In the last year and a half, fifty-one individuals have decided to accompany David duChemin and me on adventures in Italy, Nepal, Croatia, Laos, Cambodia and Mexico. Others have already signed up to join us in Ethiopia, Kenya and Tanzania.

When David and I first started brainstorming what we wanted to do, how, and where, it was very easy to get excited about sharing with other photographers the corners of this world that I love. It was also easy to be excited about helping others along their own photographic journeys. However, for some reason, I never fully considered the impact that these individuals would have on me. Perhaps this is because initially they are unknowns, strangers. We don’t know who will decide to join us. But for whatever reason they do.

We have had some participants who have returned many times. One has been with us on nearly half of our adventures, and I look forward to welcoming her on many more. Others we’ve only seen on one adventure, but that doesn’t mean that their impact on me was any less. Far from it.

Some of the participants have done things and said things that still resonate in my mind—in some cases more than a year later. Some provided support to me during an incredibly difficult time this spring, and despite the fact that I had just met them they felt like dear friends immediately. They still are. I have been invited to the homes of, and enjoyed the incredible hospitality of, Within The Frame alumni, and I have bumped into others, and shared additional time together, while traveling this beautiful world. I have even made friends with friends of Within The Frame alumni while traveling and have traveled with them. Some Within The Frame alumni have sent me beautiful photographs and photography books from their adventures.

These Within The Frame alumni have come from all corners of the world—Australia, Austria, Canada, Costa Rica, Dubai, Egypt, Germany, Hungary, Italy, Netherlands, New Zealand, Norway, Singapore, Spain, Turkey, United Kingdom, United States, and other places that I’m certainly forgetting. They are doctors, firemen, jewelers, photographers, housewives, editors, fundraisers, retirees, lawyers, executives, students, managers, musicians, programmers, consultants, writers, translators, etc. All with a passion for photography, but, more importantly, all with a passion for life and other people.

To be perfectly honest, when I look at the current list of Within The Frame alumni I’m at a loss for words to describe the impact—the beautifully positive impact—that these people have had on me. These are amazing people. Some are now dear to me for life. Others I may never see again but will hope to always remember. And fondly. Very fondly.

Today I would like to give thanks to these individuals. To those of you reading this who might know one or more of these individuals, then you already know what wonderful people they are.

To you, the Within The Frame alumni, I would like to say that, in your own ways, each of you has made me a better person. I would travel with each of you again. I would share wine with each of you. I would dine with each of you. I would laugh with each of you. And I would cry with each of you. Again and again. If you ever need anything from me, then I hope that I can be there for you. You are amazing people. And I’m thankful for having had the pleasure of sharing even a small part of this life, this planet, and your photographic journeys with you. You are…

Robert Ardinger
Claude Biron
Emme Blee
Claudio Bussandri
Joanna Charron
Ilse Cornelis
Jay Desind
Camille Dohrn
Robert Durkin
Kerry Ellis
Jeffrey Fielding
Natalie Forchuk
Michelle Geoga
Amanda Goolsby
Dan Goossens
Fernando Gros
Anne Groton
Eve Hannah
Nikki Harris
Cynthia Haynes
Janat Horn
Michael Jordan
Ty Keennon
C.J. Kern
Andrée Lawrey
Marjan Leeuwesteijn
Wendy Lockhart
Rosa Macías
Lisa Osta
Anish Reddy
Eli Reinholdtsen
Victor Allen Rowley
Robert Royer
Wendy Royer
Marco Ryan
Christy Sampson
Ekta Saran
Stuart Sipahigil
Jens Stachowitz
Stephen Starkman
Jessica Marie Taylor
Luciano Teghillo
Sander van Hulsenbeek
Amie Vanderford
Anna Velkey-Solvberg
Amy Beth Vonheim
Knut Vonheim
Chris Ward
Leonie Wise
Mein Wong
Enis Yücel

Thank you! From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.

PS — Where I know of a website for any of these Within The Frame alumni, you can click on their name to access it. (If you are one of them, then please send me any updates.)

AmFree Knitting Circle — (Near) Noh Bo, Thailand (along the Moei River)

In the post March Update, I mentioned (fifth paragraph) a project that I encountered in Thailand along the border with Burma/Myanmar. I didn’t give many details in that post, but I did say that you’d probably hear more about it in this blog. Now is that time.

The project is called AmFree and is run by young American Jaime Yeretzian. She has taught women in a village along the border to knit hats. The hats are funky and fun—just like Jaime. I spent one afternoon with them as the knitting circle sat in a bamboo hut, knitting and examining each others’ work. There was a lot of laughter. The women sit around in the evenings in their spare time (often with their children) and create these hats that Jaime has designed. She then sells them from her website and at stores back in the US to benefit the women. She’s a one-person operation, but she has the drive and determination of a much larger organization.

I was impressed with Jaime. I was impressed with the women who were knitting. And I was impressed with the hats. So I wanted to find some way of helping. Jaime mentioned that she needed a new website. I knew that I didn’t have time, but I thought that I could at least ask around. I sent out a tweet to see if anybody out in the twittersphere would be interested in helping. It turns out that the answer was a resounding “yes”. (And once again I must state how much I love this community.)

Stephen Desroches, a web designer and photographer from Prince Edward Island, volunteered to help. Over the course of the last few months they’ve worked on creating a new website with a new look and new functionality. I occasionally stuck my nose in to see how things were going but otherwise sat on the sidelines, watching as they each explored their expertise.

Cold weather (for those of us in the north) and Christmas are on their way. Perhaps think about buying some hats for gifts (and for yourself!). Jaime isn’t yet registered as a not-for-profit, but I’ve met the women who benefit from the purchase of these hats. But I don’t even have to suggest that you buy these hats to help those women. The truth is that these hats are worth every penny without even considering those women and their families. Jaime is a designer by profession, and she has brought that talent to these hats. You can find out more about her project and see the hats on the AmFree website: AmFree.

Also, if you need a web designer or photographer in the Prince Edward Island area, then consider giving Stephen a call. We’ve corresponded a bit over the course of these months, and I can tell that he’s not only excellent at what he does but also professional in how he does it. Stephen’s website and contact information can be accessed by clicking here.

In April I posted One month, one camera, one lens as a sort of challenge to myself to use just my new 24mm/f1.4 lens for the month that I was going to be in Italy and Croatia. However, in the end I decided to bring back-up lenses for those just-in-case scenarios. I never really got into the groove of this challenge for a couple of reasons. For starters, there was the death of my mother, mentioned in my Life Is (Not Always) Short post, and David duChemin’s failed attempt at flying (recounted here). Both put a serious damper on my photographic endeavors. And then I met Stephen Starkman (yes, another Stephen, who is also Canadian; they must be short on names up north of the border) in Tuscany, who was all too willing to loan me his Zeiss lenses. I simply couldn’t resist. So even though I still wasn’t in a photographic groove, I put the 24mm/f1.4 away and played with the lenses that Stephen generously loaned to me. Stephen, by the way, is an excellent landscape photographer. Check out some of his photography on his smugmug site by clicking here. So this “challenge” kind of failed, but in the meantime I have learned to love that lens. It was on my camera more than any other during the recent Laos + Angkor Within The Frame.

Speaking of Within The Frame, we’ve had a few recent cancellations for the Within The Frame photographic adventures that David duChemin and I co-lead around the world. The unfortunate fact that somebody has to work instead of going on these adventures has opened one spot for each of the next four Within The Frame adventures. You can find out more by clicking on the links below to visit each’s mini-site.

Oaxaca Within The Frame
Lalibela Within The Frame
Maasai Mara Within The Frame
Liguria Within The Frame

In less than two weeks, I’ll be in Oaxaca, Mexico, for Oaxaca Within The Frame, and I’m really looking forward to getting back there and to meeting in person the participants who will be joining us. Más cava, por favor!

Hanuman Das — Pashupatinath Temple, Kathmandu, Nepal

I am going to die. I hope not today nor tomorrow nor anytime in the foreseeable future, but it is fact that I’m going to die. It gets worse. So are you. You are also going to die. We are all going to die.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this concept of life being short. Like many, I’ve seen too much of this impermanence of life. When I was 21 my father died, and that tore the foundation from under my youthful existence. I felt almost unrooted—as if whatever security I had in the world was suddenly gone. A year later, mere seconds after I got out of the car, my dear friend Babette was the only remaining passenger in a car that ran a red light and was hit by another car. She flew through the windshield and bleed to death in the streets of Heidelberg. She was one of the most vivacious people I ever met. In a split second, one error turned a beautiful person into a horrible tragedy. The following year, my cousin was hit by a train as she crossed railroad tracks that had no railway-crossing guards. Her 18-month old son was killed. She was severely, and permanently, injured. Those were three tragedies in less than three years of my life.

More recently, exactly three months ago today, while I was in Italy’s Cinque Terre on day two of Liguria Within The Frame, my mother unexpectedly died. She hadn’t been ill, and she never would have planned to die while I was working in Italy and my sister was on vacation in Hawaii. She was far too considerate and organized to do something like that, and, trust me, you don’t want to be far from home and receive an email that your mother has died. Just typing that word brings tears to my eyes. Those tears never really go away. I still get tears when I think of my father, Babette, Brian and too many others.

These are just some of my stories of loss. You all have your own. We all do. We know people die. We know that others will die. And we know that we too will die. However, we prefer to pretend otherwise. We’re uncomfortable with death. We don’t like it. We struggle to accept it. Hope and optimism stand as sentinels to keep these thoughts far from our minds.

The reality is that for some, life is indeed far too short. They are with us and then suddenly they are not. There are often no warnings that a smile will be the last, or that we should give just a little extra hug. There is no warning that death might be waiting at the next red light, railway crossing, etc.

These are the kinds of stories that tell us that life is short and that we should use such brevity as motivation to embrace life. However, life is not always short. For example, my grandfather-in-law, one of the most remarkable people I’ve ever met, was ready to die when he finally succumbed in his 90s. He lived a long and full life. He suffered the death of his wife, and he suffered the death of his only child. No amount of love—genuine, unconditional love—from others could convince him that he needed more of life. When his time came, he was ready to die. His life was long. It was not short. It was full. It was complete.

When I think of the phrase “life is short”, I am not motivated. I’m reminded of loss, pain, tragedy, and a sense of emotional hollow in which one could hide a universe. The phrase “life is short” seems like a superficial cliché that is used to justify self-indulgent, short-term gratification. Life is not always short. It is also not always long. It is often, however, extremely unpredictable, which is a blessing at times and a tragedy at others. If we could read the script, then we wouldn’t have the joy of living these wonderful lives of ours.

I can think of nothing that I will do because “life is short” that I’m also not going to do in case life is long. Therefore, at least for me, this temporal qualifier seems absolutely pointless—as if we’re meant to pretend to be in the final minutes of some sports activity and must act now or face certain defeat. However, the clock of life is uncertain; it’s unpredictable. We don’t know how much time is left.

We should do something not because life is short (or long) but because we have but one unique life in which to enjoy and strive to accomplish our dreams—or, more importantly, enjoy the path of that endeavor. It’s not the potential brevity of life that should motivate us. We should be motivated simply by life itself. Whether short or long, life is always unique and valuable.

My motivation is that I am, and my drive is for what I can be—for however much time I have.

Inle Lake — Shan State, Burma/Myanmar

My apologies for leaving the blog in the hands of crickets recently. I’ve been extremely busy (a good thing) and am just back from a trip to Thailand and Burma (plus there was all that insurance nonsense and replenishing of gear post-Ecuador). At any rate, I’m back (albeit somewhat briefly), and here are a few quick updates.

Back in February, Alex Masi was announced as the Focus for Humanity 2011 NGO Assignment Fellowship recipient. At the time I didn’t have the opportunity to blog about it, but just in case anybody missed that announcement please do take some time to visit Alex’s site by clicking here. Also, a bit earlier in the year (in January) I had the opportunity to meet with Focus for Humanity 2011 Foundation Fellow Melanie Blanding and FFH co-founder (photographer and friend) Marco Ryan (as well as one of the FFH board members, who turned out to be absolutely delightful) in New York City. I’m absolutely thrilled with the first two fellowships awarded by FFH. I can’t say enough, nor thank Marco enough, for brainstorming this initiative and then doing the much harder part of actually making it happen. Everybody who knows Marco knows that he does a thousand things at once, and, seemingly miraculously, he manages to do them all extremely well. My sincerest compliments (and thanks) to Marco, Alex and Melanie. If anybody has managed to not hear about Focus for Humanity, then please take the time to visit the site by clicking here. I’m extremely proud to be on the FFH Advisory Council with respected friends and peers.

Another organization for photographers that began last year is the International Guild of Visual Peacemakers. I’m a member of the IGVP Guild and am curating the Visual Peacemakers’ first photography book. The deadline for submissions is March 22nd, and you can find more information by clicking here. Quite a few images have already been submitted, but I have resisted the urge to look at them as I don’t wish to be unduly influenced by the early submissions. That is, I don’t want those images to set the stage for what I might expect of subsequent submissions. So I’m very much looking forward to the deadline so that I can begin reviewing images! I hope that you will take the time to find (up to) five of your images to submit.

At 7pm on May 25th, I will be giving a presentation at the Columbia University Faculty House in Manhattan (64 Morningside Drive) for the Crossroads Cultural Center on “What photography can reveal about humanity” along with Phil Bicker (Creative Director at Magnum, Creative Director at The Fader and Associate Photo Editor for Time). The event is open to the public; so if you’re in the area, please consider stopping by. It would be good to see you there. And if you do follow my blog and show up, please find the time to introduce yourself (if we haven’t already met; you can still say “hi” if we’ve already met!).

While traveling in northwestern Thailand along the border with Burma a few weeks ago I made a couple of new friends and came across a project that I really, really like (for a number of reasons but I won’t mention them just yet). It’s a one-person operation based in a small jungle village on the Thai-Burma border. In fact, you can see Burma from that one-person’s room in an orphanage. She expressed a need for a bit of help with her website; so I thought that I’d see if I could perhaps find somebody. Enter twitter. I sent out a single tweet—with barely any information, and an outstanding photographer, who works professionally in web design, offered to help. I love this community! I’m not going to mention the project, nor the people involved, for the moment, but I suspect that you’ll be hearing more about this project and those involved in this blog in the future.

David duChemin and I still have a couple of spots open for our Oaxaca Within The Frame photographic adventure in Mexico this autumn. This will be the last of 2011 and the only one that isn’t currently sold out. More details by clicking here.

As I mentioned, I’m just back from Thailand and Burma, where I was working on a project. I can’t go into the details of that project nor show any of those images yet, but I will have more to say and images to show about this trip in the coming weeks. In the meantime, it’s great to be back!

Battambang — Cambodia

The two most common questions I’m asked are “What camera/gear I use?” and “How do you become a humanitarian photographer?” The answer to the first question is easy: whatever’s nearby. (Just ask “Reflection” Eli. I used her camera to do a portrait in Nepal. It was nearby. And it was a Canon for those who need to know.) I gave a lecture last month on humanitarian photography, and I promised a member of the audience that I would blog about this second question; so here I go.

However, the truth is that I don’t actually know the answer. I don’t think that there is a university that is pushing out humanitarian photographers. (If there are universities that have courses in humanitarian photography, then please somebody comment about them for those who might be looking to go that route.) I don’t think that there is a standard roadmap that permits one to jump on somewhere along a clear trajectory in order to find oneself working as a humanitarian photographer. It’s all a bit more nebulous that that—at least it was for me. It isn’t a profession that I chose at career day. In fact, I chose a lot of other professions first. Somehow, along that extremely serpentine trajectory, this is where I find myself. In fact, when I look at my peers this is one thing that we have in common; we have almost all had other careers first (and most of us are self-taught). However, it seems rather pointless for me to start a post in which I’m simply going to shrug my shoulders and say “I dunno”. So in an attempt to be at least one rung on the ladder more useful, these are the characteristics that I think might be a solid foundation for becoming a humanitarian photographer.

Be Consistent
Photography is extremely subjective. What I like you might think is absolute rubbish, and vice versa. We can look at certain images together and agree that they possess, or don’t possess, standard compositional elements and other photographic qualities, but that doesn’t mean that they will affect us in the same way. You don’t have to photograph like your photographic idols, mentors and peers. You can photograph like you. In fact, you must. But you must also be consistent if you want to photograph for somebody other than yourself. When somebody decides that they like your vision and your way of expressing yourself with a camera, they need to know that this is what they’re going to get if they hire you. For a professional, consistent is often better than brilliant. (Of course, both is best!) Your results must be purposeful and not accidental.

Be Professional
The word “professional” seems to mean a lot of different things to a lot of different people when it comes to photography. Here I mean it in the sense of competent and reliable. Do what you say you are going to do. Do it when you say that you are going to do it. Represent yourself for your abilities. Succinctly, keep it real.

Be Entrepreneurial
If you intend to make a living as a humanitarian photographer, then you’ll need it to generate your income. This will require business acumen. You will need to know what you’re worth, how to negotiate contracts and will have to have systems in place for invoicing, receiving payments, delivering photographs to clients, etc.

Be International
This one may or may not apply to you as it depends on where you hope to find your clients. There are humanitarian organizations nearly everywhere—fortunately or unfortunately, depending on how one is going to look at it. (It’s fortunate that they exist, but it’s unfortunate that they’re needed.) If you are interested in obtaining an assignment to work for an organization in Africa, Asia or any place other than right where you’re living, the organization needs to know that you can travel. I have seen people become almost completely functionless when faced with the realities of life in certain parts of the world. The organization for which you hope to work, needs to know that this is not going to be you. You need to be able to show that coping with cultural diversity is old hat to you. If you’ve already been to a remote section of Africa, then your efforts to work as a humanitarian photographer for an organization in remote Africa will seem much more plausible. However, there has to be away of making that first trip—without necessarily just buying a ticket and running off someplace. And there is. If you can manage to excel at a domestic assignment for an organization with international locations, then they might be willing to put you onto a plane to that remote location, particularly if they like you!

Be Likable
Perhaps more so than in any other area of photography, a humanitarian photographer needs to be likable. This will help you get an assignment, but it will also make your assignments go much more smoothly. Often, you’ll be hired by headquarters in a western country but will work with field staff in a developing country. Those field staff are busy, and they may or may not be happy to see you (as you’re going to take up their time). Be likable and the chances will improve remarkably that the local field staff will be helpful and happy to see you.

Be Flexible
Things will go wrong. Learn to take them with a bit of humor. Yes, it’s not easy to find it humorous to suffer from E. coli or malaria, but, fortunately, those will be rare. You’re more likely to encounter transportation problems, uncooperative weather, shot lists that are impossible, etc. Be flexible and find solutions.

Care!!!
Seriously. You need to care if this is going to be your profession. Organizations want to at least hope that you are going to empathize with their efforts. They don’t just want somebody proficient with a camera. They want to be able to relate to you and feel that you understand their projects. They will expect that you share some of their humanitarian ideals. You don’t have to be an expert on each NGO’s activities, but it helps enormously if they sense that you have an understanding of their mission. Knowing about their activities could actually be key in getting the assignment.

Note that these characteristics are not unique to humanitarian photographers. They’re probably good ideas for all photographers, but these are characteristics that I generally recognize in fellow humanitarian photographers. I think that they’re a good foundation and something worth considering for anybody who wishes to pursue this rewarding career.

In Deep — Koh Samet, Thailand

I’m just back from three weeks of traveling with fellow photographers. OK, the first week, David duChemin and I invested far more time into pad thai and pier jumping, but we did spend one solid evening photographing that pier. David showed his dedication by stripping down (to his bathing suit; nobody get too excited!) and hauling his gear into the water to get his “Postcard from Kho Samed”. (Those who have photographed with David know that this isn’t rare. He likes to drag his gear into the deep water.) The following two weeks were spent with the Kathmandu Within The Frame gang, which turned out to be an absolutely wonderful group of photographers.

Until fairly recently, I hadn’t spent much time traveling with other photographers. And now I realize how truly different it is. At least, it feels very different to me.

In the past, I’ve traveled with my wife on photographic trips, including some assignments. She’s a great travel partner, and she is as dedicated to my photography as I am. Well, almost. (For some reason she still prefers horses.) She’s always willing to let me take the time I need and to help whenever she can. However, it isn’t the same. Even when she volunteers to wait, assist, etc. there is a voice in the back of my head that tells me to hurry up. It tells me that she’s there to explore and not to just watch me. It tells me that while I’m willing to postpone dinner for hours that she’s probably hungry. Etc. They’re photographic trips for me but not for her.

I have this idea that perhaps I need to start dividing my non-assignment travels between photographic and non-photographic. More precisely, I’m thinking of leaving my gear at home when I travel with my wife. Could I do that? Would I spend the whole time kicking myself? Would I continually think “OMG, I just missed the best photographic opportunity ever because I was too stupid to bring my gear”? Is that the photographic equivalent of the fish-that-got-away story? If I could do that—just fly off and enjoy a destination without gear, then I’d take other photography-dedicated trips either alone or with fellow photographers. You know, trips in which “going slow” means not moving for hours and “eating late” means when others are already dreaming of breakfast.

How do the rest of you combine—if you do—your photography with traveling with non-photographers? Or if you dear reader are the non-photographer, what would you like of your photographer companion(s)? All suggestions, comments, etc. welcome!

Ansel Adams - The Tetons and the Snake River

Ten years ago, Rick Norsigian bought a collection of several dozen glass plates created by photographic icon Ansel Adams for $45 at a garage sale. Or maybe he didn’t.

Matthew Adams, Ansel Adams’ grandson who runs the Ansel Adams Gallery, doesn’t believe that they’re authentic.

Are they or aren’t they? Obviously, I don’t know, but it is apparently a $200 million question. This means, of course, that if you look at these images and don’t attribute them to Ansel Adams, then they’re worth approximately $45. However, if you look at the exact same images and attribute them to Ansel Adams, then they’re apparently worth hundreds of millions of dollars.

The difference, of course, is the name. I think that I have a problem with that. The photographs, regardless of who created them, should stand on their own merits. They are either great photographs (which is very subjective) and worthy of a collector’s riches. Or they are not.

Is a photograph automatically great just because Ansel Adams created it? I hope not. I suspect (perhaps presumptuously) that Ansel Adams would agree with me. In fact, if they are his photographs, and he chose not to distribute them publicly, then there might be a reason. Maybe he didn’t consider them good enough. Perhaps he even hated them.

I think that it’s important for us to ask ourselves if a photograph truly is great or whether we’re just caught up in a cult of personality.  All work from a great photographer will not be great. Likewise great photographs can be created by unknown photographers. Adams himself said, “Twelve significant photographs in any one year is a good crop.”

Perhaps these are not Ansel Adams’ glass plates. Or perhaps they are but were not considered to be part of “a good crop”. What we should do, in my humble opinion, is look at photographs for what they are and not for who created them. We can use Adam’s own words as our guide…

“A great photograph is one that fully expresses what one feels, in the deepest sense, about what is being photographed.”

Perhaps we need to look at the photographs, judge them on our reactions and debate less about who might have created them. We may never know the answer to “who?”, but we can still explore “why?” and “how?”, and aren’t those more interesting questions?

Silvia - Jodhpur, India

I’ve mentioned my wife a few times in this blog, and today is an opportune moment to introduce her (at least semi-properly with a photo). Today is our wedding anniversary. It’s almost frightening to say the number, but here we go… we’ve been married for seventeen years. Other than being me, which I’ve been doing for quite a long time (since day one to be precise), it’s, by far, the longest thing I’ve ever done. I’ve never lived anyplace for that long. I’ve never worked anywhere for that long. Nothing even comes close. Well, except for my passion and pursuit of photography, but I took breaks from that – many and probably too often. I took no breaks from seventeen years of marriage with Silvia. I never wanted to. I’d walk right back in to Villa Reale in Milan and marry her all over again. In fact, that would be quite entertaining!

While introducing Silvia, I want to remind you to do something that I so often forget. Take photos of the ones you love. It’s too easy to get caught up in taking photographs for your clients, for your portfolio, of all the shinny objects vying for your attention. It’s too easy to forget, or postpone, taking photos of those you see often, particularly those you see every day. However, even though these photos will never be a part of your portfolio, they will be the photos that you truly treasure as your journey begins to count in years (a number that you might sometimes pretend to forget) and then in decades.

I’m (extremely) guilty of not remembering to do this. Extremely. In three weeks in India I took only a handful of photos of Silvia. (No, those of the back of her head as she walked in front of me along the streets of India don’t count.) So… do as I say and not as I do. Go now and take photos of the ones you love.

Basilica San Marco - Venice, Italy

You know that image that you’re currently envisioning from your next trip? You know, the one you already see hanging on your wall in a beautifully artistic frame? The one you’re going to proudly tell everybody that you shot in Italy, India, Mongolia, Mexico, wherever it may be that you’re going? Well, forget it. Right now! That image isn’t going to happen. If you set out to find and create that image, then you’re destined to experience frustration. Wear a helmet because you’ll be beating your head against walls.

Tomorrow I leave for Liguria. It’s a special place for me. My wife Silvia and I didn’t meet there, but we got to know each other in Liguria. We spent a lot of time roaming the villages and rocky coastline. It’s really easy for me to have expectations about this trip. I can visualize the image now of the weathered fisherman tending to his nets along the pebbly, morning-lit beach with a beautifully battered green rowboat, with its peeling paint, as the backdrop. Man, that’s a killer shot that I see! It’d look great on my wall! But if I set off to Italy intent on finding and shooting that image, well… woe is me. That would be a mistake. If I do that, then I’ll walk right by the beautiful young girl feeding a half dozen kittens from the stone steps of her picturesque villa nestled in an olive grove. Yep, I won’t even see them. I’ll be too busy looking for fishermen, nets and green boats.

This trip to Liguria (and then Venice) is a photo tour/workshop (with my accomplice David duChemin). I think the best way to do a touring workshop would be to not know the destination. If I could, I’d sell participants a week of intrigue. I wouldn’t announce the destination. I’d just tell everyone to get themselves to point A, and that I’d take it from there (getting them to a different point B). Then people could arrive and react to what they see instead of battling their expectations. Unfortunately, visa requirements, control issues and innate curiosity make that an unlikely trip to occur. However, that would be the best way to keep us from being blinded and frustrated by our unrealistic expectations.

Since our expectations will always haunt us, what can we visualize in anticipation of an exciting journey that might not blind our vision? Well, what works for me might not work for you, but I’m thinking about focaccia al formaggio right out of the oven from a specific small, hole-in-the wall shop along the promenade in Camogli. I’m not going to photograph that focaccia; so don’t expect to see that photo here. I’m going to eat it! And then another. And to hell with my waistline, maybe one more (sorry, Silvia). As long as I keep dreaming about that focaccia al formaggio, the trofie al pesto, and, while I’m not a big white wine drinker if I happen across it, a glass of Laura Aschero Pigato I’m not building up photo expectations that will frustrate me once I arrive.

Food works for me as this distraction; it’s another passion of mine. Yes, it too might prove to be an unrealistic expectation, but that’s OK. If that focaccia al formaggio isn’t quite as good as my brain likes to remember, then I’ll be a little bit disappointed. However, I’m not flying to Italy to eat focaccia al formaggio. That’s just a bonus; this is a photo trip. Unrealistic photo expectations are the demons that I have to keep at bay in order to avoid frustration and disappointment; so tonight I’ll be dreaming about focaccia and not the weathered hands of village fishermen with more character than all the actors in Hollywood combined.

What other passion can you use to keep unrealistic expectations at bay?

Ramgarhia Bunga (towers) and Guru Ka Langar (dining hall) at the Golden Temple Complex - Amritsar, India

In my last post, Screw The Photo, I mentioned that when I left the Golden Temple, without creating any of the photos that I had hoped and planned to create (expectations are always a bad idea!), that I fully intended to return later that day as well as bright and ridiculously early the following morning. I never made it back. Here’s why.

We had a blast at the Golden Temple, but after three hours of modeling and conversations we were hungry. So we decided to head out to find some breakfast. (It is possible to eat right at the Temple as they have a massive kitchen that feeds thousands of people a day in the Guru ka Langar. We considered it, and I highly recommend it as it looked interesting; however, we decided that it was time for a change of scenery. We would try the Temple kitchen later. Again, that later never arrived.)

We had breakfast, followed by a lot of street wandering and then after lunch we headed back to our hotel. We have two beautiful dogs, and at least once a day, when possible, we like to hear that they’re fine. So we periodically check email to see if “home” (in this case my brother was house and dog sitting) had written. I don’t remember if he had, but on a pure lark I decided to check my junk email. There, in amongst the real junk, was an email that radically changed the rest of the day (as well as the following day).

Jet Airways had sent me an email notification, informing me that there was a change to one of our flights for the following day. This happens all the time with airlines. They’re always tweaking times, flight numbers, etc.; I think for almost every trip I take that I receive these messages – usually well in advance of a flight. However, this one was different. Take a look at the new “Confirmed booking” (this is the listed definition for the “HK” status).

Notice anything completely and utterly impossible? The new time of arrival for the flight from Amritsar to Delhi was now thirty minutes after the departure time for the connecting flight to Jodhpur. Yet it was confirmed! The first flight had moved not a few minutes but an hour and a half. It was clearly now an impossible connection. Naturally, my first reaction was to call Jet Airways. (OK, my first reaction was to freak out.) I found a number, but I couldn’t get through. I went to the front desk to clarify the use of the phone. I was told to dial 9 first, and returned to my room to do so. Nothing. It didn’t work. Down to the front desk again. This time I was informed that indeed it doesn’t work. You can’t call out. This from the same person who instructed me to dial 9. Welcome to India!

A different staff member of the hotel offered to help with the use of his cellphone. (This hotel, although nice, was my least favorite in India, but maybe that’ll be a different post.) I still couldn’t connect to anybody. He tried a different number that he had in the hotel’s address book. Nothing. After at least an hour of trying we finally managed to connect with somebody local who confirmed that my new “confirmed booking” was in fact impossible. Thank you very much! I spent more than an hour to learn what I already knew. What I wanted was a solution. They were clearly out of those. They had no other flights and didn’t know what I could do. It looked like I was going to have to fly to Delhi on the rescheduled flight, miss the connection and overnight in Delhi before catching a flight to Jodhpur a day late (assuming there was space available). I didn’t like that idea at all. My time in Jodhpur was already too short. Losing a day was not going to make me happy. (And I do like to make myself happy!) So I did the next obvious thing and jumped onto the web to find out what other options I had. I found only one. (Thank you Kayak!) I could run to the airport immediately and catch a Kingfisher flight to Delhi, spend the night in Delhi and then make the scheduled Delhi to Jodhpur flight the next morning. That was not ideal, but it was better than losing a day in Jodhpur. I hated the idea of not making it back to the Golden Temple. I could even see it from my hotel window; so close, yet so far. Eventually I resigned myself to the fact that when the shit hits the fan you just have to take the best cover you can find. For me that was running to the airport.

Of course, once we arrived in Delhi we were going to need a hotel; so I went to the site of the hotel where we had been staying to quickly book a room. Fully booked! Did I mention that it was New Year’s Eve? Suddenly I had visions of forcing my wife to spend New Year’s Eve at Delhi’s Indira Gandhi International Airport. Panic! I gave my wife the number of the hotel, and she went down to check out and to call the Delhi hotel, while I practiced the fine art of speed packing. Fortunately, I’ve done a lot of packing, and I can indeed pack very, very quickly. Equally fortuitously my wife is charming. Our Delhi hotel told her that for us they would have a room. Perfect. (And Definitely more on that hotel later.) Only thing left to do was to get to the airport immediately.

Long story less long, it was the right decision. I still have to go back to Amritsar, but, man, I love Jodhpur. I wouldn’t want to lose a minute there. Those who follow me on facebook will remember my story of getting lost in Jodhpur. I can’t wait to do that again. Although, if the same events occurred I’d be forever spoked.

This definitely wasn’t the only problematic flight on this trip. I think of four scheduled Jet Airways flights I actually flew on only one. Kingfisher often got us where we wanted to go when Jet Airways couldn’t. That’s not something that I’ll forget when I next need to book flights in India.

The title of this post came to me as my iPod was playing random songs. Bonus to anybody who knows the song without Googling it. It was off a mid-80s soundtrack.