Passing By
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 trains and stations, but hopefully that drought will soon end.
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Please lift receiver
On the platform at the Aldershot GO Train Station.
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Bright Tunnel
From the Westbound section of the Toronto’s Sheppard subway line, this is a different take on the tunnel-in-motion look I posted previously.
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Stairs, Tiles and Train
My previous wanderings around the Toronto transit system had never really included the Spadina-Downsview section of the map. Lots of interesting locations out there, including this from Dupont Station.
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Eastbound on Sheppard
The bouncing and rattling of the older model subway car on the Sheppard line wasn’t conducive to smooth long-exposure photos. In all, it took more than 50 attempts to get 2 that I’m happy with.
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Kipling Bound
Train storage and maintenance yard on the east side of the Bloor line.
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Mini Subway
The tilt-shift technique of faux-miniaturization has seen a lot of use in the past year, with amazing still subjects and short films like The Sandpit. So while my wheels are turning to shoot my own tilt-shift film, I’ve been looking for locations to give it a try. This overpass near Eglington West was a great location to catch cars and trains. Too bad I ran out of daylight.
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Exit at Eglington
Going up.
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Breakfast in Tunis, Lunch in Milan, Dinner in Athens
A monstrous day of travel brought me from the Sahara desert oasis town of Tozeur back to the Mediterranean’s capital of apathy and pissedoffedness: Athens, Greece.
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Magic Carpet Ride
In the interest of space and internet cafe time, I’m going to leave this one out. But suffice to say that a train ride aboard a beast called The Red Lizard, into a place where there are no roads, was one of the most amazing rail trips I’ve ever taken.
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You’ve got to know when to hold ’em, know when to fold ’em…
Things have been, surprisingly, rather free from catastrophe as of late. But there will be much less to say after this email — I’m packing it in and heading home early. Plans for the Czech Republic and Italy have been abandoned and Poland had to be curtailed.
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Arbeit Macht Frei
There are no smiles here. There are no families with strollers and balloons and ice cream for the kids. There is nobody selling ornamental models of monuments. No souvenir key chains or fold-out postcard sets or coffee mugs or t-shirts. There are no smiles here. There is horror. There is anguish. There is silence. And death.
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Buda, Pest and The Cure
Death was imminent. I was sure of it. It was so humid that the word “air” could be used only sparingly. And it was so hot that there may as well have been an onion on my head and a tomato in my mouth: I was being roasted alive. The thermometer pegged the temperature at 72oC (162oF).
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The Dictator Next Door
The first bombs fell about 10 pm. Their arrival was no surprise — journalists left the city two days prior. Residents gathered in Cold War-era shelters as the air raid sirens wailed and radio reports warned of the need for gas masks. The state-run television station blinked out. Explosions erupted around the city and the lights went black.
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Nice Nice
Welcome to Cannes, where the idle rich luxuriate and vaporize large sums of their money, all in shocking disregard for struggling backpackers. While beach chairs and umbrellas rent for €30 outside the Cannes Inter-Continental (€400 and above per night), the sand on the free slice of beach, with the backpacking, pasta-and-sauce eating, tap-water-drinking proletariat, is every bit as nice.
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What, I have to eat again?
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).
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Back to the Future
Morocco has been officially rocked. Aboard the ferry to Spain, I spent my last Dirhams on insanely cheap Smirnoff and candy bars. It was quite a way to go out.
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A Change of Plans
I was in the line to visit the ship’s Moroccan immigration officers when I noticed the guy in the line beside me. He looked, well, Moroccan. And in his hand was a Canadian passport. After reading wild tales of hucksters and scam artists, I was keen to know if the ship’s currency exchange rate was decent.
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And Sometimes the Guidebook Isn’t
Despite the theft of my wallet and the ensuing hassle that caused, Lisbon (are its residents called “Lisbians”?) was nice. Any city moves up in my rankings when it can offer me an enormous meal of a whole fish, soup, potatoes and vegetables for less than five dollars.
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A Satori in Pictures
A light drizzle coats the back of the camera hanging around my neck. Released from the steel gray sky, the tiny drops aggregate on the plastic as I stand lingering, idling amidst the ebb and flow of travelers. A stiff, cold breeze abruptly enters the mix and the reaction is instantaneous amongst the crowd: scarves get wrapped tighter and jackets get zipped up higher and gloves are pulled more snug.
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