view from 88 orchard

A glorious faux Spring day in New York City today and Sylvie and I hauled our cold-riddled selves out of The Thompson Hotel for a late lunch at 88 Orchard, a routinely spectacular cafe in the lowest east side. Out past the jars of vegan choco chip peanut butter cookies and flyers for numerous causes was an apartment building that fascinated me. What caught my eye were the fire escapes, which had beautiful and ornate designs in their ironwork railings but it's doubtful I could have done them justice with an eye clouded by lack of sleep and the haze of a seemingly intractable cold. But what also caught me was that the day itself - a balmy 66 degrees F - had brought out the vibrancy of the city again like a Spring rain on a flower bed. The locals all looked Vogue (pick any month, any year and it will apply. The styles are simply that diverse), the streets suddenly more spacious, and the colors practically bursting forth after a brutal winter. Tomorrow, the winter will return with a vengeance (temp back to mid-20s with a high near 40) but for now, I loved the little glimpse of Spring, when people look up without furrowed brows and a curse on their lips.

when the sun shone

The horrific flooding in my home state of Queensland was an appalling tragedy to endure from a distance, and the many tales of courage by what the press likes to call ordinary Australians were uplifting but still couldn't obscure the sorrow many families will confront so early in the new year. At the same time, in Brazil, the death toll from flooding passed 340, and yet the coverage didn't seem anywhere near as complete as that from Australia, sadly. But if there is one thing both nations have in common it's the color, spirit and confidence of their people and there will be better times again for both, we know. Watching the remarkable photos on Facebook from friends in Brisbane, chronicling the astounding rise of the Brisbane River (thanks Marius Jansen), it made me terribly homesick for southeast Queensland, where I spent my years at school and university. And so, I flipped back through my pictures of a trip there during 2010 and found a clutch that sort of summed up the material things that I miss so much and that trigger homesickness in a second. (I don't need to elaborate on how much I miss my Mum and brother there, I'll get all misty and fill the blog with typos). All the pics were taken at a pub (or across from it) in Kingscliff and while this is indeed New South Wales, the lines blur at the border and it's all Gold Coast to me. Burger, beer, coffee, and boards. That's home.

rive gauche glam

Paris, St. Germaine des Pres. We've been holed up in our own neck of the woods in Paris for three weeks but finally ventured across the Seine to revisit the fabulous Rive Gauche. When lounging comfortably in your own arrondissement, you can forget about the flashy, tourist-filled parts of the city and it's fun to dive back and ogle at the window displays and stroll through the little alleys. This display caught my eye because of the style of design as well as the elegant simplicity of the arrangement, with the "bows" so diligently aligned.

riding the rails

One of the benefits being a repeat visitor to Miami is the chance to explore some off-the-path places that are probably unknown to your typical South Beach dweller. Take the Gold Coast Railroad Museum in the city's south. When I got there, a busload of eight year olds was dutifully absorbing the usual field trip instructions on how not to demolish a public resource while I slipped past to check out the many carriages and engines in repose around the sprawling site. It actually used to be a base for airships toward the end of WWII but it was demolished by a monster hurricane in September 1945. Just how big this storm was can be seen in the massive concrete columns that tower over the Museum gift shop. They used to be supports for a hanger whose size just boggles the imagination. When it came down, it crushed the airships and planes inside, and the demolition was so complete that the Navy (thanks for the correction anonymous, but why so serious?) simply shuttered the entire base.

But today, it's home to a range of locomotives, diesel engines, and passenger and freight cars of the golden eras of rail, including the precursor to Air Force One, the presidential rail car. My personal favorite however was the California Zephyr, which was a shiny steel tube of art deco brilliance with an observation deck on top that afforded the well-heeled traveler glorious views of the mountains and valleys on its run between Chicago and San Francisco fifty years ago. Wandering through the stately cabins and lounges, you can positively feel the Mad Men aura and martini glamor. But for this selection of photos, I went with the sort of polar opposite. Many of the trains and railway cars in the Museum sit outside awaiting restoration, which naturally depends on whatever funds the place can scrape up. So, the ravages of Miami's climate are taking quite a toll on them and for me, I love that the fading colors of their original lives are being replaced by new color schemes of rust, flaking paint, and exposed metal and wood. It was unexpected inspiration.

the green desert

This is the view from the back of one of the seaside bluffs in San Carlos, on the coast of the Sea of Cortez. It's a favorite retreat for us when we desperately need the ultimate change of scene. This time it wasn't the cacti perched on the side of red rock coves or the many blues of the water that struck us but the verdant greens induced from the desert by summer rains. It was amazing just flying into Hermasillo 90 mins away and seeing the lush ground cover from the air. But up close, it was even better. Give your lens a polarizer and those greens and sky blues fairly burst out. 24-105mm at 32mm and f/7.1 for 1/100sec.

malestrom

Nicely evil-looking clouds moving into the city, this time from the east. Ten minutes later, you couldn't see this scene for the wind-driven rain and hail.

slick

Storm week continues (actually, lingers a little longer than a week) with this view of an oil slick on the road outside the apartment during a rainstorm. I was lucky that the light hit the street at such an angle to highlight the oil as it seeped from the road's centerline toward the drain. A little reminiscent perhaps of the famous spill not far from us in the Gulf. You can see the Volvo hatchback slicing through the slick, its tires cutting a line across the oil momentarily, like some kind of chemical mower. The colors are great and it's so rare to get a chance to catch a spectrum like this. A little like the opposite of a rainbow, which to me implies cleanliness, finality after a storm, and a gentle reminder of nature's benevolence. Definitely not the case with this asphalt rainbow.