Had plenty of comments requesting more images, therefore I have decided to do just that and stick to images – Pictures say a thousand words. This way I hope to crack out what I have left and get up to date.
Short posts + mobility = more posts.
Hatch.Show.Print. – the sign read
“I’m of in here” I said, pulling my camera around to the front of my body and removing the lens cap before entering through the door. BRING – Bell confirmed my status, I was in the print shop and leaving the streets of Nashville behind. Bare brick walls. Posters hung from bull clips. A library of wooden blocks clad the long parallel walls to a vanishing point. Familiar smells whisked my senses, taking me back to art classes. Wet ink sat heavy in plastic pots on tablets resting over steel rollers.
‘Steve Earl’, ‘Dolly Parton, live in August’ and ‘Proud to be showing our age’ all in different fonts, colours and layouts. The crisp white backgrounds allowing clarity. The surrounding white gaps defined the text and shapes, suspending each letter, providing a voice and a personality to the poster.
Geometry, perfect geometry is on show. Not just in the suspension of words and letters on paper, but in the instruments being used . It is a language. Finished posters reflects the squares, rectangle and circles found on printing machines. Finding myself leaning over the counter which spererated me from the studio, I found myself fascinated be a process which is vastly becoming obsolete by computers. Imperfections signal human blueprints and an authenticity that can not be duplicated any other way.
Plan chests create an island to circle, inhabited by old prints for sale. $3 a piece encourages me to sift through the pile, pulling out two or three keepers. An old Doors poster which once plastered the streets of downtown Nashville made it home. This visit aroused my love for craftsmanship and old processes, I left feeling satisfied and a little giddy. Check out the Hatch.Show.Print shop here.
Suburbs blurred by, structures and homes where only distinguishable by a change in colour or the odd pitched rooftop. My body sunk into the leather seat below, heavy bones anchored me down and I just gazed dreamily outside wondering what was over the highway hill. Morning dew dispersing in the air, blocks appearing on the horizon began glowing light grey as dawn woke and peered her red rose fingers over the concrete pillars which littered the sky.
The early flight from Florida had stung me hard. Handing over the $45.00 flat rate plus tip, leaving nothing but shrapnel and receipts in my wallet, I was in the East village of New York City. Heaved my body and bag across the road until I was standing between a Italian cafe covered shady graffiti and a Nail salon, neither looking particularly inviting. After Deanna put the phone down, her big brown eyes stared through half-shut lids, her body weighed down and mirrored my own sleepless state. She smiled and that’s all it took to reminded me where I was – New York City, and I was here for six days. Megan let us in and we collapsed on the couch and drank a whole freshly brewed pot of coffee before heading out to explore.
All preconceptions of NYC were formed either by movies or TV shows I had seen in the past, and I couldn’t help but wonder if, the only way to eat NYC pizza is to fold it, Steam flooded the streets via road vents, the Ghostbusters are real, and Sarah Jessica Parker looks like a foot, in Sex in the City and in real life. Although no one wants to be perceived as tourist but rather a local in cities like New York, I was the opposite and more often than not, didn’t give a shit. I did all the touristy things with my camera swinging around my neck and a map in one hand, but the real adventures and memories came from spending time with old and new friends who live in NYC. By delving into their life’s and participating in local life, I believe I gained a true idea of what NYC is about, and what it means to call this place a home. 
Unfortunately the only preconception I had that was wrong was that the Ghostbusters are not real (but will return for a third film at x-mas). However that is SJP’s real face, and she does look like a foot all the time.
Please note: I appreciate everything Mrs Sarah Jessica Parker has done for TV, and I know she is an inspiration to many women. I do not mean to offend or disrupt her legacy. JP
I was nudged awake, rolling back and forth in the sleeping fetus position and not sure where I was. With a warm orange glow reflectiong off the shiny white plastic below my feet and the sound of the ocean near. Then upon hearing a familiar voice shouting “time to get up, time to fish” from somewhere above, I looked up and confirmed it was Deanna’s Dad standing at the controls of his 33ft fishing boat. We where 50 miles off the East coast of St Augustine, Florida and it was 7am. Due to a recent trouble with the boats speed, the journy took us three hours rather than the usual two. But cruising at 18 knots we reached the spot where we began fishing. I was completely new to this, although my uncle had once taken my river fishing in North Yorkshire somewhere, things would be slightly different as I would find out.
I made my way up to see Deanna’s dad whilst she slept a little longer. As we where chatting he pointed out some dolphins which where at the bow of the boat and swimming in the wake. I could not believe my eyes, never have I experienced this in the wild. In two minds whether to run down below and get my camera I watch in awe as all three criss-crossed in front of us, diving out of sight then re appearing again. I just stood for thirty seconds watching them with amazement as Deanna’s dad told me that it was a usual sight when fishing so far off shore.
We began trolling, which is a fishing method used to catch huge fish such as marlin. A number of heavy duty rods are positioned towards the back of the boat, each line cast out from the back of the boat and varying in length. At a slow pace, the bait on the end of the line is pulled along at specific depths. Standing around and being alert is the key to this kind of fishing, because as soon as you catch something the noise of the line is deafening as it “zooooooooooooms” out to see at a high pitch rate. On a number of occasions I was called/shouted to climb into the chair situated on the stern facing the lines and clutch the rod handed to me. “Reel then pump Jase, reel that sucker in” from Jack, a ships mate, “don’t jam the line” shouted Deanna’s Dad. What the hell I thought, I have never done this before and all these voices are putting me off “I’m trying” I replied. After reeling in a ‘mahi mahi’ or Dolphin, as it’s known to local fisherman my arms where pumping and aching, but the adreneline of catching the next fish overpowered it. With a protruding head and a beautiful green and yellow colour to its body, it was a beautiful and nothing I had ever seen before (not covered in scraps). After a few hours, we reeled in the rods and began ‘Bottom fishing’.
As the sun was at it’s highest and not a piece of land was insight I was handed a small rod and told to drop the bait when shouted at. Okay I though, easy. And it was, we continued to cast 120ft – 180ft vertically down catching Snapper, Seabass and Trigger fish, until Bubba reeled in a Shark. Although only a few feet in length it was unbelievable to see the fight that it gave such a big man.
We brought home ten snapper, three mahi mahi, a trigger fish and a Sea Bass. Deanna cooked the snapper and trigger fish and served it with some rice and garnish. What a great experience, catching and eating your own food, and I will be doing it again soon.
See more images here.
Sometimes the act of traveling pleases some more than others. I know many people who despise airports, cars, buses, trains etc and only see it as a means of getting somewhere. For me however I love the act of traveling, and my trips have often been defined by the journey rather than the destination. So it’s quite a big statement when I can say the same for Washington DC, the capital of the most powerful country on Earth, but it’s true.
Last week I set off from St Augustine with a borrowed truck lent to me by my girlfriends father. With only a few hours of driving experience in the states behind me, a car I have never driven, and a thirteen hours drive North to a nation’s capital, I had a true adventure ahead of me. I set off early morning after packing my duffel, a sleeping bag, a stove and some food into the back. I made a few calculations regarding costs of gas there and back, set myself a budget, and four days to achieve the trip.
Leaving the coastal roads of St Augustine and joining the I-95 before Jacksonville I encountered sweeping roads over rivers and through downtown areas. Exiting North I was clear of entering another major city until I reached DC and I began to relax. The tarmac just kept on rolling out in front of me, mile after mile through forest landscapes. A hundred foot high billboards selling various fast food restaurants marked upcoming exits to my right and left. I drove out of Florida into Georgia then into South Carolina where I stopped for Gas ( $3.57 a gallon, approx £0.60 a liter) and drove into North Carolina. When I arrived in Virginia, the last state before the District of Columbia, it was beginning to get dark and the rain came down. I had seen the weather decline as the day grew old and the further North I drove, and when the heavens opened I decided to stop for the night. This only left me three hours drive to DC the following morning, enough time to check into a motel and have a walk around.
After a windy and cold night in the old Ford truck, I fixed myself some breakfast and took shelter from the rain in the trunk of the car n. After washing the sleep from my eyes and brushing my teeth I was driving to DC again, in horrible condition. As I came near the city, the traffic soon increased and the weather decreased even more. I passed Pentagon City on I-395 and cruised over the river bridge into greater DC and navigated my way to a motel 6 eventually. A shower later I was on the metro system heading into downtown where I stood outside the Whitehouse for a few moments. That afternoon I visited the Washington Memorial and the WW2 Memorial before grabbing some dinner and heading back to my digs for an early night.
The following day I woke refreshed and set about seeing as much as I could until dark fell. I visited more memorials, museums and districts all by walking. I stayed out until it grew dark, sitting in a bar downtown sipping on a few beers and chatting to the barmaid about the book I was reading and the hockey game on the TV. After demolishing my dinner I left and took the metro home. A full day of walking and education had taken its toll on me, and I fell asleep whilst watching Baseball.
A full pot of coffee from the reception, and I was on my way back South to Florida. I decide to drive the whole 750 miles in one day, arriving late in St Augustine where Deanna met me with a beer and a fine dinner of pizza. The following morning I unpacked the car and noticed that I had listened to over 600 tracks on my iPod during the drive. Although only a few days had passed, I felt like I had seen so much of the country, mostly on the road.
See more images here.
Currently I’m sat with a bottle of beer watching MLS soccer reminiscing about my trip to North Carolina two weeks ago, and the coldness of the air is still fresh in my memory as it was on my face that weekend as I hopped out of the Jeep after the eight hour drive north from Florida. The early Thursday morning commute saw us pass through Georgia and South Carolina before climbing up to the Great Smoky mountains of North Carolina. We arrived after the sun had set behind the mountains to the west, the only light was provided by the headlamps of our car.
Sun rising, peeking through the gaps in the wooden cabin casting beams of light up adjacent walls, spanning over chairs and easing me up from a deep sleep. Jeans, Boots, Flannel coat and a pot of coffee. Grabbed the dog and walked him outside for his morning toilet visit. Sitting on the veranda swing whilst birds flew overhead and amongst the gaps in the bare trees, I sipped my coffee and swallowed huge breath after breath of the fresh mountain air – coldness always seems to purify the air. My body was warm from the coffee, a snug coat and the surroundings which reminded me of a trip I once took to Scotland. The bare skin exposed to the cold pimpled and shuddered. Jumping in the jeep, we headed down off the mountain to lower land and to the nearby town of Bryson City. Simple wooden and stone buildings lined the two main streets which met in the middle forming a cross-like footprint. A bell rang as we passed through the doors of a warm coffee shop, old trucks slowly drove by as we walked along the sidewalk. We peered into little antique shops and local farm shops, often entering. 
A journey south was broken when our stomachs began to rumble, we pulled over to a highway dinner. Red PVC seating, rusted road signs on walls, truckers and denim, aluminium skirting, checkered aprons – all these indicated I was in a movie I had once seen about 50′s America. I played along and ordered a burger with fries, “do you know what they call a quarter pounder with cheese in Europe Deanna?” mocking Travolta, “A Royal with cheese” answering my own question afraid of silence, followed by a giggle.
Later in the day after a lot of walking around various villages and chatting to some locals, we found ourselves passing back into South Carolina at the ‘Dillard House’. A home farm that specialise in the serving of traditional Southern foods from handed down recipes from Mr and Mrs Dillard. We were shown into the dining hall which looked like that of a retirement home, not the decor but the huge amounts of elderly people eating. Hidden amongst them where families with young children, however it was safe to say that Deanna and I where by far the youngest who were not accompanied by our parents. A set menu was all we could order which helped out an always indecisive Deanna. Strangely enough it was a Hispanic gentleman that brought out the order. Placing a wooden stand next to the table he dropped a circular tray from his shoulder down. Bowls of colours appeared on the table and smells up my nose. A glance at Deanna then at the food, then back at Deanna confirmed this was our order and it was bottomless. We attempted to clear the lot but struggled hugely. Soon we where stumbling out the door with three polystyrene trays of left overs.
During another cold afternoon we sat outdoor in our hot tub. Reading and sipping a beer I would often place my book down beside my towel and look out to the bright blue sky, the outline of the mountains where crisp. I would clear my mind and think of nothing but of what I could see. Truly relaxed, my body was submerged in warm water and my nose tingled in the cold air. A small black dog appeared within my sight and Deanna hopped out of the hot tube and approached the friendly pooch. Worried it had lost its owner we decided to walk down the mountain to the farm below to see if there lay it’s home. After throwing on layers of clothing which hung to our wet bodies, we hooked a lead on him (which we had from Deanna’s dog) and walked him down the steep decent.
I approached the farm with caution and shielded Deanna from the guard dog who was chained up barking. Smoke fled from the roof, all was dark but a rectangle of light which escaped from the open door. Soon they were dispearsed by the hunched frame of the farmer, “Aww ya’ll foand our harley, he our harley” the man came into focus. I proceeded with a stutter to explain that ‘Harley’ was wondering around and we where worried he was lost, “Nah he ain’t lost boy, he likes ta wander rand up ther, se ya’ll in ya’ll cabins, that our harley”. The dog looked as dumbstruck as I did by the mans deep southern accent. We un-clipped him then began our retreat back up the hill when the farmer yelped out a noise clearly attempting to gain our attention. Spining slowly around he was upon us and began to usher Deanna and I over to his field where he called over his two new-born calves, one creatively called, ‘Blacky’. He turned out to be a lovely man, he was tall but shortened by his hunch, a plaid shirt tucked into his wranglers which was skewed by his faint attempt at lining up button and hole. He wore old worker boots scuffed at the toe and tied with string rather than laces. An underbite dominated his face whilst a baseball cap hid his hair from view, eyes like coal.
The ‘Blue Ridge Parkway’ is a famous road which meanders through the surrounding mountains, ascending rock and dropping abruptly. I piloted our way across a section of the pass, cutting corners, braking late and speeding out of corners. The only downside was the automatic car I was driving, a manual would have heightened the already cracking experience. We stopped high above a valley for lunch – left over from the Dillard House. Then descending down the mountain road we headed west where I performed a U-turn then a sharp left, we arrived at a drive in diner. Ordered a Chocolate shake and fudge ice cream. Sitting in the car, a little old lady dressed in an apron and a baseball cap arrived at my window and passed over the goods. We devoured both under the morning sun and enjoyed the day in the cold.
On the evening we kept warm by the wood burner and sank a few bottles of wine and watched the ‘King of Cool’ in the Great Escape, munched on some cheese and biscuits Deanna had brought up with her. “What better way to finish off an amazing weekend” I said. She turned and smiled then snuggled into my side. We fell asleep with the dog on our lap.
See more images here.
Last night Deanna and I arrived back from a four-day trip, 500 miles South of Gainesville to the Florida Keys. We spent three nights camping along various Keys heading further south the further into the trip we went. I experienced the best camping spot of my life in ‘Long Key’ State Park where we pitched up in the sand, facing the ocean and gazing and dreaming. Our Camp fire offered the ability to BBQ and burn food, along with the odd marshmallow hanging from a nearby stick. With no artificial light after 10pm, we witnessed a blanket of stars surrounding and warming us. A little breeze provided a adequate temperature for sleeping on the covers rather than within. Sun beams streaked through the mosquito netting, casting honeycomb shadows onto our bodies, the warmth instantly woke me. This happened every morning despite the different camping spots we found ourselves.
We cooked most of our food on an open fire or on the stove we purchased from Walmart to save on costs. We spent time talking and swimming in the calm ocean waters. It wasn’t only until we where in ‘Key West’ did we actually walk anywhere apart from the Bath House. We arrived early to hunt out a free parking space then walked along Duval St as the crowds of tourists came rushing from the cruise ships that anchored along the harbor. We ate some famous ‘Key Lime Pie’ for breakfast along with a cup of strong coffee, then walked to Ernest Hemigways House. I found out so much about one of my most favored authors, the best being that I share a birthday with him and every year in Key West they celebrate his birthday by hosting a competition for the best look-a-like. Hemingway was also a very superstitious man who therefore used to breed cats. All the cats that live at the house today (44 in total) have all descended from one cat – ‘Snowball’, and some of the cats have six toes, which was seen as a lucky omen by Hemingway.
I have posted some Photographs as usual but now I have an online album here.
I arrived in the country of freedom a few days ago, armed with a duffel bag stuffed with clothes and shoes, along with a shipload of gifts for my Girlfriend from my family. After a nine hour and thirty-seven minute flight from Gatwick, the plane bounced down the run-way, taxi to the terminal followed by a tedious customs line. I grabbed my duffel and headed for the exit. I was met by a beaming Deanna who whipped me off to ‘St Augustine’ in the setting sun. Her house sits on a beach road, and from her house I could hear the waves breaking on the beach. When I arrived, Deanna had enough surprises to last me until my 40th Birthday, and one of my favorites was a Vinyl record of ‘Joy Divisions – Unknown Pleasures’. The only way to listen to this band is on a record player, and the aesthetics of having this record excited me – the graphic design of this sleeve is amazing. I listened to both sides twice that night, and three times the following morning. Owning and listening to a record excites something within me, and the ownership is a lot more powerful than an iPod, I was dancing in my room all night.
The last few days have been spent acquiring a lot of items for the next three months. I bought myself a ‘Cell Phone’ and a flannel jacket – now I feel American. Tomorrow we head south down the Florida peninsula towards the Keys, where we are spending a couple of days in the sun camping and hanging around a camp fire. Hopefully I will get the opportunity to get to the Hemingway house. I have not taken many photographs yet so these are all I have so far, hopefully I can get some good images on my new Praktica MTL5 35mm.
Recently my Dad gave me a wonderful Praktica MTL5 35mm Camera which is about thirty years old. Hopefully I will be able to get some dated looking pictures on my American Journey. I just wanted to share this. Thank you
All Images courtesy of Edmund Short
The trip to Bali began the morning after climbing up Mount Ijen. It was followed by a bus to the ferry port, a ferry to Bali Island then three hours spent on a local bus – the chicken bus. Within ten minutes of the journey we pulled over and a middle-aged ‘well-rounded’ woman jumped on after two trips to and from the bus throwing on cages rammed with chickens. She took a seat next to me and her beloved chickens at my feet, the bus door was open and provided an adequate breeze to keep me cool and waft the smell towards Ed, who was sat at the back of the bus. We where heading to a place called ‘Kuta’, which lies in South Bali, on a peninsular. Through out the entire bus journey the ‘chicken’ lady was constantly nodding off – head sliding, mouth open, she found a comfortable nook just on my shoulder, which she continue to use for the duration of the journey. I could have easily kicked her off and have moved, but after supplying the lads with a god laugh and some photographs, I began to wonder why she was so tired. I doubt she had a heavy drinking session last night, and it was probably a result of being up at 5am to work at the market selling chickens, earning a living. Which by the look of things she is not much of a sales woman, coming back with more chickens she went with. Anyway, I’m probably wrong.
Kuta is full of Aussies, fake surf gear, surf boards, bars and Aussies – That’s about it. We spent a few days doing nothing, a little drinking and some beach. Ed and I got the opportunity to rent a board and head out surfing among the hoards of bodies in the water. The waves here where touching 12ft, and getting out past the break was tough. But the handful of waves I caught sent shivers down my spine – an amazing feeling. After being swallowed up by one particular wave, twisting and turning in the water, my board crashed into my ribs and forced me to head back on the beach to catch my breath.
After a few days I was sick of Kuta and wanted to spend my last week somewhere more chilled out and true to Indonesia. We decided to head to ‘Ubud’ for a few nights, with plans to head back to Kuta for Jack’s 25th Birthday. Ubud lays more central of Bali Island and is only an hour North of Kuta. The week we arrived had been the week it was voted as, Wiki Travels place of the week. The sudden drop of Aussie’s and increase of greenery brought optimism to my face, knowing that this is exactly the place I was looking for. I instantly wanted to stay here for the duration of my time in Indonesia, really as I had no money left to travel around, but I kept this from the guys for a day until it was brought up by a few of them. So we spent Jack’s birthday here and made this little town our home for nearly a week. Full of craft shops and young entrepreneur’s, Ubud had a certain quaintness about it, and the huge spirit and interaction of the community added to this.
My time was spent; reading three books, cycling though rice paddies, renting scooters and heading north, birthday celebrations, Cheap food, fire show’s and harvesting Rice. Towards the end of my stay here it became a little monotonous, but I had no choice. It was free to walk around and read, rather than travel to Gili Islands – which is what I would have preferred. It turned out to be the right decision, as when I arrived in Bangkok with only three days before I departed to good old Blighty, I had enough money to buy my family some small gifts.
All my thoughts go to those in Japan
