turn around...

I don’t know when I first started looking the other way in the presence of places being photographed by everyone else. It has become the norm. Not consciously, not out of habit as such, it just happens. Contrarywise…

I’d taken a trip second trip to Nara while on business in Japan in 2007 – my first had been inundated, and while this had its own watery appeal, I wanted to revisit Tōdai-ji for the light I’d seen years earlier.

The Tōdai-ji site is famed for the Daibutsu-den Hall – the largest wooden building in the world, containing the largest bronze statue of the Vairocana Buddha. A magnet for cameras, even though here size matters, and it actively prejudices meaningful images of size itself – both Buddha and Hall are too up there to make any photographic sense - everything gets sqaushed.

Anyway, I’d arrived at the top of the steps to the Great Hall, surrounded by a throng of cameras, when I turned around and saw this space, inhabited by an acolyte and her shadow… And I'm not a people photographer. OK, it's voyeuristic, but I think you can see where I was heading.

But I had first visited Nara with a close friend back in 2003. Then we took pathways that first lead away from the Great Hall, haunted by eerily whistling deer, then slowly meandered back to meet the crowds, passing more humble shrines, some, seemingly so ancient, they were now just scrapes in the ground. We came across a shrine decked with votive papers - a man and two young boys approached, he bowed, then clapped his hands to wake whatever deity resided there. He bowed again, as did the boys, his lips moved silently, he bowed again as we had discovered an impeccable shrine on the other side of the path.

So I suppose the moral of the story is firstly, look the other way; and secondly, take the other path. This seems appropriately Buddhist...

A magical opportunity awaits you as you leave the Great Hall - you can sponsor a roof tile (constantly needed for renovation) with a personal message. Which I did...

Nara is easily accessible by train from Ōsaka and Kyōto. It is well signposted in English...

scripta manet verba volat (post in progress)

This aphorism has come to mean, what is written remains, what is spoken flies away. It seems quite logical for us to endow the written, printed or carved word with a permanence inherently absent from the spoken (unrecorded) word, but for many centuries after the development of written text the reverse was true. According to Alberto Manguel*, the written word was mutely locked while the spoken word could purposefully take off and fly.

This raised some questions for me.

(1) A character, say an "a", carved in stone or printed on paper using movable type is both a discrete entity, and one which has duration in the sense that it will remain an "a" so long as neither it nor its substrate suffers any damage. The same character "a" rendered black on a screen is not a discrete entity in the sense that it is made up of dots of no/little light, it is flickering on/off (is this latter an accurate description or is it more a case of a sort of throbbing?), and it is only rendered visible by the persistence of vision. So the question is - does the screen "a" have any physical presence/existence in the same way that the stone/paper "a" does, ignoring quantum vagueries? Would the screen "a" better be described as having a variable "state"?

(2) The character "a" when stored digitally is stored as binary code, and thus cannot be said to have any existence as an "a" as such? Can the storage itself can better be described as a (variable) "state" rather than anything physical such as the physical state of the carved "a"?



*A History of Reading, Alberto Manguel, 1996
(image is a Sumerian limestone tablet, c2450 BCE)

Heike by winter

Back in May last year I took an evening stroll above Frognerseteren in the hills over Oslo. I did the same walk today, in February, at -3C and snow all around. Heike was still there, dressed for the occasion. And she had clearly delighted folk recently. Sadly not today...

But it was rarely as silent as May. The forest was the haunt of solitary skiers, announced by whoosh or slap of skinny skis. Most were glum and only muttered back to my "Hi, Hi!" Well it is Oslo... But one unglum man even asked me the way, and I duly obliged him with a little map...

But there precious moments of near slience, when all that could be heard was the head-turning ghostly rustle of snow cascading off laden trees, the deep bark of a raven, or the near inaudible scampering of a red squirrel. It must be an amazing place at night, not least because of all many tracks of quadrupeds which were not pet dogs...

There were long sunny spells until low cloud blanketed the hills. Making these young tree figures even spookier...

a sad reflection on the complexities of Indian society...

Both these images come from an advert for a slimming company featured in the Mumbai Mirror on 26th November 2008; printed just a few hours before the attacks started...

When we first saw them on a flight from Vadodara to Mumbai (which portentously had an aborted landing) we thought them hysterically funny. Now, after the attacks, they seem less amusing, more symptomatic of core problems.

Clearly there has been some pirated Photoshop work going on as the afters are not wholly the befores, if you follow my drift. and while it may be possible to lose 15kgs in 4 months or 22kgs in 3 months, one cannot lose 80 inches - that's over two metres! Yet here they are, unquestioned by any form of ethical code, trading standards, nor credibility. We have statements in concert with images. It matters little whether there is any consistency between the one and the other. The medium here is the message...

Booker-hailed Aravind Adiga encapsulates a similar aspect of cultural acceptance in The White Tiger. Here he describes fowls waiting their turn to die while held in a Rooster Coop. However, Adiga's wide-boy murdering anti-hero, Ashok Sharma, not only succeeds in escaping the Coop of his caste, but actually becomes a successful entrepreneur.

While failures of intelligence compounded by palpably inept action on the parts of both police and military during the Mumbai attacks raise questions about general security in India, there is a bigger issue glaringly obvious to anyone visiting India – over-staffing.

India’s cabin baggage screening is actually more effective than in Europe and USA. I had inadvertently left a scalpel in a carry-on bag which was not picked up at Stavanger, Oslo-Gardermoen, Heathrow (twice) and Baltimore-Washington – it was immediately picked up on a domestic flight out of New Delhi. But you only have to enter an airport in India and you will see droves of non-uniformed staff literally wandering around both landside and airside. Indeed, when I flew out of Mumbai on 29th November, there were still staff wandering around unchallenged and without any form of ID, wholly negating the effectiveness of carry-on baggage screening. More worrying still is the frequency of dogs airside. If a dog can get onto the airfield so can a person…

Then there was the official presence of moustachioed strutting be-medalled leaders of police and armed forces with their cabals of strutting moustachioed stick-wielding minions - none of whom were seen to be doing anything about the 'situation' they were supposed to be dealing with. Visible high-profile over-staffing.

And while all was unfolding in front of the barking media, India's Secretary General never-to-be was quick as ever to dash off a wide ball. "There is a savage irony to the fact that the unfolding horror in Mumbai began with terrorists docking near the Gateway of India. The magnificent arch, built in 1911 to welcome the King-Emperor, has ever since stood as a symbol of the openness of the city. Crowds flock around it, made up of foreign tourists and local yokels; touts hawk their wares; boats bob in the waters, offering cruises out to the open sea. The teeming throngs around it daily reflect India's diversity, with Parsi gentlemen out for their evening constitutionals, Muslim women in burkas taking the sea air, Goan Catholic waiters enjoying a break from their duties at the stately Taj Mahal hotel, Hindus from every corner of the country chatting in a multitude of tongues. Today, ringed by police barricades, the Gateway of India - and gateway to India's soul - is barred, mute testimony to the latest assault on the country's pluralist democracy."

It is amazing that Tharoor (author of the above screed) can not only mistake a physical embodiment of imperial repression as a symbol of welcome, but he goes on to dress it up with Disney parodies. He seems blind to the real people killed during the attacks...

iPomme

It is quite strange to be English and in Montreal. No, I’m not getting exclusive – it’s simply the mélange of Frankish obstinacy, American loud and a medieval flag. It almost seems like it’s a place trying not to be where it is. If it was a Hispanic enclave it would have had to have been created by Borges…

Montréal is in Quebec, where Québécois French is the first language and legions of signs are not bilingual. So airport is aérogare (not aéroport), le wifi is actually le sans fil, and Montreal is Montréal. The irony of all this – though Quebec is an irony-free enclave – is that Quebec itself is based on an Algonquin word, kepék, meaning "(it) narrows." The topographic reference curiously reflects its cultural exclusivity.

But all is not exclusif! The local culinary highlight is not some heavenly soufflé of rare freshwater fish – it’s Poutine – rather wonderfully, chips (fries), curd cheese (stringier than Mozzarella), and gravy (sauce). Yup, cheesy chips with gravy. Yummy lining for a cold day...

Et voila, Le Magasin Apple Store, qui s'appelle "iPomme"!

the other Cañadas photographs

The real reason for the visit to Tenerife and the Caldera de las Cañadas in particular was to take another sort of photograph from those travel snaps previously posted. Images of less obvious subject matter, in many instances with no inherent scale.

This first images comes from the Minas de San José - wonderful, coloured picon landscapes that straddle the TF-21 midway between Los Roques and Portillo. Picon is composed of small rounded pumice up to 20mm across. the San José picon ranges in colour from green-greys, through yellow-greys to red-greys. And in spite of the numbers of visitors they maintain their dune-like forms and discrete swirling colour bands. And there's very little litter around the place.

This second image comes from the very top of the huge gash in the landscape between Montaña El Cerrillar and Montaña de Arenas Negras. This shows a slab of lava resting on top of layers of pumice. As the pumice is granular it is subject to wind and water erosion, causing collapses in the lava slab.

While these are fairly intelligible images, there is no positivel sense of scale here. Other images of rubble, scrub, and rock have no palpable scale.

There's something worrying about the colouration here that I'm going to have to deal with. It's just a little anachronistic from a technical photographic perspective (think C19th landscape photographs).

three walks in the Caldera de Las Cañadas

Los Roques de García: This is probably the best introduction to the Caldera, and to get away and see what the folk in whistle-stop coaches and cars can’t see from the Mirador de la Ruleta. It’s an easy 4km hill-walk, with less than 150m combined ascent. As Sendero 3 it is an ‘official’ footpath, but do not rely on signage or waypoints, especially on the descent. The path starts impressively wide and manicured by the vehicle turning circle at the Mirador car park, thinning off in inverse proportion to the number of the ill-shod who give up. You get full-on views of the volcano and all the Roques as the path winds its way up to the high point of the walk – and you’ll know when you are there…

You’ll appreciate good footwear on the descent. There’s little path as such, just a wear marks on the rocks and screes which may be less easy to follow in wet weather. But there should be no problem as, assuming you can see it, basically you need to be aiming for the large rock appropriately named La Catedral. The right fork there takes you to the Mirador del Llano de Ucanca on TF-21, the left fork returns to where you started. The first part of the climb back up is well-trodden, and on an obvious ridge there’s a spur which gives the best view of the plain below (and you’ll be in all the photographs taken from the coach parties above). The last section up to the viewing platform places you in front of a full audience, the problem of actually finding a path, and avoiding any embarrassing slips…

The best map I’ve found for exploring the Caldera is the IGN Map and Guide to the Teide National Park, published by the Spanish Ministerio de Fomento (ISBN 8-423434-180254) available online from Stanfords (they also have shops in London and Bristol).

Montaña de Arenas Negras: A good introduction to the rim of the Caldera with a total ascent of around 300m in around 9km. The trail (as Sendero 4, “Las Siete Cañadas”) starts near the El Portillo Visitor Centre on TF-21. There’s a large Park notice board marking the start of the walk which follows the wide track for around 500m before forking to the left and becoming Sendero 2. After some time you’ll come across warnings about bees! Hives are brought up here during the flowering season. It’s rather worrying to be warned about the local bees if you are used to well-behaved English bees. According to the Park map (see note below) the trail skirts gently around Montaña El Cerrillar, giving views over the north coast clouds. Sendero 2 is well signed up to the highest point on the walk, but the path is never difficult to follow. There are some wonderful visual surprises after the high point (around 2300m)… Then Sendero 2 signs kick-in again after the exhilarating slide down the picon screes of Montaña de las Arenas Negras, meeting up with the painfully obvious Sendero 4 and the stroll back up to the car park.

(The Austrian ‘Kompass’ map and the Walk Tenerife guide both list El Cerrillar as Montaña de las Arenas Negras. The Park guide seems more sensible, labelling only the steep black picon hill as Montaña de Las Arenas Negras.)

Guajara: The highest point (2718m) on the Caldera rim, and with over 700m of ascent in 10km, a bit of a challenge for me. The trail starts at the far end of the Visitor Centre car park over the road from the Mirador de la Ruleta, striking off into lava scrub, but soon joining the obvious Sendero 4, (“Las Siete Cañadas”) near Las Piedras Amarillas. It skirts around overhangs and cliffs, flattening out, eventually forking off as Sendero 5 (the “Degollada de Guajara”) at the customary Park notice board, which rates the trail as difficult. It’s a slog all the way up from here, made more trying by the thin air. The pass (“Degollada") is about a third of the way up Guajara from the valley plain, affording dizzy views to the coast over 2370m below – and there’s another 340m up to the summit…

The trail is not too hard nor too difficult to follow from here, and on a clear day, the summit gives amazing views of Teide and the full sweep of the Caldera walls. The rubble/ruins up here are what’s left of an observatory built in 1856, replaced by the Izana observatory in the distance to the north. Now you are presented with two options for the return. The easy recommended version is backtracking down the way you came up. The more difficult - which carries warnings about danger, “everything you do not want in a descent”, and “nur für Geübte” (“only for the experienced”) – goes straight down the face of Guajara! It was a real hoot. The top third is one exhilarating scramble through boulders and under an enormous overhang, never more than a couple of steps away from a very steep fall. There was not a cloud in the sky when I took this route, but it would be tragically easy to lose one’s way or footing in low cloud or wet weather, and a definite "no no" in snow and ice. But the sting in the tail for me came on the lower half of the route which is hideously uncomfortable, eventually joining up with Sendero 4 under Las Piedras Amarillas, and an easy stroll back.

The view of El Teide from the summit of Guajara (2718m) at 13.30 on 3rd September 2008. Teide is another 1000m higher, the highest point in Spain, and the third highest island volcano on the planet (the others are in Hawaii). It was well worth the slog up Guajara just for the views, better still, at this point in time I had no idea how much fun the way down was going to be. And the silence - in the six hours I spent on the mountain, I only saw 4 other people – two Germans who met me on the summit, and two Spanish who were about an hour behind me on the way up. On the Los Roques trail, once past the half-hearted, I only saw 4 people. And on the Arenas Negras route, I saw nobody until I met up with guided group of around 15 puffing, mixed and ill-dressed folk at the base of the picon scree. I toyed with the idea of seeing whether they’d make it up the hill, but my interest in belated lunch was greater...