entering before you,

your laughter falls into
the hush of the coffee shop
like a stone
amongst a flock of pigeons

and looking to the doorway
I can almost hear wings flapping

as silence takes fright

Growing up Lutheran, I have literally no experience when it comes to saints, at least saints proper. So visiting all of these icon-plastered churches and monasteries in and around Moscow has been a little disorienting at least in terms of understanding the religious culture that surrounds them. We had an excursion to one of the more local religious centers just a few days ago: Sergiev Posad, about an hour’s bus ride out of the city. Trust me, getting a seven-hour break from the glorious stench that is Moscow was much appreciated, especially now that we’ve got only a week left. I contracted cabin fever weeks ago, and although you might think that must be hard to come by in a bustling city of the 10 million+ people, I am going bananas. And I am going fast. At the same time, though, I know leaving will be quite difficult (no more blini, no more smetana, no more metro), but I’m prepared for that too. I get to take so much away from this; I get to bring it home and share it and see it collide with the elements of my normal American life.

The primary attraction within this little city consisted of an eons-old monastery established by the utterly impressive Saint Sergius. No one really told us what he did or how it was that he got this project rolling, but I’m sure it’s on Wikipedia for any of you who are actually curious. Of course, the grounds dazzled the eye and offered any number of photo ops, but, as usual, we could only actually enter about two of the (approximately) 10 buildings on the site. This is an especially Russian phenomenon: access in general is limited to 50% or less of all buildings, doors, attractions, parks, you name it. I wish I were exaggerating. An ongoing joke in this country, for me at least, involves the constant installation of fake double door and windows. They can be called fake in respect to how they function; the panes and frames and all that are all there. But of the two visible doors or windows, I guarantee you that only one of them can actually open and close. The others just sit there, stuck, letting light in. On a larger scale, large historical buildings often only allow walk-throughs of a fraction of the premises, claiming the other parts are being renovated or rented out as storage space or something.

Back to the trip! I enjoyed seeing the monastery (what I was able to see, anyways) and getting the guided tour through the super old, impressive stuff museum. I don’t mean to belittle it; it really is astounding to see what people were able to create without modern technology and machinery. BUT I preferred the perusing we did a few hours later after lunch. Anya, Brandon, and I walked around the more residential areas of the town just to see more traditional Russian dwellings. After all, the giant dormitory-style apartment buildings of Moscow in no way resemble the decrepit, brightly painted wooden houses of the countryside its smaller towns. We did see some corrugated fences and paper posters like these though–very reminiscent of our big metropolis and its layers of advertisements and grime and such. Surprisingly enough, Sergiev Posad’s streets and sidewalks were even more grungy than the ones we’re used to here. It’s tempting just to leave every pair of shoes I brought on this trip because they’ve been plastered with mud, beaten, and ripped on by one of the world’s least shoe-friendly urban areas. We’ll see.

I hope to have/make the time to post an additional entry before I leave (exactly a week from today), but I make no promises since the emotional and physical flurry of leaving might leave me a little scatter-brained. And I still have to write a half-assed paper on Russian culture that may or may not be about the difficulties of being a woman in this repressive culture. Besides that, I need to spend some quality time with some quality people. I believe I’ll be continuing the blog when I get home, both to wrap up comments in relation to the whole Russian experience and to document life as usual, its comings and goings, successes and failures, its milk and cookies.

This air conditioners have become the real urban flock groups, like pigeons and sparrows

I know it doesn’t seem that way
But maybe it’s the perfect day…

If we’d only open our eyes
We’d see the blessings in disguise…

There’s gold in them hills
There’s gold in them hills
So don’t lose heart
Give the day a chance to start

Every now and then life says
Where do you think you’re going so fast
We’re apt to think it cruel but sometimes
It’s a case of cruel to be kind

There’s gold in them hills
There’s gold in them hills
So don’t lose faith
Give the world a chance to say…

A word or two, my friend
There’s no telling how the day might end
And we’ll never know until we see
That there’s gold in them hills

-Coldplay, “Gold in Them Hills”

Underestimating urgency, my inner General Custer misprioritizes.  With all due respect, why unduly focus on the view–am I a real estate prospector or a man with whimsical bowels, inner Mr. Custer?  Fumbling with a buckle, fumbling away precious seconds, the weight of the blunder hits.  I poop myself.  Premature ecrapulation in the woods.  The fine mountain view offers little consolation.

My hiking boxer shorts, an engineering feat of head-shaking disbelief, salve.  I marvel at their preparation for just such an occurrence.  Like a Senator’s right-hand man cleaning up after the honorable underage daughter’s DUI hit-and-run, or like a diaper, they handle this mess without a trace.  The “incident” turns out to be a watershed moment on a stunning 15 day trek of the Annapurna Circuit in the Nepalese Himalayas.

I won’t greatly linger on the before and after of the surprisingly fortuitous stomach illness.  It suffices to say that in the B.C. (Before Crap) era, I had pushed myself in my own speed challenge; I misguidedly looked to finish quickly.  Wiser in the A.D. (After Deuce–selected over two other viable “D” word contenders) era, I take a rest day and some antibiotics to beat down this all too common Nepali belly bug.

I am disappointed at first but it doesn’t last. I resolve to take in the cartoonishly unreal views, enjoy the mountain villages and their cuisine, forge relationships with the trekkers around me, and dance on the trails when the mood strikes.  Turns out I won’t blow up if I go under 55.  So I’ll need to rework my script for Speed 3.  I’ll start by recasting Sandra Bullock–a move that makes sense if we’re aiming for at least straight-to-video.  Fixing the plot redundancy/monotony, which the superficial context shift doesn’t address, takes on lesser priority than changing the heroine.

The rest day shifts who treks around me and shapes the experience. Among those with whom I connect are: Paul, a clairvoyant former professional triathlete (became a professional athlete mid-career essentially because he felt like it); Robert, a reprioritizing ex-CEO (who resembles a much smarter, skinnier Michael Moore); and Tammy, a curator who slyly lived rent-free undetected in her museum for a year (she never turned on the lights).

After a day’s walk, we sometimes talk over a pot of masala tea, apple-based baked-goods and a game of Rummy 500.  There’s plenty of time to get to know fellow trekkers.  One guy enters our midst wearing a Spock costume.  I tell him his group meets down the hall.  Lack of backpack, not the costume is the giveaway.  Live long and prosper, friend.  But be a pal and put down that half-eaten piece of chocolate apple crumble on your way out.  No, buddy, I don’t care that you are sick or that there are seven pieces left.

Of all the special people I meet, I gravitate towards Yanara.  We readily slip into trekking together.  Half-German, half-American, entirely international, Yanara is easy to be around.  When we stop at a particularly arresting viewpoint, neither of us speaks for half an hour.  This happens more than once.  With her, the shared natural silence far from equates with awkwardness.  We agree that speaking steals from the beauty.  When we converse, however, I am continually struck by her well-considered remarks, honest introspection and quick wit.  An aspiring writer, she reads me her work and blows me away with talent.  She stimulates my mind.

Perhaps more importantly, she hangs with my voracious mountain appetite and appears at least outwardly tolerant when she calls out that 70% of my conversation is food-oriented.  Well, Yanara, I refuse to stop spreading the word about that one piping-hot, oven fresh roll I slathered with butter in Yak Kharka.  I will also continue to shout from the rooftops that the biggest lesson I’ve learned on the Circuit is to spend more time in bakeries.  I question her definition of obsession anyway.  I conveniently neglect to tell her my 2009 New Year’s resolution was to eat more dumplings.  (Quit smoking or call your mom more if YOU like but I, for one, thrive on challenge.  Give more dumplings a shot in 2010.  Get the decade started right.)

Excitement, camaraderie, tension, and altitude build as we near Thorung-La pass.  Each day’s walk brings our informal group through new mountain villages, past changing but equally dramatic scenery as we get closer.  At 5416 meters (~18,000 feet), the pass is the highest point on the trek and the natural focal point.

Concerns about the weather and passability begin to dominate conversation, at least when I am not interjecting about food.  On the day before we are to attempt the pass, the weather clears altogether, with wonderful effect.  I undertake the day’s walk myself early in the morning.  I aim to guarantee beds at a guesthouse near the pass.  An empty trail suggests no one shares the concern.  A little over-eager but it grants me rare alone time.  Given that the Circuit suffers to some extent from over-exposure and commercialization, I cherish the moment.  I dance on the trail when the mood strikes.  The yak I pass are not up for a dance-off.  I’ve seen their moves and they couldn’t handle this.  Cute bells they wear though.  Ethan would be proud that I outdance the locals (Wonderlust: Spring Breakin’, Cabarete Boogaloo).

Pass day comes in many shapes and sizes but we all make it.  The mood among the group relaxes considerably afterward.  In the rearview, the thought of the pass no longer has the power to consume.  The return of roads on the Jomsom side of the circuit frustrates as jeeps, motorbikes and buses frequently elbow us aside in a cloud of dust.  Increased proximity to Marpha’s apples compensates.  I enjoy the best apple jam and apple juice I have ever tasted.  I deny obsession.  I take pictures of frothy apple juice mugs.

Yanara and I arrive in Pokhara, Nepal’s relaxed second city, post-circuit.  We feel compelled nearly immediately to head back out to a nearby mountain, Panchase.  Once there, we readily tack on an extra day.  I find even more Gold in Them Hills.  I further enjoy the blessing of meeting Yanara and sharing this experience with her.  And I tell all who will listen about hot buttered rolls and bakeries.  I become legendary at our Panchase guesthouse for plates consumed of Dal Bhat (rice, veggie curry and lentils), the Nepali local feature.  Downing Dal Bhat prodigiously, I note to myself that my stomach has held up well against bugs, the other local feature, since the “incident”.  Curious that it struck when it did and that it seemed such a downer at the time.  In case of a return bout, a fresh pair of my hiking boxer shorts stand ready as ever.  I feel fortunate to stand more accepting.

Annapurna Pics, Gallery 1

Annapurna Pics, Gallery 2

PS-the proprietor of the Panchase guesthouse picked up some of my scrapwork as I worked through this entry.  She innocently asked if the word “poop” was “peek.”  I corrected her.  Hilarity ensued.

PPS-Yanara believes you can tell a lot about a city by the heart of its pigeons.  Amsterdam and Rome are the worst because their pigeons have no sense of personal space.

PPPS-I have enjoyed all four of my barber shaves in Nepal. (Wonderlust: Barber Shop Shaves)

PPPPS-Call me a jerk.  I blatantly violated carry-in, carry-out policy with the boxers I left behind.  I think the hiking Gods carved out a loophole for my situation.

PPPPPS-A Rumi poem, “Who Makes These Changes?”:

Who makes these changes?
I shoot an arrow right.
It lands left.
I ride after a deer and find myself
Chased by a hog.
I plot to get what I want
And end up in prison.
I dig pits to trap others
And fall in.

I should be suspicious
Of what I want.

Winged rats. Filthy pests. Dirty birds. What do you think when you see those pudgy blue and gray feathered creatures loitering under overpasses, in parks or fouling statues? You know; pigeons.

But are they as bad as our moms made them out to be? Are they couriers of disease?

Pigeons, also known as Rock Doves, came to North America with settlers of Nova Scotia (that’s in Canada) in the early 1600s. Escaped Rock Pigeons eventually established the feral flocks we see in cities today, probably helped out by some escaped homing pigeons and racing pigeons too.

Surprisingly, pigeons can be speedy and smart, and have been used by people to communicate for thousands of years, including during the ancient Olympic games. In the late 1800s a pigeon carrying messages in New Zealand averaged 77 mph, and champion racing pigeons can travel over 500 miles in a day!  Pigeons played a vital role in World War I and even during WWII to get messages across enemy lines and to send out distress messages of sinking ships.  It’s crazy, but a “pigeon post” was still in use in India until 2004!

So, it might be hard to believe that the waddling flocks pecking at trash on the sidewalk could be the same heroic birds that delivered the first ‘texts’ thousands of years ago. But, the pigeons we see today have a surprising amount of intelligence; they can see color, much like we do, and also see ultra-violet light. They may use highways and other landmarks to help navigate, and they also are among an elite group of animals that can recognize themselves in a mirror.

Ok; so the birds are smart and were once upon a time useful…so what? Well, pigeons are still considered ‘useful’ to many chefs around the world. Yes, people (including Emeril and Bobby Flay) eat pigeon, or ‘squab’, and it’s considered a delicacy. Mmmmm…

We get to the original question of whether pigeons deserve their bad rap as dirty birds.

Pigeons are the feathered street-sweepers of the city, but what goes in must come out. The biggest problem with urban pigeon flocks is the mass of mess they leave behind. This wasn’t always the case though. For hundred of years in Europe, pigeon poop was prized as an excellent fertilizer, and in the 1500s it was the major source of an important ingredient in gunpowder. Armed guards were even stationed at pigeon coops to prevent theft of the white stuff!

But until the market for pigeon fertilizer picks up again, we have to contend with the droppings in our cities. It’s true that the droppings can harbor diseases, but the birds themselves remain pretty clean, taking baths and preening their feathers. Even so, one study identified 60 different microorganisms associated with city pigeons that can cause human disease. However, only 10 of these have ever been documented to have been passed to people, and then, mostly to people with weakened immune systems, or those who hang with the birds a lot. Even when pet pigeons slum it with feral flocks, they stay healthy.

The New York City Department of Health, and other major metropolis offices, have no documented cases of people catching diseases from pigeons. There has been only one reported case of someone dying from exposure to dried pigeon poop, and this Dutch woman was highly allergic to the stuff.
It has been stated that salmonella, one of the diseases associated with pigeons, is far more likely to be contracted by human beings through eating supermarket eggs or chicken than through contact with wild birds. In addition, pigeons don’t carry avian influenza “bird flu”, and they can’t carry and transmit West Nile Virus.  Overall, rodents and flies have higher rates of disease transmission to humans than pigeons do!

Should you run out and lather yourself with pigeon poo? Ah, no. But should you wrinkle your nose with disgust and shudder every time you pass these birds on the street? They probably don’t deserve it. In fact, they pigeons probably deserve a little more respect, considering their noble history and surprising smarts. If you do hug a pigeon, remember to wash your hands.
21 Amazing Pigeon Facts!

Cornell PigeonWatch

HSUS Closer Look

TechLetter

It’s been 2 months since I launched this daily photo blog. I am already feeling proud of some accomplishments I’ve made with the blog. For one, I’ve stuck with it by creating a daily routine for two solid months. I think some genius out there decided that if you practice something for 30days, you’ve set yourself up for a good solid routine. Part of my routine has been to force (I don’t really see it as forcing, but I’m not sure what other word to use) myself to get out and click, click, click every day. I think this routine of carrying my camera with me at all times has taught me to understand that there are in fact several opportunities for 1 great daily photo – no matter how routine or mundane daily life tends to be.

Another is that when I first launched this site I had no idea if anyone would be interested in following my blog. I feel good to be able to say that as of this morning there are 1,666 (yikes, quick… someone “CLICK”) hits on my blog. For the record, my blog does not count the times I view it to see how it appears on the front side. I’ve also discovered that 4 people / bloggers have subscribed to my blog. Wow. 4 people are actually interested in following my daily photo blog! Pretty Cool!

I think the final accomplishment would be that I’m learning to think outside of the box. I’ve been practicing methods of using composition, textures, patterns, light or lighting, and creating an abstract image in my photos. I am also trying to practice not taking typical cliche photos. I do understand that at times these photos are fun and warm the hearts of many, but my intentions for doing digital photography fall more into line with using my artist abilities. Exercising an artistic style is what make my creative juices flow. I think this practice will also help me to stand out a bit more from other photographers.

Someone with real money could make this a feature-length.

(h/t: Fred)

Camera: Panasonic FZ5
F-stop: f/5
Exposure: 1/400
ISO: 80
Focal Length: 72mm
Max Aperture: 3

“The culture of Chinese is very conservative.  There are no good places for intellectuals so many intellectuals leave for foreign countries such as America, England and so on.”

“We are always proud of our IQ but are ashame of our regulations and system.  Chinese have strong sense of protect ourselves.  It’s a limitation of one’s future.  But we have to.  Just like our government proclaims: survival is the first place, equality is the second.”

“We don’t follow religion but we do follow ancient philosophies of Confucius.”

“First I must say that I’m not a racist.  But for me, I can’t marry blacks or whites .  People should marry someone of their own race.  They can understand each other well.  Maybe the same beliefs can shorten the distance between the two souls.  I only love Chinese.  I even don’t like touching Koreans, Japanese or Hindu.  A Chinese man brings me a strong feeling of happiness or safety.  People comes from different country and have different customs.  Maybe love decreases the conflict. But with other problems around, for example the education of their children or the supporting of parents, their life can’t be terrific, I think.  I just want to have a Chinese husband.  He can understand the meaning of words that I’ve said.  Even different races can’t live a comfortable life of course that’s not an absolutely right thing.  Just imagine the basic food that they eat can’t be the same! What a terrible thing! In one word, I’m really not a racist, but I can’t accept marriage between two different races.”

and then you get these, from students older than yours truly:::

“I want to write a story about Bobby princess.  It is about two girls who work together to beat the evil.  It tells us friends should trust each other and help each other.”

“Yesterday I has been to Jinan City. Seeing so many pigens walking around people who were feeding them including the children and the elder.  I felt very comfortable when I saw they were not afraid of people and we could get along well with them.”

I’ve just seen this article and had to share. I love Bridget Jones and indeed the two films are integral to our Christmas movie viewing; an annual event in the Briston-Hill household it has to be said. It brought a smile to my face to see the below photographs and of course the illustrious Apple Mac product placement to boot. Well, how else will Bridget write up her thought evoking diary now-a-days?!

You can read the article here

Cx

This was the view from my room at college at URI back in 1969. We were eight guys in two rooms over a garage just off campus. The landlord restored Packards in the garage below and his father-in-law, who was a mathematics professor, raised pigeons in the barn next door.

If a Pigeon POOPS on me!
Lol.
NH.

(ring ring)

(click)

Hello?

Hi Doug, it’s James from the UK advertising team.

Hi James.

We were just wondering what you wanted to do about the TV advertising for the UK market?

Just show the US advert and slap a British voiceover on at the end.

Really?

Yeah, why?

Well, it’s just that that’s clearly a US advert – it features American actors, American cars, American cities, it even features a hotdog vendor.

Why does that matter?

It’s just that the advert is clearly a *few* years old and was made back when people didn’t widely use portable harddrives, or have mobile internet devices, or even know about GoogleDocs. Plus it’s really long, not very charming and will cost a fortune to show… we could just shoot a shorter version for the UK market, which’d save us money in the long run, and not run the risk of appearing lazy and patronising – plus we could retool it for an audience who are less internet savvy than businessmen.

Just show the US version.

(click)

And I have felt
A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean, and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man,
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things.

– Wordsworth, Lines Written Above Tintern Abbey (1798)

Long view of tracks on de Maisonneuve in front of the old "Victoria School."

Bold deep landing tracks filled with leaf detritus.

Here is the site of these tracks with the Pigeon Tracks poster.

These tracks are in front of a Victorian building that has been abandoned for some time. It provides one of the rare patches of green in the downtown core and nature is reclaiming the front steps – slowly transforming it into a contemplative, Romantic folly.

City pigeons are the product of domestication – but exist somewhere between tame and wild. Their traces in wet cement remind us that human and non-human animals share the city together. The sidewalk was once a meeting place – not just a passageway.  Pigeons still use it that way.

View Larger Map

To set the tone, I’ll describe what I’m talking about through past examples.

Rock Doves (Columbo spp.) are large birds commonly known as pigeons. Evolved for cliff dwelling, they have taken to our built environment and are found in every city I have visited.

Problem : where they congregate is quickly spattered with corrosive droppings. Past remedies have included spike strips (they get around these), sloped roofs (they perch on anything), poisoning (kills every bird that eats the same things), fake owls (they can distinguish between a real and a fake) etc.

Solution: Ghent tried giving the pigeons what they wanted: great nesting sites. after establishing the best orrery sites in the city, researchers began replacing the pigeon egss with wood fakes. This cut the pigeon population in the city down by two thirds.

Give ‘em what they want, but manipulate the terms to meet you ends. If you hit ‘em with what they don’t want, they find a way to get around you to get what they want anyway. Make them come to you.