considerably in the past few days, both across the country as a whole and especially as we have moved northward, leaving us to regret not having taken the time for a trip to Merzouga for a camel trek across the sand dunes of the Sahara.
Sir, please, come! It’s the best of the best! Please! Sir! Come and sit! Sir!” Having just finished a massive meal, I’m in no mood to eat. But I’m surrounded by tables piled high with tiers of fresh kabobs of spiced lamb and beef and fish and chicken.
From my hostel (with its own rock-climbing wall!) in downtown Rotorua, I walk the 3 km to a Maori village, where after $17, a musical performance and a few hours, I realize it’s not the place I originally wanted to go.