Rome

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There are a few cities that really touched me. Like a home coming. Rome is one of them.

The beauty of historical buildings, some going back some two milenia, being used in daily life is something that took my breath away. You actually touch history, while walking around, sipping a drink fresh water from one of the many springs – some of those still being fed by aqueducts –  or drinking a coffee on a terrace. 

And throughout its history, architects and artists added layer upon layer of new beauty.

Rome is also very photogenic. It is impossible to not see compositions, perspectives and colours that beg for being captured. Of course the most obvious places have been shot a zillion times, mostly by snap shooting tourists. And buy any calendar, look at any website or pick up a book and you will Rome as you know it. The Colosseum, the Sistine Chapel and of course the Vatican.

But walking through the smaller streets on your way to one of those hotspots, you can see anoither Rome, no less beautiful and certainly more original when captured.

I am sure I will revisit Rome.

Passat

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My grandfather’s room was quite large and had a big round table sitting in front of his oak desk. The walls were paneled with dark wood and the overall atmosphere was male. Cigarette smoke of dozens of years added to the brownish tonality of his world. 

He had positioned the old desk, made of a huge chest with a gnarled lid with a glass plate for writing on, in the left corner next to the door to the hallway. Looking up and over the table, he could see the garden through lace curtains, not disturbing his thoughts, but providing depth for his gaze.

Positioning the desk was smart, very smart. Even when my grandmother came into the room, he was still at an advantage. Not that he didn’t allow her to see what he was doing or that he was rude. On the contrary: without any effort he could keep his concentration by looking ahead. She knew better than to disturb him, but only came in to bring him a coffee or tea. I’m not sure if there was much love left, but they were very comfortable together. Or at least very used to each other.

Behind him was a book case, filled with books about astronomy, ships and the like. On the right most corner, just in his vision, was a bronze statue of a sailor, wearing a southwester and casting a line. On the left was a painting. Quite a big one. Of a ship. A tall ship. 

“Passat”.

When I see my grandfather, I see him sitting behind that desk, the painting behind him. He was always writing, sometimes on loose sheets of paper, sometimes on cards. Next to his pen, there were pencils. Black, red, green and blue. A bunch of rulers and a protractor completed the picture. And when looking closer, my recollection now vivid, I see him doing complex calculations, with angles and vectors, tangents meticulously scribbled in the sideline. Trigonometry, projected on a sphere. By hand, with calculations neatly worked out in pencil on a small paper on the side.

He was still setting a course and shooting stars, calculating his position somewhere on the ocean.

Every time I visited him – and I did so often – he would always put down his pen or pencil and talk about the things he had encountered during a rich lifetime. And while telling stories, he somehow always was able to put himself in a role that made him almost a casual observer. But when I listened carefully, I could only conclude that he had seen some strange sights. And that he must have been much more in the center of things, being a key person in the story, perhaps even the main character. 

Together we sailed, with a ship twisting and rolling, stars shining like so many lights and the wind whistling, sometimes roaring in our ears. Until we hit the doldrums. Worse, we even lost our bearings sometimes. Once or twice we lost the chronometer and so were unable to calculate our position. And somehow there was always a coast nearby, hidden in haze above the horizon. What to do? We didn’t know where we were and we were running into the rocks or on the sands if we didn’t take action!

It took me a while to catch on to the fact that the more exciting stories were always reflecting some deep logic. And that, oh wonder, there was always a connection to something that I was wrestling with. Sailor’s wisdom hidden in an adventure, instead of instructions to a boy. Seemingly simple truths, that still guide my life when I need think about where I want to go. Never blocking my own thoughts, always providing me with an anchor to keep me in a temporary stable position, enabling me to find my own course. 

He did that right up to the day he died. I was a lieutenant in the army then and my platoon was used to hearing the same simple wisdoms when things went pear shaped.

“I remember we were sailing close to the American coast and fog rolled in. We couldn’t see more than a ship’s length in front of us and were unsure of how far away the rocks still were. Now this is in a time when we had no radar or electronic beacons, so it was an interesting position to find ourselves in, to say the least. I talked with the captain about which action was best and we found our way to the harbor in good time.”

“You know, when you are sailing in the blind, there are actually only two courses that make real sense. Slow ahead or slow astern.”

The genius. I mean, how do you make someone find the wise solutions in life by himself, without playing teacher? Having had a perfect example, I could do the same with my troops, by starting a story how I remembered my grandfather telling me a story. 

So in way I managed to put myself even more in an observer role.

Trundling

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I love open fields, far horizons and empty beaches. It is like the space provides me with extra breath and energy. Of course there must be something to attract my attention. Little focus points that make my eyes skip from one to another.

Sometimes you find a real treasure, an addition to the landscape that lifts the spaciousness far above normal levels. A feature that leads your eyes and so your mind from here to that far horizon. And the realization that it is temporary – wind and water already nibbling at the edges – adds to the overall experience. 

I wonder if the driver ever looked back at what he created. Or that anyone else was lucky enough to stumble over the tracks and have a camera at hand.

Experiment

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I think that following “the rules” and “the processes” is OK for day to day life, but if you want to get somewhere, you will have to step outside off the boundaries sometimes. Not that you have to do that each and every time, but you should be aware that there is more than what is “commonly accepted”. But perhaps I am the funny card in the deck: I am a lone wolf mostly and tend to walk a different path anyway.

 So here was this magnificent photo exhibition in Naarden, the Netherlands. Really well set up, with photos outside on the old bastion walls, in the main church and in the casemates. And of course some of the photos are really beautiful.

Photography is about seeing and about light. So when I saw this photo of the New York blackout  and the church windows mirrored in the shiny surface, with me standing through it all, I just had to take the shot.

Light: check

Story: check

Colours: check

Take the picture!

click …

Eureka

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Melbourne CBD somehow feels like a village. That’s odd, as most of the buildings are taller than any building I’ve seen in the Netherlands. And the tallest building in the Southern Hemisphere stands right next to CBD across the Yarra river: the Eureka tower. It doesn’t really show as being the highest building, as the other buildings are easily reaching 200 plus meters.

Of course we went to the top level and did the thing with the sliding room. A bit touristic, but kind of fun to be standing on a glass floor at almost 300 meters.

And it makes for some nice photogenic opportunities.

Off road

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I never thought I would say “Let’s go for a ride”, but after flying and sailing four wheel driving  is really something that provides a little adventure time after time. In our Toyota Landcruiser Prado, “the truck” for short.

Like flying, four wheel driving expands your world: you can go places normal cars can’t. Although I see quite some idiots trying their luck with the family car. I guess that’s Darwin at work.

Of course I take it step by step. There is a lot to learn and Australia is absolutely unforgiving to people who make stupid mistakes. Like being ignorant of where you are and not having some idea of a recovery plan, even for a simple “Sunday drive”. So I read a lot, listen to people, plan ahead, have back up maps (the GPS will quit at the wring moment) and have started equipping the truck with basic recovery and survival stuff. And will join a few 4WD courses. Better safe than sorry.

But it’s lots of fun and the landscapes are stunning. And when you do meet people, they are always friendly and inquisitive. 

Gallipoli

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My job has some nice secondary benefits, like having to spend a few hours between two meetings whilst visiting Wellington, New Zealand. No bloody use traveling back to the office, as that would easily cost up to 90 minutes.

As I am especially interested in early 20th century history, walking into an exhibition about Gallipoli was a no-brainer. And man, they did something really special. Huge, like 8 times life size figures towering over the visitors, depicting chapters from WW1 and that absolute military disaster called “Gallipoli. And a storyline about a few soldiers, running from “before” to “after”. You kind off get to know them personally. 

And they all die at the last few meters of the exhibition. So you walk out with a feeling of loss.

Castlemaine 

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Having this great job that kind off blasts me with excitement (read: stress) every few hours, I really need a hobby that takes my mind to different plains.

So I caught up within old one, plastic models. Wrestled with the glue and paint and found my way. So bought a bigger model. A ship. A “corvette”.

Guess what? There’s an actual corvette right here in Melbourne. “HMS Castlemaine”. Awesome.

Visited her and was immediately full of respect for all the sailors that manned ships like this. Small, top heavy, roller coaster kind off taking waves.

Dirt

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The Landcruiser Prado took a few hits. We started out with dust, but soon thereafter we were slushing through mud. And somehow that is always after I’ve put the car through the washer.

Hmmm.

Well, it makes for some artistic pictures.

That’s a white license plate on a silver car.  Blue letters.

Artistic, as I said.

Ypres

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For Aussies the battlefields of WW1 are quite some traveling away. Me, being Dutch, it’s easier. You just get in your car and drive for about two hours and your right smack in the middle of things. Of course Gallipoli is further away, but Verdun, Amiens and Ypres are more or less around the corner.

Ar Ypres (you actually pronounce it “ee pruh” and not “wipers”) you can just walk into WW1. It has a fantastic museum in the “Laken hall”, which was actually more or less rebuilt brick by brick.

But take a moment and google your way around the countryside: wherever you go, you will touch history.

WTF?

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Driving back from another small adventure, tired and thirsty. Melbourne somewhere up ahead. Kind off staring my way through traffic, not really registering anything beyond the flow of things.

Until we slowly overtook this ute. Now let’s try to understand the story behind this. 

It was a Sunday, so perhaps the guy visited his old mother, who finally returned the things he played with as a kid.

Or he has a special religion, where people worship animals. He just returned from mass.

Or he was at a fair and couldn’t resist this bargain. He will run into the house and shout “Irene, Irene (his wife), come look what I found!” She shakes her head and looks up at the ceiling, trying to look beyond at some god that can explain this madness. The house is filled with toy animals. The elephant, life size, another bargain, stands in the middle of the living room.

I really must look up that company: two fat wombats.