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Travel

  • FLUX Hawaii | The Charm Issue | Fall 2015 | Hanapēpē, Kaua'i

    The latest issue of FLUX - The Charm Issue - Fall 2015 has been out for a couple months, but don't mistake my delayed post as lack of enthusiasm because I'm actually thrilled to be a contributor to this really awesome publication. The delay is because, you know, life.

    I returned home from Portugal nearly a month ago and found a copy of FLUX in my mail pile. Big thanks to Nella Media Group for sending it (and bigger thanks for asking me to contribute), you all are wonderful. I love so much about this issue, I started photographing the stories I liked - like The Shaka Field Guide cover story by Travis Hancock with stellar images by Jonas Maon - and then I realized I should just tell people to buy the issue rather than try to show it in low-res photos, ha.

    There are great articles ranging from indigo dyeing to the valet industry to mango desserts to weatherman Guy Hagi, and more. And then there's my little article on things to see and do in Hanapēpē, "Kaua'i's biggest little town." I was excited to have an excuse to explore this historic town earlier in the year. I'm including more photos that didn't make the print edition, and you can read the article here: Itinerary: Hanapēpē.

    The Art of Marbling - Becky Wold

    Hanapēpē Swinging Bridge

    Little Fish Coffee

    Salt Pond Beach Park

    J J Ohana's Ni'ihau Shell Jewelry - Gale Sagucio

    Then there's Taro Ko. Also located in Hanapēpē, this tiny taro chip company warranted its own story, but I have to add that it's a must-see/eat if you are in the 'hood. I couldn't find a link to the article written by Coco Zickos so you'll have to pick up a print copy to read it. I'm including more photos because Dale Nagamine and Stanley Sakoda amazed me in many ways and totally made my day. Partly because it took 20 minutes to get Dale to tell me his name. He's shy.

    Pick up a copy of FLUX - The Charm Issue (you have until the end of October) and don't miss Sonny Ganaden's "Blooming Romance" on Hawaii's wedding industry. It's funny, poignant and true. And on that note, I'm off to shoot a wedding in Waikiki. ;) Happy Aloha Friday!

  • Faraway Friday | Goreme Open Air Museum | Cappadocia, Turkey

    I've been wanting to start a "Faraway Friday" blog series for a while now, because there aren't enough alliterative day of the week names yet. But really, because I have SO many travel photos that I haven't even looked at, and I need a reason - no, a deadline - to go through them.

    I went through my Goreme Open Air Museum photos a couple months ago when I was stuck at a coffee shop waiting for new tires required for my safety check after I waited in line at satellite city hall to renew my car registration only to find out that it was already renewed. Long run-on sentence short, I didn't want to do work. So I looked at old travel photos. It was fun.

    This morning, at 1 am when I was replying to emails, I looked at the date and thought, this is around the time we were in Cappadocia. I scrolled back through my calendar and today is the exact day that we got dropped off at the museum and walked back to our badass cave house hotel. It's been a YEAR. Forget Istanbul, that was a month ago. Sometimes it feels like our two-month adventure was a long time ago and sometimes, like right now, it feels like we got back last month.

    So, I'm starting today. Just don't call me out if I don't post one next Friday or the Friday after that. I have a lot of work to edit. :)

    I hope you enjoy these photos. I tried to pare them down because I know it's a lot of caves. That's basically what Cappadocia is - lots of really cool caves. You can read more about the Goreme Open Air Museum - it's really interesting but I don't feel like writing about it because I'd probably take all of my information from this link anyway since it's been a YEAR and I forgot most of the details by now. And because I want to write less and just post photos, but I suppose I'm doing a poor job of that right now.

    Happy Faraway Friday!

    For more photos of Cappadocia: sunrise hot air ballon ride

  • Surfing in Ireland

    Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

    In honor of everything Irish, I hunted down photos from my semester studying in Galway nine years ago. Wow, I feel old. Thinking about Ireland I vividly remember the stunning coastline, my hilarious roommates Grainne, Aisling, and Moyra, live music at the Roisin Dubh, RAG Week (way crazier than Paddy’s Day), the light mist that doesn’t feel like rain but after walking for 10 minutes you’re drenched, and mostly I remember being the coldest I’ve ever been in my life. EVER. That’s saying a lot, given that I made it through four Chicago winters without a car.

    Ireland is in no way colder than Chicago, but surfing in Ireland is. I chose Galway because I wanted to study somewhere in Europe where I could surf. UH had a program in Dublin, but I wanted to be on the west coast because that’s where the waves are. I jumped through the many hoops required to design your own study abroad program and soon I was en route to Galway. I thought I was smart to save money by booking 4 separate flights from Honolulu to Galway, but I realized too late that this meant I had to pick up and recheck my luggage - including a 9 foot coffin bag with my longboard and shortboard in it - at every stop. The last plane from Dublin to Galway was so small it couldn’t even fit my bag, so I had to put it on a bus and wait three days for it to arrive. This would have been fine if I hadn’t padded my boards with all of my warm clothes, or if it wasn’t the beginning of January. There were many life lessons learned in those three days.

    To those who learn to surf in Ireland: I give you a lot of credit. If I didn’t already love surfing I don’t know that I would go through the effort required to learn there. In Hawaii, you drive 15 minutes to the beach, it’s warm and sandy, you paddle out in a bikini, catch some waves, rinse at the showers, and resume your day. If you have an hour, you can fit in a surf. In Ireland it’s an all day commitment. You drive a few hours to find waves, change on the side of the road in howling winds into a full 3/5 wetsuit with hood, booties, and gloves, walk carefully over rocks, try to paddle out without getting tossed back into the rocks, freeze your butt off for an hour or however long you can survive, your face is numb and raw from wiping it with your gloves, you get out and there’s no shower or hot water, then you change again, now wet, in the howling winds on the side of the road back into your clothes. It’s excruciating, but also one of the most fun experiences. You feel pretty hard core between shivers.

    I was so fortunate to surf in Ireland. It was always an adventure and I was able to see much more of the country than most study abroad students. I met surfers through an online ride sharing website and went on a couple weekend trips with the NUI Galway surf club, including one to Northern Ireland.

    Unfortunately I wasn't able to recover all of my photos, and some of my favorites are the size of thumbnails, but I'm glad I found these. They aren't great quality but they are incredible memories.

    Pictured above: Doolin.

    Dunloughan. First surf.

    Inis Mor. We caught a ferry to Inis Mor, one of the Aran Islands. It was windy, rainy, and freezing, and we changed in a bombed out shed. The rain blew in horizontal sheets while we were in the water and I couldn't see anything. It was so vicious it felt like hail. Then the winds calmed and a faint rainbow appeared. It was magical.

    Spanish Point.

    Doughmore.

    Portrush, Northern Ireland. At the beginning of March, I went to the north coast of Northern Ireland with NUI Galway’s surf club to compete in the intervarsities between all Irish universities. I could write a novella about our experience in Northern Ireland, but suffice it to say it ranged from scary and crazy to fun and freezing. The contest day was insanely cold and windy, and I'm not sure if the waves were purely windswell. It ended up being a competition of who could stand up the longest. I think my brain blocked out some memories because it was traumatized from the cold, but the whole weekend was really fun.

    Carrownisky.

    Easkey. When we arrived at Easkey I shrieked, "Thicker Than Water!" It's one of my favorite surf films and I immediately recognized the dilapidated castle from the end of the film. I was so excited. I wanted to explore, so we crawled through the gate and climbed up the narrow staircase hidden in the castle walls. The roof was gone and the middle of the castle was open to the air. It seemed like a perfect place to camp. I guess I have to go back.

  • Coming Home

    Standing near the door in our Essaouira apartment, visibly ill and exhausted, W asked half-jokingly, “Whose idea was it to spend the last 5 nights of our trip in 4 different cities?”  I smile-winced and sighed.  Truth is I don’t know, and I don’t think either of us realized the plan until it was upon us.

    Our long journey home from Morocco to Hawaii started in Essaouira with a bus ride to and night in Marrakech, followed by a morning train to Casablanca and flight to Istanbul where we arrived at 2am and slept that night and the next, then flew to LA and spent our 16 hour overnight layover with W’s cousin and his family.  We arrived home midday on Monday, December 16th, two months after we departed and just in time for the holiday madness.  

    A few memorable moments on our first day home:

    - First stop: Chubby.  Obviously!  To my dismay he ran right by me.  Probably because he didn’t recognize me in boots and glasses...and my back was facing him.  I'll give him that.  I was heartbroken, but he quickly turned around and mauled me.  And life was good again.

    - I opened my closet and thought, damn, I actually have to choose what to wear.  I’d gotten used to alternating between 3 outfits in my carry-on during the last few weeks of our trip.  My closet now overwhelms me.  (And I swear it’s not very big.)

    - W paused in front of the sink about to brush his teeth and said, “Look!  Look!  Look!”  I looked.  He grinned widely and rinsed his mouth straight from the tap.  

    Oh the little things.

    It was an amazing adventure.  And it feels great to be home.  

  • Goats in a Tree

    Yes, those are goats.  In a tree.  No big deal. 

    I have a habit of taking photos from moving vehicles wherever the landscape is particularly unique, or whenever donkeys are present.  I'll admit I have more photos (and attempted photos) of Moroccan donkeys than I care to share.  This shot was made possible thanks to donkey in the blue.  Yep, I was aiming for him.  (I learned to zone focus and preemptively shoot the donkey whilst traveling 50+ mph or I'd miss him.  This often led to fuzzy shots and interesting composition.)  Immediately after pressing the shutter, I did a double take at the rapidly shrinking tree.  There were white things in it.  I looked at the preview on my camera...they looked like...goats.  Goats! 

    I remembered reading about goats in trees somewhere but I didn't realize they were in Morocco, and more specifically in the Essaouira region where we stayed twice for over two weeks!  If I'd known this, I would have figured out how to find them and STOP - even if it meant renting a car and driving myself.  Unfortunately, I was on a bus and we were embarking on our long journey home.  No bazillion photos of goats in trees for me.  Sadface.

    These are Argan trees, which grow exclusively in the Essaouira/Agadir region of Morocco and nowhere else.  In the world.  Traditionally, Berbers collected the undigested Argan pits from the waste of goats that climbed the trees to eat the fruit.  The pits were ground and pressed to extract Argan oil.  Modern technology and high demand has led to the commercialization of Argan oil production using machines that process the fruit straight off the tree.  I am happy to report that it appears the traditional method lives on!  I hope someone is planning to make delicious amlou from these goats' excrement.  You can read about our experience at an Argan oil cooperative.

    I spent the remaining two hours scanning for more goat-filled trees.  I found one more - the photo is fuzzy because they were further away, and like I said I was zone focusing from the back of a moving bus.  But still.  Pretty freaking cool.

    Essaouira, Morocco

  • Sandboarding the Sahara with Bob Marley and Shakira

    Waking up each morning to a view of the Sahara Desert was incredible.  Riding a board down the desert dunes was even more spectacular - a fun and exhausting ending to our week-long stay in Merzouga.

    I was excited to hang out with Bob Marley again, but Jimi Hendrix was busy so W rode Shakira.  She's a feisty one that loves to dance!  Seriously, W nearly fell off when she started prancing around while he was holding his camera instead of the handle bar.  Our funny guide Hamid (who also took us camping) tied Shakira closer to Bob after her dance routine, but she didn’t appreciate that so she undid the knot with her teeth.  So talented, that Shakira.

    Sandboarding is a workout.  Not the boarding part, but the ascent with boots and board.  Climbing up steep sand is basically one foot up, half a foot down.  More exercise than I’ve gotten since we left home a month and a half ago.

    I’ve only snowboarded once, nearly a decade ago, and W has never been, so we were a little nervous.  We would have gratefully accepted guidance, but Hamid handed us the snowboard and boots, pointed to the high dune, and walked away to lie in the shade and laugh at us.  W, ever the gentleman, insisted on “ladies first.”  I would have protested but this was my idea so up I climbed.  And climbed.  And climbed.  It felt like the never-ending Bowie stairs scene in The Labyrinth.  I ended up dragging the board behind me.  

    The view from the top was significantly more terrifying.  I tried to remember that one snowboarding lesson from my brother…mostly I just remembered my thighs killing me afterward.  It was something like zigzag on the back rail facing downhill and whatever you do, don’t catch the front rail.  I sat down, emptied sand from the boots, and laughed as I tied the laces because my toes stopped somewhere in the middle of the boot.  At least the board happened to be set up for goofy footers - great for me, not so much for W.  

    It isn’t the easiest to communicate here in Berber/Arabic/French/English, and I had no idea what to expect after I asked our lovely B&B host about a camel trek to sandboard.  The words I pulled from his response were: two camels, board, two-thirty.  There was no “what’s your shoe size” or “which way do you ride?”  As we headed into the dunes Bob and I had the board and I didn’t see any boots.  I envisioned attaching the board to our shoes and it seemed like an excellent way to snap our tibiae.  Fortunately, Shakira was hiding the boots in her saddle bags, and somehow they "fit" both of us.

    I stood up.  Looking down, I had no idea what to do or how to begin.  I thought, man, we should have youtubed sandboarding videos.  Too late.  I tried the zig-zag method but every few feet the sand covered the board and stopped me.  Again and again.  Eventually I tried going straight down - it was scary but far more effective.

    We took turns climbing, flailing, sometimes boarding, mostly laughing.  I could hear Hamid cackling joyfully from the neighboring camp whenever I got a face full of sand, which made falling all the more entertaining.  Finally too exhausted for another climb, we headed over to the camp where Hamid prepared us “whiskey Berber” - delicious mint tea.  Halfway back to the B&B we stopped to play drums and watch the sun fade behind the distant mountains.  Such a great day. 



    Erg Chebbi, Morocco

    For more photos: sandboarding the sahara desert

  • A Moroccan Thanksgiving

    We tried to plan our Sahara Desert/camel trek/camping tour around Thanksgiving.  I thought it would be oh so memorable to spend Thanksgiving riding camels, eating traditional Berber food, stargazing and sleeping in a camel hair nomad tent.  W’s work schedule thought otherwise, so we planned to begin our move east on Thanksgiving morning, spend the night in a small village in southern Morocco, arrive at the edge of the Sahara on Friday evening, and camp in the desert on Saturday night. 

    Our guide (whose name I will not mention because I’m focusing on the positives) picked us up on Thursday morning and we began the drive from Essaouira to Ait Benhaddou through the Middle and High Atlas mountains.  It was a long day of driving for us spoiled island kids used to car rides of 30 minutes or less, but there were a few memorable stops along the way. 

    After inching through the crowded streets of Marrakech, we pulled over on the side of the road overlooking a Berber village in the Middle Atlas.  A group of young Berber boys looked like they were walking home from school.  Children come from different villages to attend school and there are often groups of nomadic families passing through.  The older boys were friendly and curious while the younger ones were shy and hung back.  They watched me take photos of the mountains and were interested in my camera so we motioned for them to come into a shot with us.  They were excited to the see the results and crowded around the back of my camera.  We really like the photo…it’s us with our stand-in family on Thanksgiving.

    After lunch we stopped at an argan oil cooperative where local women hand-peel and grind argan nuts to produce oil used for cosmetic and culinary purposes.  It was interesting to learn about the process and the women invited me to try their grinder - it takes some muscle!  Although the attached store was touristy and most likely overpriced, we felt good about buying a few products because the cooperatives provide jobs and greater autonomy to women in Morocco’s male-dominated society.

    We arrived in Ait Benhaddou shortly after sunset and took a stroll around the dark village to pass time before dinner.  As we walked into the hotel dining room W looked over at a large group and said, “I think they’re American.”  I asked, “why?” just as I spied the giveaway - a large pop-up paper turkey gracing their table.  I am a fan of the ridiculous and this melted my heart.  I wanted a photo of the group with the turkey but was embarrassed to ask.  W convinced me to go over, and they insisted that I take it to our table for a photo.  It was silly and fun and nice to be around others celebrating, even though they were strangers.  I was surprised because we haven’t encountered many Americans in Morocco, or Turkey, and of the three groups dining that evening, ourselves included, all had American representatives.  There were “Happy Thanksgiving!” cheers from the other mostly Spanish-speaking group as we took our photo, and later a woman from that group walked across the room and asked to borrow the turkey for another photo op.

    We missed our families, the meal was one of the worst we’ve had and the hotel room was by far the scariest of this trip (we opted not to shower that evening), but it was another part of this incredible adventure and definitely a memorable Thanksgiving.  I have so much and so many people to be thankful for.  We were fine with spending Thanksgiving away because we’ll be back home with our families during the upcoming holidays.  Can’t wait to see them.

    Middle Atlas|High Atlas|Ait Benhaddou, Morocco

  • Cappadocia Hot Air Balloon Ride

    When I first heard about Cappadocia it sounded like the coolest place ever.  Prior to our visit, the only way I could describe our next destination was, "I think we're going to the moon." 

    I sent my family a link to my sunrise balloon ride photos and my brother replied, "Holy Star Wars!"  This was especially funny because I didn't tell him that our underground city tour guide (I have so much to catch up on) pointed to a particular Cappadocian landscape as the inspiration for Luke's hometown, Tatooine.

    If I'd seen Star Wars I would have exclaimed, "Oh, yeah!" smiling and nodding like the rest of the group.  I know, I know, it's on my list.

    Back to the balloons.

    I was beyond excited to take off in a hot air balloon.  Who wouldn't be?  I hate waking up early, even more than I hate onions, but I could not wait to wake up at 5am for our balloon ride.  We went with Butterfly Balloons, recommended by our awesome hosts at Aydinli Cave House.  I cannot say enough about the family and staff that run Aydinli - they made Cappadocia absolutely amazing for us.  

    Our pilot was Mike Green, a veteran balloonist and UK native who now calls Cappadocia home.  He was clearly an expert at his craft, taking us low into the valleys where we touched trees and landing us directly on the trailer.  Impressive.  

    We climbed out of the basket as the crew was beginning to deflate the balloon, and one of the men saw W staring longingly at the giant semicircle.  The man motioned for W to come help and before I could say "have fun," W dropped his bag and ran toward the balloon like a kid chasing an ice cream truck.  It was adorable.  I was taking photos when another crew member motioned for me to give him my camera.  I must say, deflating the balloon was almost as fun as floating beneath it.      

    The vans were full heading back to town so Mike took the two of us back to our B&B in his snorkel-fitted green truck with his golden retriever Maggie in the bed.  I mean, come on, it's like he researched my favorite color and breed.  And the fact that I would love to drive a car underwater.  That's what the snorkel is for, right?

    Sigh.  So fun.  I want to go again.  

    Goreme, Cappadocia Region, Turkey

    For more photos: cappadocia hot air balloon ride

  • First Surf in Africa

    I went surfing!  In Morocco!  It was every bit as frigid, fun and fantastic as I imagined it would be.

    I woke that morning to disappointingly dreary conditions.  It looked like a repeat of the previous day - rain, wind and no surf.  Sometime around noon, everything changed.  Sunshine, blue skies, no wind, and...I ran to our roof to check...WAVES!  Nothing huge, but I prefer small waves anyway.

    I rented a board from the nice guys at YouSurf Essaouira.  100 Moroccan dirhams (about 12 USD) for 2 hours, wetsuit included - not bad.  The equally nice lads next door at Explora had more expensive half-day prices, which made my decision between companies easy.

    I paddled out to a break no one was surfing, about 100 feet from a group of guys.  I caught a few fun closeouts then walked further down the beach past the last crowded spot and watched the waves for a bit.  Two guys walked past me and paddled out to the empty break that I wanted to check out but was hesitant to try alone.  I think I'm less brave (or less naive) now than I was a decade ago when I traveled solo through New Zealand and didn't think twice about paddling out alone.  I was excited they chose that spot and made my way over.  The guys were friendly French Alps residents on a surf holiday.  They had just come from Taghazout and Imsouane, surf towns south of here where I've looked into staying.  Wifi seems hard to come by, so we shall see.  I keep reminding myself that this is a working vacation, not a surf trip, but it's hard to forget the fantastic spots that people keep talking about!

    I paddled in just before sunset, reasonably numb, rinsed in cold water and changed in the wet, sandy locker room lit only by an east-facing window - as in, basically useless at that time of day.  I walked out still shivering and was met with the most magnificent orange half-fireball hovering above the horizon.  I kicked myself for telling W to take the camera home because I wasn't sure what the locker situation would be like.  Watching the sun fade below the water line, I briefly forgot how cold I was.  Another excellent day. 

    W captured these photos of me heading to the water past my camel pals.

    This was my second surf - it was smaller but just as fun.  W met me at sunset to escort me home for safety reasons.  I like the silhouettes with camel poop glistening in the foreground. 

    My friend Boujemaa (left) and his friend.  Love their retro boards, especially Boujemaa's windsurfing board that he rides as a surfboard.

    Essaouira, Morocco