Shadow of the Mountain

Of all the years I've lived in Japan and saw Mount Fuji; this day's sunset was by far one of the most amazing. I took this around 5:00 PM from my terrace in Setagaya-Ku, Tokyo. Were were driving home and as we neared my apartment I noticed a brilliance in the horizon. I ran upstairs to my apartment and grabbed my Nikon from my desk. Then proceeded to my terrace. What I witnessed was magical. The cold sky was lit with golden casts of light. Shades of blues with grays and the silver lining of clouds captured Fuji-San's shadow. I don't know if there's a special Japanese expression to depict the occurrence when their most sacred mountain casts a shadow if itself in the sky. Regardless, named or unnamed it was powerful.

" Cyclo." One of my favorite films is named after one and was about a driver whoworked this type of push bike. Tricycle Rickshaws with human beasts of burden. This is a shot of of one of the last few working one's in Vietnam. Years ago there were more of these on the roads than scooters. Now, not many are left that are used for local transport and the laborers who drive them are restricted to certain roads. The more decorative ones are primarily tourist attractions and take only the scenic routes. Cyclos are beautiful and iconic to Vietnam. I'll miss them when they are gone completely. Some of my best memories with my grandmother were of long rides in one of these through the dusty streets and countryside.

Master of Chickens

It was sort of like watching an old scruffy has been Kung Fu Master training a revenge seeking delinquent in a badly dubbed Saturday Afternoon TV special. Or Yoda showing moves to his hopeless prodigy. That was my thought when my motorbike passed this bungalow nestled way off the main roads within some very dense foliage. Looks like this guy trains and fights chickens. Not something I advocate, but I have to say his training and set up was amusing. Witness the the ring made of fishing nets. The special area set aside for training. The carefully swept ground. Sort of a dojo that's run a fowl. The master sits as his caged fury waits to inherit some more killer moves. I climbed off my bike struck some senseless conversation with master. Heard a lot of ranting about what he and his chickens do. But as I'm not a betting man, I found it wiser to shoot and then just ride away and leave before some rebel clan of chickens sack and burn the place down. If that were to happen; do I hear a sequel?

Island Life and Children Laughing

I was on one of the several remote sprawls of islands south of Phu Quoc Island at the western most parts of Vietnam. The boat stopped by a remote fishing village. At midday they few inhabitants were lazily resting on hammocks, eating, and tending to their gear. Small shacks and shelters grouped together along a patch of beach. Large coconut trees stretched upwards and tilted defiantly over the ocean. Following the sand coastline towards a rocky cropping I saw children playing on a large rock. They were smashing small snails with stones and eating them once they freed the snails from their casings. They giggled and offered me a few and upon my reluctance; they laughed even louder. A few children were searching beneath the water for snails and then handing them to to a friend who collected the lot. I could not help but notice that a dive mask used by the kids was entirely home made. The oval glass view plate was wrapped by a steel band which held a rubber face skirt that was fabricated by in inner tube. The mask strap too was a strip cut from strips of any inner tube. The children shared this home made mask and were jubilantly splashing and laughing in the sea. A few of these shots were brilliant.  I love it when you capture a moment that seems like you froze a dance of a play.

Mountain Lady

This is of the many members of ethnic minorities in the Central Highlands of Lam Dong Province Vietnam. One distinctive item found on many of these tribal people are the baskets they wear on their back. This woman is carrying wood for charcoal production which is one of their stable industries. The various groups in this region are the Kinh, Co Ho, Ma, Hoa, Nung, Tay, and the Chu Ru ethnic minorities. This photo was taken along the road just before dusk.

A wall, a door, a table, a chair, and some amazing colorful accidents. Nothing makes sense but everything seems to come together. I like the feeling in this shot of a wall in Nha Trang. Walked passe looked felt and captured.

Into the Cold

It’s winter and I’ve been tracking the “Snowmageddon” that’s ravaging the East Coast where I spent a good part of my wonder years. So in the spirit of this, I’m going to write about something wintery. I’m a warm weather soul and the cold is dreadful to me. This brings me to recall one of the coldest journeys of my life thus far. This segment leads up to the just before the expedition out of town into the chill of –50 C. People know me for my many excursions into Mongolia and Central Asia. Well, most people go there during the “On Season” when it’s mild. Blue skies; windy perhaps, and chilly at times to some. During the good weather on the open steppes or in the Gobi Desert, the morning sun rises fast, it warms up and then the nightfall brings in the chill of a crisp starry night. It’s challenging but tolerable. My point is you don’t really know a place until you’ve gone through what the good folks there do when no one else wants to come around. Meet Mongolia in mid January. The near empty plane flew me in from Tokyo via Seoul. I was arriving just before midnight and nothing prepared me for the next. As I disembarked I felt a sting of cold seeping through the cracks of the terminal boarding ramps. Through immigration and to the only baggage carousel in the international airport I went without any major delay. When you are one of only a few planes of the day, you can begin to miss lines. I flew in sitting next to a Pro Wrestler “The Blue Wolf” who makes the routine flight each month between family and matches. Blue Wolf and I chatted and then parted ways as we headed to the reception area. Already I saw people covered in bundles and multiple layers upon layers of clothing. My best friend and like a brother from another mother Enkhtuvshin called out from across the havoc and grabbed my things. “Welcome back, I’m sorry it’s not too bad out but only a little bit cold outside tonight” he said in his accented baritone voice. –27 Celsius which about –16.6 Fahrenheit is only a little bit cold I thought; what the hell? This before the wind hits you.  Out in the open nigh air, the first parts that felt it were my ears then my nose and fingers. It’s not cold to me anymore, it hurts. My cheeks seemed leathery and I thought it wiser to rush to the vehicle. Well crunching over the frozen airport parking lot I could smell the acrid smoke from coal fires. The nearby “The Three Mile Island” looking coal power plant was in full force and a huge plume of smoke and steam rose skyward. Adding to this were the smaller fires pouring out of more smoke from the smoke stacks of the ger (yurt) districts. These were basically unevenly fenced in tent ghettos consisting of thousands gers on the hillside overlooking Ulaan Baatar. Coal dust tainted the air with bitter. Into the car and towards town we went passed the gray white snow landscape. Ulaan Baatar is quaint at night; I like the warm lights from windows and bright blinking signs for bars, restaurants, clubs, makeshift kiosks, and oddly enough light up coconuts trees. Yes, some genius urban planner thought it a good idea to decorate the median strip of a major road with large fake coconut trees that have colorful light up coconuts and all. This in a place where the nearest beach or coconut tree is at least a thousand of miles away. It’s a splendid ironic image. Tonight was a good baptism into the cold. Hardly any tourists and I’m the only person booked in on the floor of my hotel, somewhat of a “Shining” moment. All work and no play makes Linh a dull boy. After checking in and clambering about with more layers of insulation. I went out to the square to meet up with friends. There was some sort of celebration incurring. In the cold night the Christmas decorations were still up. Music came from an unknown source and sparse crowds loitered together. One person handed me a cup of vodka which I faked drinking then tossed the contents to the sidewalk. To my surprise it hit the ground and sounded like coins. I was stunned, upon noticing this, they laughed and then one of them demonstrated that if you spit, it freezes in mid air then just lands on the ground and rolls away. Which we all confirmed thereafter. I was cold. My feet were numb, my face was stuck in a leathery stare, tears frosted to my eye lashes, and the hairs in my nostrils were frozen as I crouched and slouched in my coat to keep warm. I believe that at this temperature if you sucked air through with my teeth, they’d shatter. A few of my friends looked at me and asked me “Why would you ever want to come when it’s so cold and difficult?” Before I answered that it hit me. Not many people ever experience this. It sets me apart for a tourist and something between an outsider and one of them. I think the right word is visceral to describe something it all. “I like it and it makes Mongolia real to me was all I said.”  They seemed to understand then there was mutual laughter at the skinny Vietnamese American man trying to keep warm. Later I headed back to my hotel to plan out the next. I’ve found a whole new world for me in a place I’ve come to visit so often. Incredibly, the hotel room was toasty warm. The large Soviet era monolithic architecture proved practical. Blocky and blunt, but they do a good job at providing shelter. I tried to look out the window which was actually 3 sets of windows spaced within a very deep wall. To no avail, the windows were a solid block of ice about 2 feet thick. I laid in bed thinking about how the countryside people dealt with all this year after year.  Now I wanted to head out and find out for myself. I’m going to see how people can live in felt tents under such conditions. It's a hardship you have to admire. I really don’t think you can get to know Mongolia until you spend some time in winter here. Soon I'm getting my gear together and heading out. I’m going to be cold, miserable, begging to get back to a warm place, but I’ll love every near regrettable instance of it. More on the journey out into the frozen countryside in the next installment…

One that Lasts

My Steady Cam operator looked like a door gunner bearing down at the horde racing in full gallop under the midday sky. It was bright blue and cloudless above as our  4x4 mini van bounced over the grassy steppe terrain in parallel. People see the flat grasslands here in Mongolia from afar and mistaken it for soft flat earth. It’s something like that and then some. The soil is a near powdery sand and it’s full of sharp rocks, holes, and ditches that are not realized until you are in them. Our makeshift filming platform was a used space ship looking Mitsubishi Delica with its cargo door duct taped open. The two of us stooped inside managing to hang on as our driver named “Baatsukh” (Mongol for Sturdy Ax) rallied his machine through the gears. We could barely hear each other for the atmosphere was bombarded with the sound of wind, pelting rocks, tires biting for traction, the drum like pounding of horse hooves, clanking of bridles, and our senses bouncing about .  Baatsukh drove with one eye looking forward and the other navigating along side the riders. They were a large group of children doing practice runs for the Naadam horse race which were less than a week away. Each day small groups would assemble for intense runs. The race itself covers about 30km of overland riding. This is about the same distance used between the horse changing stations in the old Mongolian Pony Express employed during days of Chinghis Khan. These kids were very young ranging from 6 years old to 12 and already adept. In the confusion I focused on taking in everything I saw with the intent of capturing something from this experience that would last. Well, the lead pack seemed to be separating from the main. We zoomed and pulled up alongside. Neither the horses nor riders gazed at us in distraction. My cameraman kept his aim and I decided lean out with my still camera. One hand grabbing onto the door frame and my legs balancing and cushioning each impact. You get so involved and disoriented when you find just the right composition. I framed, I reached, took the shot, I felt weightless. The shutter clicked and I had a millisecond to be gratified. With the camera pulling away from my view point, I realized that the ground was rushing under my feet and it was unusually windy.  That’s when I discovered inertia. I was floating in near fetal position just outside the bay door. Passing dirt, grass, horses, van, wind, and my boots flashed before my eyes. Then like a slap, reality gets the best out of you. I frantically grabbed for any part of the van and pulled blindly. Miraculously I found myself back inside and I froze. Out of sheer luck, the van ascended, banked, and descended in my favor. It was foolish, it was reckless , and I could have, should have fallen out of the moving van and likely found myself trampled. I regret being careless and learned from it. But I’m never going to regret this shot, it’s one that lasts.

The "Yum Yum Spider" Incident

I thought it was something like a "Blooming Onion." It wasn't. I found out the hard way at a Cambodian rest stop somewhere in the middle of nowhere. All day long the rickety bus roared down the dusty roads. We passed beautiful farmland, small hamlets, and the occasional town. The driver drove like Mad Max. I'm on holiday in Cambodia. We've been traveling overland from Vietnam and had crossed the border and made a brief stop in Phnom Phenh earlier in the day. Now I'm on my way to Siem Riep and I want to see the ruins of Angkor. I'll write more about this road trip in another excerpt, but today It's my "Yum Yum Spider Incident." Back to the bus. The screech jolted us to a full halt which then followed by the driver muttering indecipherable words, fingers to indicate numbers, and then a gesture to his watch. 15 to 20 minutes sounded like enough time to venture out of this death trap and off the endangered species list for just a little while longer. I looked out the bus window and a tray of food walked passed me. It was atop the head of a small lady and it appeared to be good to eat. Wow, "Blooming Onions." Perhaps it was thinking too much about Mad Max in the Outback that lured me to the thought of "Blooming Onions." Mostly likely because they serve this type of looking dish at the wannabee Australian "Outback Steak Houses" that are found everywhere but Australia. Well, proceeding onwards I found the lady near some market stalls. The dish was now placed on a small 5 gallon bucket and I moved in to inspect closer. It was much like fried onions or some assorted vegetable. The dark crispy bits enamored with roasted garlic. All of it sat atop a seasoned oily base. Something looked good about it, but something else caught my glace. Eyes were looking back at me and what shouldn't have been legs were. 8 legs each as spiders should. "Holy Crap" I peered closer. Blurring in and out of focus a figure moved nearer to me. It was the lady. Standing in her red hat and shirt she smiled with big bright teeth, smacked her lips, and uttered "Yum Yum Spider." Then it all came to me, this was a dish of friend spiders. "No way" I said. She tilted her head and confirmed "Yes" it's "Yum Yum Spider." Then without asking she lifted the tray and beneath it was a bucket full of big black spiders. Big ones, really big fuzzy ones. Again without asking, she picked one up and tossed it onto my shirt. I was in disbelief. The moment had the same type of feeling you get when you dive into cold water. Shocking and overwhelming at first, then you deal and get used to it. When it moved you could feel its strength. I turned around and a traveler from Vietnam who was on the bus saw me and screamed. I then felt braver for some reason. I put it on my hand and took some photos. People laughed, people were scared, and it was amusing for a time being. The lady insisted that I buy something and began aggressively trying to charge me for pictures and she even tried to bag some of the fried ones for sale. I took out a dollar, gestured at the arachnid in my hand and gave it to her. She politely snatched the money and after the exchange I realized I had no idea what I was going to do with this guy. As I walked closer to the bus the other occupants and travelers looked horrified. I felt braver again and gave devious smile, but common sense lead me across the street to a large patch of shrubs near a wall. I placed him on some branches and told him he was free. Hoping for good karma for the ride ahead perhaps or just me trying to do the right thing. Snapping a few last shots and glances I walked backed to the honking bus. I felt brave, heroic, and almost fearless. Yes very brave but not enough to eat any of these "Yum Yum Spiders."