Travel Photography
Road to Somewhere | Northern Ethiopia
Somewhere Above Ethiopia
I have a fear of flying and will do almost anything to make air transit emotionally bearable. I pack an extra shirt in my carry-on just in case I nervously sweat through the one on my back. I have plenty of peaceful music downloaded on my phone. I keep a special amulet or two in my pocket even though I am not religious or superstitious. I also hold a stash of “airplane candy” just in case. Short of having a service animal registered, I do all that I can to soothe my fears.
After boarding, I try not to look at other passengers, be over-stimulated by the romcoms playing on screens, or get too fixated on my pre-determined escape plan should the aircraft take a plunge (I honestly make an overly detailed action plan before each flight takes off. It’s ridiculous).
My greatest flight comfort is a window seat. If possible, I pay the additional fee to pre-select my seat or, at the very least, beg for one at the check-in counter. I prefer to be near a wing where, in my phobic-mind, the plane is most stable and where an exit row is usually nearby. Oddly, window seats make me feel less claustrophobic and I covet the tiny area of space between my seat and the convex edge of the plane. Those extra square inches make me feel that I have some sort of protective bubble around me.
Without a doubt, the best part about a window seat is the chance to view the landscapes far below, gaze at giant cumulonimbus clouds, or peer at stars that seem so much closer from 32,000 feet. The natural world, an arms-length away, is my soothing, constant in-flight entertainment.
After a ten-hour red-eye flight from Bangkok and a quick layover in Addis Ababa, I was glad to finally be on a domestic flight heading north towards Lalibela. The sun was up I could have my first real glimpse of Ethiopia.
From cruising altitude, it wasn’t possible to get any sort of perspective of Ethiopian culture (other than noticing the agrarian nature of the countryside). But that didn’t matter. I was able to recognize, at least from above, that I was already in love with Ethiopia.
For the duration of the short flight, I didn’t have any fear of flying. I didn’t sweat through my shirt or pull out the prayer beads from my pocket. Instead, I sat in awe of the expansive landscape and was again grateful for a window seat.
More Travel Photography
Butter Lamps, McLeod Ganj (2006)
Photo Flashback | McLeod Ganj, India
I woke well before the sun and scaled the infamous stairs leading to Jogiwara Road. I was careful to stay in the middle of the seemingly never-ending climb. The nettles were plentiful and encroached on the uneven staircase. The darkness and my sandals were the worst possible combination for the climb.
I crept uphill through the languid town towards the bus stand, McLeod Ganj’s main intersection. I greeted a gentleman with leprosy and then veered left with other shadowy figures. Most of us moved swiftly down Temple Road to the Tsuglagkhang, attempting to be on time for the 5:00 a.m. prayer service.
I passed the sleepy guards outside of the Photang, the Dalai Lama's residence. It was an odd feeling knowing that His Holiness, just returned from a lecture series abroad, was a stone’s throw away.
I made it to the complex by 4:45 a.m. and entered one of the world’s most renowned religious centers. Hundreds of pilgrims were already gathered at the temple, processing clockwise with prayer beads in hand or bending into supplicating postures. I meandered through the corridors and noticed a glint of light coming from one of the interior prayer rooms. There, elderly monks lit butter lamps, sending out their cosmic energy for those who could afford to have the prayers made. The scene was mesmerizing.
I purchased a lamp and asked the elder for a specific prayer request. As the monk turned to light my lamp, I casually snapped a photo. Now, over a decade later, I can’t remember what I petitioned the holy man to pray for. Perhaps the universe received his mantras. Perhaps not. Either way, I am glad I have a grainy image of that tiny moment in time.
About the Image
Date: March 2006
Film: Ilford 400 Black and White
The film roll was processed a few days later in McLeod Ganj, India. A blue and yellow sign above the developer’s kiosk simply stated, “STD and Photo.” At the time, a photo-developing-pay-phone-center seemed like just the place to have my film developed.
I remember getting the photos back a few days later and being enamored with this particular shot. Out of the hundreds of photos I made on my first trip to India, this image sticks out in my mind. It was the first photograph I had ever made that I was visually happy with. Now, in hindsight, I realize that Butter Lamps served as a catalyst for my career as a travel editorial photographer.
MORE ON THE BLOG
Addis Ababa | Ethiopia Travel Photography
Koyasan, Japan Travel Photography
As a Tokyo-based freelance travel photographer, the past couple of months have been a rollercoaster. Covid-19 has caused major disruption in my business. Like others who find themselves in a similar position, I am trying to make the best of a bad situation. I am taking some of the time indoors to mark items off of my to-do list.
Many of the chores on my list have been on my mind for years, neglected or procrastinated upon because of lack of time or energy. With the state of the world in flux, I finally have the chance to attack my long ignored list. Over the past weeks I have wiped down all of my photography gear, cleaned out resources and books from my shelves, researched old Kodak Premoette cameras, organized my desk, and worked on my websites and blog. I have written thank you notes to editors and organized assignment receipts. I have even formatted every memory card I own.
One of the most time consuming tasks on the list was to overhaul my digital library, to organize the hundreds of thousands of editorial, commercial, and personal photography images that I have shot over the past few years. During my extensive digital organization I stumbled upon a misplaced folder full of images from Koyasan, Japan shot for the New York Times.
Opening the folder, I was immediately taken back to the quiet enclave nestled in the giant cedar forests of Mount Koya, one of Japan's most sacred mountains. The mainline of the images highlighted Koyasan's monastic accommodations and the sect of esoteric Buddhism that makes Koyasan one of Japan’s holiest places. There were also outtakes of the Okunoin Cemetery, the old growth forests, and details from around the quiant village.
Opening several of the files, I was transported to Koyasan and could smell the evergreen forest around me. I could hear the wind whipping through the groves of bamboo and the monks chanting at dawn. I could feel the chilled mountain air upon my skin and the afternoon sunlight that permeated the tatami room screens of my modest accommodation. I remembered how happy I was during those couple of days on Mt. Koya.
I was pleased to see some of the images land in the New York Times' travel section. I was just as happy to find the images, reminisce on my time in Koyasan, and to tuck the folder of photos into its proper place (likely to never be seen again).
Sukhumvit Zoom | Travel Photography
After spending a month on the road I was ready to be back in Japan. In the past weeks, I had tromped through Malaysia, Thailand, and Ethiopia. While I enjoy most aspects of life as a travel photographer, I missed my wife, my son, and my pillow terribly. I wanted to back in Tokyo, to be home. But a 32-hour commute between Addis Ababa and the Japanese capital seemed downright terrible so I forced a layover in Bangkok, Thailand.
It would have been easier to stay near the airport, chuck my rucksack down and have a big sleep. The relatively subdued area near Don Mueang International would have been perfect for that slumber. But for my last night of the trip, I wanted to be downtown, in the middle of the Bangkok buzz.
I like staying in downtown Bangkok where everything I could want or need can be found within blocks, accessible at any time of day or night. As a photographer based in Tokyo, I live a relatively suburban life (Tokyo is perceived to be a city that never sleeps but nothing could be further from the truth) and staying in a full-blown urban environment is a novelty that I enjoy from time to time.
It was already well into the evening by the time I got downtown. I plopped my bags on the floor of my modest hotel room and lay on the bed to take a deep breath. I thought about what I could do with the last hours of the trip. I could head to Sukhumvit Soi 3 (Soi Arab) and pick up some great falafel and check out what new souvenirs were on the road (anything from Zippo lighters adorned with the image of Saddam Hussein to pirated CDs of the latest middle-eastern pop songs). I could grab a tuk-tuk to Chinatown and get some street curry at Jek Pui. Perhaps gaze at the skyline from the Moon Bar at the Banyan Tree.
I just lay there in that comfy ass bed musing. I couldn’t seem to pull myself out of the hotel room and into the Bangkok night. As much as I wanted to engage in a seemingly infinite list of entertainment options, I couldn’t be bothered. I was simply exhausted.
But I was there… in Bangkok.
After an hour or two, I managed to get off of the bed, grabbed my camera, and walked out to get a bit to eat. I settled on Indulge, one of my favorite restaurants that is tucked next to one of the busiest intersections on Sukhumvit (the chili pork belly is amazing). After my meal, I decided to head to a nearby overpass adjacent to Asok BTS station for a view of the clogged intersection below.
I made a few frames and then just stood there watching the streets. The zoom was mesmerizing. Motorbikes, cars, trucks, tuk-tuks, people. Everything going everywhere.
The movement reminded me of the past year or so. As a professional photographer. my life has seemed to move in a hundred directions and, like the photographs I had just made, my movements were blurry and defined by the stop-and-go, bursts of speed and stillness.
For a couple of years now, I have managed to make it to the destinations assigned. I have made all of the images required. After the photos are submitted and the invoices are sent, I find myself at a metaphorical intersection where I attempt to quickly collect myself before zooming off in a new direction. But the “downtime,” still filled with an endless list of tasks, is never enough to fully recharge. The red light doesn’t stay illuminated long enough for me to truly feel ready to hit the gas again.
Don’t get me wrong. I love the zoom. Life as a photographer is largely an adrenaline rush and the job of my dreams. Yet, more and more, I appreciate the intersections, the still places where a red light binds me to the things that are actually my life’s most important.
After watching the Sukhumvit traffic blasts, I made my way back to my hotel and curled up in the pile of pillows that was so difficult to leave in the first place. I lay there waiting for the green-light-clock to signal another blast. But, this time I would be zooming to my home, to my wife and son, the intersection that holds me still and provides a haven from the zoom.
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Shirakawago, Japan | 2019
Bangkok, Thailand | 2019
Tokyo Photo Journal #4