Winter Break, London

In January, I went to London to see a play by my favorite playwright, Annie Baker. As usual, a rather specific combination of art and desire inspired me to travel. I had been to London before but had never really enjoyed the city (somehow, I had missed the things to love about it), so my expectations were minimal. This mindset worked out, as this frigid week in London was one of my best solo trips ever.

While I had no expectations, I did plan many activities I knew I'd enjoy: the play, visits to the Tate Modern, Tate Britain, the Albert and Victoria Museum, the National Portrait Gallery, the British Museum, an experimental visual art gallery, lunch at St. John, dinner with one of my favorite former students, and a day of wet plate collodion photography with a photographer whose work I've admired for years. Indeed, this itinerary seems over-scheduled, but it never felt that way. 

The play was the primary reason for the trip. In 2015, after hearing Annie Baker on Marc Maron's podcast, I immediately went to New York to see her play, "The Flick." As a young woman, it felt like the first time I had experienced theater written, seemingly, for me. Baker is approximately my age, and I saw my late-20s/early-30s thoughts and actions reflected in her writing. I've since read all her plays. The questions she's interested in—how to form lasting relationships, the attempt to find deeper meaning amidst the churn of everyday life, and really, what's the point of doing anything—resonate with me. 

In London, I saw her latest play, "Infinite Life." The audience was filled with women of all ages to see a play overtly about the body, illness, and desire, but more deeply about the beliefs we have that hold the narrative of our lives together and what it would take to fix whatever might be wrong with us, at the core of our beings. During the final scene, I smiled uncontrollably at what might happen and could not hold back tears by the end. Many forms of art can move me, but live theater is so obviously capable of immediate and unpredictable magic.

Otherwise, I walked to take photos during the very few daylight hours, unable to feel my ice-cold hands clutching an even colder metal camera. I punctuated the walks with museum visits to warm up. The Tate Britain had an educationally and historically useful exhibit on: "Women in Revolt: Art, Activism and the Women's Movement in the UK 1970–1990." And the Tate Modern's exhibit, "Capturing the Moment," on the differences between photography and painting was delightful. I had never been to the Victoria and Albert Museum or the National Portrait Gallery before; one could spend all day at the V&A.

The other highlight of the trip was meeting Dave Shrimpton, a wet plate collodion photographer whose work I found on IG in 2017. I've wanted to see this photographic process in person, and I only want to learn from the best. Further, I look at many photographers' work, and rarely do I see someone whose vision is so singular that I would like to see myself through that vision. Dave's photos have exactly that quality, so I promised myself I'd reach out the next time I went to England. Graciously, he agreed to meet, and I took the train to Cambridge for a whole day of photography talk and wet plate collodion. I am very particular about photos of me, and sensitive to the trust that is required. Self-criticism runs deep and dark. But the wet plate process was enthralling and unexpectedly freeing. The photos showed me a version of myself I hadn't seen before. I'm grateful to Dave for the day and the tintypes, and hopefully, we'll get to shoot again the next time I'm over there.

By the end of the week, I didn't want to leave. The trip was light and carefree in a way that my solo trip in the fall had not been. On that trip, I planned for reflection and pushed myself to consider my choices, a recent achievement, and how I want to live the rest of my life. I didn't put any of those high-minded, existential questions and expectations on this trip. Instead, I explored, photographed, and thoroughly enjoyed my own company. For a whole, easy week. 

Fall Break, As Needed

I waited for this trip to come to me. Since my passport was out for renewal all summer, I didn't want to pre-emptively plan any international travel. So, I waited for (domestic) fall break inspiration. And waited. Then, one of my best friends invited me to Vegas for the first weekend of my break. That was all I needed: a start and a reason to get on a plane. From there, it was a bunch of one-way flights. 

Since I could start my Fall Break a few days before the weekend, I added two nights in San Francisco. The flights to the West Coast and Vegas made more sense this way, somehow. From Vegas, I decided on a road trip down the Oregon coast to the Redwoods. Only in the road trip leg did I realize that I had planned a vacation with three ways that help me process: miles of walking in cities not my own, talking to one of my best friends, and hours on the road listening to music and podcasts.

I've written fondly about San Francisco on this blog many times. Since my first visit at nineteen, I've always felt connected to the place. Twenty years of academia later, I've realized that the connection I felt was historical imagining: I can feel as though I know a city I have never been to but have studied. My academic knowledge of the past can map the city, envision the architecture and attire, and imagine the place in different decades or centuries. I come to a location with some historical understanding, then layer my contemporary visual wanderings on top. 

While 2017 was the last time I went to San Francisco, I have visited the city more than any other city outside my northeast corridor. Yet, I realized I had never been there alone. There was always a guy. This realization overlaps with a more significant realization about my adult life, but I digress. I wondered if my love of the city was about the place or the experiences with people. Had I conflated or confused what came from what? I decided to check.

I landed very early on Thursday morning, checked into my hotel, and headed to the Conservatory of Flowers. Then I stopped for a beer at Toronado, meandered through SFMOMA, and continued with miles of walking until sunset. The next day, I wandered down to the Mission at sunrise for two of my usual bakery stops: Craftsman and Wolves, and Tartine. Then, I stopped for an early morning visit to Pier 24 Photography. It was so enjoyable to spend hours with just photos; nothing else, just photos, everywhere.

Next, I trekked over to the Oakland Museum of California to see a bunch of photos. I last visited that museum in 2013; it's interesting, with a strange mix of exhibits. Finally, after another stop at Toronado, I decided to head out to the Sutro Baths. I go there every visit, and while I didn't feel like it this time, I went. I've decided it's some kind of pilgrimage. I climbed, I photographed. Then I watched the sunset from Alamo Square, near my hotel. 

I walked 12 miles each day. I observed daily life in the spirit of street photography. I shot through rolls of film like I haven't since March. And, there was still the feeling I've always had for the city. I know it's hard not to like one of the country's most picturesque cities. But, yet again, I felt at ease and connected. It wasn't the people; it was the place and possibility.

On Saturday morning, I flew to Vegas. While I've been to Vegas twice, neither trip was conventional, and, apparently, I've never been on the strip. This was a somewhat unexpected realization; nothing and no one in my life had required me to go to Vegas (well, I had missed one family event due to a combination of the pandemic and my work schedule). Thus, I had to figure out my thoughts about Vegas. My take, which reflects my views on travel and culture, is that you should go to New Orleans instead—no further explanation. 

While I say that, my friend and I had a fantastic time: we had dinner at Wakuda in the Venetian and Momofuku in the Cosmo, a half-day at the pool, watched the Phillies game at Circa, a nice lunch at Esther's Kitchen, and generally chilled out as much as possible. Both San Francisco and Vegas were unseasonably warm in the 90s and without a cloud in the sky. Honestly, I don't remember the last time I sat by a pool in the sun; usually, that's not my style. But it was excellent and so needed.

Monday morning, I woke up and took a two-hour flight to Eugene, OR. I barely researched this "road trip" part of the vacation; I mapped a bunch of stops and picked Airbnbs between Florence, OR, and Eureka, CA. The purpose of this leg of the trip was primarily photography, yet I enjoyed the whole feeling of movement that only a road trip can provide. 

After my two-hour drive to the coast, I realized my east-coast driving style was so out of step. Why was no one speeding? Did they have nothing to do? Why weren't they in a hurry? I realized that I actually had nothing to do and nowhere to be. So, I calmed down, drove the speed limit, and took my time for the next six days.

I spent one night in Coos Bay, OR, and saw the sunset at Cape Arago State Park. The next day, I drove south for four and a half hours in the rain. While the weather made the stops down the coast a bit shorter, I did stop in the Redwoods in Orick. It was drizzling and misty, but it created all the atmosphere I wanted for photos. I tried my best between the raindrops and cleaning off my lens filter. 

With some foresight, I had booked an Airbnb by the beach for two nights in Arcata. I was able to walk the beach for two sunrises and two sunsets. Walking became part of my writing routine this summer, and this habit has carried over into the Fall. I walked the deserted beach for hours in either direction. California beaches are unfamiliar to me; they differ from the South Carolina beach I know best. Maybe it was the fog, the wild dunes, the randomly creeping tide I wasn't expecting, the massive driftwood, or the ankle-high seaweed piles, but I had never seen it all quite like that. Perhaps this is why it's called the "Lost Coast." Now, I'm obsessed with the idea of seeing the rest of that specific coastal region.

From Arcata, I spent two nights on the way back north and stopped in a different part of the Redwoods. I spent the last night next to the beach in Oregon before flying out. 

I had intended the trip to be a time of reflection. With a significant thing out of the way, I'm able to think about the rest of my life. This summer, during my "healthy-habits-only, focused, writing state of mind," I read most of Rick Rubin's The Creative Act: A Way of Being. It was the self-help-ish book I needed. While I'm hesitant to call myself an artist, I've always thought I was on the edge of the label as a teacher of many things and a just-for-fun photographer. Either way, I needed creativity this summer. One of his recommendations for artists is to change their surroundings. It doesn't really matter where you go; go somewhere different, and you'll have different ideas. I knew I had to travel for the break, and this trip allowed me the time and mental space to wait for insights and better ideas. 

In recent months, I've been thinking about David Foster Wallace's 2005 Kenyon College commencement speech: "This is Water." I return to this quote in my head almost daily:

“The real value of a real education, which has almost nothing to do with knowledge, and everything to do with simple awareness...

It is unimaginably hard to do this, to stay conscious and alive in the adult world, day in and day out.”  

At the very least, I noticed and looked as much as possible. I drove, walked, wrote, thought, meditated, and photographed. I saw light that made me smile uncontrollably. I wandered very, very slowly through giant, thousand-year-old trees in the rain. And, while I haven't solved all of the "big" life questions I've been thinking about, perhaps the start is there. Indeed, with space and time, there was insight.

Spring Break in Paris and Amsterdam

The last time I traveled internationally by myself was six years ago. While I've made a few solo trips in the US since then, there's something entirely different and self-affirming about traveling alone abroad. My Philly street sense makes me feel aware enough in most places in the US, but being in another country is a smidge different. It’s a touch more engaged. A next level of solitude can be achieved in an unfamiliar country. A particular genre of mental interiority becomes available when you're so out of place. 

This trip developed because I had part of an Iceland Air flight credit from 2020 to use. Given that I have been to Iceland twice, and I wanted to go somewhere other than the original plan (at this time), I looked at Iceland Air destinations. So, Paris. I had never been to Paris; the city wasn't a place I had romanticized or idealized. But, I knew I should visit at some point, as a person who studies history and loves photography.

As I do, I conducted more than a bit of research. A rarity, I asked actual people for recommendations. Apparently, it is challenging to give advice for Paris, but I gleaned a few ideas. Otherwise, I went with my usual travel plan: stay in a safe, busy-at-night neighborhood, book art museums, research restaurants and coffee shops, and find points of photographic interest. Airbnb-wise, I picked spots in the 2nd and the 1st. Both were tiny Parisian apartments; the second one had a small terrace in a six-story Haussmann apartment building next to the Louvre.

I arrived on Friday afternoon, and after checking into my Airbnb, I went to the Louvre since it's open late on Fridays. I figured I'd be tired or not, but if I had a ticket, I'd make myself do something with part of that first day. Also, when I arrived, it was sunny; really, it was one of two times I saw the sun all week. After the museum, I stopped for dinner at a wine bar near my Airbnb.

The next day, on Saturday, I walked to markets, went to the Pompidou, had a long lunch in the Marais, broke my nearly two-year-long vegetarian turn, stopped at a coffee shop, wandered through a paparazzi situation for Paris Fashion Week, and meandered home. I usually walk ten to twelve miles per day on city trips; I try to maximize the daylight hours for photos. 

For some reason, I decided to attend a Catholic mass in French on Sunday. While I'm not Catholic, I wanted a familiar/unfamiliar feeling of community in an old church. I found a Gothic church from the 1400s, known for its singing, nearby my Airbnb. I only understood a little of the program (Latin and Italian got me somewhere near a vague sense of what was happening), but it didn't matter. A feeling of the past mixed with stranger status in a freezing cold Gothic church was what I was after. After church, I walked around a seemingly closed but busy city. Things do shut down on Sunday, but people are out. I stopped at L'As du Fallafel on a recommendation, and it was absolutely worth the short wait. 

Since I didn't want to spend a whole week in Paris, I broke it up with two nights in Amsterdam. Monday morning, I had an early train ride to Amsterdam. I woke at sunrise to walk to Gare du Nord and settled in for a three-and-a-half-hour train ride. I arrived in Amsterdam and saw just about the only sunshine I would see there; the bright light outside the train station lasted about fifteen minutes. I walked around markets, had a stroopwafel, found a coffee shop to catch up on emails, and then checked into my hotel. Then, I went to a photo exhibit at FOAM (Fotografiemuseum Amsterdam) which brought me to tears. The exhibition, “House of Bondage,” was South African photographer Ernest Cole's work on apartheid. Whereas I've studied apartheid, the photos offered me the details and intricacies of daily life and struggle. 

On Tuesday, I had tickets to the Rijksmuseum and the Stedelijk. Both museums were fantastic and filled with art I had never seen in the US. Honestly, the Louvre isn't my style at all, but these two museums had unbelievable collections that kept me wandering for hours. Afterward, I stopped at Mikkeller Beer, had a nice dinner, and walked home in the rain.

The next day after checking out of my hotel, I stopped for coffee, had herring from a street vendor, and found a beer bar in the red-light district. I paused to write my postcards. Then, I took the train back to Paris and walked to my Airbnb in the 1st. With one full day left in Paris, I went to the Musée d'Orsay and the photograph museum, Jeu de Paume, and walked around the Eiffel Tower. After about twelve miles of wandering, I felt I had done my best with Paris. Perhaps I’m set on Paris for a while. 

The ability to travel alone is something I never want to lose. Choose your own adventure, every moment. Walk and linger for photos at your own pace. I forged my ability to travel alone in the wake of a difficult breakup. That first experience helped rebuild my sense of self, and for that travel outcome, I am grateful. While every trip doesn't have to be a solo trip, checking in with yourself is good practice. And, sometimes, I have to travel far away to reconnect.

Grand Teton and Yellowstone and Glacier

In August 2021, I took a plane for the first time since January 2020. Throughout the pandemic, my trips were within driving distance and limited. But, vaccinated and all, we thought it was possible to take a real vacation within the United States. Despite the newspaper articles about overly crowded National Parks, we planned a trip to visit Grand Teton, Yellowstone, and Glacier.

Flying to Salt Lake City made the most sense for the route. We started in SLC for one night. After coffee at Publik Coffee Roasters, we wandered around the eerie and empty Temple Square. The Mormon Temple was under construction but still looming.

Food and alcohol wise, the SLC Reddit revealed that there's a real fast-food burgers scene and strange alcohol laws. That first night we hit the Crown Burgers drive-thru and went to Fischer Brewing Company. Breweries can't serve beers over 5% ABV on draft; perhaps relatedly, I don't think I had any memorable Utah beer.

The next day we set out for Grand Teton. It's a four-and-a-half-hour drive. We stopped in Garden City, UT, for a raspberry shake. I was checking Google reviews to find the best place for shakes and saw a review from a woman I know from Instagram via the film photography community; she and her husband are retired and switched to RV life. I messaged her, we laughed at the smallness of the world, and she offered a few recommendations for Glacier.

In Grand Teton, we stayed a bit north and east in Moran. Before heading to the motel, we stopped in Jackson for BBQ at Bubba's Bar-B-Que Restaurant (very good). The following day we woke up before sunrise to avoid traffic and take a six-mile hike in the park. The smoke from several wildfires made the conditions overcast, but the venture was still gorgeous and quiet. We drove to the Grand Teton Lodge in the afternoon and had beers as an unreal thunderstorm rolled through.

Early the next morning, we stopped at Leeks Marina on the way north to Yellowstone. We took the south entrance into Yellowstone before heading west out of the park. Staying within Yellowstone is limited and requires too much planning, even for me. So we stayed in the tiny touristy town of West Yellowstone, MT. In town, we saw signs for the Smoking Waters Mountain Man Rendezvous and stopped by their strange gathering. I'm not sure what was being celebrated, but there were hides and rocks and drums.

Since getting into the park before sunrise worked for Teton, we kept with that plan for the rest of the trip. We made it to trailheads in the dark and were the only ones on the trail. The first morning was Fairy Falls Trail and Grand Prismatic Springs, and a stop at Old Faithful on the way out, and the second was Uncle Tom's Trail to Artist Point. One afternoon, we drove up to Big Sky, MT; we went to Beehive Basin Brewing and stopped for some of the best BBQ I've ever had at Riverhouse BBQ in Gallatin Gateway, MT.

Next, we drove six and a half hours to Kalispell, MT. Again, staying in Glacier is limited, so I found an Airbnb about 45 minutes from the west entrance. On the long drive to Kalispell, we stopped at the small mining down to Anaconda, MT, Evel Knievel's grave in Butte, MT, and the Garden of One Thousand Buddhas in Arlee, MT.

The first morning we hiked Avalanche Trail. The entire hike up was in the dark and surprisingly crowded. If we had been any later, we wouldn't have found parking at the trailhead. On my photo friend's recommendation, the following day, we drove to the east side of the park to East Glacier Park Village. We hiked around Two Medicine Lake; we were the only people for hours. We followed the wrong trail at one point, and I learned I could not ford a creek with several cameras. That hike was gorgeous and positively Fall-like for mid-August. The difference between the two sides of the park was striking; the west side of Glacier seemed like the Rockies, but the west side of the park side felt more like Acadia in Maine.

That afternoon, we walked around a rainy Kalispell. We went to Big Mountain Ciderworks, Bias Brewing, and Kalispell Brewing Co. I can't quite liken Kalispell to anywhere else I've been; perhaps a little bit like Flagstaff.

After Glacier, we drove through Idaho and stayed one night in Salmon, ID. That drive took a bit longer than expected since some roads were only gravel, and we had to turn around. The night in Salmon was to break up the long drive to southern Idaho. But, Salmon was quirky and pleasant.

The next stop was two nights in Sun Valley. We visited Hemingway's Grave on the first day and stopped at Sawtooth Tap Room and Sun Valley Brewing Co. The following day we went to Craters of the Moon. My brother took a cross-country road trip after college and sent me postcards from every stop. Craters was one of the many places I had always wanted to visit because of his photos. Caves (and bats) and spatter cones make it one of the most unique geological places I've been to in the US.

After Sun Valley, we went back to SLC for two nights. During the day, we tried to drive to Spiral Jetty and Sun Tunnels, but we didn't make it. The gravel roads were too rough, and there was no cell phone service. On the last night in SLC, we met up with one of my favorite former students and her boyfriend. It was lovely to catch up with her after many years of emails.

In all, the trip was days and days of new sights and places. I visited two states I had yet to go to: Wyoming and Utah. I shot fourteen rolls of 35mm and nineteen rolls of medium format. After seventeen months of a pandemic, all of it was welcome.

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Hawaii, So Long Ago

Back in the "before times," back in the "before so many things happened" times, I went to Hawaii. Also, I'm certain I wrote this blog post once before and lost it.

In October 2019, I went to Hawaii for the second time. I had been there before, in 2002. My dad and I went to Maui on a high school graduation trip. He went for work, so I joined, missed a week of school in January, and slept through most of the trip in a very teenage fashion. I don't remember the flights; I'm sure I slept. I remember sleeping in until 11:30; I don't recall the afternoons. I remember nice dinners, sunsets, and fresh fish. But that is about it. So, I was happy to return and remember what happened.

On this trip, the purpose was to visit a few islands, since the idea of relaxing on one island wasn't appealing, and make the most of the time spent so far away. We managed to visit three islands: Oahu, Moloka'i, and Maui. We planned four days on Oahu, four days on Moloka'i, and five days on Maui.

We landed very late and stayed in Honolulu the first night. Jet-lagged, we ventured to Waikiki Brewing. The next day we drove to the island's western side to stay in a yurt with an outdoor shower/bathroom. I wanted to get out of the more touristy areas, so we stayed in Waialua. We took a hike along Ka'ena Point Trail and passed no one. We drove the North Shore and stopped at Giovanni's Shrimp Truck. We had a fantastic sushi dinner at Banzai Sushi Bar. And there was a rainy, sleepless night of jumping cockroaches in the yurt. But I wouldn't change the yurt part. The next day, we drove along the North Shore to stay one night in Hailua. On the way, we stopped at the Valley of the Temples Park.

The next day, we took a small, tiny plane to Moloka'i. The whole thing was unlike any other plane experience I've ever had; there was barely any security, the terminal was outdoors, and you could see everything. I did extensive research on the safety record of the airline. They advertise having two pilots and that they are always within the distance of being able to glide to a landing. I decided to trust that information.

After a short flight, we landed in Moloka'i: Population 7500. The car rental "agency" told us which car (a 2001 Chevy Tracker), where to find it, and that the keys would be underneath the mat. The car started, and kind of made it up hills. Since there are limited food options on the island, our first stop was a grocery store before venturing to the Airbnb. We chose the island since most people don't visit it; the majority of the island is abandoned or uninhabited. The Airbnb was one of the few places to stay: a timeshare community amongst other abandoned and falling apart portions of the resort. The feel, complete with turkey vultures, was eerie, but we went there to take a break from the touristy bookends of the trip.

During the days, we explored the island and abandoned sites. The most beautiful part was a drive to Halawa Park, on the island's east side. Most of the population lives on the west side, so this venture was a bit off-road and deserted. It is a much better and less crowded "Road to Hana." One day we hiked to an abandoned glamping resort. Otherwise, there was little to do. On the last day, we stopped at the Moloka'i Museum and Cultural Center.

After the flight to Maui, we stopped in Paia at the Paia Fish Market for the best meal of the trip. It was so good we stopped again before our flight home. The first night we stayed in a home in the Upcountry area. The purpose was to see the sunrise at Haleakalā National Park; I had chosen the Airbnb because it was about as close as possible to the National Park entrance. I booked the sunrise entrance tickets two months to the day, since tickets sell out. After the trip, I made friends with the Airbnb owner. I had done some "research" on her and found that she was a musician from the 1960s. When we returned, I bought her album on vinyl, and we emailed for a few months. To get to sunrise over the volcano, we woke up at least two hours before dawn and drove less than an hour to the entrance. Our host loaned us jackets, gloves, blankets, and thermoses for coffee in the morning. We arrived early, staked out a front-row spot, and waited.

After sunrise, we did the thing that is entirely not recommended by any travel websites about Maui: see the sunrise on Haleakalā and drive to Hana. But I couldn't figure out a way to avoid it. On my first visit to Maui, my dad and I drove the Road to Hana. All I knew from that experience was that I didn't want to venture out and back on the same day. So, we planned a night in Hana. On the way, we stopped at the Garden of Eden, a food truck spot for shrimp and tacos, Keane Lookout, Waianapanapa State Park, and only encountered tons of traffic towards the very end. We tried to drive past Hana, but the road became more precarious and stressful and not worth it at that time of day. Back in Hana, we went to the only nice restaurant in town. The "hostel"/Airbnb was something (read: lots of ants), but options are limited in Hana.

The following day, we drove to an Airbnb in Lahaina. Our plans were limited there. We went ziplining, found Kalua Pork, Loco Moco, went to Kohola Brewery, a Vodka distillery, and Maui Winery. We rode bikes to Lahaina and watched the sunset from different beaches.

The goals were to take photos and explore. Ultimately, we did those things while trying to be less of a tourist. Next time, hopefully, I'll visit the big island and Kauai.