Enjoying Cyclades through the lens

The Greek islands were a monolithic block. Little did I know or appreciate the vast diversity of these spectacular places. So when the opportunity was presented to join Magnum photographer Enri Canaj to join on a week long excursion to at least three of the islands, I jumped into it. There was no Santorini or Mykonos in the list – the two islands that seemed to be where every tourist goes to. But I trusted that where we were going would be gems in their own right. All of these islands have their own character, history, and landscapes. What is common is they all offer a breathtaking blend of picturesque landscapes, charming villages, and rich cultural heritage, that dates back centuries. While the past is evident, what is striking is the present. And the real treat is to step away from the touristy areas and get closer to the local way of life. Blending and charting places that are off the beaten track provides a unique perspective that is captivating and enticing at the same time. Tinos, Syros, and Naxos are three Cycladic gems.

I began our week in Tinos, the northernmost island in the Cyclades. I took a Ferry from the Rafina port in Athens early in the morning. After a 3.5 hour express ferry ride that took through the lovely Aegean Sea, I arrived around mid morning in Tinos. One of the attractions of this week was to stay in simple lodges and guest houses, that had all the basic amenities but kept us grounded in the place. The windows were left open to allow the fresh Aegean air. I started meeting my fellow workshop companions and very soon was out to explore the main attraction of Tinos, the renowned Panagia Evangelistria, a Greek Orthodox Church that draws pilgrims from across the country. The church is quite interesting. It is about kilometer from the port and straight uphill road leads to its gate. Many people who hold their vows are seen to crawl and go through the pain to reach the gates of the church. Depending on the pain want to take, some make it as difficult both in how long and how restricted they want their movement to be. I was told that there are many childless couple who have got their wish for their child fulfilled – and so it is a also a popular place for baptism – and I was lucky to see such a ceremony. The first encounter which has the commercial setups near the port is the the town of Chora. One cannot miss the typical Cycladic architecture with its narrow alleys, whitewashed houses, with blue doors and windows and charming squares. Our photo excursion began with driving through quaint towns and exploring the town of Pyros, which has a long standing marble sculpting culture. There a many marble quarries nearby and driving off-road to some of these quarries were a real treat of color and landscapes bordered with the distant shoreline and blue sea. Running through the full cycle of the marble from the quarry to the sculpting, including the school where young aspiring artists were trained was a spectacular experience. People were extremely friendly and welcomed with open hearts to be photographed and sharing their life. Tinos has lovely beaches Kolymbithra and Agios Fokas, but I stuck to exploring the villages such as, Votox and the old citadel on top of the hill. It is remarkable how over the centuries from Romans to Ottomans, that the stones along the hills were arranged. I am still in awe of the scale of work that has gone in. Tinos gave a perfect ensemble of Greek life that culminated in one of the most delicious meals that I had in company of my friends from the workshop, thanks to Enri, who took a few of us to Greek family run small restaurant for a home-cooked meal inside a small village – a meal to be remembered for a long long time. Tinos was clearly a hidden gem, an island that is still outside the radar of the usual tourist and maintains a true character.

After a couple of days in Tinos, we took the ferry to Syros, the capital of the Cyclades. Syros could not have been more different. Only half an hour from Tinos, it offers a unique blend of history, culture, and cosmopolitan ambiance. The town of Ermoupoli, known for its neoclassical architecture, stands as a vibrant cultural hub. It has a long heritage of shipbuilding and large yard stands majestic as the ferry pulls into the port. The alleys reminds me of old Roman towns – like villages in Tuscany – even the colors of the houses. There were may abandoned houses that I was told remains in dispute – so the dereliction was apparent. There are larger squares like the Miaouli Square and Freedom Square, with an impressive Town Hall. The Apollo Theater, a miniature replica of La Scala in Milan, hosts various performances throughout the year. There is some activity and many trendy bars and shops. The sharp contrast from Tinos took me by surprise that I was struggling to make good pictures. The first I was a bit lost photographically, but the experience of the place was quite stunning. The next day, I ventured to take a taxi to take me to Ano Syros. The lady driver refused saying there is no one there. How can there be no one there in a village? So she took me around to the other part of the island and after driving through some of stellar beaches like Galissas and Azolimnos and the area where the wealthy once had large mansions that still stand today, she dropped me at Kini beach for lunch. It was a delicious meal sitting right at the edge of the water. Later around 5 pm, she dropped me to Ano Syros. I have not seen anything like this. It is an old town, but it is all in narrow alleys and steps that take you down from the hill. I walked down taking a break in a bar, with breathtaking views of the the island. The village has so access other through donkeys. Even mail is delivered using donkeys.

After two days in Syros, we took a late night ferry to Naxos, the largest island in the Cyclades. Naxos again could not have been more different. On the way from the port to our small quaint hotel, there were bars and nightlife. There were more tourists – a lot of them were high school and college Americans. Perhaps, a cheaper option to Mykonos or Santorini. Naxos had a range of attractions. Right near the port, there is Portara, a massive marble gate, welcomes visitors to the island. We drove through Kinidaros, where a group of old men bantering and sharing colorful stories entertained us. The highlight was the picturesque villages of Apiranthos, which provides two contrasting aspects of life. Early in the morning, it is traditional and one can get a glimpse of Greek life, and then around mid day throngs of tourist pour in and the place changes to a busy affair. Naxos clearly shows that in a few years, will become more touristy as Mykonos and Santorini gets runover with tourism.

All these islands bring to life the character of Cycladic life. The local cuisine and the atmosphere is absolutely enchanting. Tinos captivates with its religious significance and traditional charm, while Syros combines history with a cosmopolitan atmosphere. Naxos, with its historical landmarks and stunning beaches, offers a well-rounded island experience. It was an unforgettable journey and Tinos, Syros, and Naxos encapsulates the magic of the Cyclades. I will long to visit again to relive this experience and seek out new ones.


London Calling

There is not enough of London I can get in a few days. but with the pictures and the memorable walks, this trip will go down as truly enjoyable. there was hardly anything I spoke to anyone other than the waiters who served me and the occasional taxi drivers. I have been to London before but this time it was different. I felt I smelt the streets and soaked in as much as I could.

My trip to London had three main goals. a) Walk leisurely and take pictures of the city. b) Explore the some of the vintage stores c) Visit the British Museum.

I took a room at the Royal Automobile Club (RAC) at the Pall Mall, which provided the ideal location as well as the setting to explore the city I was interested in. The RAC as it is locally known has its own charm and heritage. The striking point is the car on display that they change every few weeks. My treat was a Ferrari Testa Rossa from 1956. The Pall Mall has a series of the so called gentleman’s clubs, which had its cachet in the 20th century, that has allegedly been eroded, just like everywhere else, other than perhaps the colonies that still cherish the after taste.

Just around the corner in St James, there is a series of stores that have a distinguished past. It must be said, that was a time when, when getting a royal commission was a branding ticket. They would do anything to get that honor, which they can then display. The first shop that struck my eye was Dunhill tobacco. Well when I stepped in, sadly with the tide of times, Dunhill had already sold its classic pipe tobacco business and brand to Perterson. All that remains are some expensive accessories and a cigar humidor. The row of shops were the wine merchants and several other stores – a mix of new restaurants and old, that have been there for centuries. Across the street was Chutney Mary, where I had a nice dinner a few days later. Then there is JJ Fox tobacco. I really liked this store and its friendly staff. Winston Churchill was a customer of theirs and the basement has got a museum in his honor which is fascinating. It has copies of ledgers that recorded his orders and also a box of Romeo and Julieta that has a backstory. Apparently this box was dropped while to was delivered to Churchill. While it soon was replaced – the rejected one made its way back to this showcase where it has stayed ever since.

Once I hit Jermyn street, with Davidoff at the corner, there are shops that I woud say in a nutshell the gentlemen’s dream. There is Bates the famed hat store, Taylors barbers and the whos who of shirt makers. Most of them still makes bespoke shirts although many have taken on the ready made clientele – a change to suit the times. There are many stores in the area – another noteworthy is the New and Lingwood that takes pride as the school uniform suppliers to Eton. You can shell out an hideous amount in any of these stores. But more importantly, I can’t help but marveling. There is nothing but respect for craftsmanship, tradition, elegance, and style that is in short supply. This is opposite to the Chinese onslaught that has been steamrolling our lives for the last several decades. A few meters away is Fortnum and Mason famous for their tea and biscuits. I stopped one of the days for afternoon tea. It was a nice ambience to gorge on chicken sandwiches and tea. Once I hit the alleys towards the Mall, there are many auction houses, art galleries and some specialty rare book stores tucked away. Browsing the rare arts books was a delight. I can never be sure what delights more – owning and collecting or just the sheer joy of holding it. On the other side towards Piccaddily there was the multi-storey Waterstones and tinier Hatchards, which has been there since 1797. When I have to think that far – it takes a bit to get the depth in perspective. Going the alleys to the other side, I reach Regent’s park with its marvelous architecture and lines of stores. There are many ways to go – to walk through all the streets all the way to Mayfair, Oxford street, Strand and Bond Street. Taking a detour in Denmark street to see some of the music stores. I particularly looked out for Saville Row, that can be easily missed. It is still alive and kicking with bespoke tailors. I can see the sartorial expertise in action in the basements which have windows. They give a peek into the mystical world behind the charm and pride of getting a suit from the Saville Row. It is a benchmark for many. If you are getting your suits made at the Saville Row, you have made it.

There were other excursions – There were a few other places of note – Edgware Road was an interesting area to get a pulse on some of the ethnic outposts and get some good middle-eastern cheap eats. Hanging out for a few hours – gave a different feel – the melting pot London is. In the aroma of Hookah bars and rounds of mint tea, long conversations – one can easily forget where I was a few hours back. With a few days, there is always a conflict on how much time to spend at a particular place.

Where I spent a good deal of time was in the Portrait gallery at Trafalgar square and then almost half a day at the British Museum. The British museum has its set of artefacts – many of which troubled me how they brutally they were uprooted and brought in here. There is of course the controvery on the Elgin Marbles. In fact there are so many artefacts, even brought from India, it is no wonder, the word “British” draws aversion at so many levels. At the same time, what has stayed back is so integral to who I am, that it becomes a complex love-hate dance. In contrast, the Tate Modern on the other side of the river is a place worth enjoying, without drawing much internal tension. A bit drawn away from the fractured stuffiness of the Pall Mall, this is a breath of fresh air. I have been to the Tate Modern but this time around it was less crowded and the exhibits were not overwhelming. The views of London from the top are stunning. From the world of Dickens to Boris Johnson, from the nerve center of the empire to a little island trying to finds its identify following Brexit, I wonder where the city is headed. I walked down the Southbank and all these developments of art galleries and trendy stores are the news accents to the city. I remember several years ago, walking in that area that was filled with construction rubble. Now, it was a nice pleasant walk watching kids picnicking and playing and even the workers in the nearby offices are taking a break and enjoying the rare London autumn weather.


South Africa – Cape Town

South Africa is a very interesting country. It is complex. It is a sensory delight. It hits the stomach, the head and the heart at the same time. My first visit to this lovely country was in 2017-2018. During the first visit to a new place, the eye is drawn towards many things. Urban landscapes, art, architecture, the day to day theater of people carrying out their lives, the food, the color, the style, and the atmosphere. But rarely has natural beauty captivated me immediately in a way it did in South Africa. Perhaps it is because the pristine unspoilt beauty is hard to find these days in my itinerary. Here, in SA for the next few weeks – I would soak in the calm, quiet, and the joy of slow. My travels are always on the go – one thing after the other and the call to get to the next stop usually creates an urge to hurry. South Africa was indeed one of those places where I was forced to slow down. It also forced me to wonder how over the years I have lost this instinct to slow down and stretch the time. The constant push to use time efficiently and then cram as much as possible has become second nature that a break in this rhythm creates anxiety. But to bring in anxiety into a holiday can create all sorts of issues. While it may provide an illusion that a lot got covered during the holiday, what sticks in the mind after you have left that place may not be much to reflect upon. Sensory and and mental overload becomes easy come and easy go with things taken in and then forgotten in a hurry. Nothing registers, nothing remains to relive and savor the experience long after. Going deeper and taking the time to experientially internalize may sound banal in the moment but is quite rewarding later. And I was able to do a bit of that in South Africa. So even after a year when I write this – I can cherish the days I spent there.



With this backdrop it took a while for me to adjust to South Africa once I landed. My start of the visit was spent in a couple of excursions along the coast. I was still in a tour and done mood – so I was not ready for the what came and by the time I could appreciate the beauty that was thrown at me – the day was over. It was only later I looked at the pictures that I would appreciate the lovely coastline of Hout Bay, Cape Peninsula and colored beach houses in Muizenberg in a vicarious way. And I began to really like the place.

My experience shifted from as I moved from the spectacular landscapes to the lovely vineyards that tingled my tastebuds. The scenery across Constantia and Stellenbosch was stellar. The wineries themselves were quite unique and unlike the ones I have been in Napa, France, Italy and Chile. New world wines are interesting and are becoming more popular. South African wines (like the Pier 1642) are quite extraordinary. I was particularly taken into the South African popular grape called the Pinotage which is a bit between merlot and cabernet saughvion. The wineries themselves are set up with mini zoos, large gardens, and ponds that carry an enormous variety of flora and fauna – not to forget the ubiquitous Proteas, the national flower. The other thing that struck me was how friendly they were for the kids. There was grape juice served in wine glasses for the kiddies that gave them a momentary pride of an adult experience.

What makes South Africa really interesting is not just the natural view that presents to the visible but also whats invisible; complex web of things and abstractions that are created by the people who live there. There is an undercurrent of tension wherever you go. On the very first day, I was warned against walking alone in streets that are deserted; from pickpockets to car-jackers are quite common. In fact, the stories of crime in Johannesburg (and more recently in Cape Town) travel farther and fast, and they do keep a chill in the back of the mind wherever you go. So no surprise that in the first 24 hours – all you do is to scout the place. How people are walking, where the nicely dressed go, how they withdraw money from the ATMs, etc. Jo’berg was a league of its own and I would be very careful to venture out by myself. When people don’t stop at red lights for safety reasons, you know there is a problem. But beyond the lingering exercise of caution – the foreground of the warmth, friendliness and hospitality overshadows almost all the other shortcomings. So despite all the oddities – South Africa gave me a wonderful experience.

My visit also coincided with the pivotal moment in South African politics. Zuma who has been the president has been mired in corruption charges and during the ANC conference that coincided with my stay – was replaced by Ramaphosa. Also there was a development on laws related confiscation of property held by former whites – in a Zimbabwe-esque fashion. The cafes and pubs had lots of discussion around that which was quite intriguing. On one case listening to a group of classy and educated black folks – it was interesting to hear them discuss how damaging that might be to fabric of the nation. When I carefully examined the group – I did find there were all shades of black from brown to black in that group. After that revelaton – it almost came naturally to me to appreciate how mixed the people are. The words of Mandela and “rainbow nation” started to really make sense.

The way land has historically been distributed or confiscated and controlled is quite appalling. I grew up in India where land reforms were already underway and no one person had such enormous horizon to horizon control of owned land – more so, at the cost of the peasants who tilled and lived in perpetual servitude. Yet that problem is still imminent in a place like Cape Town and the history of the area around Rhodes drive and the University is quite extraordinary. Cape Town is a laid back town. If the word “idle rich” has any meaning in the 21st century this is where it is. On a weekday – people are playing golf, strolling the book stores or spending time in the apiary. I tried to slow down as well – and tried to spend my time with two books – Apartheid, Guns and Money by Hennie van Vuuren and much anticipated – Mandela’s “The long walk to freedom”. Both are excellent and worth re-reading.

Learning about South Africa through these books also served me the context to go and visit the Robben Island. Visiting a place like Robben island is greatly short-changed if it is taken just like another visit to a historical place. The moment you arrive at the island and get off the ferry and look back at the mainland – you wonder what the prisoners felt like. The mainland is faded in the clouds and fog that envelops the table mountain. You know that you are an outcast, a pariah – severed from the main body. The bus takes you along the roads and the guide provides a rundown of how the island once a leper colony and afterwards was used for criminals and finally political prisoners. The history is not that old. It is in my lifetime that the photographs the are exhibited on the walls were taken. The 80s and 90s, when I was a school boy trying to find my place in the world, people here were imprisoned for their beliefs and convictions in pretty hard conditions. The spirit of sacrifice and tolerance for physical hardship in light of the pseudo-activists today is unfathomable. As you walk through the cells, listen to the narrative that the guide provides, and imagine what it was like here, I can’t help but feel humbled and awed by the resilience, single-mindedness and discipline of the human spirit. To come close to the environment that pushed those boundaries and knowing that the human spirit endeavored and finally conquered – is uplifting in many ways. Whether such a spirit stems from ego or pride or even a higher calling, it is extraordinary to witness how people here went against their grain of impulse, immediate gratification, and even practical well-being in pursuit of abstract notions of freedom and human dignity. Reading Mandela’s book explains a lot – at some level how pragmatic his stand on forgiveness and unity was. Something which is fading day by day in today’s South Africa.

As I headed back to the mainland and to the freshness of Cape Town, the wine, the people, the color and on my way to the raw beauty of Johannesburg, it all left me with the same curiosity and more questions. What if this country could live upto its potential? What it would be like if it followed the Mandela doctrine and worked beyond nepotism, corruption, and fractious politics. For me, this was the first real colony I visited after India. South Africa has its own culture and just like any other colony has a complex relationship with the colonizers. I wait until my next visit in earnest to find out how this country evolves. Will it spiral towards to chaos like many other former colonies or will emerge as a country of hope and prosperity. I wish to see the latter.

Florence – 2017

The 19th century French author Stendhal lends his name to the Stendhal complex – which is a kind of illness consisting of spells of dizziness and palpitations – caused due to exposure to too much beauty.  Stendhal wrote about this on his visit to Florence – hence the other name for the Stendhal complex is Florence complex.  Florence is a place where for years, watching the statue of David, the frescoes and galleries in the churches and Uffizi, and the architecture all around – one can start getting sick of beauty.  I personally never experienced it but I have to admit that of all the places that I have visited, when I reflected where I want to go to clear my mind – a place that would not disappoint me at all – and I would be in an environment where I have no chance to be depressed – I picked Florence. Why did I pick it? Was it fast or slow thinking – I cant say.  But all that matters is there is something magical about Florence. If there is a objective characterization of what beauty is and how it affects the human mind and its other senses – Florence can provide those cues and clues. The effect largely is deemed universal.

I stayed outside the main city area this time. In the height of summer – I was in lookout for budget options but also wanted to stay away from the touristy areas. I have noticed in the touristy areas – services in the restaurant and hotels are much lower. They just don’t have to try that hard. My hotel was a good 35 minutes away – and my daily bus was a great way to feel the current of the daily life. People going to work, kids to school, and grandma off to the vegetable market. I would try to leave early in the morning and then come back late afternoon – and spend the evening in the hotel. The days were spent mostly in the central area of Florence known as the historic district – the area which borders the Santa Maria Novella station, Piazza San Marco, Piazza Santa Croce, and Ponte Vecchio – strolling through the alleys and bylines, soaking in the air and the place that served as the cradle of renaissance. Many of the boutique stores were shutdown – the shopkeepers off to vacation. I took my own time going through the Academy, Uffizi and the libraries. There was no rush on time – learning and immersing in the paintings and sculpture.

Before my visit I had the Laurentian Library (Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana) located in the cloister of the Church of San Lorenzo in my list of places to visit.  The Laurentian was designed by Michelangelo and houses one of the largest neo-classical collections in the world.  To be in an intimate place away from the maddening crowds with Michaelangelo’s creation is a real treat. The reading room is simply gorgeous. Many people don’t realize that in Italy – both in Florence and Rome – there is some stellar architecture and artwork in libraries and old mansions. You may have your private rendezvous with Michaelangelo – as in my case.

Paintings in particular hit me at several levels.  On surface it serves as an artifact of influence – either as a shock factor that forces me to think or that forced other people to think differently about the current status quo. Almost all great artists have one or two that launched them as the great – because those pieces broke away from the existing pattern. So whether it was Leonardo’s drawings of machines and human anatomy or Manet’s  Le Dejeuner. In the modern era, Picasso did reinvent over and over again as his paintings spread in style and form.  All great draughtsmen and painters over the last few centuries, worth a grain of salt, have one thing in common.  They owe their craft to the techniques and styles developed by the Florentine masters, who dwelled right here.

In my previous visit to Florence in 2009, I was very much intrigued by the Florence’s history, especially Florentine banking. Art has to be patronized and is highly correlated to the commercial prosperity of the place is universally evident.  Florence’s contribution were in foreign exchange and trade, mercantile finance, and of course Luca Pacioli and double-entry book-keeping. I went to Pisa and Sienna and parts of the wine country. Over the last eight years, photography has brought me closer to appreciation of painting and in general the value of “lost art” or almost lost art.  I wanted to go to Cremona for instance, to check out the violin town – but then I gratified myself with the music collection in the museums in Florence. I have come to admire the Atelier or studio concept of learning – as an apprentice to a master. In the Florentine tradition, I enrolled in one of those classes – where the instructor took me around the city and I got a taste of how to practice art. Doing by your own hand gives the first hand taste of the immense amount of work and dedication that needs to be placed to just learn the craft, let alone mastery and the awe at how few reach the heights.

Every visit has it high points. What I looked for – I admit I was only partially served. Summer holidays have driven the local craftsman and artisan to vacation. But then isn’t it quite often that the high points come from unexpected venues. Despite housed in an out-of shape body, I decided on a bike trip to the Tuscan countryside. The ride exhausted me out and I had no qualms in jumping onto a bus. The bus driver and his companion spoke very little english but the camaraderie and bond we struck in a few minutes were memorable. They took me to a fig orchard where I plucked figs from the trees.  They even took me to a coffee shop and refused to take money. They said I was their guest. Such gestures of kindness and fellowship revives the “better angels” in ourselves and keeps me optimistic towards the future – that the world indeed is becoming a better place. The shortened bike ride was followed by a sumptuous meal and lots of wine was clearly worth my visit.


Coming back to the paintings itself.  I tried to dig a little deeper into Boticelli and his two masterpieces – Primavera and The Birth of Venus.  The Boticelli rooms10-14 have been recently redone and it is set up for study. In my visit in 2009 – it was such a mad rush through Uffizi in the last hour, I could barely sense anything.  This time it was different.  Painting such as these not only evoke beauty but once I know the background and the context of when it was done it brings joy at another level.  But then there is another part of me that questions – is there an aura already with these paintings that condition our minds to like something because it is famous.  There is definitely some of that – appreciate something as part of a social agreement.

So if there is one place where I cannot be accused of lazy thinking and joining the crowd for appreciating art, it is in Florence.  For I am not be the only one suffering from Stendhal or Florence syndrome.  This is a place that I can come back again and again. Hope the next trip is not too far in the future.

Buenos Aires

If there is any other city that I “felt” closest to being in the Calcutta that I grew up – it would be Buenos Aires. A city that is ornate with past glory and grandeur but is a bit lost in today’s world. A city that symbolized modernity in its outlook, character and dereliction long before the rest of the world thought we were living in the modern age. I usually try reading about the place before I visit, usually some fiction. But this sudden trip did not give me much of a chance. I tried reading Borges once but it was a bit to digest his convoluted plots and storyline. So perhaps this time around, I will understand the literature better after visiting the place.

Buenos Aires is a walking city. The streets are full of action. It is filled with beautiful women and even men know how to dress well. Their is a certain classiness among people despite mass poverty and 40% inflation; where cash is still king, as credits cards are not accepted everywhere and ATMs are often drained out. There is a vibrant cafe culture, book stores in almost every block (and you can find a Sartre, Camus, Marx, Kant in a newspaper kiosk) and although I don’t understand Spanish, the limited exchanges I had with strangers were warm, welcoming, and refreshing. While walking in one of the side streets – I curiously asked a group of men what they were drinking.  It was Mate.  They poured me and said, “try it.” It was awkward to drink from the same cup (Mate), but they explained thats how it is.  You pour water into the leaves and then have to drink the entire pour, and then you pass it on to someone, who then gets a fresh pour. It is communal and social. For a moment I got a Zen-like shiver of human connectedness with a group of policemen (yes that group were plain dress off-duty policemen, which I only later found out). But you never know who you end up with, is what brings me out wandering in streets and by-lanes. Like my visits to Calcutta that ground me, people in Buenos Aires come across as enlightened, worldly and intellectual without a long tail of degrees or a wallet full of money. These values go beyond monetary pretension and indeed, there were times and places that exemplify that.

There is a joke about Argentines – more specifically, the Portenos, literally meaning the “Port People”, but a term used for the people of Buenos Aires by others. That they are originally Italians, who speak Spanish, but dress like the English and wish they were French. I think there might be some truth to that. I was told that every visitor needs to do three things – eat steak, dance Tango, and buy leather. I was able to do all three – thanks to some good suggestions offered by my local contact – Chim. Chim who is a Canadian and an alum of Drama Centre London, which has produced people like Colin Firth and many contemporary stalwarts. He left doing Shakespeare and now is a artisan shoemaker in Buenos Aires. He personally took me to the Recoleta cemetery, which I went with some reluctance. This place has a stature similar to the cemeteries in Paris. It was a fascinating experience as he explained the mix of faiths, especially the Masons, Judaism and Christianity as well as paganism. We had a long discussion on Eva Peron, the rise of today’s populism and even the current Pope. I left with more questions than answers.

It was an eyeopener to visit Pope Francis’ original church. Speaking to some of those who know him well, interestingly enough, I got an explanation of his openness, that I had heard but never knew why. “The credit goes to the previous arch Bishop, who mentored him as a Christ purist,” they said. The basic doctrine of love thy neighbor, tolerance and forgiveness. They showed me a set of pictures and newspapers cuttings of the Jewish center bombings in the 90s and the role the church played in solidarity with the Jews that would otherwise be unthinkable for the Catholics. There is also a painting of Madonna – where Mary is depicted as an ordinary “woman”, which is also unusual – as historic Catholic paintings mostly depicted women either as virgins or prostitutes. But hardly as ordinary women with needs, desires, and aspirations, interacting with the world.

I met Jerry and Lucia, a very nice couple; Jerry is Irish and Lucia is local, who are Tango teachers in the San Telmo area. They took me to a Milonga. It was a trip down the memory lane – with a room full of locals dancing and having a good time. The demographic was similar to going to a rock concert these days, heavily skewed to 55 and above; but a stolid reminder of a time when men behaved like gentlemen. In fact, there was this ~80 year old Toto, a legendary Tango dancer of the 70s, who still dances in an almost defunct style, which was designed to protect the woman from getting hurt from the accidental kicks from others in the dance floor. Communication between the man and the woman happens through the eyes. You glance at the woman and if she gives you a friendly glance back; you go and have a dance with her; if not, you “Tango on”. As they say, there are no mistakes in Tango and poetry. You just flow.

Jerry suggested that I should go to a particular Parilla (Argentine steakhouse), so I went. It was a no-frills place, except that in the lore you hear the long list of celebrities that they have served – from the Obamas to the Hollywood stars. Waiters are elderly and old-school and they act as advisers as much as servers. Customer is not the king here. There was an young American couple who were given a paternal reprimand for ordering too much. The waiter cut their order down by saying, “you can’t eat that much…just because you can (order) does not mean you should”

Cities like Buenos Aires make me feel alive. Make me a part of something larger. At will I can become a participant or just a bystander, like my last evening, after buying a pair of shoes –  I spent in the Davidoff lounge – sipping shots of espresso and watching people through the window. I felt like Baudelaire’sFlaneur“. And just as I came to appreciate Baudelaire through Buddhadeb Bosu, I felt closeness to Buenos Aires through my primal attachment of Calcutta.

Berlin – The Wild Side

The video of two members of the Berlinkidz gang slinging from a rope tied to the roof of a high rise building in Berlin has gone viral since it came out. In the twilight, when the lights of the Berlin sprawl create a mystical haze – these guys take just a few minutes to scribble a few characters that resemble an obscure South American ancient script.  We can see them standing up on the roof of a speeding U-Bahn – with arms stretched, crying the sound of victory, after spraying their mark on the trains.  Vandalism or art? That is the question.  Beating the sight of building owners, tenants, and the law enforcement, these kids would go to the extreme of danger to leave their “mark”.  Ego, adrenaline and the sheer excitement of the wild are the main factors driving them. This is a glimpse of the wild side of Berlin – the world that gets exposed to the mainstream through tagging, graffiti, and street art, and these days social media and youtube videos. For many this is considered as “breaking the law”, and a mere destruction of public space. But street artists would argue – that – so are the advertisements and the thousands of billboards across the city landscape. What is visual pollution and what is not – is a topic for another day.  But this side of Berlin has much to offer – raw and uncut. A pure expression of the human spirit.

Admittedly, this wild underground life of Berlin has toned down quite a bit in the last couple of years after a run of more than 20 years, since the Wall came down. So when the wall came down in 1990s, a large section of the central city area called Mitte opened up. During the Iron Curtain era, this was largely abandoned and fell in the no-man’s land within the eastern section. Being so close to the border with West Berlin – no one really developed it. So it was not surprising to find garbage and rubbish from WWII still remaining there. Broken jeeps, aircrafts, shells – not to mention the ruins from the war that were left intact. (Check out this book) . So people started making stuff out of it. Given that there was not much out there – the people who came to this area were mostly freaks and misfits. There was already the Kreuzberg area in the West that was thronged by those who wanted a safe haven to dodge the German military service (yes Berliners had an exception). A combination of all these factors gave rise to a subculture that brought out the “other” side. Cheap living supported by major gentrification push from the government, brought in people from everywhere – mostly artists who took to the streets as their theater. Today, many of them have gone to major commercial success. The Banksy effect is pervasive and Berlin has its fair share of commercially successful artists. Many street “purists” however, do not like them; and are not pleased with these commercial developments and would prefer to keep doing streets from the underground, away from material mainstream success, in stealth and incognito. Such folks breed anarchy at heart. And I admire them.

Now personally speaking, ensconced in the mainstream, this subculture was outside my radar until a few years back when a friend of mine in New York introduced me to Parkour and street art in the Bronx and Yorktown area. I will get into the connection between the two later but like second hand cigarette smoke I was still a bit removed from what really went on. Walking around Berlin with a former member of the 1Up gang was an eyeopener. My first lesson was to understand the distinction between tagging, graffiti and street art. Graffiti is an outline with fillings of color – almost always done to make a personal statement. It is meant for other gangs or groups – usually a statement of ego and vanity. As simple as – “mine is bigger than yours”. Tagging is a basic form of graffiti – mainly to demarcate territory. There is a hierarchy within the gangs that ought to be respected. 1Up was one of these gangs that has an elevated stature in Berlin that others rarely crossed. Tagging and graffiti also serve to contextualize the place. There are folks who keep tagging over and over again. Someone cleans it up just to get tagged again. Tags are also a mark of protest – one such was all over Mitte to make a statement against the commercialization of the area. Mitte today is so trendy and expensive that it is driving the poor artists away.  It has become a hip neighborhood now with art galleries and trendy coffee shops.

Street art, however has a very different purpose. It is mostly for the viewers consumption. I was told that the newer breed of artists that are coming in are treating the street as just a window into their virtual world of social media. So they use the street to just get noticed and then conversation on art and commercial terms continue via social media. This is driving some of the old school graffiti/sprayers to other locales as a path to commercial success. I am told opportunities are opening up in other places in Eastern Europe and elsewhere. I did see that in Budapest last year and in Chile and Buenos Aires earlier this year.

I walked around marveling at the details and learning the stories behind them.  Stories on the refugees migration, their ironical detention in the Tempelhof airport (which was used for the Berlin airlift), deceit, human rights, heartbreaks…they are all there. I was struck with the variety of materials that are used. The staple is the paint can. Usually a beginner starts with chrome and black paint learning to do outlines. They have to be clean, proportionate and obviously, have to be done quickly. It takes several months of watching, practicing outlines, and forms before they can give a test and join the group as an artist. Once they join, then go up the hierarchy. There are rules, and gangs have their own set of highly rigorous governance mechanisms. A group like 1Up! has about 100 members – with a large percentage of girls. (Approach them at your own peril; gangs are very protective of their girls, and there is no tolerance for sexism). Many artists use stencils. Multi-layered stencils are used directly when the artists want to keep the artwork for long. Others can do more complex work on stencils in the studio and paste the paper onto the wall. Of course, these wither, crumble and fade away sooner. The only thing apart from the materials that ensure longevity of the art work is the respect for the artist itself. The notion of transience and impermanence is central to the artist’s psyche. Whats pretty today will not be there tomorrow. Either will get overwritten or just gone and forgotten.

The most fascinating material I saw was the use of the fire extinguisher. It came to Berlin from the streets of Paris. Fire extinguishers are easily available – one just need to break and grab it from a public place. Fill it half with paint and the other with some medium – then pressurize it with compressed air at a gas station – and you are good to go. It holds a lot of paint – so one does not need to carry a ton of paint cans. There is a strict protocol not to leave any material behind at the site so with the extinguisher it helps keeping your paint gear light. It takes a lot of practice to master the use with the nozzle though, but it is very effective. Without mastery bad things can happen. Notice the scribble near the famous astronaut – it is one such disaster. Although the guy who blew it was quite senior, he was not experienced in the nozzle control. Following the rules of the gang – he was apparently demoted and had to suffer a reprimand course of training before he was allowed back.

The recent trend is to combine parkour and graffiti art. Sadly, but not surprisingly, it has resulted in many casualties and fatalities especially when trying to do the epitome of all public places – the trains. It is the ultimate thrill of action art. I always associated action art with someone like Jackson Pollock  but this is of course of a different league. No absinthe or LSD involved. Quite the contrary – the Berlinkidz don’t touch alcohol, dont smoke, or do drugs.  They are on a strict diet and exercise. Despite their dedication, the Berlinkidz are believed that they would either get hurt or end up in prison. Pushing the human boundaries to the limits of danger – both physical danger and danger from the authorities to make that personal statement is of course not everyone’s thing. One artist told me, “the street is a very humbling place. You need to learn the hard way and then get erased soon. We do not come from art schools, but we learn and express through this rough cruel way.” I found this to be quite a paradox. But then as with many things in life – I am too small to pass a judgment. I can see both sides to this quite vividly. It can be pursuit of an ego trip in a humbling way. The truth to me is to be able carry forward and bear these contradictions – co-existing with each other.

I learn a great deal from such excursions. Not the least of which is that beyond the apparent two dimensional view of what I see there is a third or even more dimensions that is not visible but it is there. At a minimum there is always a “story” behind these art pieces, which is not available to everyone. I am grateful that, even in a very limited way, I could get behind the visible and learn about some of these stories.

Note: Here is a collection of pictures – mostly taken with my iPhone and a few with my Leica M9.

Istanbul

New Years in Istanbul is an experience of a kind. One group of the population does not care about it – the other parties. My 10 days in Istanbul in late December/January 2012-13 was a fascinating experience – I have heard about the inherent confluence of cultures, times, and geography – all draped in layers of history. Yes these are the cliches that we all hear – but to experience it is another thing. And then to allow it to soak and sink in completely is of overwhelming proportions. It is a different world. In the last several weeks the places I so languidly strolled around – sipping on Ayran and Doner Kebabs have been razed with disturbance. Politics put aside – this is unfortunate. I hope immensely – things will become normal soon.

Reminiscing New York City

It has been almost 8 months since I moved back to DC. I spent quite some time last year shooting in New York during my brief stay from April to December. Here is a sample of that body of work…

Fire in Greenwich Village

In New York, a surprise is often awaiting just around the corner. Walking up Broadway in Greenwich village from Houston St on my way to Union Square, I notice a speck of dark clouds over the Grace church. It can’t be rain clouds, I thought, and soon the noise of fire trucks made things clear. I rushed to the place of action where fire broke out in a restaurant in the first floor when a boiler exhaust in the 5th floor exploded. According to a cook who witnessed the fire explained it to me. “I heard a boom and flames gushed into the kitchen.” NYPD was in action quickly. Over 2 hours of battle with smoke and fire ensued. The Chief giving directions. Water hoses, hydrants, axes, etc were all in use. More than 10 trucks were present in the scene. Neighbors were obviously anxious, while passers by were capturing the action in their iPhone.  No one was hurt or even close to any form of injury as far as I could tell. Overall a New York moment for me. Some drama, some action. Glad I was able to make some pictures.