Location photographer. Getting behind the scenes. Showing off the secret, and not so secret, treasures of the world.
Khlong Toei - one of Bangkok's largest slums.
A walk inside one of Bangkok’s largest slums.
As we walk past I can't help but hold my breath. I want to cover my nose and run. But don't want to be rude. We are walking past the rubbish dump, an area between houses, centimetres from the footpath. Rubbish covers the ground and drums emit the smells that are making me want to run. There is also a fire smouldering, I presume to burn off the rubbish.
We turn the corner and now my nostrils are filled with the sweet and husky tones of incense. And then we pass an area where locals are cooking - homely fragrance filters the air. People look up and smile, saying 'thank you' or 'hello'. They look so happy to see us.
We are being shown through Khlong Toei, one of Bangkok's largest slums. Prateep, who's the founder of Duang Prateep Foundation, has set up a kindergarten along with a program for elderly and disabled here. It is among much other support the Foundation offers for slum dwellers. Prateep herself was a slum dweller in the 60s but now, after setting up Duang Prateep Foundation 38 years ago, has over 20 projects through Thailand helping the disadvantaged.
Khlong Toei slum is built on a swamp, so we need to watch where we walk. Under some houses, we can see fish swimming around. In other areas, we need to be careful our foot doesn't get soaked in sloshy waste water (I don't even want to know what it was).
I peer in windows as we walk past - it's hard not to, the houses border the path which is just wide enough for a scooter to zoom down. People are sleeping. Others are making food or sewing. The homes are very small and simple. I see a flat screen TV in a few houses. We comment that the house must be the CEO or Manager of the slum. But how would we know?
Prateep and her helpers show us homes they have rebuilt. All painted green. The inhabitants are very proud of their new residence. Which appears to be just one room sometimes, about 4 metres square.
And I say I have a humble home (of 3 bedrooms and backyard)? Hmm, makes me think. This slum is right in the middle of Bangkok, with fancy five-star hotels nearby. I'm very grateful to be on the other side, to be invited in to see how the less fortunate live. Respect and gratitude.
Songkran - Thailand's water festival.
Have you heard of Songkran? It’s a great way of keeping cool, having childish fun and mixing with locals.
What is Songkran?
Well, there is a lot of water involved and don't go to Bangkok (or perhaps many areas in Thailand) if you want to stay dry during this time - that's what I know!
In 2019 it was celebrated 13-15th April, and I was lucky enough to land in Bangkok during this time.
Officially, Songkran is a celebration of the Thai New Year's national holiday.
The night I arrive, I'm not sure what I'm walking into. I wander out of the hotel, getting a warning from a soaked guest, to be prepared to get wet. I grab a beer in a bar nearby and watch from a safe distance. I see grown men with huge grins on their faces. I see people squirting random people then running, like kids again. Staff in bars have hoses or buckets to throw over people who walk by. Cheeky and fun. I love it. I want part of it.
Next day, I buy myself a water gun and head to Silom - where there is a huge street party dedicated to Songkran and being cheeky with water. We are all here for one reason - to get wet while having FUN! And do I ever. The grin on my face never leaves. I scream with laughter. But then quickly close my mouth because when I turn from one squirt I'm turning into another squirt. All I can do is look down. And then shoot back.
My gun is ok but I'm now realising size does matter. I should have gone the biggest one, as all the boys did. My gun can only push water out several metres, but it also means I conserve water. Not that water is a problem here. Locals are set up every metre or so selling water refills out of big buckets - often filled with ice. And that's the other surprise - sometimes we are getting wet with warm water, sometimes with icy cold water. Even more screams.
Don't come here and worry about the "non-bottled water on your face" safety warning. Come here with the "I only live once, and today I'm going to have fun" attitude. You will get just that. I love being a kid again for a day... laughing, being silly, screaming, having fun with strangers.
500km Hands Across the Water Thailand bike ride
What it’s like riding 500km through Thailand, in April. One HOT week (or five days).
One day close to Christmas I get a message from my cousin.. ‘today is the last day to sign up’. She is talking about a charity bike ride through Thailand with her business mentoring group. I had expressed interest earlier but was undecided. But this email made something click inside me. I did a few checks to see if I could organise getting my children looked after on those dates and signed up. Eek. I wasn’t sure what I’d just signed up for - but I knew I’d be riding a bike 500km through Thailand. And that I’d be needing to raise $5000 plus pay my $2000 odd fee (not including flights and accommodations before and after the trip) for the privilege.
Guess I’d better dust off my bike then. She had sat in my carport for a few years without being ridden. I checked if it still worked and all but a flat tyre, she was good to go. For the next four months, I’d be getting friendly with my bike. We would spend anywhere from an hour to three with each other at least three times a week. We’d travel the coast, we’d cruise down to Willunga, and we’d push up to Old Reynella on the Shiraz Trail. And when I couldn’t get outside, I’d pop her into a trainer and spin for an hour or so inside once the kids had gone to bed, YouTube running.
Now, it's Anzac Day, and I’ve just finished up my 500km ride through Thailand. I arrived home today, took one look at her then kept walking. I don’t mind not seeing my bike for a little while. It’s not that I don’t like her, it’s just that I’m sick of riding. I’m not a cyclist.
One of our pitstops between legs. A great chance to meet the locals in the rural areas.
I’ll get to the ride in a second but here’s what I learnt in the last few months in the saddle (yep, that's what the seat is called).
1. Padded bike shorts are your best friend.
2. So is bum cream.
3. Drafting helps get you further with much less effort.
4. Good conversation goes a long way to making legs (a term for a component of a bike ride) feel shorter.
5. When cycling all day in 40-degree plus heat, you can never have too much water and ice.
So… to the ride.
The hardest part. The heat.
I am not sure I can describe what it feels like to ride 7am until 5pm in 45-degree heat. The sweat pours off. The headache is near constant. Bags of ice melt in minutes. The hot wind does nothing to make me feel better. Waiting to push off, sweat dribbles from my neck bandana of ice down my back. Sweat pools behind the knees and dribbles into my shoes. Sloshing water over our head that has had everyone's hands in it is welcomed. Icy water being tipped over me only startles me for a second or two before it warms up and melds with the sweat.
The physical.
Riding 135km in one day in this heat is something I still can't comprehend how we completed. I think it is just a matter of pushing the pedals round and round like the song 'the wheels on the bus go round and round' but for a bike.
Taking it one leg at a time. Cruising while having a chat or pushing myself to keep pace - knowing that by getting to the next rest stop, I’d have time to sit in the shade and recoup. Attempt to cool me down, rehydrate and prep for the next leg. After all, it was only an hour or so in the sun at the one time.
With a buddy to rely on, and a buddy relying on me, we push on. Looking ahead, eyes up. Heck, sometimes we’d even have a chuckle. People fall. People pull out. People slow. People power on. Everyone suffers, or are pushed through, at a different level. Even the fittest of cyclist, the seasoned Thailand riders, struggle at times. People grow quiet, then silent. We all cope in our own way. The jokers quieten. We all agree, it isn’t the physical nature of the ride taking its toll on us, it is the heat.
Seriously, at home, we’d be cooped inside with air-conditioning blasting, not out wandering around in this heat. We wouldn’t even dream of exercising in it for just an hour - and here we are now riding all day in it. Crazy. But crazy with a cause.
The landscape.
From highway to dirt. We rode them all.
Each day is different. Some days we have undulations. Some days are flat. Some days are 75km, and we finish before lunch. One day is 145km, and at dusk, we are still riding. It is decided we have to cut 10km off our ride this day, to avoid riding in the dark. Safety first. Haha. That sounds funny… we can’t ride in the dark, but we can ride all day in this heat.
Early morning to late afternoon, we rode. I loved the legs before lunch before the heat set in.
There is a lot of farmland, burnt out paddocks and shanty towns. Flat (ish) plains turn into mountains, dirt roads and leafy sided roads. Highways thin to concrete single width country lanes to pot-holed dirt tracks. At one stage we have to dismount and walk our bikes through a section of road being resurfaced. The sand sinking our wheels as soon as we hit it.
Sometimes things were unexpected. Like re-building a road once the reccie had been done. No worries.
The riders.
Riders are from all over Australia and New Zealand, and one lady coming from the USA. We are used to all different temperatures. And our fitness levels are just as varied, as are our ages. Our youngest is 16 and the oldest is Dale’s dad in his 60s (from memory - eek). But one thing we have in common is our reason for doing it - to help the kids. And we all possess the mental can-do attitude that helps push us through our dark moments. We have one girl that does zero training through to our every week cyclists.
How do I go?
Good conversations make the km’s fly past.
Physically - I am fine. Well, apart from tingly toes and one pulled muscle in my left leg which voids that leg of doing any pushing up hills. It's nearly a week since I have finished riding and I still have tingles in my right foot.
Heat - so-so. I get heat exhaustion on day three and think I’m going to have a hospital visit. I spend the night barely unable to lift my head from the bed. I am trying to hydrate as much as I can but clearly not enough. After this night on my bed and head in a toilet I ensure I always have water within reach. I enlist a second bottle to stick in my back pocket while riding. That way I don’t have to ration. It helps. And when I get a headache, I drink even more, rather than thinking it’s normal. Obviously, there is no such thing as too much water on this ride. And I also eat more. More fruit, peanut brittle, chips and sweets. The first few days I was only stocking up on fruit during breaks - having more substance makes me feel better for the second half of the ride.
Riding into the Kanchanaburi orphanage on the last day completes the ride in many ways. Not only are we physically finishing it, but we are also seeing the reason why we have gone through all the pain right before us. Bright, smiling kids that are being given a chance of choice because of us are waving us in to the song of 'We are the Champions'.
The money we have raised through doing this ride will fund Kanchanaburi orphanage for a year. This orphanage that has given life back to over 50 kids that have, in one way or another, have no family to give them life. Spending a few hours with these amazing children is the best reward I can receive. And dancing with these energetic, happy souls in the evening is the icing on top.
Here is some video from 'in the saddle' of the trip... plus the wonderful night of celebration with the kids. Non, the child I was 'riding' for (when needing mental support on the ride we thought about a child we were helping) is a cheeky, small 12-year-old with an infectious smile. I loved meeting him and will remember his beaming face always.
Street life in detail.
Looking closer at street life.
Looking through some street photos I took while on my recent travels I noticed a theme emerging. I like photographing details, windows, reflections and snippets of life. More texture and pattern than an overview.
I can still see the personality of the place but don't get lost with what to look at.
What’s with the rubbish in Bali?
Wondering where all the rubbish comes from, I stumble across amazing people making a difference.
I’ve wandered down to Berawa beach for a late afternoon stroll. I love the beach, and I especially love it in the late afternoon when locals come down to cool off after work — watching people surf, kids splash, princesses tiptoe down to the water and burnt tourists sleeping on their sun lounger with Bintang beside them. But today I’m distracted. The beach is lined with driftwood and in between it all… tonnes of rubbish. Literally. For as far as my eye can see.
I start to take photos of it, intrigued (and horrified) as to how much there is. I wonder where it had all come from. I’d heard that the current at this time of year brings it here from around the world, but I do wonder. So many lolly wrappers, straws and small toiletry containers. And lots of thongs.
As I wander further, I notice people with gloves and big white bags. They are picking up rubbish and sorting it into recyclables and not recyclables. The rubbish then goes to Suwung landfill in their hired truck. The driver sends his location and photos as evidence.
I start chatting and learn that most of them are expats that are volunteering to keep the beach clean. They come down every Sunday. The beach clean is organised by Ocean Mimic - two scuba divers, Emma and Chelsea. I go up to talk to Emma, and find myself asking for a bag and glove. I wander the beach, picking up rubbish and chatting with the others for over half an hour. There is so much, I could stay all night, but have plans.
I love what they are doing and hope it replicates along more beaches. For the environment, for the beauty and the health of our animals. It would also mean not surfing in plastic while in Bali - a bonus for me.
If you are heading over to Bali, go check it out (more details below). Do your part. Meet at the steps by Finns Beach Club 5 pm every Sunday.
Also find them on Facebook here.
"Ocean Mimic is run by two scuba divers - Emma and Chelsea. We pursued this dream because we felt compelled to protect the ocean we both fell in love with. We met on an island in Malaysia in 2017 and saw first hand the trash wash up onto the usually spotless beaches. We created Ocean Mimic because we had no choice but to act.
We started out on this journey because we felt an urgent need to protect our oceans and our planet. We accepted that as individuals we have power. We took a leap of faith to take responsibility to do everything possible to inspire others and lead courageously by example. Mimic was our answer. A platform to inspire the public to act.
Our story is only just beginning … we need your support to make this a reality!
It all starts with you!
Thanks to everyone who joins us.
Emma & Chelsea"
Wave House Surf Camp, Bali - time for me to improve!
Wave House Surf School and Surf Camp, Bali. Why should you go? My thoughts.
When you love something and want to get better at something - what do you do? Practice, practice, practice. And then what happens? You get better!
I've been surfing for a few years now but not progressing in my ability. I know that daily practice is what benefits the most, but I have only been going out sporadically. Sometimes three times a week, most times once every week or three. I was getting frustrated, so I decided to carve out the time to make improvement happen.
Bali flights were going cheap so suddenly I was logging in and hitting 'purchase'. Then came the task of finding somewhere to stay. I looked at hotels, AirBnB's and surf camps. I decided a surf camp would be best because, heck, how many times was I going to get out and surf a new break on my own? I knew... not many.
Wave House stood out as a great place because of it's location to the beach (a 3-minute walk away), Seminyak (with the salsa places I was keen to check out), the beautiful grounds and being inclusive of surf lessons each day. I've been to a few surf camps around Bali so knew that I'd be surrounded by like-minded people that were chilled but exciting. What I didn't know was that I would be one of the only native speaking English guests there! That doesn't happen often.
Other guests were mainly Russian, but thankfully, their English is fantastic. We chatted at breakfast and on the surf trips, but other than that, I was normally by the pool listening to Gabrielle Bernstein's 'The Universe Has Your Back', journalling or taking trip notes. The camp was so quiet, I often wondered if I was the only one there. However, I knew otherwise, that there were quite a few guests tucked away in their rooms working. It made me smile - knowing that people are here living their life the way they want. Combining their passion for surf, travel and work. Now, that's my type of person.
Surf lessons were at different surf breaks, depending on tide, wind and swell. It was 'off' season for surf in Bali but we found some great waves and clean (as in wind, definitely not always clean water) conditions. We surfed Old Mans, Padma and Kedungu - all located within a 30-minute drive of camp. We surfed with meet up times from 5.30am to 11 am. Small groups, one instructor and a couple of guides. It worked really well. Guests are split up into ability from beginner upwards. I was in Intermediate 4 and it worked well with everyone being a similar ability. We got feedback in the water and when we got tired, our guides helped push us onto the waves. How's that for pampering! Seriously, the instructors and guides at Wave House are the friendliest and most helpful I've experienced in Bali.
After our surf lesson, unpacking the boards and grabbing food (if it was an early surf) we met in the yoga pavilion for the second part of our lesson. Photo feedback. Eek! This scared me the first time. I hate seeing photos of myself - and I've seen myself surfing before. I described it as 'taking a poo while holding my nose from all stink'. Thankfully, I'm not 'that' bad anymore so seeing myself wasn't too bad. And the feedback was helpful. Picking up on things like hip rotation, pop up technique and working the wave.
Other bonuses of staying at Wave House? Surf skills lesson in the pool, a training area to practice, a cute resident cat and the occasional visit by the most gorgeous little pup (owned by the Aussie surf instructor). Staff are also super helpful - getting me about on the Gojek service (think Uber for mopeds), organising massages and being there for a chat.
So, after five days... would I do it again? Heck yeah. I relaxed, met some awesome people and learnt new surf skills. I conquered my fear of lefts and overcome trauma I had from previous experience at Old Mans. Growth all around. While having fun. The best surf camp I have stayed at yet.
Check it out at https://wavehousebali.com/surfcamp/
Vinales, Cuba. Where the tobacco grows.
Vinales. A place of tobacco. The farmland of Cuba. A day trip here…
Vinales is a town in western Cuba. Around two hours drive from Havana.
We get up early one morning to head out there for the day. Having been out dancing the night before, it's hard to keep my eyes open. I normally love to watch the scenery change and see where I am. But today my eyes keep shutting. When I do pull them apart, I'm spoilt and will myself to stay awake a bit longer. Havana and its residential sprawl is gradually replaced with farmland, farmers riding on their ploughs and tobacco drying houses bigger than their houses.
The houses are cute. Colourfully painted, simple and small, nearly always with porch and rocking chair. The drying houses are big and wooden. With all the tobacco lined up neatly inside.
As we travel further, limestone monoliths 'mogotes' erupt out of the greenery. We visit Vinales Mural de la Prehistoria that has been painted over many years by an artist, Leovigildo Gonzalez Morillo. Although the mural itself is often labelled as overhyped, the lush Vinales Valley was given status as a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1999 and is very worthy of a visit.
Also, It is here I have my first 'top up to your liking' pina colada. Mmm, I'll just say 'happy mornings, la la la...' Another reason to go and visit the mural.
Of course, being in Vinales, a visit to a tobacco farm to see inside one of the drying houses is required. We not only see inside, smelling all the tobacco at various drying stages, but the farmer also shows us how he makes the cigars. We then we get to try. I don't smoke so have no idea what to do, but I give a little puff without inhaling. I realise the taste isn't as bad as I thought - much better than the smell of cigarette and I don't cough. Much.
There is a lot to do in Vinales but we are only here for a day. We visit a lookout to see the unusual landscape of green and monoliths popping up, the tobacco farm, caves and of course drink rum. I'd love to stay a bit longer but a concert is calling us. We grab another snooze opportunity while driving back to Havana and before we know it, are hit with the intoxicating smell of fumes from cars and buses spluttering everything out as the clatter along the streets. Bless Havana and her cars.
CLIENT: South Australian Escapes
Want to have a holiday by the beach? Just steps from the Middleton surf is this beautiful home…
A couple of weekends ago I went to photograph a brand spanking new holiday rental for a client in Middleton. I had no idea what to expect. But there were just a few wows as I went through. I'd love to stay here... and will (when I can trust my kids not to damage anything ;))
My client wanted the photos to put up on her website so she could get guests booked in for the Christmas period - all before she leaves on her own holiday in a week or so. So, it was a quick turnaround shoot. Retouching was kept natural and pics uploaded in web and print sizes for her.
About a week later, when I saw her next, she said she had it booked out to two different people already over that period.
WOW! Now that's how photos can work for you. I know it's busy season, but without photos, the chance of booking is much less. And good photos that show the space properly makes a massive impact on people and their decision to book or not.
Here are the pics... house pics shoot was about an hour then some time for some stock pics of the local area (plus a couple I had already taken over time).
Streets of Havana - the photos
The photos that make up ‘Streets of Havana’. Check them out… and let me know which one you like the most!
So, Streets of Havana is up in The Howling Owl, Adelaide. We had a great night celebrating the opening with dancing, Cuban food, Cuban inspired cocktails and music.
In case you can’t make it… here are the pics that are up.
And, of course, all are available to purchase. Check out the prints, gift cards and calendars here.
GREAT CHRISTMAS PRESENT IDEA!!!
Cars, architecture, rum, salsa and cigars….
Cuba. Time for rum, cigars, salsa and all things old.
Cruising the Malecon
Taxis are a feast for all senses.
What do you think of when you think of Cuba? Old cars? Crumbling buildings? Salsa? Rum? Cigars? Well, it’s all of that. And it doesn’t disappoint me.
I get picked up from the airport in a crumbling car who’s doors barely close. The seat squeaks and the springs are begging to be allowed to pop through the thin vinyl. The smell of oil, petrol and general fumes filtrate through the car, with intermittent whiffs of cumin and other random scents (some good, some bad) on the way into Havana. My eyes are bombarded with old classic cars, shanty ghettos, the odd modern car and most interestingly, women in active wear and stilettos.
A typical street in Havana
A supplies shop for three people
The homes of the fancier suburb of Vedado where we are staying are glorious mansions of all colours. They, however, haven’t been maintained in years. They are crumbling from four corners. Some homes are no longer habitable. Some have been restored to some extent while others seem to be barely standing. Driving the backstreets, it looks like a movie set that has been deserted and left to die. It looks like I shouldn’t be here - like it’s dangerous and brimming with criminals. But it’s not. I feel safe here, not just because I feel like everyone watches (aka keeps an eye out for) me. But because the people are nice. They go about their normal everyday life - which I still haven’t figured out - without making a spectacle of me, the tourist. I wonder whether they work, or how often they work. I see a lot of relaxing on balconies. One morning I see a lady in an upper-level apartment getting her newspaper delivered via bucket lift system. She lowers a bucket, postman puts letters and paper in, and she pulls the rope up. Wow, she doesn't even need to answer the door or climb the stairs.
Just one type of Havana Club - easier to get than water some days
Salsa and rum go hand in hand… nearly. I am told, essential for longevity is Vitamin R. Rum. And I have enough of it in my two weeks. So I guess I’m living a long life, right? The mojitos and pina coladas are some of the best I’ve ever tasted, and I’m sure it has nothing to do with the free pour into the glass that nearly fills it. Never. When rum is so cheap, think under $10 a bottle (to buy from the supermarket), heck, it’s the cheapest part of the drink.
Not strong enough? Pour your own rum ‘to taste’
But drinking lots of rum is not conducive to great dancing… so you either drink or dance. At night, I opt to dance (with a few mojitos or rums to quench the thirst ;)) That is, after all, what I am here for. Salsa and concerts are on every night in Havana - and with concerts costing under $20 each - sometimes I do two a night. Venues range from inside venues where we are shipped out immediately after the concert to outdoor venues on the water's edge where we can dance through the night after the show has finished. Twinkly tree lights, sparkly ocean water lapping just outside the railing and plenty of seats to relax on when not dancing. The dance floor is packed tight, and the floor is uneven, but everyone moves suavely and sensually, rarely bumping into other dancers. The power of dancers knowing their craft - or a lead knowing where they can send their follower.
Up close with many big stars at nightly concerts
One day I venture out of Havana, and into Vinales. It’s a place I’ve seen many photos of and always wanted to see for myself. It’s the place of tobacco. Farmers grow their tobacco in the fields, build huge drying houses and then hand roll their tobacco into cigars. I meet one farmer and he shows me how it’s done. From walking me through the drying house (a huge timber shed much bigger than their home) to rolling one for me to try. I don’t smoke, but of course ‘when in Cuba…’ I have to try. I cough and splutter a little, but the taste is actually ok. I expect it to be horrid, as I can’t stand the smell or taste of cigarettes - but it’s not. The day trip to Vinales is completed with a visit to caves and more interestingly, a big artwork rock face where we have ’the best pina colada in Cuba’. The drinks are made fresh and a standard rum is added, but then the bottle is put on the bar to ‘top up to your taste’. To say we were ‘happy’ before lunch is a slight understatement. I’m sure our singing echoes could be heard for kilometres.
Cigar making in Vinales
Beautiful Vinales country
Mosquito won
I also visit Trinidad for a night. It's known as the best preserved historic town in Cuba so is crawling with tourists. Something I don't usually like. But here, it's still relaxed. Perhaps it has something to do with the pebble streets - nothing can go too quick. Or maybe because it's in Cuba - nobody lives too hectic. An afternoon spent wandering the streets followed by salsa in the square at night then clubbing in an underground cave... I discover many different sides to this town. I also seem to make friends with the local mosquitos while sleeping. Maybe they are trying to suck the rum out of my eyelid, the only part of my body not smothered in insect repellent? My souvenir of Trinidad is a very swallon eyelid and a painting (which I ended up ruining because I leave it rolled up in the heat causing the paint to crack). One I keep, the other I happily wave 'adios' to by evening.
Trinidad street
So, what else is Cuba? Plenty more. But I'm yet to discover it. I’ll let you know when I go back and meander further. It is a country I will return to - the friendly people, the culture, the dancing, the rum…
Cuban dance rehearsal
