Photo of the Day: Chalk Art in Florence

From Various old

Photo of the Day: Gondolier Break

From Various old

Photo of the Day: Hoi An Market

From Hoi An

Kili and my Tattoo

Climbing Kilimanjaro was the most difficult, and best, thing I've yet done in my 42 years. It was simply incredible. Given that I'd made a promise to myself that I'd get one tattoo per continent, my choice for Africa was simple -- I needed a tattoo of Kili.


So, here is the explanation of this particular tattoo. First, I got it in Budapest. I wanted to get it in Cairo, but by the time I found a tattoo parlor there, I was leaving the next day to go to Dahab to go diving and I clearly didn't want a new tattoo combined with underwater activities.

The route I took (Marangu) is considered the easiest, since you sleep in huts every night. It is also one of the fastest routes up and no doubt the most crowded, though there were only about twenty people trying to summit the night we went to the top. On this route, you leave your last hut at midnight or so, in order to try to make the top of the mountain at sunrise. The tattoo has the date that I made it to the summit and also the Swahili phrase, "Hakuna Matata."

At this point, it is only appropriate to insert the reason this phrase is most commonly known in the United States, via a movie that I've never seen, but heard was quite good -- The Lion King.



Of course when I posted a picture of this new tattoo on my Facebook page last year, I immediately got harassed by my wonderful friends and their truly unique sense of humor. A lot of comments along the lines of "trolling the school yards, these days?" Quite comic.

Here's the real story. My guide was a great guy named Eyan, a local from the village immediately outside the Marangu gates. In fact, after we came down from the mountain, we had lunch at his family's house before heading back to town. He was/is a totally relaxed guy that has gone up the mountain some 200 times or so. Dreadlocks. Chill. Supportive. Everything is going to be just fine.

Ergo, hakuna matata, which roughly translates to "no worries." During the two days we were hiking, before the summit night, Eyan would occasionally toss a 'hakuna matata' my way and I return the same. The hiking wasn't too difficult in the beginning, but I was starting to feel the altitude as we got higher.

I told Eyan on the day that we were hiking up to the last hut (Kibo) that since I wasn't feeling altitude sickness and was in pretty reasonable shape that I was going to make it to the summit. No excuses. No turning back. Doesn't matter how long it is going to take. I also told him that I might end up swearing at myself repeatedly and directing a little self-abuse language at myself, and the mountain, to try to spur me on to the top.

So on the last night, you leave around midnight and climb pretty much straight up 1,000 meters or so, until you get to the top. It was a really tough climb, at least for me. And Eyan was the best guide of all times. Encouraging me. Reminding me to walk slower. Ignoring me when I obviously didn't want to talk. And probably my favorite on the way up:

Eyan: "How are you doing?"

Me after screaming obscenities for the last hour at myself and the mountain: "Hakuna Matata."

Eyan: "Hakuna Matata, motherfucker."

O' yea, we had a theme phrase now. And there was no doubt I was making it to the top with that inspiration. Though I didn't think that probably should be immortalized on my shoulder for all time.

Photo of the Day: My Back

Where I went and how I got there.

From Various old

Portrait of Joy

From New-Old

This was a totally unexpected portrait shot from the week or so I spent in Zanzibar last summer. Mid-morning one day, I decided to take a long walk on the beach. These three kids were playing in the sand.

I don't speak a word of Kiswahili, but I really wanted to take these kids' picture. I made the somewhat universal hand signal asking them if I could take their pictures. They nodded enthusiastically. I reached down into my pocket and turned back around to take their picture and they were.... dancing. Spontaneously.

It was a moment of unbridled joy. Of the over 10,000 photos that I took on my RTW trip -- this one is clearly my favorite.

This post has been entered into the Grantourismo and HomeAway Holiday-Rentals travel blogging competition at Grantouismo Link for the August Competition. And here is Homeaway's website link.

Photo of the Day: TGIF

From Munich

It's Friday. Celebrate.

Photo of the Day: Monks

From Angkor Wat

One of the many things that I loved about Angkor Wat was that you saw a good number of Monks wandering around taking pictures, looking at everything (and best scene, though no photo, smoking) and generally being tourists.

Photo of the Day: Umayyad Mosque

From Damascus

In honor of NYC making the correct decision to allow the Cordoba House project to proceed in that great city -- perhaps the most diverse city on the planet -- I thought I'd post a picture of one of the most impressive buildings I saw on my whole trip: Ummayad Mosque

Interestingly, the remains of John the Baptist are reputed to contained here -- and are considered holy by Muslims. Another note of interest is that The minaret in the southeast corner is called the Minaret of Jesus as many Muslims believe that it is here that Jesus will appear at the end of the world.


Wiki entry for Umayyad Mosque

Ramadan: the County Fair feeling

From Istanbul

The five pillars of Islam differ slightly between the major sects, but can be basically summarized as: (1) profess monotheism and accept Muhammad as God's messenger, (2) do the five prayers daily, (3) alms to the poor, (4) make the pilgrimage of the hajj, and the one that is relevant to this particular blog (5) to fast at various times, but especially during Ramadan. The last one is the one this particular blog focuses on.

Ramadan is a time for Muslims to fast (during daylight hours) for the sake of Allah and to offer more prayer than usual. During Ramadan, Muslims ask forgiveness for past sins, pray for guidance and help in refraining from everyday evils, and try to purify themselves through self-restraint and good deeds.

As it turned out, I was in Istanbul at the beginning of Ramadan last year. On the European side of the Bosporus lie some of Istanbul’s most famous buildings: the Hagia Sophia , the Topkapi Palace, and the iconic Sultanahmet Mosque (Blue Mosque). Immediately next door to the Blue Mosque is a public park, where families congregate in the early evening hours during Ramadan to await sun down. As they wait, they set up their soon-to-be-consumed feasts of food and drink on the tables. All around the park are vendors, selling Turkish food delights. After sundown, the evening call to prayer plays over the loudspeakers of the adjacent mosque and then, the fast is broken and the revelry begins.

The entire thing reminded me a bit of a county fair in the American South. Quite a bit different type of county fair, in that whirling dervishes were some of the main entertainment, but nonetheless, it was that same spirit of community and family that infused the entire place. That and the children, running around with wild abandon. It was a great festival to witness.

This post has been entered into the Grantourismo and HomeAway Holiday-Rentals travel blogging competition at Grantouismo Link

Photo of the Day: Hoi An Market

From Hoi An

Photo of the Day: Norway

From Munich

Photo of the Day: Halong Bay, Vietnam

From Hanoi

Photo of the Day: Petra

From New-Old

Really loved the colors in this wall

Photo of the Day: Hoi An, Vietnam

From Hoi An

Photo of the Day: Copan Ruins

From Copan Ruins

Berlin Blog with added pictures

Posted this about a year ago, but thought I'd go back and add pictures. Enjoy.

Just in time (almost) for the 20th anniversary of the fall of the Wall, here are some quick notes on Berlin. A city with almost too much to see, Berlin is to easy get around via subway and by walking. It is well worth at least three or four days of exploration. I want to focus on just a few of the sights that are all within very easy walking distance of each other.

In the center of downtown (at the Unter den Linden S-Bahn exit) lies the Brandenberg gate, the triumphal archway under which conquering German armies marched after going to war. It was commissioned by King Fredrick William II in the late 18th century and is probably most famous for its chariot of horses on top, being driven by Victoria, the Roman goddess of victory. Apparently it didn’t provide initial good luck, because Napoleon conquered Prussia just a couple decades later and took the chariot statute and Victoria off to Paris. It was returned a few decades later — after another war, this time won by the Germans.

From Berlin

It is an iconic sight in Berlin. Their is a line in the street on the west side of the gate that shows where the Berlin Wall once ran. The Brandenberg gate was actually in the no-mans zone for those years. Immediately next to the gate is the U.S. Embassy — prime territory in town for one of the conquering Allied powers. Across the way is the French Embassy, in a fairly ugly building that does not refect what I think of when I think France. The prime hotel overlooking these particular sights is the Hotel Adlon, which normally wouldn’t be one any sightseeing agenda, but I can almost guarantee that you have seen it before.

It was from the penthouse suite’s balcony that Michael Jackson dangled his infant child, to the consternation of most of the world watching on television. Ahhhhh, those classic Michael memories.

Right around the corner is the Reichstag, which houses the German Parliament. The building is suitably picture-worthy, but it is the addition that that building that is the real draw. Before the legislative seat of government of Germany was moved back to Berlin, post re-unification, a large glass dome was added to the top of the building. From inside, you can actually see down to the floor of Parliament and see government in action. It really does look like sausage after all. Lines are long to get in — better to go first thing or last thing in the day. Views from up top are spectacular.

From Berlin

Immediately south of the U.S. Embassy and Brandenberg Gate is one of the most moving places I’ve seen on my entire trip: the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe. Often mis-indentified as the “Holocaust Museum,” the correct in-your-face name gives an accurate impression of what this site is all about. On the surface of the city block that the memorial occupies are the iconic 2,711 huge stone block that you have no doubt seen pictures of. They stand at various heights and are neatly organized in rows that take up almost the entire block. The architect of the project, Peter Eisenman, has never given any interview explaning what feelings he meant to convey with the design. Walking through the field, taking pictures of the stones with the shadows cast upon them, and seeing others walking in and out of your field of vision is interesting. I wish I had a better word for it, but that’s all I’ve got.

Underground in the small museum. Admission is free and although I hate to be the type of blogger that says “you must do this or that,” you really should take a hour or two out and go downstairs. There are only about five rooms down there. One hallway has the basic history and time line of the Holocaust. One room has maps and pictures of every concentration camps — and there were a lot more than I ever though. One room details how many Jews were killed from each country. But it was two of the rooms that set me back the most.

From Berlin

There is a room where the histories of 12-15 families are laid out. Family photos are on display. Letters. Descriptions of each of the members of the family: ages, professions, schooling, and so on. And then a full explanation of when the Nazis took them to their concentration camp(s) and how they died. Entire families. From Germany, France, Lativa, Russa, Bulgaria, and so many others. Among the reality of millions of murdered Jews — seeing these families stories brought it down to a level I hadn’t thought of before.

From Berlin

The Room of Names is a simple place with no photographs or other displays. One each of the four walls, a person’s name and biographical data is projected. Over the loudspeakers in the room, using information compiled by the Yad Vashem Holocaust Memorial in Jerusalem, an annoucer somberly and briefly details the life, and death, of the person whose name is projected on the wall. On a continuous loop. There are about 700 such brief biographies being looped now and the project aims to expand that to several thousand. When I was there, two women sat on one of the benches crying. They weren’t alone.

I walked out that morning with one thought in my head — I just don’t understand. I don’t mean that in a disrepectful way at all. I certainly understand the facts and details of the Holocaust and the museum was an incredible jolt to my soul. But I don’t understand how people can do that to each other.

On this trip, I’ve been through Uganda, Germany, Cambodia, Sudan and skirted Bosnia. Genocides have happened for thousands of years in a variety of places and are certain to happen again in the future. I am, or at least was, a criminal defense lawyer. I can comprehend murder. Murder for greed, or anger, or jealousy or any of the other thousands of reasons it happens every day does make sense to me — I dispise it, but I can at least comprehend it.

I just cannot comprehend the systematic killing of thousands, hundreds of thousands, or in the Holocaust’s case, millions of people because of their religion, or tribe, or educational background or the other means of weeding out who “must die.” One murderer or a small gang of murderers is something I can get my head around — but genocide is carried out by thousands and thousands of people, at the highest levels of power in their government. How do they get to that point? How is it possible to convince that many people to do something that unspeakably horrible? In the end, I supposed I’m glad that I cannot understand it at all, but I do understand, and believe, in the inscription on the wall I read that day.

“It happened, therefore it can happen again: this is the core of what we have to say.” from Primo Levi, The Drowned and the Saved (I sommersi e i salvati. Turin 1986), Simon and Schuster, New York.

Primo Levi, born in 1919 in Turin, was a chemist. As a member of the Italian resistance, he was arrested in 1944 and deported to Auschwitz. He survived and began in 1945, directly after his return, to write. In 1987 Primo Levi committed suicide.

From Berlin

Photo of the Day: Sunset Mid-Ocean

From Sunsets

Photo of the Day: Graffiti

From New-Old

Check out the bottom of this picture -- British graffiti in Luxor, Egypt. Kinda made me laugh a little bit.

Photo of the Day: Ethiopia Child

From Ethiopia Misc