Travelin' Shoes

Forget the politics, this is exactly why moving elsewhere (other than the USA) sure does seem attractive 
any ol' time...

Bro's Got Balls!

While not exactly war zones, young Mr. Caz purposely goes out of his way to visit and show us some fairly dangerous places in his videos- places even locals dare not tread, and ya gotta give him his just props for that.* So how does blonde, crazy man Kurt get away with it- over and over and over again in some of the most dangerous hoods throughout the known world? How does this energetic young gringo (which he humorously denies being at one point when called) go parading about, forever engaged in his never ending, open air narrative, camera ostentatiously poised aloft** as if shouting 'look at me, look at me' anywhere and everywhere he goes! 

At first, it seems downright miraculous, not to mention foolhardy- and it most definitely is that. But watch closely, and there is a formula to his success... Like a shark, he is forever in constant motion, confident, and always moving at a brisk pace; only stopping to grab some quick street grub, ya really gotta move just to keep up with him- very much a moving target! And he's engaging, open to meeting people, he really loves getting out there and doing the friendly impromptu meet and greet- the man is the epitome of an out and out extrovert writ large! And he makes the active effort to learn the necessary bits and pieces of the language, customs, greetings and background history he needs to get him through his current moment, country, situation. He's already almost as fluent in Spanish as I am- not very, but enough to get by... And he's not a fool- he doesn't wander about at night looking to get killed, and will at times, hire a local to transport him from one spot to the next in some of the most isolated of dodgy areas. 

As he gets people to respond to him in a positive manner by signaling out, his high visibility and energy tends to create a positive feedback loop with those around him wherever he goes which doesn't exactly make him invulnerable, but most definitely works in his favor. And it's evident that he really does believe that there really are good people in some of the seemingly worst of places...

*Me? I wanna chill on vacay- no, don't wanna lie on no hot sand doing nothing on a beach, just don't wanna be looking behind my back every step of the way is all; I'm an introvert for the most part and much prefer calling my own shots (as much as possible) when it comes to risk!

**whereas most photographers strive to conceal theirs

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NYC '22

 

Paola Pivi- You Know Who I Am, 2022

Was in NY for a week, and no, I won't go into my usual gentrification rant yet again. It was the yearly excursion to visit: moms in the nursing home (and a dear friend in the ICU), the post Covid Mermaid Parade, The Bronx Documentary Center and last and not least, to chow down on as many slices of Two Boots pizza as I possibly could in the time allotted. Located at The Jane in the Meatpacking District, I started each day on The High Line by gandering at the guy above, art as it should be: free, multifaceted and humorous; how can you not start you're day on the good foot looking at that mug and all it stands for!

All Photos: © Stan Banos

On the other end of the The High Line was our old 'friend,' The Vessel (or if you're Eastern European- "The Wessel"), the $200 Million doodad of everything art shouldn't be- gaudy, ginourmous and the centerpiece for NYC's currently most expensive neighborhood. (Un)fortunately, it just may have to be... dismantled. Closed since July of last year due to its penchant for attracting those with a penchant for jumping off its higher levels, including one guy who supposedly first murdered his mother- the latter which has pretty much become the de rigueur, signature statement of mass shooters everywhere. You'd think they'd have a plaque for this guy right next to it for breaking the mold and just offing himself after the fact- bloody saint he is! Anyway, they only let you walk into the middle of The Vessel these days, and on the ground floor only- climbing any of its 16 stories, 80 landings and 2,500 Escherian steps is strictly Verboten! It's now been rendered almost Banksy...est!

Charging Bull

 

Walking about certain parts of the city, I noticed how something was kinda... off, actually couldn't explain it at first. Of course, foot and car traffic seemed well below 'normal." Duh-uh! Plum forgot that little pandemic thang; apartments must be really cheap then- right? Anyway, walk I did- at one point I heard my train arriving and proceeded to run up the subway platform stairs as I have countless times since childhood. My body from the waist up lunged forward and upward, while my legs emphatically rejected the go message and remained glacially stationary! My body was Reed Richards waist up, Ben Grimm waist down. First time that has ever happened, and at 66, I had no choice but to laugh it off and just be thankful- it was 5pm, and had been walking since 10am. 

 

 

Mermaid Parade '22

 

Brooklyn in the foreground; Queens in the back.

 

Managed to get a snap here, a snap there, but didn't think the lot amounted to much of anything, so I was pleasantly surprised to discover that I actually did manage to score a few keepers (even if only one at the parade), and... ten slices of pizza overall. Most regrettably, a standard, everyday jelly donut of perfection at The Donut Pub now costs A Whopping... $2.50!!! I had once thought that our known universe could not possibly support a donut that cost over $1.00; I thought much the same of a movie costing over $10.00.

And Counting...

Photo: © Stan Banos

Remarkable thing happened round about two months ago. Something was lost, cast aside, terminated. No, it wasn't yet another age related loss, for that's what aging is- (slow) death by a thousand cuts. This was a positive, yet unconscious loss... for the better.

For over two years since my wife and I went our separate ways, I would experience an emotional gut punch on a daily basis- the lost joys of times past, the guilt of future times lost, and always, always... always, the questions of "what if." What if I, what if she, what if we? The reminisces and reevaluations, whatever place or time of day- opportunities rife with the chance of daily repetitions, so I simply kept as busy as I could, as long as I could.

Photo: © Stan Banos

The first half year it actually served a productive means to an end- after my initial anger, I learned to identify and recognize my faults, my contribution(s) to the breakup; the remaining year and a half, not so much- just continued pain and grieving for some of the very happiest times of my life: the laughs, the sharing, having each other's back. Gone, over, and not to return.

So it came as quite the welcomed surprise a coupla months past when I realized I had somehow abandoned said routine- or it had abandoned me. How or why it dissipated I don't know, and that's not to say that all is forgotten and carefree, but it's now been relegated to a more manageable, less debilitating, background pain- present, just not overwhelming. Amazing how these things have their very own time lines, and how one is clueless to predict and powerless to preemptively intervene.

Recently, I visited The (still technically legal) Wife in Portland for an extended weekend. It rained some manner of length all four days, but it was nice to see her and Nelson, my one eyed cat. The latter can still be mistaken for a growing kitten despite his now double digit age- he's even lacking the usual age induced, marsupial pouch! Ever loving, forever cute and not terribly bright, he failed to recognize his old man; next reincarnation I'll make sure to demand a smart pet- just once, for the sheer experience of having a heads up partner in crime.

Photo: © Stan Banos

 

Nevertheless, it was a pleasant trip- one I undertook free of expectations: photographically, relationship-wise, whatever... And stress free it remained. Portland is indeed weird. As The Wife remarked, "It's hard to tell the true crazies, from the less so." I suppose the degree of scruffiness helps, but it's no guarantee. Because of the weather I was content to stay indoors in her and her sister's spacious and beautifully decorated apartment, read my book (Say Nothing) and ventured about the local neighborhood with her during the infrequent breaks in rain. That said, I was still able to snare a coupla of worthwhile snaps, have some great pizza (they looked like absolute jewels emerging from the oven),* and The Best roasted Brussel sprouts with chewy bacon bits and a glaze I would readily kill for at Ken's Artisan Pizza. 

Also managed to venture downtown to The Blue Sky Gallery on a Saturday, where I caught Matthew Moore's excellent Post-Socialist Landscapes.

*How did Portland, of all places, become the supposed king of pizza? When growing up in NY, a slice of great pizza could be had, in practically any neighborhood, in any borough, at any time of day- guaranteed (and for 15 cents a slice in the mid '60s- yeah, you heard right)! Now, you can count the number of places in my hometown on one hand...

In A New York Minute

Manged to eat 14 slices of (Two Boots) pizza in the six days I was in New York on 'family business,' also salvaged a few precious hours to attempt photography. People are slowly, gradually making there way back to the streets of NY- as they are in the majority of towns and cities throughout the world. It seemed however, that everything I wanted to photograph was perplexingly occurring across the street from wherever I was situated, and Manhattan avenues guaranteed the moment died a natural death long before the traffic light changed. Didn't think I managed anything worthwhile, but these few didn't look half bad on the big screen...

 

All Photos: © Stan Banos

 

 

 

 

 

Adapt or Die

Photo: © Stan Banos

After my recent sojourn to NYC to deal with the continuing saga of my mother's elderly care needs, I decided to decompress for a coupla days in Vegas. I don't gamble, but on my previous stay there, I had realized that I had only scratched the surface photographically. And while that no doubt remains true, I've pretty much exhausted what I can do there on my own.

I've never quite understood the term "American Exceptionalism," but if anything is in constant, in your face abundance in Vegas- it's the exact opposite of whatever that term may mean. And that's good enough for me. That in mind, I proceeded to walk the entirety of The Strip from Fremont St. to The Luxor Casino (approx 7mi) in 100 degree midday heat. Despite that rather impressive take no prisoners approach at near self immolation, I came up with all but one keeper. The casinos, once separate worlds unto themselves, have now metastasized in size into their own separate galaxies with little relation to the surrounding streets, immediate environment, or the people they supposedly serve once they exit their air conditioned emporiums. It's an oddly isolating and disorienting experience- combined with the excruciating heat, it's rather difficult even contemplating photography.

The next day, I took a decidedly different approach, from casually drinking cappuccinos in air conditioned cafes to Margaritas in air conditioned bar/restaurants- and achieved the exact same results... one more keeper. There's definitely more to be photographed in Las Vegas than I've let on, whether it be street shots in cooler temps or landscapes with the luxury of someone driving you about to scan for possibilities. I just don't think I'll be chancing the opportunity again anytime soon...

PS- The Bungalow Cafe in The Arts District in Las Vegas serves caps the equivalent of liquid gold!

 

Photo: © Stan Banos

Nala et al...

I once had a bike, a cat, and a wife... loved 'em all. I gave up the bike voluntarily four years ago, The Wife decided to leave of her own accord and took our one eyed cat, Nelson (whom I had originally befriended), with her. Watching this video (along with several others) of Nala and her cycling guardian brought me great joy. And why not? It combines some of my greatest passions in life to date: travel/adventure (and documenting it), cycling, and a loving, adventurous pet! Seeing both their relationship and the world rolling past so completely absorbed and appreciated through the eyes of Nala in her roadside crow's nest is worth the price of admission alone. That is one happy cat (and companion)! And one can't help but wish their journey well...

San Francisco Picture Postcard

Photo: © Stan Banos

I tend to a client w/disabilities on the other side of town 3X a week, and to get some exercise, I've been walking there, mixing up the route each day as I go. I've lived here 20 years now and didn't even know this place existed- could be wrong, but I don't think most native San Franciscans do either. So you can imagine my surprise when I stumbled upon Ina Coolbrith Park- in all its tiny glory, hidden atop a hill in (not so) plain sight. It basically consists of a couple of (very) short, winding walkways which dramatically lead unto a drop dead gorgeous view of the downtown skyline amidst a petite Garden of Eden- pretty freakin' surreal! San Francisco is such a uniquely beautiful city, least far as the US of A is concerned; pity that now flush in money, vast swaths of it have been allowed to degenerate into an open air toilet...

Think I'll escape there a few days, park myself on one of the (unoccupied) benches, and try to make some headway on American Witness.

Southern Sojourn

If only they had stopped there.     Photo: © Stan Banos

Determined to make the trip down South we couldn't make the year before, it started (for me) at home in NYC visiting my 92 year old mother. I've written enough about what I think of current NY, and my philosophy that I didn't leave NY, as much as NY left me. Sadly, two more of my personal remaining vestiges have now departed: Two Boots Pizza in The West Village (which I happily ran to for shelter and a slice in a sudden downpour, only to discover it shuttered) and The Great Jones Cafe, home to my Cajun Martinis and blackened catfish, sigh... Williamsburg is now completely gentrified, any mix and friction between old and new confined to memory only. I also ventured to my old teacher stomping grounds in Harlem; where Whites once feared to roam, they now walk about and live there quite comfortably. For new and "exciting," we are presently treated to... Vessel, a monumental monument of monumentous proportions that affords the monied elite living 'round it the grand view of watching the minions below them walk endlessly about within its circle going nowhere. Perhaps a more appropriate name would have been... Metaphor.

Photo: © Stan Banos

Next stop, Washington DC- was about to take AMTRACK ($125) down when a good friend told me about Megabus ($25). Met The Wife there and looking back, wished we had stayed a day or two longer, but we were anxious to get the road trip underway. 

Side of MLK Monument.    Photo: © Stan Banos

I must admit we didn't plan quite as well as we should have when it came to what route we were taking and what exactly we planned to do and see. I had become somewhat spoiled and complacent to detailed advanced planning when it came to our previous road trips- in The Southwest even on major interstates, one can still be surrounded by the grandest of scenery and unexpected visual delights. I slowly discovered such would not be the case in The South, where Interstates are surrounded by generically interchangeable trees and scenery (as in most of the country)- the only break being the (very) occasional Stars and Bars Confederate Flag, flying proud, high atop some very visible and unapproachable vantage point like the giant FUCK YOU! it is obviously meant to be. Who is responsible for their presence I don't rightly know, but it is, without doubt, quite the surreal experience upon first seeing. I had fully expected to see many more "home grown" Confederate flags and Trump signs for decent photo ops but the few I saw were not very photo conducive. Also noticeably sparse in number- religiously oriented road signs; alas, another huge disappointment...

That said (and how much is genuine and how much simple artifice- I don't know) the people down South are, as a whole, incredibly polite and friendly. One of the main goals of this trip however was for Lisa ("The Wife") to meet some relatives she had only recently discovered. That occurred in the little (and I do mean little) town of Washington, Georgia which has a lovely town square (complete with requisite Confederate soldier monument), a newly restored hotel, and directly opposite that was... Cade's Home Cooking- Soul Food at it's ever lovin' best! I'm betting there's quite a few of these quaint, old towns throughout The South, but without the proper research, there's no way of telling if the small town you're exiting to explore from the interstate has one of these vintage "Historical Town Districts" at the end of the usual array of modern strip mall emporiums- or not!

Titanic Museum, TN       Photo: © Stan Banos

Along the way from DC to New Orleans, we made a number of stops, one of which was at Pigeon Forge, TN- kinda like Vegas (sans gambling) and Six Flags rolled into one and home to a variety of tourist hot spots like: Dollywood, Wonderworks and the Titanic Museum. I also feel compelled to mention that one of the more memorable (and repeated) sights was that of seeing people just barely squeezing themselves into and out of their vehicles. And I'm certainly not talking the small foreign compacts of yesteryear, these were huge, modern pick ups and SUV's that could hardly accommodate their XXXL passengers! Oh, and how do you keep a red state red? 2.31 gas!

Atmore, AL   Photo: © Stan Banos

Sevierville, TN       Photo: © Stan Banos

In Birmingham, AL we stopped to visit The 16th St Baptist Church where four young girls were killed by a KKK placed bomb, before making our way to Montgomery and The National Memorial for Peace and Justice, or as some are prone to call it- The Lynching Museum. I remember a "discussion" concerning lynching on Petapixel (the penultimate site for intellectual discourse) where most Whites insisted that lynching was an equal opportunity employer back in the day. And while, yes, it did happen to people of all races, colors and creeds- they were in absolute ignorance and denial that it was disproportionately used upon Blacks, not only as a form of mob "justice," but as a form of abject terrorism (Black bodies were often additionally burned, dismembered, and cut into souvenirs). The Memorial pays homage to those facts in a very convincing manner- by documenting the names of the victims while gradually forcing you to raise your head to view them as you make your way through the memorial- just as you would have had to raise your head to view the hanging body...

Footprints from monument to Montgomery bus boycott. Photo: © Stan Banos

I wish that was the sole, enduring memory I have of Montgomery- but the following morning I awoke with over a a dozen Bedbug bites (tired and hard pressed to find accommodations that day, we didn't inspect the premises properly). Next morning, they weren't all that hard to find as we decontaminated our clothes and luggage with the all-natural bug spray The Wife cleverly brought, demanded our money back and emailed the Montgomery Dept of Health- who I have yet to hear back from...

I hadn't been to New Orleans since the late seventies when I'd board a Greyhound bus from NY for a day and a half, take pictures all throughout Fat Tuesday, and then reboard the bus the very same night for a day and a half trip back... cause that's the kinda thing you can get away with in your twenties. This time, after doing the usual tourist trap scenario through the French Quarter, we were much more interested in exploring what the hell happened during Katrina and its aftermath, how it happened, and where. So we went on a "Katrina Tour" which doesn't actually go through the Lower Ninth Ward (to avoid blatant exploitation) on a Grayline bus tour with the most knowledgeable Bruce Nolan who was a Times-Picayune journalist during the man made disaster. 

Close up of 9th Ward retaining wall.    Photo: © Stan Banos

The first thing I quickly realized is that the flood walls are not very imposing by any stretch of the imagination. I was expecting formidable Trumpian sized border wall massiveness, but they're actually surprisingly close to the ground-  far from the reassurance one would want from the power of mother nature and the ensuing rise in sea level thanks to climate change! Some are built on levees for additional buttressing and height, but even they buckled, crumbled and collapsed due to the shit poor construction via The Army Corps of Engineers- as a result, 80% of the city flooded, 1,800 people died and it took a full week before the cavalry started to limp on in...

The following day we visited the headquarters of lowernine.org which gave us a brief but informative orientation to The Lower Ninth Ward, and off we went. Haven't been to Detroit, but this is somewhat what I imagine it to be (albeit on a much grander scale), this section of New Orleans is the least rebuilt, with vacant lots surrounding a  minor sprinkling of the most modest of new homes. This poorest, mostly African-American neighborhood was the hardest hit by flooding in the entire city (surprise!).  

There's a wall atop that levee- somewhere...        Photo: © Stan Banos

New Orleans' architecture, music, food and culture are truly unique throughout the world- as are its people. It was heartening to hear from a young Black employee at our hotel that Whites and Blacks seem to have drawn closer since Katrina- at least they are conversing and socializing more than before. It is truly a a jewel amongst the homogeneity that can describe many an American city.

What kind of city is New Orleans? When we arrived at the airport for our departing flight back home, try as I might, I couldn't find any trace of Alaska Airlines. Finally, I noticed a distinguished looking airport employee, an African American gentleman a few years my senior. "Excuse me, could you tell me where Alaska Airlines is?" He looked me straight in the eye, furrowed his brow, and with the most bemused expression possible, replied, "Alaska Airlines!?" (Pause.) "In this airport???" Awww, shit- how in hell did I ever manage to fuck this up so completely!?! "It's right over there," pointing the way with the wryest of smiles. "You just keep being you," I managed to blurt out- how many others had he so bedeviled and thoroughly amused?

A truly unique city.

A pair of very buxom fellows.      Mobile, AL   Photo: © Stan Banos

Mobile, AL   Photo: © Stan Banos