Portugal - Street and Building Textures

Portugal's rich history has contributed to its magnificence and old country charm seen in its distressed architecture. Having driven through a dozen cities, I was able to observe its many textures and patterns which invoked a particular essence of the country. The fact that it suffered an economic downturn could have greatly influenced its many cities looking a particular way. Nevertheless, there was boundless beauty in all of this. 

Below are photos that speak most to me about Portugal. Its aged and distressed building exteriors add to the overall charm.

A neighborhood street in Lisboa

Building exterior in Lisboa

A view of Baixa overlooking Lisbon. There is a sense of geometry and randomness in this city layout. From this birds-eye view, the buildings are clustered and facing every which way. One particular in the foreground is much weathered in comparison to its counterparts towards the back..

Palácio Nacional da Pena in Sintra. The aged textures add to the realism and strength of this fortress.

 Quiet neighborhood street in Porto suburbia

A humble dwelling on the outskirt of Porto (a city known for its Porto wine)

This city block in Porto is getting some work done to one of its streets. 

An dilapidated building is wedged between its newer neighbors in Guimarães

 Clothes lines are very common of the Portuguese way of life

 A street in Évora. The majority of the Portuguese live in apartment blocs clustered together in high density areas.

A street in Setubal

Interstate 15 Weather Conditions

Individually, these photographs may not inspire a lot of conversations. Collectively, however, they make for some interesting topics regarding life and travel. My four-hour journey from Nevada to Los Angeles on I-15 resulted in an array of fascinating weather conditions.

For me, this adventure resembled a dream state with episodes of dangerous events unfolding in a condensed timeline, only that I woke up and found myself safe and sound from my slumber.

At the start of my drive, there is heavy rainfall.



The rain slows down to a mere drizzle.



Momentarily, a silver specter graces the surfaces.



Now comes a patch of dry terrain.

Suddenly, around the mountains, the sky turns gray,



Leading me back into the windblown rain.



Then emerges these puffy clouds and clearer skies.



Bam! Out of nowhere, my car entered into this massive darkness.



Just when I think I've exited unscathed, my car is hit with hail. 



About to resign to a long rough ride, a golden hour awaits the return of my journey.

I am now safe and sipping away my well deserved cup of tea for weathering through this odyssey. 

My View of the Midwest

Having lived in Los Angeles, California, for most of my life, my norms were the busy highways, the concrete high rises, the bustling urban lifestyles and the suffocating population densities. I yearned to escape my lifestyle and to search for solitude in any rural suburbia. So in 2009, I ventured into the  open arms of Minnesota, taking refuge in its natural and man-made splendor, even if it was just for a short while. I became awestruck by its clear blue skies, the many wondrous lakes and lush greenery and marveled at its long stretches of walkways and city parks which were clean and near empty of urban life. I had the wide open roads all to myself. Yep, just me and my Dodge Caliber rental, along with my old reliable Garmin Nuvi guiding me from one destination to the next. There was so much profound beauty to explore. That adventure left a lasting impression, so I returned again  in 2012, this time expanding my stay outward from Minneapolis, Minnesota, to the city of Rochester best known for its Mayo Clinic, up to the city of Eau Claire, Wisconsin, down to Madison to see the State Capitol, over to Milwaukee, Illinois, down to Chicago, down further to St. Louis, Missouri, then circling back up into Cedar Rapids, Iowa, further up to Bemidji, North Dakota, home of Paul Bunyan, Babe and the Chippewa Indians, down and over to Duluth and finally back again to the Twin Cities. Below are some photos I elected to show which evoke the kind of yearning I forever long to have. 

Baby geese drinking water by a lake [Minnesota]

When I was a kid around Christmas time, there were no presents from Santa (ever) but I did get my hands on those beautiful postcards from the free catalogs mailed to our home. I would pull out or cut up those snow-capped cottages and wildlife overlooking a lake. Those memories were still buried inside until my visits to the Midwest which allowed me to recreate my childhood wish fulfillment, leaving me feeling utterly complete afterwards. 

Silver Lake Park [Minnesota]

I arrived to Silver Lake Park minutes before sunset. As I parked my car, I contemplated about heading back to the motel and calling it a day or making use of whatever daylight I had left and walk over to the lake. The latter decision proved worthwhile for I got to see the most spectacular sunset I had ever seen. It was like stepping back in time and into an impressionist painting, so captivating to see and yet so fleeting to hold on to knowing that at any moment then the sun would disappear and that I might never see these scenes again. Thoughts and imagery of the works of J.M.W. Turner, Vermeer, Guillaumin and Kinkade spiraled dizzily in my head as I tried frantically and desperately to snap the photos and drank up from that world as fast as I could.  

Two Harbors Breakwater Lighthouse, Duluth [Minnesota]

I spent some time strolling back and forth along that bridge leading to the light house. The water was relatively calm. There was a small seal wading nearby at one point and subsequently made its way up to the pavement only to return to the water after realizing that I was ruining its moment. A man can be seen jogging in the distance giving us a sense of scale in this scene.

A park in Minneapolis [Minnesota] 

This little bird was found sitting on a bed of wild grass, too young to fly and only a mere foot from me. As I was stepping back to examine a wildflower, I turned momentarily to look down the ground and saw two tiny eyes staring up at me. To this day, I'm still thankful that I did not accidentally step on it. This baby was such a good sport, letting me pick it up and placing it wherever long enough for me to fire off about 50 takes until its parents returned with a juicy looking caterpillar and waiting for me to get lost so they could feed their baby. Reluctantly, I placed the little one on the nearby branch where its parents immediately descended and put the wriggling caterpillar into its mouth.

Veterans Park, Milwaukee, Wisconsin

This deer could be seen walking casually through the city park showing no signs of intimidation even though there were people in the vicinity.

State line [Wisconsin]

It was a divine experience driving on the open road and seeing all those cumulus clouds hovering over my head. They seemed so low I could almost reach out and grab them.

A park in Minneapolis [Minnesota]

The city parks like the one above were found all across the region. This spot would be my ideal place to kick back under that shady tree and get lost in my journal.

Mansion [Illinois]

There were plenty of unpretentious high-end residential areas situated on various parcels of land. Each of the homes in this area were architecturally unique and built with lavishness. I felt like being at a resort except that there were no entrance fees, gates and signage to keep unwanted people like myself away. 

Red Rock Canyon, Las Vegas, Nevada (Dec '12)

Although there are no eagles soaring in the distance, these rock formations still have much to offer. Their peaks and valleys boast complex earthy reddish copper tones while sitting proudly against the titanium white backdrop of painterly clouds. The boulders, particularly on screen-left, are reminiscent of a baker's cocoa powder laid out in preparation for a batch of promising brownie treats.

"Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening" by Robert Frost

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

One of my favorite poets of all time, Robert Frost and his poems, particularly this one, is simple and yet textured with such depth and emotions. Frost paints his scenes with simplicity, often depicting the every day plight of work and living. His pacing of words and contextual style allow me to enjoy a variety of imagery and vibrancy of the ordinary scenes.

Although this poem evokes a sense of psychic despair, there is a touch of hope and peace that can be accomplished from the losses experienced here. The stanzas have their tugs and pulls, putting me in a realm of mourning, losses and darkness, only to contradict their actions and ultimately pull me out of my journey with a promise of a rainbow at the end.

Absolutely brilliant work!

Sapa, Vietnam

Every now and then, I would go on an adventure and it's every bit as rewarding as I had hoped. That place is Sapa, Vietnam. Situated in the northwest region of the country not far from the China border where live the ethnic minorities such as H'mong, Zhao and Tay there is a captivating frontier town called Sa Pa (or Sapa, known by westerners). Its breathtaking peaks and valleys are truly epic. Sapa's cool climate and lush vegetation make the place ideal for crops such as rice, corn and indigo plants. Its people, the various native subgroups, are friendly, down-to-earth and hardworking folks who take great pride in cultivating their land and upholding their enduring customs and way of life.

The layer of fog in the above photo looms in the distant mountains, adding a mythical and mystical touch of atmospheric haze to the scene. In the far right and at the base of the mountains is Cat-Cat Village, home of the Black H'mong tribe.

Perched high on a mountaintop is this ramshackle hut, a typical architectural design found in the region. Isolated and introverted by nature, its basic foundation and humble structure may not invite too many discussions, but it has a view we all envy.

A Black H'mong woman is at work on her embroidery by the front entrance of her home. Her semi-circle necklace, dangling silver earrings and leg wraps are typical of her people's daily wear. Also common are the plastic slippers worn by the natives as they take their daily treks down the steep slippery mountainous terrain, often carrying baskets of cargo and/or babies on their backs.

The tilt-shift technique is appropriated to the above scene showing locals making their daily treks into town. My friend, Charles, likens this photo to the work of David Levinthal who captures his subjects with the lens blur effect and using miniatures to give viewers a sense of voyeurism, a subject Levinthal often explores in his art.

On the very top step of this organic staircase is a small speck of a rooster belonging to another ramshackle hut. The staircase appears to be leading up to a clothing store which sits adjacent to a possible outhouse. To the right of the outhouse appears to be a home carved into the base of a terrain. I'm curious to know if that rooster hopped up from the foot of the stairs, how many steps there are to this staircase and how many people reside in that home? What the function is with the smaller hut...an outhouse...a smoke house...an extended living quarter...or a separate kitchen? I regret not being able to spend more time in this region to explore my questions.

Another tilt-shift photo of four H'mong locals walking through the rice paddies. Not only are these man-made patterns aesthetically pleasing to see, one can truly appreciate the labor and agricultural prowess demonstrated by the Sapa residents.   

With a face marking the signs of her years, this woman with her bamboo stick posed for us. Her clothing is typical of the Black H'mong tribe. On closer examination, we can almost see that most adult H'mongs have their fingers stained of purple dye, a pigment extracted from the indigo plant native to their region. They use the dye for their clothing and in many of their beautiful handiwork and embroidery.

The Salton Sea: "The French Riviera of California"

Once a thriving resort for celebrities and tourists, the Salton Sea was known as "The French Riviera of California."  The sea was California's oasis of abundant biodiversity in the 60's and 70's. Now, this once thriving hot-spot for the rich and famous shows remnants of an ecological and economic disaster. Located in the southeastern side of California and considered to be the state's largest lake, the Salton Sea sits on a desert basin known as the Salton Sink. Its inflow carries abundant nutrients such as salt, phosphates and nitrates, 90% of which are from agricultural runoff from the surrounding Imperial, Coachella, and Mexicali Valleys. The Salton Sea is an accidental result of an ill-constructed irrigation system of the Colorado River, causing water to flood the nearby communities and farmland.

Did I mention ecological disaster? As I stepped out of my car in rice-paper thin sandals, I immediately felt the rough sand jabbing the bottom of my feet like shards of glass. Enduring a dozen further paces, I grabbed a handful of sand to examine more closely. An imminent cloud of shock overwhelmed my senses. In my hand were bizarre-looking pebbles, relatively uniform in sizes. Immediately, I identified them to be calcified bits of barnacles, beautiful in forms yet jaw dropping to see. At that moment, it occurred to me that the entire beach was littered with barnacles. I would equate that same feeling to that which was conveyed in the movie, Red Planet, when the scientists and bio-engineers discovered the green phosphorescent patch of land they were standing on was filled with flesh eating arthropods. Admittedly, I freaked out a little. OKAY, I freaked out a lot! However, not being squeamish by nature, I kept my composure and examined further. All around me were thousands of dried-up fish bits. My first instinct was that the fish were looking very suspiciously like talapia. But weren't talapia fresh-water fish? And doesn't "Salton Sea" imply salt water by name? I didn't want to assume anything more at that point and told myself to concentrate on collecting more evidence and leave emotions out. Pushing on, I thought what did it matter anyway as to what type of fish they were other than that they were all dead! And in LARGE quantities no less! I forced focus on the matter at hand and assessed the potentially dangerous situation I might be in.




Logic told me there must have been an infestation, a deadly disease...a kind of environmental poison so toxic to have devastated a large number of fish and so apocalyptic that it annihilated the talapia species, littering many of their dried-up carcasses all over the shore. Evidently, there were countless of fish parts: heads with hollowed eyes, tails and fins, full skeletons, partial bones, fused cartilage and scaly skin. My heart skipped a couple more beats after seeing a well-preserved pelican's head with its eyes strained open. Just a few feet away was another haunting image of a talapia with its body partially emerged from the sand while its mouth gaping wide open, taunting us that its death was met without closure.

The more I observed, the more I saw fish and bird parts scattered in all directions. The larger chunks were discolored wings, torn feathers and leg bones belonging to the pelicans. What I initially saw from afar to be rocks and pebbles were actually countless of bird and fish remains. If I were a scientist venturing out into an uncharted territory and stumbled upon a place like this, I would quickly button my white coat all the way up to the base of my skull, tuck away all stray hair into a well-sealed cap, stuff my sleeves and leg pant openings into heavy duty gloves and knee-high boots, and put on an industrial strength hepa filter mask before venturing out further. Of course, as I was unprepared for such things and with extreme curiosity and perversion driving me, I made my way deeper out toward the shore to see if I could make more sense of this bizarre, out-of-this-world place.

Further observation showed that some healthy wildlife still existed in this fragile ecosystem. Evidence of water fowls fluttering in the distant and soaring majestically above the sky calmed my nerves. They were smaller game birds and the more identifiable California white pelicans. Then there were the common house flies (not too many, but enough to be pesty nonetheless). With the shore desiccated from the blazing sun, coupled with the sand's scorching heat seeping through my thin sandals, I became all too aware of the stench of rotten flesh, although logic told me that the worst had passed long ago. Maybe, given a little more time, the Salton Sea may recover from its tragic disaster and mend itself. Should I were to listen to the cries of its inhabitants, I would see that the balance scale had been rectified and leveled off just enough for the little natives to fight on and to survive. For now, the sea remains eerily calm, neither accepting nor rejecting, but is more at peace with its warring self.

Additionally, I was relieved about the lack of humidity in the air. Should any nasty bugs in the vicinity decide to flea-hop their way over and make me their new host, they would be more challenged from the dry, salty air. Then again, I wasn't going to test my theory for my bravery had reached its limit. I fired off my camera, documentary style, and hurried off the premise. Better to be safe than sorry.

As we drove around this ghostly town, I saw further testimony of what was once a luxury spot judging from the weather damaged palm trees, rusted street names, dried up swimming pools and abandoned million-dollar views. Apparently, from further research, the Salton Sea was once a freshwater lake in the 1920's but by the 1970's, the salt level began rising, bringing with it a destruction so immense that it wiped out the entire town. In addition to the heavy salt content in the water, the pesticides and industrial wastes from the surrounding areas inevitably wiped out most of the native species that depended heavily on the water to survive. As a result, the various species of fish, their offspring and the birds that depended on those fish for food were dying off by the millions! Today, the resulting neighborhood is a sleepy town with a few scattered homes sitting on nutrient depleted soil. I did see a few commercial watermelon patches nearby, but nothing to write more about. From my readings, I learned that tilapia are the few remaining fish strong enough to survive the high salinity in the water and that they can be fished and consumed safely today.