Fishing in Bimini
February, 2013
I won't belabor this entry with too many words. Hemingway would never approve.
Fishing in Bimini was very much a spiritual experience. For the Wahoo Smackdown II, John Hemingway, the grandson of Ernest Hemingway, made the trip to support an island steeped in his family history. I very much enjoyed meeting him. And I'm eager to go back.
The art of deep-sea fishing involves long periods of waiting and anticipation followed by an explosion of adrenaline. As our captain often said, catching a fish really "trickles the pickle". He also told me that you can't rush perfection. Because when a fish hits, the waiting is what makes it so perfect.
Check out the impromptu concert by Craig Morgan at the bottom of this entry.
Fishing in Bimini was very much a spiritual experience. For the Wahoo Smackdown II, John Hemingway, the grandson of Ernest Hemingway, made the trip to support an island steeped in his family history. I very much enjoyed meeting him. And I'm eager to go back.
The art of deep-sea fishing involves long periods of waiting and anticipation followed by an explosion of adrenaline. As our captain often said, catching a fish really "trickles the pickle". He also told me that you can't rush perfection. Because when a fish hits, the waiting is what makes it so perfect.
Check out the impromptu concert by Craig Morgan at the bottom of this entry.
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Hudson getting down at Atlantis
November, 2012
Factory of the Sun
During a recent trip to Orlando, I toured BlueChip Energy, a leading solar panel manufacturer in Florida. The energy independent facility, one of the largest in the world, features both human and robotic "personnel" producing green solutions. It left me with a feeling of harmony. Here we have cutting-edge technology working in tandem with utterly human endeavors for the planet. If only all corporations worked this way.
The roof at BlueChip - 1.35MW per hour
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A technician works along side a robotic assembly line
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Night on Frenchmen Street
When I wasn't out peddling my upcoming book, I was wandering Frenchmen Street just beyond the French Quarter.
It's a great part of the city, in the sense it is very tourist friendly, but undiscovered enough that you're somewhat separated from the lemming hoard of Bourbon Street. You can easily spend an entire night (and morning) ducking in and out of the jazz clubs.
Or, as evidenced below, sometimes you can have a great time on the street.
There are a lot of cliches out there, but taking in a New Orleans night listening to jazz will never go out of style.
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Street party on Frenchmen Street.
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Can you find Bob Marley?
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Brush with Jaws
I was recently in the Exumas (a collection of pristine islands not far away) and visited an island.
First item on the agenda is cutting up fish with a machete to "bait" the sharks. Black-tipped reef sharks, to be exact.
Perhaps the word "jaws" isn't entirely accurate, but I wouldn't want to be face-to-face with one in the deep blue. That was my first thought. Thirty minutes later, after feeding the guests a few chips and drinks, my trepidation faded away. I found myself wearing goggles and flippers.
Swimming with sharks sounds a bit deranged. But I had little choice. In the end, I'm not one to turn down such things.
I only wish I had an underwater camera. As I swam along, a line of reef sharks slipped below me without the slightest interest in my existence. In the distance I saw an eagle ray flap its wings in the ominous light. At no point did I ever think I was in danger.
It reminded me that often what we consider foreign, dangerous or uncomfortable exists only in our minds. We should always take the plunge.
First item on the agenda is cutting up fish with a machete to "bait" the sharks. Black-tipped reef sharks, to be exact.
Perhaps the word "jaws" isn't entirely accurate, but I wouldn't want to be face-to-face with one in the deep blue. That was my first thought. Thirty minutes later, after feeding the guests a few chips and drinks, my trepidation faded away. I found myself wearing goggles and flippers.
Swimming with sharks sounds a bit deranged. But I had little choice. In the end, I'm not one to turn down such things.
I only wish I had an underwater camera. As I swam along, a line of reef sharks slipped below me without the slightest interest in my existence. In the distance I saw an eagle ray flap its wings in the ominous light. At no point did I ever think I was in danger.
It reminded me that often what we consider foreign, dangerous or uncomfortable exists only in our minds. We should always take the plunge.
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The Guardian Reborn - Nov 23 2011
It's a rare opportunity, especially in this day in age, to take part in the relaunch of a newspaper. I have been very fortunate in my career to already be included in two - The National back in 2008, and now The Nassau Guardian in 2011.
The big difference, of course, is The Nassau Guardian has been around nearly 200 years. An incredible feat, when you think about it, and only now is the newspaper undergoing its very first redesign.
It reminds me that it's never too late for change and innovation. It just takes the will to do it.
The big difference, of course, is The Nassau Guardian has been around nearly 200 years. An incredible feat, when you think about it, and only now is the newspaper undergoing its very first redesign.
It reminds me that it's never too late for change and innovation. It just takes the will to do it.
**photos below are courtesy of The Nassau Guardian**
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Cat Island - Bahamas - August 26 2011
There is so much you could say, but in this scenario, I'll let it speak for itself. Photos and video below.
 The inside of this house has been gutted. |
 This used to be a kitchen. |
You can see, along the bottom of the hallway, the water has eaten away the wall.
 At least 20 people on Cat took refuge in this church. |
 Part of the roof was torn off, on the right side. |
Beach Football - Goa, India
Photos by Jeffrey Todd / Patricia Santos
I was reading my book by the pool when I heard thuds between the sound of crashing waves.
When I got up to investigate, casting my gaze over a rock wall and onto the beach below, I saw local boys kicking a football back and forth across the sand. They were using thin pieces of bamboo for goal posts. One of the villagers, wearing a Barcelona jersey, performed stretches and sprints across the beach as if preparing for the Club World Cup.
A steady stream of players joined the match, and before long, there was enough for a full game.
Slide tackles down the beach. Clumps of sea weed snarling a promising attack. Bicycle kicks into the ocean.
As the match progressed, and the deep-red sun drooped in the distance towards the horizon, the tide slowly claimed
the playing field. It was the perfect time clock.
I have never been a big fan of football.
But I understand why they call it the beautiful game.
When I got up to investigate, casting my gaze over a rock wall and onto the beach below, I saw local boys kicking a football back and forth across the sand. They were using thin pieces of bamboo for goal posts. One of the villagers, wearing a Barcelona jersey, performed stretches and sprints across the beach as if preparing for the Club World Cup.
A steady stream of players joined the match, and before long, there was enough for a full game.
Slide tackles down the beach. Clumps of sea weed snarling a promising attack. Bicycle kicks into the ocean.
As the match progressed, and the deep-red sun drooped in the distance towards the horizon, the tide slowly claimed
the playing field. It was the perfect time clock.
I have never been a big fan of football.
But I understand why they call it the beautiful game.
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With the match complete, players head for the ocean
Desert rain
It's the one time of year when people actually drive the speed limit.
Correction - well under it.
Unlike other days, when a Range Rover will shave you at 180k/h, a rare rain means caution and hazard blinkers. You'd think there was a blizzard.
Yes, it does in fact rain here in the desert, believe it or not. In fact, this year, I didn't see the sun for a week.
And when a typically clear, blue, sunny sky darkens and the rain comes down, it definitely changes the feel of the city.
Apparently, I'm not the only one with a fascination for rain. Check out the "Storm Chasers", a group that takes photos of rain in Al Ain:
http://www.storm.ae/vb/showthread.php?t=31315
Correction - well under it.
Unlike other days, when a Range Rover will shave you at 180k/h, a rare rain means caution and hazard blinkers. You'd think there was a blizzard.
Yes, it does in fact rain here in the desert, believe it or not. In fact, this year, I didn't see the sun for a week.
And when a typically clear, blue, sunny sky darkens and the rain comes down, it definitely changes the feel of the city.
Apparently, I'm not the only one with a fascination for rain. Check out the "Storm Chasers", a group that takes photos of rain in Al Ain:
http://www.storm.ae/vb/showthread.php?t=31315
 Photos by Patricia Santos |
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Beautiful violence
Photos by Patricia Santos
Check out the video. Can you hear that insane shrill?
It was maddening as I sat ring side at a Thai boxing match in Bangkok. The long, high-pitched squeal reminded me of the music played by snake charmers.
I can't imagine what I does to the fighters locked in combat, each capable of breaking my neck within 10 seconds.
Their focus is absolute as they dance and sway in the ring like cobras, waiting for the perfect moment to strike with lightning speed and accuracy. You can't drag your eyes away for a second. Many of the fighters were easily younger than 16, but their bodies, while skinny, are incredibly ripped and toned without the slightest sag.
Also sitting ringside were dozens of other foreigners with a beer in one hand and a white-knuckled fist in the other. Behind us there were hundreds of Thais screaming and frantically placing bets, a million rivalries, friendships and economies bouncing off each other at Lumpini Stadium.
Thai boxing was how I spent part of my 30th birthday in Bangkok, and while I'm not a glutton for violence, these fights were indeed an incredible display.
You really felt like you were seeing something with cultural significance. After all, it's their national sport. But I don't think that culture is necessarily the driving force behind Thai boxing. I won't snobbishly pretend that's why I was so enamored.
Rather, I believe that within most of us there is that gladiatorial urge for blood, that desire to watch violence being inflicted on our fellow man.
Amid that insane shrill, everyone in that stadium lovingly willed each blow and reveled in its ferocity.
Is that wrong? Perhaps, for those who don't subscribe or believe in violence of any form. But tonight, it was raw and genuine. It was beautiful.
It was maddening as I sat ring side at a Thai boxing match in Bangkok. The long, high-pitched squeal reminded me of the music played by snake charmers.
I can't imagine what I does to the fighters locked in combat, each capable of breaking my neck within 10 seconds.
Their focus is absolute as they dance and sway in the ring like cobras, waiting for the perfect moment to strike with lightning speed and accuracy. You can't drag your eyes away for a second. Many of the fighters were easily younger than 16, but their bodies, while skinny, are incredibly ripped and toned without the slightest sag.
Also sitting ringside were dozens of other foreigners with a beer in one hand and a white-knuckled fist in the other. Behind us there were hundreds of Thais screaming and frantically placing bets, a million rivalries, friendships and economies bouncing off each other at Lumpini Stadium.
Thai boxing was how I spent part of my 30th birthday in Bangkok, and while I'm not a glutton for violence, these fights were indeed an incredible display.
You really felt like you were seeing something with cultural significance. After all, it's their national sport. But I don't think that culture is necessarily the driving force behind Thai boxing. I won't snobbishly pretend that's why I was so enamored.
Rather, I believe that within most of us there is that gladiatorial urge for blood, that desire to watch violence being inflicted on our fellow man.
Amid that insane shrill, everyone in that stadium lovingly willed each blow and reveled in its ferocity.
Is that wrong? Perhaps, for those who don't subscribe or believe in violence of any form. But tonight, it was raw and genuine. It was beautiful.
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What's left behind
Photos by Patricia Santos
They started appearing in late 2008. Abandoned cars wedged on the street or rotting in airport parking lots, completely covered with sand and dust. The tyres deflated. Trash thrown inside and side mirrors ripped off. Messages and finger graffiti scribbled into grime.
These cars are all that's left when yet another expatriate absconds, often fleeing the country and leaving behind mountains of debt.
In the UAE, they have rapidly become a symbol of the crash.
A relic of excess and greed.
What's most amazing about these cars is the city takes forever
to move them. They sit there for months, even years. In a land that covets and copies all things new - shiny, expensive and Western - I see them as original monuments with a story. Definitely Dubai.
Are there any abandoned vehicles in your neighbourhood?
The dirtier the better! Send me your photos, along with your name and any story you wish to tell, to onyourtodd@gmail.com
These cars are all that's left when yet another expatriate absconds, often fleeing the country and leaving behind mountains of debt.
In the UAE, they have rapidly become a symbol of the crash.
A relic of excess and greed.
What's most amazing about these cars is the city takes forever
to move them. They sit there for months, even years. In a land that covets and copies all things new - shiny, expensive and Western - I see them as original monuments with a story. Definitely Dubai.
Are there any abandoned vehicles in your neighbourhood?
The dirtier the better! Send me your photos, along with your name and any story you wish to tell, to onyourtodd@gmail.com
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