365 Project: Photo 205

Action! Almost, if I'd been quick enough to get it in frame....

365 Project: Photo 108

This has no relevance to the prompt, I just liked the clouds.... 

Reykjavik

The reflection underneath is a bit spidery for my liking.....

Takk. That's how you say thanks in Icelandic; nice and easy. Every other word in the language, every single other word, is completely unpronounceable. You might be forgiven for thinking that there would be some slight similarities between Icelandic and English, they both have a solid Norwegian base to them from when  our two islands were colonised by the vikings in the last half of the first millennium; but you would be wrong. Very wrong. Icelandic is actually more like ancient Norse than modern day Norse is; due to centuries of isolation and a policy of actively coming up with words with an Icelandic root instead of borrowing from other languages it has evolved very little. As examples of the way they police their language: their word for computer translates as number prophetess; telephone is long thread; mobile phone is travelling long thread; and, rather worryingly, they have no word for interesting. To hear Icelandic spoken is, however, quite interesting. It has a fairly quiet and reserved tone to it, as do the people in general, but every now and then, out of no where, they throw in an exaggerated ook sort of a noise as if they're trying to out honk one of the local geese that populate the area in place of the pigeons you normally find in most cities. Imagine a drunk Welshman doing a Monty Python impression and you might be half way there.

Names, of people, are also a little unusual. Similarly to Russian they have a patronymic and matronymic system; basically you come up with a forename for your new son but his surname is already decided - it's his mother's name with son added onto it. Concordantly, the surname for a girl is her father's name followed by the Icelandic for daughter, dottir. To clarify, I would be called Jason Pearlsson, my wife would be called Susan Davidsdottir and SKY news correspondent Kay Burley would be Kay Satansdottir. Simple.

So it was that Sue Davidsdottir and I set off into this alien culture with aspirations of whale watching and a good view of the aurora borealis; sadly, we would only achieve one of these.

Reykjavik was first settled by Norse colonists in the year 870 and was called such because you can just about make out steam from nearby hot springs (Reykjavik means Smokey Harbour); the city, indeed the country, was mostly just a fishing and sheep farming outpost for the next several centuries and when the city received its charter from their Danish rulers in 1752 the population had grown to a colossal 167 individuals. The charter wasn't granted to the people themselves or some sort of mayor or ruler but to a corporation that was tasked with developing native industries with a view to improving living conditions of the indigenous population. Today there are 120,000 people in the city and 320,000 in the country as a whole and they are free to enjoy what is widely acknowledged to be amongst the best healthcare and educational systems in the world. This is probably in no small part due to the fact that 80% of the tax collected in Iceland is spent on those two areas alone. This, combined with the fact that they have no standing army, 100% of their power comes from geothermal or hydroelectric sources and a few other key indicators, has led to Iceland being rated the most peaceful country on Earth.

The most built up area in all Iceland; some of those buildings are as many as four storeys high!

Despite being the largest city in Iceland by quite some distance Reykjavik has maintained the feel of a sleepy fishing town. The picture above is from the top of the Hallgrimskirkja cathedral looking west towards the harbour over the most developed part of the city but it looks more like a leafy suburb. As they have chosen not to build upwards it does mean that the urban sprawl continues for some miles east and south and is beginning to swallow up what used to be smaller satellite towns in the same way that Copenhagen and Oslo have done.

The panorama below is of the far side of lake Tjomin which nuzzles up against the side of the Icelandic parliament the Alþingi, pronounced AL-thing, the oldest parliament in the world at well over 1,000 years old. I like the contrast in the leaves of the trees as they begin their journey from green to brown through yellow and red. It also nicely highlights the degree of variation that is to be found in Icelandic architecture; it's quite unusual to find two buildings next to each other that are the same and this makes walking the streets of the capital all the more interesting. This is in stark contrast to the unrelenting tedium of new, suburban developments in the UK where conformity seems to be the order of the day.

I really liked Iceland. As soon as I stepped off of the plane and saw the bleak, rugged landscape and felt the icy wind bite I knew that I was going to enjoy this rough, harsh country. When I go on holiday I prefer to see mountains and ice over sun and sand; I like to feel that at any moment the weather could turn and you'll be hit with a storm that makes even getting something to eat an ordeal. This is just as well, because this is what we got. Our first day was wet, cold and blustery; pretty bad weather-wise. From bad it turned to brutal as winds reached gale force and the rain got heavier and heavier so whilst I enjoyed doing battle with Iceland and its weather it did mean that photography opportunities were few and far between, not if I wanted my camera to avoid a soaking in any case.

In my next post I'll describe the trials and tribulations of sightseeing in a country that is the second most volcanic in the world and sat between two of the roughest oceans we have. For now I'll say that there was a brief moment of respite; for two hours on our final morning in Reykjavik the rain stopped, the wind dropped  and the clouds parted. For two hours the sun shone through and gave me some of the most beautiful, crystal clear light I have ever seen. When I saw how things had improved I instigated a desperate rush around the city revisiting the key landmarks that we had been perusing under much less favourable conditions for the last few days. Even though it was almost noon the sun was still very low in the sky as we were only a degree or so from the Arctic circle. For the shots of Mount Esja and the Sun Voyager sculpture the light also happened to be coming in from the side and so was perfect for giving depth to the mountains. I am very happy with the panorama below, it is well worth looking at on a big screen and I foresee a canvas print of it on my living room wall in the not too distant future.

Click to enpanaramatudinate

Cenotes and Dinosaurs

This cenote had the roots of a tree hunting out the fresh water

Natural wells.

That's the closest translation I can find for the Spanish word cenotes. A cenote, then, is a naturally occurring underground aquafer or reservoir. So far so boring. Where it gets interesting is that these water courses can sometimes work their way through the soft and highly permeable bedrock of Mexico's Yucatan peninsula to form large, freshwater cave systems. As the rock is so permeable all the rivers in the Yucatan have burrowed their way away from the surface so that, unless you know where to look, the whole region appears to be devoid of any drinking water; but before I continue with caves I have a slight digression.

The Yucatan peninsula is quite a place, not just historically and culturally as I have begun to explain in my previous post, but geographically and geologically as well. Let me explain via the medium of dinosaurs.

Dinosaurs, for those that have never seen Jurassic Park, are super mega cool giant lizards that mostly went extinct approximately 65 million years ago at the end of what is known as the Cretaceous period. I say mostly as all birds are evolved from dinosaurs. But what caused this extinction? Volcanoes? Meteor impact? Climate change? Disease? Well, the answer is that it was probably a bit of all of these but the single most significant of them has now been shown to be a massive strike from a meteor 10km across. And where did this most monumental of meteors strike the Earth? The Yucatan. You would think that the crater left by such an impact would be huge, and indeed it is, measuring some 180km across, but that doesn't mean that it's easy to see. If you were to wonder along the north coast of the Yucatan you would walk right through it and never know you'd been inside one of the planet's largest scars. It was only discovered in the late '70s and it was many years before it was even established that it was a crater, nevermind the most likely candidate for wiping out the dinosaurs.

These little fellows were abour 6 inches long but kept to themselves

In the years since it's discovery the crater, known as Chicxulub after a nearby town, has given up a wealth of evidence including a layer of impact dust covering the Earth and a gravitational anomaly at the site. You can see a review of this evidence along with several cool pictures here. But what, you ask, does this have to do with today's topic of discussion? Nothing really, I just wanted to write about it. Actually that's not strictly true; if you look at the third image in the link above you'll see dozens of little white dots that rather nicely help demarcate the boundary of the crater. Each of these dots represents a cenote. The two cenotes in my pictures here are on the very right hand edge of the picture just over half way down.

These cenotes were the lifeblood of the Yucatan and wherever one was discovered a habitation soon sprung up; today, Valladolid is the nearest large town near these two particular remarkable structures. We had made our way there from the next town along specifically so that we could go for a swim..... and take a few photos. These caves are basically the local swimming baths and very popular in the summer; on a weekday in spring, though, they were all but deserted. The temperature was in the mid 30s Celsius and we were clad in our finest sun hats and shorts, slathering sun cream onto our pasty forms at every opportunity; some locals were still wearing heavy coats and gloves. So it was with tangible relief that we descended the thirty or so metres into the cool darkness of the first cave down a higgledy piggledy staircase hacked out of the bare rock.

The lines through the water are ropes there to help anyone that gets into trouble

Straining eyes and ears we began to see and hear the bats that make up half of the permanent population of the subterranean grotto we were about to enter. Sympathetically placed lights around the edge of the cave both above and below the water line changed colour every minute or so altering the atmosphere of the cave in a mesmerising sequence. The main feature of the cave was very much the 30m wide almost circular pool of crystal clear freshwater, but it wasn't long before the eye was inevitably drawn upwards to the mass of stalactites that hung almost menacingly, like the Sword of Damocles, from the roof. One area was so thick with the formations that the stalactites had congregated into a tight formation that put me in mind of an organ from one of the worlds great basilicas. This wasn't the only feature that gave this great cavity the feel of a cathedral; the coolness, the respectful quiet, the mass of stone and faint echo of hushed voices all added to the effect. Further, the small opening in the roof through which poured a single perfect shaft of sunlight could almost be a typical rose window so popular in medieval Europe's Gothic masterpieces.

The water was cool, perfectly so. I'm a keen swimmer, I'll be in the Thames again next week, and I have swam in many beautiful locations but none, I think, as tranquil and captivating as this. With the bats and stalactites above and the shark-like fish, the other permanent inhabitants, as black as jet, gently swimming below this was an experience that will stick with me forever. After we'd had our fill we went across the road to the neighbouring cenote; this one didn't have such an impressive array of stalactites but it did have something to make up for it. Hanging straight down from one edge of the hole in the roof there was a mass of  tree roots eagerly seeking out the precious water below; and instead of bats this cave had lots of little birds flitting in and out chirruping as they went. Somehow, perhaps because it's easier to envision the growth of a tree than it is the incremental elongation of a rock formation, this cave felt even older than the first one although they're actually contemporaneous.

I've never seen anything quite like these underwater lagoons and I'm not surprised that they were often considered sacred places in times past. Hundreds of offerings and sacrifices have been found in some cenotes, not just ceramics and jewellery but human remains too, thought to be an attempt at appeasing the gods in times of drought. Before the Europeans built their churches and cathedrals it is easy to see how these caves could have served a similar purpose bringing an air of sanctity to proceedings designed to make the participants feel closer to god. I don't care for gods, but as I swam in the cool waters I certainly could appreciate the elemental nature of this most imposing of pools.

Snow What?

Well, it finally happened. We've had a very temperate winter so far here in the UK, one of the warmest on record, but this week Europe has been gripped by particularly cold Siberian weather fronts and some snow has finally made it to the majority of Britain, even the south east. So for those of us that have been out and about in the white stuff here is a post that's as fresh as the snow depicted. These images were hand reared on Hampstead Heath, they have been fed only the choicest, natural, organic feeds and were humanely dispatched in a low stress environment. They were rapidly blogged and are to be consumed with 48 hours for the freshest flavour.

My favourites are the panoramas (click them to enamazingify) and this first one. As soon as I saw everyone sledging down the hill I was put in mind of this classic painting by L.S. Lowry.

Travelling Buddies

My travelling buddies in Vietnam, my wife Sue and our friend Eleanor, for some reason, inexplicably, don't like having their picture taken. I wanted to have a record of our journey, though, other than the usual holiday snaps so I came up with the idea of photographing them in front of each of the major places we visited but having them face away from the camera. Admittedly, I forgot to do it half the time and there were occasions where Sue and Eleanor would just misbehave but I think it worked pretty well in the end. Thanks girls......

Hoan Kiem Lake in central Hanoi

The banks of the Perfume River in Hue

Inside the Imperial City in Hue

The temple of My Son near Hoi An

En route to the Elephant Falls near Da Lat

The Elephant Falls

Inside the War Remnants Museum in Ho Chi Minh City

The Mekong Delta near Ben Tre

The 55th floor of the Bitexo Financial Tower in Ho Chi Minh City

Not co-operating at the Mekong

Lake District - The Final Word

The Lake District is a truly beautiful part of the world. I can see why so many professional photographers choose to live there and by the time our week there was up I was very sorry to be leaving. It's the sort of place where, if photography is your thing, then you really can't afford to leave the house without your camera. There were several occasions where we would be driving along and spot an amazing view of a lake or a distant, jagged peak and just have to stop and stare in awe. I think having grown up amongst the flat isolation of the Fenlands has left me with an ever present wonder of mountains; and travelling up the length of the Andes in South America only served to reinforce this. It always leaves me minded of the sheer power of the forces that created these landscapes over the aeons. It has been a long standing ambition of mine to get to base camp at Mount Everest, but while Everest is ten times higher than our own top most peak, they each have their own character and allure. Years later I'm still able to pick out mountains in magazines and TV shows from the Andes; they left an indelible mark on me and I would dearly love to return one day.

I think a lot of people don't realise what we have in this country and how lucky we are to have it. We have snow-capped mountains, vast lakes that stretch further than you can see, golden beaches that meet the horizon in both directions and, generally, the weather to enjoy all of this. Yes, there's never a time when you can guarantee it won't rain, but I've seen enough of the worlds deserts to know how fortunate this makes us.

Perversely, it is often cheaper to fly somewhere far flung and be waited on hand and foot than it is to catch a train within our own country and cook your own dinners; and, whilst I have made a point of getting to as many of the worlds beauty spots as I can humanly afford, I believe it is vital for us to remember that we have many of those places right here at home and we can be proud of that.

For those interested in seeing more of our fair land photographed by someone who actually knows what they're doing then I can highly recommend Joe Cornish (not Adam and Joe) and Charlie Waite.

Tarn How, Lake District

Wanting to make the most of our week in the Lake District, as soon as we'd dumped our baggage we headed off to explore. The guide book reliably ensured us that one of the most beautiful areas in the whole region was Tarn How, and it didn't disappoint.

HDR image of Tarn How

Tarn appears to be the Cumbrian word for lake, which can sometimes be confusing, especially when you throw in some of the other local words like beck, force and mell; all of which are used to describe water features.

As beautiful as the tarn is, it's actually completely artificial. Bought by children's author Beatrix Potter in the 1930's, she sold half to the National Trust and bequeathed the second half to them in her will. But before it became available for the general public to enjoy it had undergone substantial works. Originally it was two naturally occurring lakes that were subsequently turned in to one. Most of the trees in the area are man made plantations too. It may not be natural then, but whoever designed the current layout certainly had an eye for landscaping.

Amongst the trees

The tarn was so impressive that we actually went back for a second visit later in the week. It wasn't quite as bright as our first excursion but the water was exceptionally still which leant the surface a wonderful mirror-like quality.

It only takes a bit over an hour to get round the tarn so for those who don't want to spend all day walking, or can't face the relentlessly steep inclines of a local mountain, then this makes a great afternoons outing.