blogging

Blogger Questions

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I have a few questions that I hope some of you bloggers can answer for me.

  1. How many of you use some form of auto-posting to publicize your post? I use IFTTT recipes and as convenient and great as they are, I am starting to get the feeling that it’s noticeable and has negative effects on my readership. Essentially, it looks impersonal and something done out of habit, which I don’t think holds a very high appeal rating. When I think about it, the steps it would take to personalize a tweet, for example, would only take a minute longer. But instead of having some weird, automated “hey look at this” tweet, I could say something about the post, maybe add in an appropriate hashtag, and actually tweet at somebody if necessary.
  2. What photo challenges would y’all recommend getting into on WP? I have a lot of processed-and-ready-to-post photographs that I think would benefit from being tagged with some sort of challenge instead of the redundant “here’s a photo from there” formula. I just wanted to spruce up my blogging and make it more interesting for myself and whoever is reading this!
  3. Who is using the WPTouch plugin? I’m going to add it after I post this because it looks awesome. Anything I should know about it?
Galway Bay
Galway Bay
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400 Followers=So Much WordPress Love

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There really is an art to posting on any social media platform, but I always think there is something special about WordPress. Maybe it’s because I started photo-blogging right as I began shooting around with my first DSLR. It was pretty easy for a then high school aged newbie to engage in a dialogue within the photo community. I wouldn’t say I learned everything from WordPress, but I’ve met some interesting people, I’ve been inspired by a lot of different artists’ works, and I’ve really taken away a lot of learned experience from the general blogging journey.

It’s nice to be back into the swing of things on WordPress, just because I find that some of these posts are longer than other posts on Instagram or Twitter (obviously). There’s really no limit to how I can express myself and rant on what I’m engaged in with my photography. The more time spent on both posting and reading other blogs is evidently rewarding!

So to everyone that has been engaging with me, especially those of you that have been for a long time, I really appreciate the WordPress love! And I look forward to reciprocating it in the future!

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Shooting Connemara with Peter Skelton

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There are many instances where I think too much devotion and credit is given to social media. One of my biggest pet peeves is seeing “activist” groups on Facebook try to get “likes” to change the world. That’s nice, I guess, in terms of raising awareness. But there is a difference between the social capital found in the virtual world and IRL (in real life)…

Early in the day, it was hard to get some good light.
Early in the day, it was hard to get some good light.

What does it really mean for an amateur photoblogger to have x amount of followers? It’s easy to answer that in light of a professional photography: money plays. But none of my artwork is for sale; I’m not in it for the money. So what is to be gained from networking online? Facebook friends, Twitter and Instagram followers, and whoever reads this on WordPress -only a few of these individuals engage with me face to face. I don’t find these types of relationships to be as gratifying as real-world relationships. I hope that doesn’t offend anyone, but in terms of a healthy lifestyle, I think that physical contacts are superior. But in the instance where those superficial followers can become real-world acquaintances, I think social media can be incredibly valuable.

I wanted to see how much temperature editing I could get away with; definitely over did it.
I wanted to see how much temperature editing I could get away with; definitely over did it.

In the months leading up to my departure for Ireland, I was going through different online social mediums to find local photographers to follow. I stalked their photos and got some destinations in mind. There are plenty of photo opportunities throughout the Irish countryside and that became more apparent the more I got out and shot. But while researching, I noticed that most photographers were based somewhere and not in Galway. Then I found “Galway Pete,” whose work I fell in love with the moment I checked out his online portfolio. Maybe I’m still a newbie in terms of photography, but when I see someone’s work that I admire, I really do think, “Wow! I’d love to shoot around with this guy, see how they work, what equipment they use etc.” Again, despite how much I’ve learned online, I think there is something valuable about a hands-on approach to photography.

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For anyone not familiar with Ireland, it’s not the easiest country to get around with a limited and expensive bus system. Apparently, in the past few years, the major motorways that were constructed amount to small roads back in America. These “improvements” don’t really do much in terms of increasing accessibility, but I guess they reduce the time between major urban areas, which are basically Dublin, Galway, and Cork. So finding a local “fixer” was a priority upon arriving here. After some re-tweeting, liking, and generic Twitter conversations, I had contacted Peter and set a date to go out and shoot Connemara. It might strike Americans as odd at how easy and familiar that process seems. But Ireland is such a small country that people really are who they say they are. That “have your guard up” mentality is quite unnecessary here; I guess it’s because communities are so tightly knit.

I didn't truly know what macro photography was until I got a chance to use Peter's 100mm macro lens!
I didn’t truly know what macro photography was until I got a chance to use Peter’s 100mm macro lens!

We headed out of Galway into some pretty relentless rain. There are many attitudes that photographers can have when they interact. In some circles, unfortunately, I detect a lot of condescension, probably due to competition. But Peter was really comfortable with how he shot and was completely open to sharing his opinions on equipment, techniques, and his general philosophy when it comes to photography. I think it’s the last part that comes through in a face-to-face relationship. Sure, online you can view someone’s portfolio, and I guess ultimately, this is what matters if you want pictures. But it’d be pretty miserable if a bride’s wedding photographer was a jerk and ruined her day.

The money shot from the day. I knew these were the exact edits I wanted as I snapped away.
The money shot from the day. I knew these were the exact edits I wanted as I snapped away.

I really got the best of both worlds: great photographer and Irishman. Having a local show you around is something I’ve recently learned to treasure after some extensive traveling. I’ve been reading up on art and photography and relationships are what the more keen artists denote as important in their process. Two pieces of advice that Peter shared with me, (and I hope he doesn’t mind me repeating!) really stuck out to me. The first was to never shoot what another photographer dictates as the right way. His wording didn’t really make this tip as much of an absolute that I am making it out to be. But if you’re motivated by someone else’s mindset, or anything other than your own internal drive, then are you really an artist? This is definitely different from motivation or a passive type of influence. But it brings me to his second point: amateurs have the potential to create better work than the pros. I thought this was an interesting tidbit, just because so many people incorrectly assume that the most expensive equipment, which presumably pros have better access to with their photo-related income, churn out the best shots. The relationships that many pros make are, well, professional. And that basically means the motivation is profession driven –ahem, money. I don’t think there is anything wrong with that. But it’s definitely in this category of online, virtual, and financial.

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Despite the poor weather, I think Peter and I got a few good shots. I went a little crazy with the edits, just because Connemara itself is a really wild landscape. I want to give a huge (virtual) thank you to Peter for the nearly perfect day! Be sure to check out his website and to follow him on Twitter! If your work is great, you’re bound to get a re-tweet at the very least.

¡Madrid!

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(Had this post sitting as a draft. Thought I should go ahead and post it. Written on Monday, March 10th, 2014).
So I have to write this from my iPhone since Internet isn’t as easily accessible in Madrid as it is throughout Ireland–free wifi that is. But oh well, I have time to kill while I wait for my flight.
There is something to be said about traveling alone. I think there’s a bit of a stigma from a young American’s perspective, or at least I get the vibe that there is one. I don’t think that’s the case for other backpackers from Europe, Asia, and Australia.
Flying into Madrid was kind of like passing through the Pearly Gates. I had my face glued against the window as we flew over mountains and circled back to the city. Once inside the airport, it felt like I was going to the beach. The way people dressed was certainly geared for warm weather but there was a kind of touristy air to everyone’s arrival. And yet again, another European country outdoes America in terms of security and passport lines!
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There’s a bit of a constant theme in my posts lately about wanting to get lost. Well I didn’t have to get physically lost in Madrid (though at one point I did circle around one area). The language barrier was enough of a challenge. Though to my surprise, I could understand this Spanish accent well compared to Mexican, or my Venezuelan room mates’s, accents. And un/fortunately, everyone speaks English to some degree. But with the beard and carefully planned outfit, I wouldn’t attract any attention to myself so that on several occasions, I was addressed in Spanish and was able to get away with simple “si” or “no” responses. But then there were other instances where my background in French and Latin actually hindered my pronunciation with generic Romantic rooted words like “chocolate;” I sounded like an idiot at la creperie, ironically, in Spain, with a French accent. Oh well! In many instances, people were understanding and just spoke back in English.
I got into the city by a crowded bus. I was assuming Madrid would be the same size like Dublin and Amsterdam. I don’t know the populations of any of the cities, but Madrid was noticeably larger with high rises and extended city limits. The spotty internet can only take you so far when you’re in a foreign country. In trying to figure out where my hostel was in this astetically pleasing city, I just kind of winged it. A good sense of direction is better than reliance on the internet. So I wandered the streets with a general direction in my mind and eventually found where I was staying.
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The hostel was pretty cool. It had this open roof atrium, a rooftop bar, and a neat lock system that was better than anything I’ve seen so far. (I was so much happier with this than my time in Belfast. And write as I typed this, some survey person was asking me about my trip here in Madrid. “Uh yea overall definitely a 9 or 10 out of 10,” I just told her).
Anyways, I was in a small but nice room. I met some awkward Aussie that came across as though there was a language barrier between us. We went for Indian food at his recommendation. Luckily I was able to find some other people that wanted to more Spanish-esque things later that night. Two guys from LA were backpacking throughout Europe and were spending their last night out in the Spanish fashion. We went for some delicious sandwiches with some sort of toasted cheese ball. The Spanish, regardless of age, go out no earlier than 22:30. So at midnight, this little sandwich place was packed full with 30 year olds. Throughout the weekend I noticed that the lighting in most establishments was quite bright compared to Irish pubs. I thought that related to the pace of nightlife: Irish go out earlier and the pubs close at 2 am. Spaniards start late and go out longer but consume alcohol at a slower rate. That first night, I didn’t drink because Saturday was going to be a busy day. Plus the hostel room mates were catching an early train the next morning.
Saturday was spent in Retiro Park and El Prado Museo. I saw a lot of famous artwork-I get carried away in some of those galleries, particularly the rooms with Romanticism and Naturalism. The prior seemed to be dominated by Spanish painters. I spent somewhere near four hours in there until my feet ached and I had seen ever room.
I was tired and feeling quite lonely while walking through the park. I had no idea Madrid was the new Paris: everyone was kissing, embracing, sitting on each other. All age groups too, which was just  a matter of culture rather than teenage hormones. Tapas was the cure! I wanted to find a good place to experience this cuisine. I parked it at some restaurant where the young bartender gave me some free plate of jamon y queso. I think the Irish came out in me as I drained another beer; the alcohol isn’t the main attraction at what would seem like an equivalent to America’s happy hour. It’s not like more beer meant more tapas as you might find with America and wings. But as I was sitting there, I was able to figure this all out. Europeans  definitely use their smartphones more reservedly than Americans. Like the Irish, Spanish people noticeably enjoy physical companionship in social settings. It’s no surprise that me as the American happen to be sitting alone ad writing this on my smartphone…The smartphone epidemic really doesn’t pervade into cultures that are rooted in such a way, much to my delight.
Saturday night, I had two new roommates who were teaching English in northern Spain. One was a Texan, the other an Irishman. We went for those crepes I mentioned earlier at around midnight. They proceeded to invite me to their friends apartment somewhere outside of the city center. It may sound really wild for me to go out with random people. But if you’re thinking that, you’re coming at it from your biased American perspective. People aren’t dangerous in Europe as they might be back in the States. Backpacking kids in the similar position as I was aren’t some how predisposed to my prejudice that they’re going to pose a threat. Plus, there were more Americans teaching English in Madrid who were at the apartment and locals who were getting degrees in higher education. So I had a blast meeting new faces aside from how crazy you might think I am 😛
The night somehow continued until the sun started to rise at 7:30. My day didn’t start until I was figuring out how to get to a Real Madrid futbol match with one of my new Japanese room mates. I’m glad I got to experience that. Again, probably against the American train of thought, I found it pretty cool to see a sport that is played throughout the world exhibited at the highest level. Cristiano Ronaldo-no idea how much he makes but the fans were about to murder the poor bum that tripped him-scored right in front of me. The fans were wild to no one’s surprise but the coordinate cheers and chants were really cool to listen to; there was only one or two that were repeated but for the most part, it was a symphony that went along with the match. The kid coordinating it all down near the goal was very much the maestro as he waved his hands around as he sang into the microphone. It was all in good taste until a lot of tripping occurred and no calls were made. I know there’s that American view of soccer players as a bunch of pretty boy actors, and there was a degree of that, but this particular game saw I think somewhere near 10 yellow cards and 1 red card, a fight almost break out after some slapped another player, and the security guards number double as a result of it all. It was definitely more entertaining than watching it on TV and though I’m no a huge fan of the sport in America, it was clear that there was a well executed style of play by Real Madrid as they won 3-0. One of those points was scored accidentally by one Levante’s players and good lord, the fans had to let him know he messed up!
(I don’t feel like typing any more since my flight is leaving. Sorry for only two panoramas. Looking to post some more normal photo-posts!)

Dust Spots, Self-Portraits, and More Posts

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Well, my time here in Ireland has flown by and I am staring down the last month I have left abroad. In retrospect, my workflow didn’t translate all too well when I started traveling, hence, I didn’t have too many posts. What posts I did have were compromised of low-res iPhone shots. That’s nice to an extent, but now I have a lot of work to catch up on, starting with the insane amount of RAW files I have sitting on a hard drive.

Dust spots. I am incredibly angry at how many dust spots there are on my sensor. I was treating this used Canon 5D like a baby and was even using one of those nasal spray devices to clean the sensor with air and gravity…I know for a fact the dust wasn’t from my lenses. So even after today’s cleaning, I was still disappointed to find the usual suspects in the same spots. Any photographers out there know what I should do? I don’t have any sufficient cleaning supplies, besides what I’d use on my lens.

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I have been alone a whole lot on this trip, something I did not anticipate valuing as much as I do now. But in most cases, I didn’t bring my bulky tripod. So in order to shoot these self-portraits, a new sub-genre I’ve become found of after visiting so many art museums throughout Europe, I had to prop my camera on whatever I could. Then, with the 10 second timer counting down, I’d have to dart to my desired position, with the focus locked on wherever my butt would be. For the above shot, I slipped into the lake a few times; even though the image was shot with a 50mm (close to what our eyes see), I think I was further away from the camera than it seems. So I really had to rush out before the timer went off and compose myself quickly.

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Family members wanted me to be in some of the photos I was taking, but the awkwardly spaced iPhone selfie was not appropriate for what I wanted to capture. In both instances, these images were intended to portray the feeling got while being there instead of what the viewer him/herself sees when viewing the photograph.

With that being said, I’m looking forward to getting back to posting more routinely!

How to Really Experience Ireland

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I can’t ever forgive myself for missing out on days with good weather here in Galway. The plan was for me to wake up early and hike with the university’s group out in Connemara. But at 7:30, the downpour wasn’t all too inviting, especially with a minor cold that I want gone before Madrid this upcoming weekend. The weather had a sudden change of plans, though. So by noon it was nothing but blue skies, puffy clouds, and green grass. I had to get out. But with the day seemingly halfway gone, I couldn’t bus anywhere.

While here studying abroad, I’ve had a strong interest in getting lost. So I got the backpack and photo equipment together and headed east with no destination in mind. No cellphone service is a godsend, especially with an urban area as your point of departure. (Doesn’t matter for a foreigner, though. No internet + no Irish phone = I’m cut off!) Walking beyond the docks for the first time, I got to see the innermost part of the bay. A residential area lay on the other side of the water, something that “center city” living has deprived me from, even though it was only a 20 minute walk to get there. As I kept walking, one trail led to another, seamlessly. When you wander aimlessly, it’s ironic that a path becomes more clear to you. (Or maybe there’s something existentially more to that that I pondered over and don’t feel like sharing).

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Turns out that I could’ve saved myself all the time of circumnavigating this body of water by crossing the bridge (out of frame, right). I thought it was only for trains, but on the way back, I realized that someone was biking on a separate portion. Could’ve spared me a good distance from my 11+ miles. Oh well, I’ll remember that next time!

Passing some sort of military base led me to a high vantage point where I could see a sand beach. Well-gated train tracks kept me from descending directly to that foreseeable destination. So I meandered some more until I found a car tunnel to cross underneath, opening up to this beautiful recreational area. Lots of off-leash dogs and several mounted horses took advantage of the low tide. Three dogs anxiously pulled their leashes, anticipating the freedom that lay ahead. A gravel path led me out to a peninsula. From there, I could see up and down the coast; low hanging clouds were rolling in at their freakish pace. I don’t know why, but I considered it better to remain by the water as the potential storm chased after me. Every time it rains, if you’re not surrounded by buildings, you can see distant sheets of rain and figure if you’re in their path or not. I guessed right and received only a drizzle’s worth of dampness as I stumbled along the beach’s pebbles, departing from the locals and their park.

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The colors kept changing with the clouds right overhead in this particular shot.

I could tell my coastline was running out and that I would need to cut inland. By chance, I found a muddy driveway leading me to the same pair of tracks I crossed underneath earlier. But for some reason, the Irish have gates at the majority of their crossings. I’m not sure what purpose that serves, maybe these intersections weren’t used regularly. Yet there was no way I could get around the gates to hop the tracks. This run down structure lay to my left with NO TRESPASSING, a field to my right. A black cat eyed me as I leaned over some barbed wire to snap a shot that I thought would look good for some heavy HDR editing. The three dogs that passed me earlier by the beach came up the muddy path with two men, one close to my age, the other nearing 50. I said, “Howdy. Where do y’all reckon I go from here?” (Southern accent goes a long way outside of Galway-don’t ask why, it just does).

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I ended up on the other side of this property a few minutes later.

Before coming here, I was told about the Irish people’s forwardness, friendliness, and wanting to share stories. And to varying degrees thus far, I’ve experienced those attributes separately. But in this instance, I had no idea that I’d be getting all three for the next five hours. Just when I thought I was getting comfortable with the generic Irish accent, I was taken aback by the older man’s response. From a distance, I couldn’t understand a word he was saying. But his forwardness led to his welcoming me on his walk with his adopted son. Apparently, there was no direction to head but through the fields. What I could understand from this man’s face-paced talking was that the six or seven horses in the field were wild. The other option was going through some psychopath’s property; there was a camera that I had not seen that my new acquaintances pointed out to me. So that wasn’t much of an option at all. Wild horses it was.

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Several of the wild horses, prior to them banding together.

We leashed up the pit-bull, mid-sized black lab, and larger puppy that just had surgery on its hind leg. Pathetically, there was some fourth dog, a Jack Russel mix, that wasn’t anyone’s dog. No one had a leash for it; so if it made the mistake of following us, it was on its own. I didn’t fully realize what the term “wild” meant for the wild horses until all of them charged us as soon as we hopped the fence into their field. People think I’m ridiculous for having some sort of fear/respect for domestic horses. Yes, I know they’re trained, but those animals are massive and muscular. It’s no different (in my mind) than a tame lion at the circus. All of these thoughts came rushing into my head as our little party edged around the pack. The dogs were instinctively smarter than I was; their herd mentality versus the horses’ herd mentality meant everything as one wrong step could’ve had me left behind my herd of humans. They kept bucking at us, to which my new friend threw his hands up, yelled, and bucked back at them! The fences we  kept close to were technically working against us, covered from overgrowth and barbed wire. On the other side of them, elevated on gravel, were the train tracks. The only direction we could head was forward as the horses’ front line took up our rear. I had to walk backwards to keep them from chasing us, one of the dog’s leashes in my hand.

Midway through the field, I looked back to see the crazed property owner come to the gate. His camera must’ve picked me up. I couldn’t tell what he had in his hand, but at present, the horses posed a more immediate concern. We descended further away from the cleared portion of the field, which slowed the horses until they judged that we were no longer encroaching on their land. Badgers and foxes were the next thing we might encounter, according to my friends, but we didn’t see any of those. We had to hop a low point in the fence, making sure that the dogs didn’t get cut. Just then, a train zipped by overhead. “Well,” I thought to myself, “At least that means there won’t be another one for a few minutes.”

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Very dreary woods.

The terrain changed significantly once we crossed the tracks. Another path picked up, winding through a forest. Those renowned Irish stonewalls even exist in the woods, creating that fairytale-esque feel which could not be accompanied by a story of the little people. As Eamonn (the older man) talked about the tricky nature of these little people, I couldn’t help think how such a fable continues for so long. But that light-hearted talk ended abruptly as we came upon a glen. On the other side of this field lay Old Dublin Road. Here, the IRA executed two men. I began to realize that I was hearing an Irishman’s opinion about a topic that seems to have many sides. To me, there doesn’t appear to be any unilateral understanding of the violence that occurred on the Emerald Isle. To hear this man’s point of view was rare, even considering how open the Irish can be with their stories. Plainly put, violence was never a valued entity. But foreign control truly resulted in the maltreatment of the people, something that doesn’t seem forgiveable, regardless of the current legal status of the Northern Counties.

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Glen. Old Dublin Road to frame left.

To be continued. And yes, I will do a part 2. I just have to be somewhere now…

Amsterdam

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I know I said I’d have a part two for my hike last week, but time is really flying by over here. (Ask me in person if you were dying to hear the end of that story).

I’ll just start by saying that it’s interesting to compare the sharp contrast between the advertised facade of a city and its actual likeness. There’s no point of me delving into what Amsterdam is depicted as, especially when targeted to a younger population. But I will say a few things on those topics; legal prostitution and legal drugs. One thing is done more casually (or subtly) than the other. From what I could tell after eating in a local cafe outside of the tourist traps, marijuana is a part of the Dutch lifestyle. It’s hard for an American (maybe not so much now with Colorado’s legalization) to see drug use aside from fringe behaviour.  But try, if you can, imagining yourself as Dutch. You’re fairly well-educated, multi-lingual, and have an awareness that your Amsterdam home attracts a large tourist population because certain activities are legal. You don’t live near any of the touristy spots of town. You don’t binge on substances (like other cultures typically do without hesitation).

Here is Central Station sitting across from the equivalent of NYC's Time Square. Behind it is the IJ. Beautiful architecture was certainly the theme this weekend.
Here is Central Station sitting across from the equivalent of NYC’s Time Square. Behind it is the IJ. Beautiful architecture was certainly the theme this weekend.

While eating in a crammed sandwich shop, my friend and I listened to the outgoing owner going back and forth between English and Dutch. His shop was tiny, but within the 30 minutes I was there, you could get a sense of a more genuine Dutch culture from his interactions with his patrons. He knew everyone that was in his shop, except for me and my friend. But that didn’t stop him from joking with us in his well-polished English. As well as being outwardly educated, Holland is noticeably ethnic;  “Asians” and “blacks” gathered in this luncheonette and were also regularly interchanging between Dutch and English.  One of the younger patrons asked what the owner was doing later to which he replied, “Smoking some weed and staying in.” I wasn’t surprised at this, but the scene certainly presented me with a foreign culture that was different from Ireland and America. Lax laws and small, intercity businesses make for a brighter population.

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This is the National Monument that was built in 1956 to commemorate the dead of WW2. The street to the right (behind the tree) is where our hostel was. To the left is Dam Square.

But Amsterdam didn’t end up like that by chance. I went to the Rijksmuseum and saw Holland through its historically rich art. For anyone that doesn’t remember their European history, the Netherlands dominated the trade scene throughout the colonial period. As a result of being progressive then, combined with struggles with Spain and the Holy Roman Empire, the country continues to be forward-thinking. Yes, this means legal drugs and prostitution, but the locals in Amsterdam were really into venerating the art. The museum was beautiful and packed full of Dutch and foreigners. (Dutch is distinctly audible; something like a cross between French and German. So I could quickly tell who I was standing next to, if their height or garb didn’t give them away. There were some tall individuals in that town…)

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One of the three, earlier canals of Amsterdam’s Grachtengordel. The 17th-century canal ring area, including the Prinsengracht, Keizersgracht, Herengracht and Jordaan. The Herengracht is the nicest; literally means “patrician’s canal.” (Gracht=canal, lake). Initially, depending on what inner loop of canals you lived between was associated with your social status. The further outside of the city centre you lived, the poorer you were.

But that still brings us to the fact that prostitution exists there. I feel like there is a bit of yin yang thing going on. If Holland is able to thrive so well culturally, it has to be fueled by something. I think that any town would benefit from tourism’s added spending. So combine that generic business mentality with the aforementioned, distinctly Dutch progressivism, and you end up with legal prostitution. However, whilst walking through the Red Light District, you can quickly tell that the whole prostitution shtick is a tourist trap. The way things are advertised and presented in those couple of blocks was very different than a couple streets away.  As amoral as it may sound, my hat is off to Amsterdam in the strictest economic sense. There was visibly a huge population of males, ages 16-30 that walked through that section and Holland prospers from it. (But not exclusively). The last thing I’ll say about this is that it was odd to see locals living above or across from the rooms with “red lights” over them. I guess I didn’t personally internalize how that would work out on a daily basis. But for the most part, that area was a tourist destination, not a residential area. I still think the local Dutch were distanced from that.

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From Central Station looking at the Church of St. Nicholas.

I went on a canal tour and saw the city from a unique perspective. The Dutch really dominate water; traversing it, controlling it, utilizing it. The Dutch East/West Indies Companies traversed oceans for trade. Amsterdam was built by damming and dredging the Amstel River (hence the city’s name). And to this day, there are certain parts of the city that are below sea level, which is an incredible feat considering the IJ Lake, canals, and river all have to be monitored to avoid flooding. The IJ (pronounced kind of like ‘ay’) was originally a bay. I can’t remember how much of the city now sits on dammed, artificial land but it’s more than half. Another fun fact is that there is an estimated 1.6 million bikes in the city. That’s more bikes than people. (I don’t know how that compares to Portland, Oregon, but there are separate road/paths for bikes and mopeds. It was wild to cross a street because you never remember to check for bikes, only for cars).

Here I am with the bikes, canals, and beautiful architecture!
Here I am with the bikes, canals, and beautiful architecture!

If anyone wants to hear more about my time here (or in Ireland), please feel free to comment below. I can email anyone if they’re interested. I would also love to hear any travel suggestions or photo destinations as Cork, Ireland is on my itinerary for this upcoming weekend.