9:00AM, I arrive sleepy eyed at the station, Shibuya, leave the platform up the escalator, swipe my passmo on the ticket barrier and head up to our meeting point, Hachiko the dog statue.

Hachiko-tv-friends

powerhouse

Today is all about getting a car, some friends, some snacks, a used TV and heading out to and exploring an abandoned mining-ghost town in north west Saitama, called Nichitsu. ニッチツ廃墟

The drive is long and arduous, about 3 1/2 hours out from Shibuya by car. But we all enjoyed taking in the views of the beautiful surrounding mountainous landscapes and valleys of Saitama.

It was, however, accompanied by one of our passengers’ stand-up comedy set/practice.
creativity and mittens come to mind…

Before long, we arrive at Nichitsu. Our first impressions were of course, ‘What the hell happened here that just made everyone leave?’. The town has been overtaken by nature, ruin, vandalism and loneliness. It has an almost harrowing feel to it.

We find a place to park up and go exploring:

Community office

From there we moved onto other smaller and abandoned houses and managed to find some pretty atmospheric feeling homes

An old fashioned race bike?

Beauty in ruins

Gokuaku?

Creepy

The one place I’d heard about and really wanted to find was the abandoned school assembly hall. We walked around for a long time before coming across it. It felt really strange to be standing inside a dilapidated and ruined assembly hall knowing that at some point in the past, this would have been filled with the sounds of children and their games and songs.

The walkway

Wideshot

Randoms

This slideshow requires JavaScript.

     We dug in the ruins of that place, level by level, civilization by civilization, always deeper into the past. We found each culture’s walls and hovels, weapons, wagon ruts gouged into the stone streets. And below that, another of the same, and the same after that. We have not yet found the bottom level, a place overlying undisturbed earth. Even if we were to find that first civilization someday, we would never know it was the first until we had ripped it out of the ground, out of its sleep just as we have the ancient places above it.   [– after Sigmund Freud]

<END> … If you enjoyed this post, pass it on to your friends. If quoting or reprinting, please credit http://www.terencekuch.com.

Thank you – tk

Church auditorium, Detroit, MI

Earlier this year photographer and friend Rick Harris and I took a trip to Detroit. The plan was to revisit some of the abandoned buildings we’ve explored in past, and photograph some new sites. In addition to a new theatre and church, I also discovered the black and white post-processing project I’ve been working on was well-suited to some of the images I was taking on our trip.

Over the past several months I’ve been going through some of my older architectural images, looking at them again and trying them out as black and white. I post-process images as HDR and I’ve found that I’m able to build up the structure of the images so there’s more detail in my shots, but at the same time the architectural angles and lines hold the images together.

Light often has an unusual quality in abandoned buildings. Paint peels in layers, and colours, including colour in graffiti can mix and create a unique feel to rooms and hallways of buildings, so I’ve always shot them in colour (and when I shoot in colour I like strong, vivid pictures). What I’m finding, though, is that the black and white images reduce some of the flotsam and jetsam of abandoned buildings, allowing they eye to hold on architectural details. For me, it’s a different way of looking at the images. One isn’t better than the other, they’re just different.

Here’s an example. This first image is from Detroit’s Michigan Central Terminal. Lots of strong straight lines and architectural detail that would be outstanding even without the sense of abandonment. The graffiti is key to this image, changing the image to something that feels almost post-apocalyptic (click on the image to see it larger):

Now here’s the same image, in black and white (click on the image to see it larger):

The image feels simpler, even classical; more akin to what you’d expect from images of Roman or Greek ruins. The grafitti loses much of its force, but that’s okay as it leaves the eye to spend more time with the strength of the lines. Again, neither better or worse, just different, and something that gives me the opportunity to see not only new things in a different way, but also seeing familiar images in a new way.

This link takes you to a slideshow of Detroit ruins seen in black and white.

Approximate distance hiked: 4.2 miles
Fairly Easy

Most people do not know that a large section of Fall River is wooded. Copicut Woods is a good example of this. This hike made for a nice, well… stroll through the woods. Starting at the parking lot at Indiantown Road, I crossed the street and started following the Shockley Trail. Before the trail crosses the next road there is quite of beech trees. One of the nice features of this hike was that the trail intersections are numbered. I crossed Yellow Hill Road at intersection 2 continuing to the end of the trail. I then turned right at intersection 3 following the trail over the first of several stone bridges. This trail led to an old homestead where there are remains of a barn and house. I turned left at intersection 6 then right at intersection 7. Before me was a long road with a canopy of trees and stone walls on each side. This is Miller Lane and I followed it to intersection 10 where I turned left. I would suggest going by intersection 11 for now, turn left at intersection 12 (not marked on the map, and the path that continues forward is just a utility easement) and follow it down to a stone bench by the Miller Brook. Beyond this point there is not much. The path will come out to a small parking area and there are no good views of the reservoir. From the stone bench I made my way back to intersection 11 and turned right there following the trail to intersection 12. I then turned left, right at 7, then left at the “Ed Shed”, and finally right to retrace my steps back to the car. You could add more distance to this hike if you include the Horseshoe Trail.

Trail map can be found at: Copicut Woods

Shockley Trail

Miller Lane

Stone Wall at Miller Brook

The next two images were made at Chetro Ketl which is the second largest pueblo in Chaco Canyon. The first is a view through a window on the north side of the long greathouse wall looking at what was once an interior doorway. Beyond that is another wall and then the plaza.

The second image is looking into the west wing of the pueblo. An exterior door and two interior doors are visible.

One of the amazing things about these structures is that they were planned from the start; they were built with expansion in mind, so the bearing walls were made strong enough to support the upper stories which, in some cases weren’t built until a hundred years later.

The last image is of a keyhole doorway which is also located in the east wing of Pueblo Bonito. I’ve researched this and have yet to find an explanation. If I had to guess, I would say that this may have been a window that was modified to connect two rooms after an addition, or perhaps it was built that way for some unknown religious or social purpose.

This week, I took my first trip to the Cradle of Liberty; Birthplace of America; Brotherly Love; etc. This was the last major city on the eastern seaboard I hadn’t been to, and I was pretty excited to photograph all the ordinary yet beautiful things in the city that make it a little different than D.C. and Boston, but little did I know how different my view would be.

The Philadelphia Coal Piers, according to Gjfoto, were used to refill ships’ supplies of coal. The ruins are covered in graffiti and progress in a staggered linear fashion, making for a disorienting and beautiful find, right off the highway.

A break in the labyrinth, halfway through.

Sunlight seeps in through breaks in the concrete walls.

Some areas are murals, plastered in detailed works of urban art.

The pier goes on for quite a ways, leading into new corridors and hallways.

Dark tunnels through the pier are covered in bright spray paint.

Secondary secession: the process by which nature reclaims spaces.

The front of the coal pier ruins. Dirt pathways run past this place, where four-wheelers and dirt bikes speed back and forth, leaving tire marks through the trash and graffiti-covered tunnels.

I was driving on North 12th street, near Wallace Street, perusing homes for sale in the area when I had to stop and take a picture of these beautiful ruins. Obviously I took this when it was still cold, as there is still snow on the ground. I just love the juxtaposition of the religious and the graffiti, the ruins and the structure. To me, this is beautiful. The graffiti inside the church says, Intelligent.

It seems like I have been running hard to keep up with life ever since with little fame and no fortune, just an ordinary existence which has had some rich moments.

So what sticks in my mind as I look back nearly 50 years? (All right, all right! So I’m lying and I’ll never see the half century again. Give a birthday boy a break!).

To coin a famous phrase, I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe.

Thousands of illegal electricity lines snaking into a slum in Rio, streams like the silver veins of some giant leaf laid out on the ground far below my parachute, 500,000 people packed into a single stretch of street in Istanbul and the glorious ruins of Machu Picchu viewed from a nearby mountain top I’d climbed to.

I’ve drunk fruit schnapps in broad daylight on a glacier at 3am, relaxed with a gin and tonic in the ornate interior of an old Luftwaffe headquarters, sipped a beer from the safety of a tree platform above a crocodile-infested lake in Sri Lanka and enjoyed a glass of champagne 20ft under the streets of Weymouth surrounded by thousands of bottles of wine.

By day I’ve seen people mugged on the streets of New York and at night I once had my pocket picked by an elephant in Bangkok.

I’ve nearly drowned three times, been shot at in a city centre and was once chased for a quarter of a mile through Manchester by a man with a huge knife.

Two planes I’ve been on have been struck by lightning, a hotel I stayed in was badly damaged two weeks later by the terrible Boxing Day tsunami and I walked through Kings Cross and away to safety 30 seconds before the IRA bombed the station.

I’ve interviewed the famous from Prime Ministers to the Archbishop of Canterbury and people wealthy beyond belief in places ranging from mid-flight aircraft to 400ft underground in a cave, from the crisp freezing air of the Arctic Circle to a steam room the size of a sofa in Jordan where the leaking boiler threatened to explode at any moment.

There’s been delight viewed at everything from school sports days to the Olympic Games and enough tragedy to last me a lifetime including seeing 14 bodies. I’ve even trudged round sightseeing a deserted and ransacked holiday resort in Croatia before a shaking guide dragged me away from the area….which was full of unexploded shells, mortar bombs and other ordnance from the war there.

I’ve enjoyed the carnival route in Weymouth and in Rio, walked the Pennine Way in England and the Appenine Way in Rome and marvelled at the Giant’s Causeway in Ireland, the Parthenon in Athens, the Ice Cathedral in Tromso and the ruins of Pompeii.

For all those wonderful experiences, there is no place like home and my celebrations today will probably involve a mug of tea while relaxing in the garden….with perhaps a glass of wine or three later. The toast will be – growing old disgracefully!

I’m not sure if it was a nerdy genetic code that triggered it or the fear of disappointing my parents that compelled me to continue the streak, but I did.  From then on, I was deliberate with my efforts.  I started taking serious notes, reading in advance, making to-do lists, and drawing up weekly schedules; overall, organizing and planning my life well ahead of time.  I was still competing with no one but myself, but I can’t deny that I worked hard.  I gave work my best shot and poured myself into it.

In retrospect, it may have been the beginning of my need to see and control my life in five-year intervals.  I became someone who needed to make sure that my next step would land on solid ground and not on the edge of a cliff.  I became someone who needed to see the destination before I walk into the journey.  I became someone who became preoccupied with planning and doing, and taking control—unknowingly making space for fear, leaving room for doubt, and somehow, setting aside faith.  I didn’t realize just how independent I’ve become in planning my life, until God tapped me on the shoulder, asking for a say in the matter.

I was already a clerk when I decided to call my love-hate relationship with medicine quits.  I only needed a year and a half then to get my degree.  But I was so unhappy that I’d rather face disappointment than another day in misery.  It was no impulsive decision either.  I cried and prayed for 6 months before finally ending it, mulling over the words in the Book of James over and over: 

“Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance.  Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.”       James 1: 2-4

When I finally made my decision, I was at peace.  But it wasn’t easy.  Believe me, the tears didn’t stop then.  I may have been certain of wanting to quit.  But I didn’t know what exactly I wanted to do after.  I was so lost— a feeling and state that I’ve tried so hard to avoid since 10 years old.  I never felt more out of control than in all of my life.

Most thought I was merely burned out.  Others may have called it a quarter life crisis.  But I believe it was mostly God tapping me on the shoulder, asking more hand in my life.  I didn’t realize just how much of “me” has gone into the planning and how less of “Him”.

So imagine my surprise when He asked me to go back to medicine.  First, He asks me to quit which I painstakingly obeyed; then few months later, He asks me to crawl back into it in all-consuming humility.  It felt like having to pick back up something I’ve spit out.  But His command was so clear I knew I had to obey. 

“Wow God, You really are making me look bad.”  But it was the good kind of bad.   I needed the shake, the earthquake, the chaos, to realize His sovereignty.  And now I understand why He wanted to “ruin” my plans: the limited five-year-trajectory of a successful me.

For in the year that I was broken, pained, confused and lost, these things happened:

1) Opportunity to mature in my faith and in my walk with God

2) Water baptized for the first time

3) Opportunity to widen my circle of friends and sphere of influence

4) Gotten a publishing contract for my first book, Weaving Fate

5) Gotten to experience a glimpse of “housewife-dom”

6) Character development on humility, patience, grace and faith

7) Gotten to rest and recuperate

8) Braces

- From My Personal Journal: May 16, 2010 Entry

Believe me, that the past few years have been painful.  To be broken by God is no walk in the park.  It is pruning of a heartbreaking and ego-shattering kind.  But all He asked was that I stood by, bank on His character, and trust on His wisdom.

God had plans for me that I thought too beautiful for someone as plain and sinful as me.  He dreamt far bigger for me than I thought I deserve.  But I had to learn to trust Him first, to trust that no matter how crazy painful testing can be, if I remain faithful and obedient, He’ll prove Himself more loving and generous and sovereign.  I was humbled by His wisdom, purified by His character and lifted up by His grace.

To say that I’m grateful for God’s intervention at that point in my life is an understatement. 

Source: booneheart.com

He broke me.  Something I never thought I’d say in all of my life.  But He did.  And somehow I’m all better for it.  And maybe it was okay, because He carried me through it. 

 To be broken at the feet of the Master is a good place to be and to be looking up at His face for comfort and strength is a privilege I’ll take any day.

“Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.  They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.”  Isaiah 40: 30-31

Sincere Christianity permeates thru our everyday lives.  It transforms our mindsets, our attitudes, our choices, our character.  It breaks who we are so God can build a beautiful being out of the ruins.  Our everyday should echo the eternal grace that Christ has for all mankind, so they can experience the same radical, transforming grace.  All for His glory, I dare to be broken again and again.

Only it wasn’t particularly clear how I was to actually get to Copacabana as we were in the middle of nowhere at the border.  But thankfully not long later a few collectivos pulled up and dropped the lot of us at the central plaza of Copacabana.  Sadly I was just thirty minutes late to catch the morning boat out to Isla del Sol, so I found a spot in the sun and enjoyed a pitcher of limonad and my book.

I had run into some guys I had met during the stress-no-bus-disaster of Hydroelectrica in the Cusco bus station on my way to Copacabana and we had planned to meet at the docks, they in theory arriving a half an hour before me.  I assumed that they had caught the earlier bus but as I discovered when they stumbled past my limonad-book-sunshine spot that they had in fact had to switch buses in Puno (despite having purchased a ‘direct’ bus ticket to Copacabana) which included a joyful 4 hour wait for the next bus.  So despite my earlier misgivings about the directness of my bus (what with the collectivo-walk-collectivo interlude) I was in fact very fortunate with my bus company selection.

Once 130pm rolled around I walked the few steps to the docks and clambered onto the designated boat only to be told about 10 minutes later that I had to switch boats (for an unknown reason).  After a chilly, but beautiful, boat ride I made it to Challapampa on the north side of the island with the rag tag group of us off the boat – we promptly found a hostel and were told to check out the ruins at the northern most point for sunset (something I had already been recommended and despite my exhaustion I tagged along for the hike).  I had also made the delicious decision to take a cheap bottle of wine, the remaining alfajores, and my speaker and phone along for the hike to improve the sunset.

It was a beautiful walk through the island, passing a number of houses, farms, and hostels along the way.  Including a pair of inquisitively hungry donkeys enjoying the remnants of some garbage bins.

Once making it to the ruins I temporarily lost everybody else by continuing along the path around the hill at the north end of the island and scrambling up the side to the top to enjoy the wine/cookie/music combination.  After a cheerful walk in the dark back after enjoying the beautiful, unobstructed sunset we headed out for dinner with the other people at the hostel.  The dinner unexpectedly came with a show – what I assume was the dress rehearsal for the parade the following morning.  And in what I had been warned was typical Bolivian style, dinner took about an hour to be served despite the relatively empty restaurant (something that I have not experienced since, people have been generally very friendly – despite what I had been warned and what I have read, see for example: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/04/08/worlds-friendliest-countries_n_3039654.html).  A few more bottles of cheap (and not-that-bad-especially-for-two-pound-fifty) red wine later found us all tucked in bed dreading the late night fiesta that thankfully never arrived.

After a beach-side coffee and sandwich breakfast I headed for a hike over to the next beach town around the bay – it was a peaceful and beautiful walk along the coast but the beach was rather lacking, it was a cute town but the presence of a series of dead birds on the beach raised a few questions about the quality of the water in which the children were playing.  After walking up and down the beach I started the walk back and stopped for a chocolate bar break on a rock outcrop over the bay.  And even from halfway around the bay I could hear the music of the parade back in Challapampa which was quite the spectacle – there were so many different groups of dancers and at least two marching bands that appeared to be competing with a group of men acting as judges.

After a few hours of enjoyment and a pile of salchipapa (imagine poutine minus the cheese and replace it with fried sausage – okay, so it’s basically a pile of chips topped with fried sausage and covered in mustard/ketchup/mayonnaise), we got the ferry back to Copacabana and I rushed off to get a bus to La Paz in the hopes of getting the night bus down to Uyuni that same night (which I was, sadly, unable to do).

Completed in 1861, as part of an over 20,000 acre plantation-empire in both Mississippi, and Louisiana, the Windsor House was part of the popular Greek Revival of the period. It used largely Gothic architecture, and consisted over 23 rooms, two residential floors and an above ground basement. It is one of the largest known mansions/plantations of it’s type, ever constructed.

The house survived the civil war, only to accidentally burn to the ground in 1890. The only known drawings of the building were discovered in the 1990s, having been sketched by a Union Soldier in General Grant’s Army.

FUTURE RUINS is an  exhibition displaying the work of 13 international artists, architects  and designers on the theme of Obsolescence and Inoperativity.

The event will take place in the silo space at Bergen Arkitekthøgskole  (BAS) from May 27th-31st, 2013, during Bergen Kommune’s Klimauke.

The exhibition will be open to the public daily from 16:00 – 20:00.

GRAND OPENING Monday May 27th starting at 18:00

Participants:

*Anna Andrea Vik Aniksdal (Bergen/BAS)* *Nicolas Barrette (Toronto/U of T)* *Andrew Bateman/Veronica Simmonds/Phanuel Antwi (Halifax)*
*Samuel Carvalho (Berlin/raumlabor)* *Florian Goldmann (Berlin/UdK)* *Tarik Hindic (Bergen)* *Cressida Kocienski (London)* *Lasse Kilvaer (Oslo/Melbourne)* *Sybille Neumeyer (Stuttgart)* *Hidemi Nishida (Japan/Bergen)* *Ellen Ringstad (Bergen/KHIB)* *Dagmar Schurrer (Berlin)*
*Håvard Tveito (Bergen/BAS)*

FutureRuins_BAS_OnlinePamphlet

***
“Ellen Ringstad’s site-specific installation “Discontinue” deals directly with her perceptions of the silo space. She prefers impure, ruinous sites to the neutrality of the white cube. Her melancholic works deal with dystopia, paradox, and “the absurdity  of the human condition” – a term coined by the existentialist Albert  Camus, referring to the human tendency to search for inherent meaning in  life and his or her inability to find any.”

Here goes round two of the travel posts: Croatia. For all of you who haven’t been able to tear your eyes away from my blog, and have been anxiously waiting for the next post, you’ll know that I decided to go to Croatia basically on a whim. The thought process was something like, it’s been so cold and rainy in northern France all year and I want to go somewhere warm. Croatia! When Megan and I decided to go to Turkey as well that posed some problems with the logistics. We picked Pula as our city to visit in Croatia, because Ryanair was offering a deal there and we really didn’t have any strong pull to one particular city, so we decided to go with that. Pula is on the Istrian peninsula, the triangle bit at the top of Croatia close to Italy, that isn’t on the Dalmatian Coast. But the Pula airport was really small, and the only flights to Istanbul were from Zagreb, the capital, a four-hour bus-ride from Pula. We had to go to Turkey in the middle of the Croatia trip, and we had to go to Zagreb in the middle of our Pula trip to catch the flights, so that meant we had a lot of running around in Croatia but it all worked out. So, we had one night in Pula, a night in Zagreb, and then a week in Turkey, another two nights in Zagreb, and then another three nights in Pula.

Pula was absolutely beautiful. I arrived there and stepped off the plane to a blue sky and sunshine, something I hadn’t seen in the north for months. There were flowers everywhere, it was 75 degrees—basically the perfect respite from the rain and cold. We learned very quickly that the people in Croatia were very nice. I had printed out directions from the bus station to the apartment where we were staying, but it wasn’t much help, and we ended up wandering around the bus station trying to figure out where on the map we were. We saw an elderly Croatian couple and figured we could ask them directions. They didn’t speak English, and were just as confused about the map as we were, so they went over to a taxi driver and went over the map with him. After a minute or two of talking with him, they indicated that we should follow them, as they would lead us to where we needed to go. It turns out that, though they didn’t speak English, the wife spoke some French, and so we had a good conversation as she walked us part of the way to our apartment.

Totally normal to see something like this in the middle of the city

When we arrived at the apartment, we met possibly the nicest guy in Croatia. We were staying in a place called Apartments Sonja, which was owned by a family. The thirty-year-old son, Alexander, lives in Zagreb and conducts the business in English, and his parents are the ones who are actually in Pula greeting the guests. The father was absolutely the greatest guy. We never caught his name, so we called him Alexander’s father between us the whole time. But he was so helpful, sat down with us and excitedly pointed out everything on the map that we should do in Pula, and even picked us up from the bus station when we came back from Zagreb, just to be nice.

The city of Pula has a ton of Italian influence, seeing as it is only a two hour bus ride, if that, from Italy. The main attraction of the town is a huge amphitheater, which is just in the middle of the city between all these buildings. And then, peppered throughout the town are a bunch of cool Roman ruins, like temples and gates. Also there’s a ton of pizza restaurants, but we stuck to the one that Alexander’s father recommended three times, and eagerly circled on the map (it was delicious). But the best thing about being in Pula was that it was relaxing, which was especially welcome after our busy time in Turkey. We spent our time in Pula strolling around the city, enjoying the sun, and just taking a break. We even took a day trip to the nearby town of Rovinj which was just as relaxing and filled with breezy strolls. Apparently in the summer the coastal towns in Croatia are crazy, and filled with tourists, but in April there was really no one there besides us and everyone that lived there, and that was exactly what I wanted.

How could I pass up going for a swim in water like that?

We also got to spend a day at the beach, and I was thrilled to officially start my beach time in April. Croatia has those beautiful, turquoise beaches that I always see pictures of and think, wow, I need to be there now. Alexander’s father told us how to get to one of them and so we went the day we got back from Zagreb. It was a rock beach, so it was beautiful but it took a little maneuvering to get a comfortable position, but once I did it was perfect. Alexander’s father said it was way too cold to actually go in the water, and I would be crazy to try, but he didn’t know that I’m a New England girl. The water was about 62 or 63 degrees, which is apparently freezing in Croatia but only a few degrees colder than the warmest ocean water that I’m used to back home, so I braved the cold and went in for a dip. Everyone on the beach looked at me like they could not believe how stupid I was (or they were jealous that I had the guts to go in the water), and I did come up gasping for breath, but it was totally worth it.

Zagreb was the other city we went to in Croatia. We weren’t really planning on going to Zagreb, but when we had to fly out of there we decided to take a few days and see the city. I don’t know how this happened, but I felt like no matter where I was going in Zagreb I was always walking uphill. I know that’s not really possible, but that’s what it felt like. The city was really small, and there weren’t many tourists at all. They had some cool places though, like St. Mark’s Church, the roof of which looked like it was a giant version of those ironed bead shapes that you used to make as kids; and the Cookie Factory, which was less a tourist attraction than just a really awesome cookie and brownie store. They also had a ton of museums. Seriously, every street had signs pointed to at least seven museums in every directions. My two favorites were the Museum of Naïve Art, and the Museum of Broken Relationships.

The Museum of Naïve Art had pieces from the naïve art movement, which apparently comes from Croatia. The “naïve” bit describes the execution or subject material, and not the artist himself. The museum was pretty small, only four or five rooms, but it was great. The works were so colorful and engaging, and I spent so long going back and forth between my favorite paintings there, just because I wanted one last look.

How cool is this church?! Also, I couldn’t get over seeing the sky in any way other than colorless, let alone this shade of blue

The Museum of Broken Relationships was pretty different. It’s a new museum that won some award for being innovative, and I had read about it online and wanted to check it out. The museum featured a bunch of artifacts that had to do with a past, broken relationship, and then a small blurb or story written by the person who donated it describing the significance of the object to the relationship, as well as a caption stating where the person was from, and when and how long the relationship had lasted. I loved this museum. I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect, but I was pleasantly surprised. Some of the stories were hysterical, and some were heartbreaking, but they really did a good job of making you feel like you got a quick peek into that person’s life.

There’s one more thing that needs to be mentioned about Croatia: it was cheap. Not like, everything’s less money than back home but I still spent quite a bit on vacation. But seriously cheap. It’s sevenish Kuna to the Euro (I got really good at my sevens times tables) or fiveish to the dollar, and things are just cheaper in general. We ate in restaurants (and I mean real restaurants, the kind I hadn’t been to—without my parents—in months), stayed in hostels for seven nights, took bus trips from Pula to Zagreb and Pula to Rovinj, went to museums, and bought souvenirs, and I think that cost around 250 euro, which would probably last you a long weekend in Paris, and that’s if you didn’t venture outside the city at all.

So my big question after leaving Croatia was why doesn’t everyone come here? Out of everyone I know who has studied abroad, I think I only know of one or two people who have been to Croatia, and I don’t know if this is a misconception, but I don’t think Croatia is high on the must-see travel list of most study abroad students (it certainly didn’t even cross my radar when I was in Grenoble). But it was absolutely beautiful, super cheap, the people were nice, and it was a great change of pace from the typical European trip—running around a capital city trying to fit as many landmarks and museums as possible into one weekend—that I would recommend it without any hesitation.

We started our visit in the archeological museum which described the history of the city and had interesting reconstructions of what some of the buildings are thought to have looked like as well as a large collection of Hindu bronze statues.

The southern group is approached via a road running along the edge of a huge man-made tank (reservoir) whose name in Sinhalese means sea (because of its size), where we saw many people taking their early morning bath or washing their clothes.

Inside this first group the Potgul Vihara is an unusual structure consisting of a rectangular shape with a dagoba (a Buddhist stupa) at each corner and one in the centre. The central dagoba is thought to have held sacred books.

Also in this area is a 4m tall statue of a male. Various suggestions have been made regarding who he is supposed to be – possibly King Parakramabahu I; one tongue-in-cheek suggestion is simply ‘man holding a slice of water melon’. The statue is unique in its lifelike representation as opposed to the more stylised representations usually found in Buddhist art.

Our guide reached up to pull some leaves off a curry tree and just missed being bitten by this snake. He hadn’t even seen it although we saw it move towards him.

Not much is left of the royal palace which measures 31m by 13m and is said to have had seven storeys.

Parakramabahu’s audience hall is notable for the frieze of elephants, each in a different position, with a frieze of lions at the top of the steps.

Vatadage, a circular relic house, has a moon stone at its northern entrance, which is reputed to be the finest in Polonnaruwa. The design of the sandakada pahana of the Polonnaruwa period differs largely from that of the Anuradhapura period. The single band that was used to depict the four animals was removed, and processions of the elephant, lion and horse were depicted in separate bands. The most significant change is the removal of the bull from the sandakada pahana. The Anuradhapura tradition of placing sandakada pahanas only at entrances to Buddhist temples also changed, and they are found at the entrances of other buildings belonging to the Polonnaruwa period as well. (Wikipedia)

The Gal Pota (stone book), nearly 9m long it’s a huge representation of an “ola” book (the page of ola books are made from palm leaves). Part of the inscription states that this stone, weighing 25 tonnes, was dragged to its current position from Mihintale, a mere 100km away.

standing at the entrance of the Hatadage you can see how beautifully symmetrical the building is

a typical bathing pool

the unusual ziggarat-style building of Satmahal Prasada

The 3 Buddha statues at the Gal Vihara

When this dagoba was discovered it still had some of its original outer layer of lime plaster in place

a headless Buddha statue

The Tivanka Image house contains a thrice-bent statue (this is what Tivanka means) of a Buddha; this form is usually reserved for female statues. There were some beautiful frescoes here, the only ones still extant in Polonnaruwa.

the lotus pond

the King’s council chamber

the lion throne

the royal baths

A waterfall at the beginning of our adventure.

Unfortunately, at the beginning of the hike, we had to climb the mountain, which was not easy.  Not because it was steep, rocky, slippery, or anything like that. No. They kindly had made a pathway, including steps up the mountain.  The pathway was made with old railway ties wrapped in chicken wire, and the chicken wire was stapled in place.  The steps were also made from these ties.  The steps themselves were fine, the staples added nice traction if your shoes weren’t going to do the trick on their own.  However, the shear number of them was insane.  So. Many. Steps.  BUT for the first part of our trip up the mountain, we were surrounded by trees, which was happy (I’d been missing trees for a while..), and once we reached the top, we had a wonderful view without many traces of human activity.  As I said, it was wonderful.  Definitely worth the effort of climbing all those stairs.

We made it to the top! (We started on the far side of the far lake)

The trail then led us along the top of the mountain for a while, and we were buffeted by wind and rain, and even hail on occasion (three times!! Three times!!) We were atop a mountain, so it was cool enough for hail, I suppose.  But once we had reached the top of the mountain, the trees all but disappeared, so we were unprotected from the hail.  Needless to say, it was uncomfortable.  But we survived (otherwise I wouldn’t be here to write the post!), so it couldn’t have been that bad.  Thankfully the hail, like the rain, did not last long, and when there was no precipitation it was bright and sunny. Unfortunately, the wind was much more persistent.

The walk we have ahead of us

A few times it let up, only to return with renewed vigour, almost like it was trying to blow us off the railway tie path!  I should mention, that this trail, like many trails, is not traversed in just one direction, yet the path is certainly not wide enough for two people to pass each other. The path is also essential for happy hiking, as the surrounding ground is muddy and squishy.  One false step and you could potentially lose your shoe! When we reached other hikers, one group would step on cross ties until the other group had passed, then resume the walk.  If we were approached by a runner (these crazies were in shorts and t-shirts, without water bottles that we could see! In the wind and rain and hail!), again we stepped off the path, onto the nearest tie or rock, until he passed.

After our trek across the mountain, we descended the mountain (what goes up must come down, after all).  Funnily enough, the trek down the mountain was much easier than the climb, though my knees might disagree with that statement.  When we reached the beginning of the descent, the trail also changed, so instead of climbing down steps made from ties, the trail was much more natural-looking, using rocks to reinforce where the steps ended, and gravel along the path.  Once we completed our descent, we reached some stone ruins, which provided some much needed shelter from the wind and rain (the rain had returned once more).

Ruins, where we ate lunch.

At these ruins, we ate our lunches, chatted, and rested.  We hadn’t been going terribly quickly, but the wind and hail (and all those stairs…) still made it an adventure worthy of a decent break.  We then returned to our path, and continued back to the beginning.  Thankfully on the way back, we were in the valley (no more stairs!!!) with a wide trail and trees on either side.  The trail in total was (apparently) approximately eleven kilometers.  Between the walk and the drive there and back (also lovely! Ireland outside of Dublin is quite picturesque), the entire trip took seven hours, so a significant portion of the day.  But it was an excellent way to spend the day.

Way back in 2009, when we were still a little ankle-biter of a blog, we wrote a post about a French band called Magma that spawned (the band, not the post) an entire genre of hyper-bizarre prog-rock/space-jazz/freak-fusion called Zeuhl. “Next time you hear a bunch of French dudes chanting nonsense lyrics over music that sounds sort of like Pat Metheny on acid,” we wrote, with that casual air of snark that only comes from having no idea what the fuck you’re talking about, “you’re probably listening to a Zeuhl band.”

Well, it’s taken us four years, but we’ve finally a.) admitted that, to this very day, we often have no idea what the fuck we’re talking about and b.) gotten around to writing about another Zeuhl band. Except this bunch is neither French nor, entirely, dudes. They’re from Japan and they’re a coed ensemble by the name of Koenjihyakkei, which translates to something like “The Hundred Sights of Koenji.” Koenji is a neighborhood in Tokyo, but does it really have a hundred sights? Beats me. Like I said, we often have no idea what the fuck we’re talking about.

Here’s what little we do know: Koenjihyakkei (also sometimes transliterated as “Koenji Hyakkei”) was started in the early ’90s by a drummer named Tatsuya Yoshida, whose previous band, Ruins, did a pretty fair approximation of Magma’s original Zeuhl insanity rendered down to just a bass/drums duo. Having apparently exhausted that format, Yoshida expanded his list of collaborators with Koenjihyakkei, adding a rotating cast of musicians to an increasingly epic and noisy take on Magma-esque jazz-prog mayhem. The band’s most recent lineup, seen in the above photo, features a lady who just goes by AH on vocals, Keiko Komori on reeds, Kengo Sakamoto on bass and Taku Yabuki on keys.

We also know that, sadly, the band appears to have been pretty inactive since about 2010 or so. Yoshida has been more focused on various new incarnations of Ruins: Ruins Alone, which is just him with a drum kit and electronics, and Sax Ruins, which is him with (you’ll never guess) a sax player. He’s also got a guitar/bass/drums power trio called Korekyojinn and a growing online photo archive called Stones of the World. Not pictures of international Rolling Stones cover bands—though that would indeed be awesome—but just pictures of interesting rock formations, made by both humans and nature. Worth a look, especially if you’re into stony things. Did I just make a really lame pot joke? Why, yes, yes I did. Thanks for noticing.

Koenjihyakkei’s music is difficult to describe, even for us. Is it Magma by way of Naked City? Boredoms by way of Shibushirazu Orchestra? Japanese show tunes as performed by “something so far off Broadway it’s on the moon”? (We didn’t come up with that last one, but it kinda sounds like something we would’ve written in 2009.) Whatever it is, it’s more overtly jazz-based than Magma or Ruins, but still prone to going off on the sort of crazy tangents that wouldn’t sound out of place in a Mike Patton side project.

We’ll leave you with two videos that should give you a sense of Koenjihyakkei’s full range of musical lunacy. The first is taken from their 2010 DVD Live at Koenji High and really showcases them (especially vocalist AH) as a sort of a jazz quintet from Mars. The oddly jaunty gang vocals at 2:50 are my favorite part. Also the part where she growls like a demon over some serious ’70s-style prog-rock synth runs. I’m not telling you where to find that part; you’ll just have to listen to the whole goddamned thing yourself.

Next: We would be remiss if we didn’t include the track that MVR (Most Valuable Reader) Stuart Johnson sent our way to introduce us to the awesomeness that is Koenjihyakkei. Thanks, Stuart! For a band that owes much of its existence to a single other band (i.e. Magma), Koenjihyakkei are about as original as it gets.

Links:

• Koenjihyakkei on Skin Graft Records (label site)
• Magaibutsu (Tatsuya Yoshida’s website)
• Koenjihyakkei on MySpace

Chavin near Huaraz

There are, apparently, 34 broad categorisations of environments within the world (i.e. desert, jungle, forest, etc.) and by travelling from the coast of Peru over to the Western border it is possible to cross through 20 of these 34 environments. Nowhere is this more obvious than going from the moonlike sand-rock-dirt barrens that surround Lima to the lush green mountains of Huaraz in the wet season. It is so incredibly high that just a walk up the stairs can leave you pitifully rasping for oxygen. Glaciated peaks shine ethereal in the distance, near-vertical mountainsides are turned into reality defying farms and high altitude lakes host red ducks with cyan beaks.

The barrens outside of Lima

Laguna Churup in Huaraz

The town of Huaraz itself is also diverse, there are sheeny tourist restaurants but a five minute walk can end up in a market selling preserved sheep heads and gutted guinea pigs. I am here for the weeklong festival of El Señor de la Soledad. Great numbers of people from local mountain villages come down to the town. Each town has its own costume, music and dance. Many of the costumes involve bright robes, tall feather-plume headbands and face masks. I believe I have read that similar masks elsewhere are (or perhaps originally were) a pastiche of white colonialists. A notable feature of the masks are the blue Western eyes.

A Dancer in Huaraz

The villagers spend much of the day and night marching through the town dancing, whooping, whistling and getting riotously drunk. There is something intense and touching about such a large group of people coming together and expressing themselves with such vivacity and violence, without much that is obvious on the surface by way of politics or even words: just an incredible display that they are alive and kicking. The most marvellous display I saw of this is in the video below. In the middle of a very deprived area with little more than rubble and sewage water for roads this fantastic band were playing and many of the (highly inebriated) Peruvians were dancing around. Bizarrely the Peruvians were so incredibly excited and surprised to see foreigners enjoying this scene and music that you can see the festival’s cameraman in the video filming  -not the band playing the fantastic music- but just me, the foreigner, filming the band myself. Drinks and drunken dances were forced into our hands. Here is the video I took:

It was an incredible day of music, food and celebrations but I was brought back down to reality when my wallet was pickpocketed from me – most probably inside a church of all places. I was very worried because I was 8 hours away from my home in Lima and I had no way of quickly contacting anybody who could easily help. I was incredibly fortunate in this situation. One of the lovely girls I had been with that day kindly gave me money, the hostel Alpes Huaraz (http://www.tripadvisor.com/Hotel_Review-g304039-d1022531-Reviews-Hostal_Alpes_Huaraz-Huaraz_Ancash_Region.html) I was staying in was unbelievably generous and went through the rigmarole of cancelling my debit card for me (beyond my level of Spanish) and even paid for my taxi to the bus home and a fantastically generous Mexican man on the bus home paid for my expensive taxi from the bus stop to my home in Lima. A Chinese girl even brought me a banana and a satsuma when I didn’t have any money for a meal.  If anything the kindness I received from these people far outweighs the irritation of having had my wallet stolen, but I could easily not have been so fortunate.

Astonishing view from Huaraz to Chavin

We saw homes with room-sized mosaic floors with still-discernible images, depicting scenes from Roman mythology. Public baths,  an aqueduct,  the main drag, one wall of the Basilica has been restored.  The triumphal arch still has its Latin inscription. There used to be horses on the top (something like the Brandenburger Tor in Berlin, I understood) but they are long gone. There are many lone, worn pillars, with or without their decorative tops. One of the many remaining pillars is the base for a stork nest.

We saw these guys later on in the square in Marrkech, available for dinner…

Here is part 3 of my experience wondering the streets of Italy’s capital. Part 2 finished with me leaving Il Gesu on track to explore more of what Rome had to offer to a first time traveller such as myself.

I left the church and headed west to seek out Campo de’ Fiori.

Statue of Giordano Bruno, Campo de’ Fiori

The imposing figure of philosopher Giordana Bruno stands as a grim reminder of the bloody history that this space once held. Now it is alive with an authentic air of modern Roman culture, but it was not always so, having spent much of the 17th century as a sight for public executions. A short distance south and I found myself outside of the Palazzo Farnesse.

Palazzo Farnese

Now the home of the French Embassy, I did not spend too long here as you need special permission to take a look around the interior. So off I went to hunt for another hidden gem, the Fontana delle Tartarughe.

Fontana delle Tartarughe

Translated to English as the Turtle Fountain, this is just one of innumerable examples of the sort of thing you can easily miss in a city such as this if you don’t do your home work. I will gladly study guidebooks and maps in order to make the most of my visits to these places so as not to miss out on the smaller delights they have to offer. It was quiet when I arrived here, and I took great pleasure in spending a few moments in it’s presence.

I was in for a surprise next, as I travelled a short distance east. My pocket guide casually described a structure as being said to be “the architectural model for the Colosseum”.

Teatro di Marcello

I think this is another case of pictures not doing justice to the real thing. Perhaps Berlitz did not see fit to spend more time on this structure but I was awestruck that it did not gain nearly as much attention as it’s larger, far more famous twin across the city. There were no throngs of crowds, no bustling street urchins, no noise. Just this incredible structure sitting quietly along a main road being ignored by everybody save a few of us taking the time to admire it.

I expect the goings-on under it’s arches and behind it’s walls are perhaps the reason why it does not garner anywhere near as much interest as the Colosseum, but it is still a vastly impressive building to behold. Not quite as large or imposing, it’s scale  and still-present detail made it a personal favourite spot for my trip, not least because the setting sun added romantically to the experience.

The Church of Santa Maria in Cosmedin

Another short walk away, another excellent church. The evening was setting in by this point, and you can be forgiven for wondering if you have arrived at the right place when you visit certain monuments expecting a crowd, and find yourself alone in their presence. Yet here I was, spending time at another example of what makes Rome such a special place, and doing so without having to battle my way to see it’s wonders. Perhaps, in a city such as Rome, there is simply so much that visitors struggle to know where to begin. It would be all to easy to settle for the more famous draws as there are so many, but I urge anybody who is reading this to make at least as much time to visit the lesser-known locations as you do to visit the one’s that adorn all of the guide book covers and postcards.

I was nearing the end of a long day spent walking all over the city. I decided to end it with a short walk to the Fiume Tevere.

The Tempio di Vesta

Fiume Tevere

I really enjoyed this part of Rome. With all of the ruins and history surrounding me, I had not been expecting the relaxing tranquility that a capital city river can provide. No matter how busy a place you are in, my experience so far has taught me that you can always escape the hustle and bustle, take a short walk and spend time next to a place such as this, and really feel at peace. The evening was truly settling in at this point, and I enjoyed looking at the slowly degrading remains of a ruined bridge long lost in time. It is so easy to imagine this place in such a different light, and this great cities history jumps up to snare your interest no matter which direction you look in. I was truly in love with Rome, and could not wait to continue my adventure after some much needed rest.

Tomorrow I would be throwing myself head-first in to all that the Vatican had to offer. Part 4, coming up soon.

Thank’s for reading!