Dislike my own feelings today.
Procrastination, or fatigue?
Or just confusion.
Can't seem to get the entry I had hoped would flow out onto the page.
Later, Ditamoon.
Procrastination, or fatigue?
Or just confusion.
Can't seem to get the entry I had hoped would flow out onto the page.
Later, Ditamoon.
Going Home...
That's a good title for this entry. The past three weeks have been 9 flights and 4 overnight train trips, and the highpoint was a visit to a small town were I lived for almost two years. I don't have a particular place that I consider to be my "home" anymore, at least in the common meaning of the word, since I'm quite comfortable in so many places, but this trip to revisit a place that I both loved and hated is probably as close to "going home" as I will ever get.
The small town is Dunhuang, Gansu Province, China. It was really fun to see my former co-workers, to again meet the restaurant owners who were happy to share a drink, and to say hello to the key-makers sitting beside their carts in the crowded streets. A small town in an empty desert, coated with the dust of eternity; every day the women sweep the streets, and every night the stars put back the dust in its proper place.
The town itself is probably only a few hundred years old, but the immediate area has been populated for at least 1600 years, and life in those times revolved around an oasis and hundreds of caves carved into a limestone cliff. 490 of the caves, created over a 1000 years, have been preserved, and are open to the primarily Buddhist tourists who come to see the thousands of frescos and painted mud statues. Most of the caves are entirely covered with art honoring all the Buddhist deities, and the depiction of life in the middle of nowhere. One cave has a sitting Buddha that is at least 50 feet high, and it is amazing to think of the lives and effort and devotion that was consumed to create all the intricate detail of the caves.
The town can be both wondrously and infuriatingly small, but that is the contradiction of life in rural China. I loved to walk the town in the cool evenings, winter and summer, and watch the thousands of people who seemed to be constantly moving. Dunhuang is today the center of a busy agricultural area, and people from the farms were always in the town at night, shopping, selling fruit and produce, standing in line at the one theater to see a vaudeville show with acrobats and dancers and comedic skits that I could not understand. As a desert town, most activities take place outside in the markets, and I enjoyed that, because life probably hasn't changed too much in the thousand years, except now one sees fewer donkeys and can have the choice of either warm or cold beer as one sits under the summer stars.
I had to leave after a few days, and as I walked to the small plane across the flat and empty airfield, I did feel a little sad. I guess its the feeling of leaving home. Maybe, someday....
Dunhuang: entrance to one of the many market areas in the town
An small spring and pool of fresh water in the desert a few miles outside of Dunhuang, called Mingshashan
The cliff and Buddhist caves in the oasis, the Mogao Grotto.
Example of the frescos at Mogao, just a small part of the thousands painted, depicting Bodhisattvas.
(Last three photos are from tourist sites, since no photography is allowed inside the caves; other two are much better than any I ever took.)
That's a good title for this entry. The past three weeks have been 9 flights and 4 overnight train trips, and the highpoint was a visit to a small town were I lived for almost two years. I don't have a particular place that I consider to be my "home" anymore, at least in the common meaning of the word, since I'm quite comfortable in so many places, but this trip to revisit a place that I both loved and hated is probably as close to "going home" as I will ever get.
The small town is Dunhuang, Gansu Province, China. It was really fun to see my former co-workers, to again meet the restaurant owners who were happy to share a drink, and to say hello to the key-makers sitting beside their carts in the crowded streets. A small town in an empty desert, coated with the dust of eternity; every day the women sweep the streets, and every night the stars put back the dust in its proper place.
The town itself is probably only a few hundred years old, but the immediate area has been populated for at least 1600 years, and life in those times revolved around an oasis and hundreds of caves carved into a limestone cliff. 490 of the caves, created over a 1000 years, have been preserved, and are open to the primarily Buddhist tourists who come to see the thousands of frescos and painted mud statues. Most of the caves are entirely covered with art honoring all the Buddhist deities, and the depiction of life in the middle of nowhere. One cave has a sitting Buddha that is at least 50 feet high, and it is amazing to think of the lives and effort and devotion that was consumed to create all the intricate detail of the caves.
The town can be both wondrously and infuriatingly small, but that is the contradiction of life in rural China. I loved to walk the town in the cool evenings, winter and summer, and watch the thousands of people who seemed to be constantly moving. Dunhuang is today the center of a busy agricultural area, and people from the farms were always in the town at night, shopping, selling fruit and produce, standing in line at the one theater to see a vaudeville show with acrobats and dancers and comedic skits that I could not understand. As a desert town, most activities take place outside in the markets, and I enjoyed that, because life probably hasn't changed too much in the thousand years, except now one sees fewer donkeys and can have the choice of either warm or cold beer as one sits under the summer stars.
I had to leave after a few days, and as I walked to the small plane across the flat and empty airfield, I did feel a little sad. I guess its the feeling of leaving home. Maybe, someday....
Dunhuang: entrance to one of the many market areas in the town
An small spring and pool of fresh water in the desert a few miles outside of Dunhuang, called Mingshashan
The cliff and Buddhist caves in the oasis, the Mogao Grotto.
Example of the frescos at Mogao, just a small part of the thousands painted, depicting Bodhisattvas.
(Last three photos are from tourist sites, since no photography is allowed inside the caves; other two are much better than any I ever took.)
Another day in another world
Yesterday was really one of the best days in a long time. In the morning walked around London, just miles and miles of people watching, one of my favorite hobbies. The underground is great for this. In the afternoon, more by chance than any real plan, ended up at the Tate Modern and spent quite a bit of time in the Olafur Eliasson installation entitled The Weather Project. The photos cannot even begin to illustrate the spatial grandeur of the main hall at the Tate, and the installation was one of the best I've seen as far as creating an inspirational world inside an unusual shell. The spectators became part of the work, and their constant movement through the misty light created a unique vision of some future world. The work is stunningly simple, just a 'sun' and mechanically generated mist, but the unusual design of the main turbine hall, with the mirrored ceiling hundreds of feet above the floor which allowed so many perspectives at the same time, created an ethereal visual treat. I was mesmerized by the atmosphere and enveloping space, that was almost a dream state in another time.
View of the sun, floor level.
The ceiling view
The mist..
Later that day I went to a friends house for a wedding party, one where the only thing one can say after sleeping off the excesses is "bloody hell, how many bottles of sparkling?". A great boisterous time was had by all, and no injuries to report by the 75 guests. Many old friends in the crowd, and I loved it.
Yesterday was really one of the best days in a long time. In the morning walked around London, just miles and miles of people watching, one of my favorite hobbies. The underground is great for this. In the afternoon, more by chance than any real plan, ended up at the Tate Modern and spent quite a bit of time in the Olafur Eliasson installation entitled The Weather Project. The photos cannot even begin to illustrate the spatial grandeur of the main hall at the Tate, and the installation was one of the best I've seen as far as creating an inspirational world inside an unusual shell. The spectators became part of the work, and their constant movement through the misty light created a unique vision of some future world. The work is stunningly simple, just a 'sun' and mechanically generated mist, but the unusual design of the main turbine hall, with the mirrored ceiling hundreds of feet above the floor which allowed so many perspectives at the same time, created an ethereal visual treat. I was mesmerized by the atmosphere and enveloping space, that was almost a dream state in another time.
View of the sun, floor level.
The ceiling view
The mist..
Later that day I went to a friends house for a wedding party, one where the only thing one can say after sleeping off the excesses is "bloody hell, how many bottles of sparkling?". A great boisterous time was had by all, and no injuries to report by the 75 guests. Many old friends in the crowd, and I loved it.
Somehow the first two pics are of nice deserted island beaches, so to continue with that theme, this is winter on St. Paul Island, the northern island of the group called the Pribilof Islands. They are located in the Bering Sea between Alaska and the eastern coast of Russia. The islands are quite barren with low brush growing in very rocky and sandy soil. There are no beaches or resorts, and it is a place where the silence is broken only by the cold howling wind. About 700 people, primarily Aleuts, live at the southern end of this island around a harbour and a fishing fleet that provides the main source of income. Alaska King Crab is caught in the deep waters around the island and processed in low sheds that ring the harbour. The Pribilofs were originally inhabited by Russians to harvest fur seals.
Photo is looking northwest towards Russia, and in the forground is a beautiful black sand bank. Left is a frozen fresh water lake and on the horizon to the right is the Bering Sea.
If one wishes to travel to a place where one can feel insigificant in the world and very, very isolated, I highly recommend the Pribilofs. (People do actually go there to photograph migratory birds, so I don't want to undersell the place.)
Sorry to emphasize that I'm leaving all of you above 35N latitude to the cold and ice, but in 36 hours I'll get to walk my nekid skinny butt down this bit of sand:
A deserted beach in the Abacos, no internet, no cell towers, no hustlers, no fences, no "all inclusive" resort crap, no traffic. Tiny waves quietly landing on the beach as the best indication of passing time. Last week I was in Alaska and the temp was -30F, so this is the reward. The 100 degree temperature change between the two places is amazing. I will, of course, spend quite a bit of time commiserating with you about your ice-bound lives, so it won't be all Mai-Tais and the agony of tan lines.
A deserted beach in the Abacos, no internet, no cell towers, no hustlers, no fences, no "all inclusive" resort crap, no traffic. Tiny waves quietly landing on the beach as the best indication of passing time. Last week I was in Alaska and the temp was -30F, so this is the reward. The 100 degree temperature change between the two places is amazing. I will, of course, spend quite a bit of time commiserating with you about your ice-bound lives, so it won't be all Mai-Tais and the agony of tan lines.
