ANCIENT EGYPT LEAVES ME TOTALLY IN DE-NILE
Cleopatra and me in the same boat? You bet your asp! Well, at least it was the same river.

Me and a barge full of Japanese tourists dined in an uber-campy dinner/entertainment cruise down the Nile. - complete with gay whirling dervishes and extremely bored sword dancers. When the last belly dancer emerged dramatically from the giant valentine, she was almost too fat to squeeze out. By that time I was laughing too hard to do anything but applaud along with the drunken Japanese.

Now THAT'S entertainment! Topped only by the fat belly dancer with the strategic lights that twinkled to highlight the part she was jiggling.

The original smooth outside coating of the pyramids was stolen for other building projects, like the marble from the Roman Coliseum. The top part remains because it was too darn hard to get at.


The nose knows. Legend says the nose of the Sphinx was blasted off by a jealous Napoleon (his nose and other parts were tiny) but in fact the nose-job was performed by misguided Turkish soldiers during target practice. Note the size of the people in comparison.

The Sphinx from the rear end. Does that make it the Sphincter?


Built around 5,000 years ago, the pyramids are the oldest man-made structures still remaining on earth. And their size is astounding even by today’s standards. I’ve seen them in pictures a zillion times but BEING there was a mind-blowing thrill. It was awe-inspiring walking in the footsteps of Charlton Heston, eh I mean Moses.

Calling all tourists: Get on your camel and ride.Less than 3 hours by car or a day trip by camel caravan across the burning sands from Giza to the rapaciously blue Red Sea.

PHOTOS FROM CHAOS
It’s hard for clients to understand the stress and difficulties of a location assignment when all they see is the end result, like this CSR (Corporate Social Responsibility) image shot in a school in Nigeria.

This personal video helped our Stateside clients see what we sometimes have to deal with to get a shot. Note the guy in the white shirt, the subject of the still image above. Several times we had to put the cameras down to stop the chaos. There was no way to control the situation. Several children were hurt by the pushing and shoving or by the teachers wielding bamboo sticks with frayed ends. OUCH

WE FINISH LAST IN BELGIUM
In 23 years of working together Chris and I have only had one serious disagreement on the job. Until Belgium, that is. If you were wondering what that mushroom cloud on the horizon was back on Feb 10, well, that was us exploding in thermal nuclear marital meltdown.

Not that the work suffered, oh no. Note the lovely lighting.
It was the perfect storm of marital disputes. We had been on the road for over 45 days straight without a break from work pressures or each other. The only time I couldn’t see Chris was when my eyes were closed. And between a brutal shoot/travel schedule and time zone hopping, my eyes were not closed nearly enough. Rapid blinking didn’t seem to help.

EVERYTHING is sacrificed for The Work, including body, soul and marital stability.
Central to the problem (and the reason I eventually may forgive him), Chris picked up a nasty cold in India. It’s not the first time he has gotten sick on the road while I remained well. For his sake (and mine) I wish he would quit biting his fingernails. Hands are the FedEx of germ distribution. I mentioned that fact once or twice in India as he was coughing up what sounded like parts of his lung. I wasn’t certain he could hear me over the hacking, so I thoughtfully repeated it several times just to make sure.

Adding to the anxiety, his computer, second only to the cameras in important equipment on the road, began alarmingly shutting down for no reason. The screen would just spontaneously go black and everything that was done since the last save would be lost. I kindly tried to offer assistance by standing over his shoulder while he was editing and reminding him over and over ‘Jesus saves and so should you’. For some reason he didn’t seem to appreciate my repeated help or clever humor. Obviously tensions were rising along with his temperature.

Before leaving home, Chris had wisely spent a few minutes packing the startup disc for our software programs in case of problems on the road. He also spent about 3 full days prepping his ipod music. I guess with the pressure of getting all his latest music ready for the road, he forgot to pack the two programs we use the most. I quizzed him briefly if a bit loudly about his packing deficiencies, and between coughing fits he confessed that he also forgot to pack any short sleeve shirts even though we were scheduled to spend nearly 2 weeks in Africa. But music, yes sir! He could leave his ipod playing for 3 months and never repeat a song! I wasn’t as thrilled with that information as he thought I would be.

By the time we arrived in Brussels, his fingernail biting induced illness was full-blown and he was making no attempt to curb his irritability and fussiness. God knows I love the man but I found myself drifting off when he talked and I began day-dreaming about someone else to, eh, talk to. Really, after 45 days of total intense togetherness I think I would grow weary of Brad Pitt. Well, after 60 days for sure. I mean, I dearly love fried chicken but eating it every day for every meal for over a month? Liver and onions would start to look good. Let me put it this way - if Belgium had been an episode of Survivor, Tribe Salvo wouldn’t have been voted off the island, we would have been thrown off of it. Or Chris and I on Dancing with the Stars? We were so out of step with each other, sweet Carrie Ann Inaba would have scored our performance a zero. The Amazing Race? We didn’t arrive last at the Pit Stop, we never ever reached the mat.

February 10th, Ground Zero.
His fuse was short, but mine was even shorter. It was my birthday.

I believe it falls on the same day just about every year. By my calculations, that means he had had 364 days or over 8,000 hours to do something, anything to acknowledge the date. He had done nothing. Let me repeat that: He had done NOTHING – he had not taken even one minute of time to buy me a present or even a birthday card. Nor did I get a funny/cheesy token gift picked up from an airport shop, and god knows we had spent a zillion hours hanging around airports. Granted, Chris was working extra hard this trip. Or has he put it, “I’m (cough, cough) f*ing shooting or editing (sneeze) 18 f*ing hours a day. I’m (wheeze, pitiful look) f*ing sick, and I’m f*ing tired (small extra cough for effect).” The ‘of you’ was implied. By that point I totally agreed. We had reached togetherness saturation. Correction: we had reached togetherness Hell and High Water rampaging flood stage.

So I got no dinner ending with a candle stuck in the dessert or even a shared drink and a birthday toast at the hotel bar. I ate dinner alone in the hotel restaurant on my birthday while he stayed in the room coughing and editing. Correction, I DRANK dinner alone.

After my refreshing liquid birthday dinner, things finally erupted. Krakatoa was less noisy and did less damage. Let me put it this way, there is a little town outside of Brussels with a quaint but thin walled inn that we can never ever be seen in again. Hell, I wouldn’t blame them if we were banned from ever entering the whole country as I’m sure the entire nation heard us.

Next stop Nigeria, the one place on the planet we really don’t like. Surprisingly things got better…

THE STREETS OF INDIA


Within an hour of our first day of shooting in Ahmedabad I saw:

• Lots of sacred cows hogging the roads, adding to the massive traffic snarls.


• A wild monkey stealing fruit from a street vendor’s cart.


• Many camels (a lot taller in person!) used to pull flatbed carts containing anything imaginable including propane tanks, cages of chickens and uniformed school kids.


• A painted elephant. Sauntering down the middle of a downtown street.

The street chai (tea) was spiced with ginger and god only knows what
Nowhere else on the planet do I feel as ALIVE as in India – The sights (colorful saris, elaborate temples, abject poverty), the sounds (nonstop car horns), the smells (good and bad) and the taste of the tongue-tingling food. It is not humanly possible to be bored here.

We take to the streets, defying logic and tempting the stomach gods with risky street food. The popcorn was fun to watch. Nutritiously popped in SAND, not oil, it could have used a bit more sifting in the colander – it was like eating popcorn on a windy day at the beach. The multi-dished lunch (it tasted way better than it looks) was a variety of local delicacies. Drinking the street chai (tea) was a great experience but probably a big mistake. But I promise – no more bad tummy stories (see Elbow Wars post).

Next pit stop: Belgium!

I AM A KITE RUNNER

During the Kite Festival in Ahmedabad it is normal for each person to use 200-400 kites a day - That's a lot of running around!
Here in Ahmedabad, northern India, the annual kite flying festival has just ended. As in the book The Kite Runner, everybody in town participates in the competition. I was thrilled to experience first hand (ouch) that the string really is coated with very fine sharp ground glass to aid in cutting the opponent’s kite from the sky.

We wanted a kite to use as a prop in one of our India lifestyle shots. We ended up with 20, which we were told is the minimum number you can buy at a time.


My first attempt at kite flying was not very successful.

Even 2 weeks after the Kite Festival, wayward kites hung like multicolor fruit from every tree in town.
More from this Amazing Pit Stop - including video of our encounters with street food on my next post. Stay tuned...

WE PUT THE BAR IN BARCELONA
The Ramblas was a top notch stroll, even in the rain.But when it started to pour, we ducked into the nearest tapas bar and did some pouring of a different kind - an easy thing to do as there are several tapas bars on every block.
I can’t believe we didn’t take any pictures of the Tapas Bars we ate in on a daily basis whilst in Barcelona. But as those who have been here know, the tapas are sooo good we forgot the camera every single time the food (and wine) arrived.

The vendors at the enormous never-ending food market were costumed for Carnival.
Check out the different ham preparations and the variation in prices.
I was not prepared for the intensity of La Sagrada Familia. The views - from the exterior, from the unfinished interior and from the top of the spires - were revolutionary in thought and execution. Gaudi’s crowning glory may never be finished, but it is already a masterpiece of design.

The 'melting' facade of La Sagrada Familia is still under construction after more than 100 years.

Gaudi was thinking 'forest' when he designed the asymmetrical pillars and floral insprired ceiling and windows of the cathedral's interior.
Barcelona is Gaudi Central with many of his buildings to see including of course the Sagrada Familia Cathedral. But one of my favorite places was the delightful public park he designed. The huge park is at once classic and modern; simple and gaudy; traditional and whimsical. The combined effect is one of energized peace. Even Chris’ shots don’t do it justice, you have to FEEL this place to appreciate it.

Hayley turns the tables on us at the park. See more results of her photos at Hayley's Comments

Like father, like daughter - always with a camera!

More from the next Pit Stop - India!

PITSTOP:
MILANO, ITALIA

As usual when we are shooting in public, our production drew quite a crowd of onlookers.
How is it Italians make such great models? Is it in their genes or something cultural? Or both? We’ve shot all over the world and by FAR Italians are the best, most natural and easiest to work with on a shoot. These are my Peeps!

Crowd control of a different kind – pigeons kept ‘messing’ up the shots!
We shot lifestyle scenes in the Piazza La Scala, across from the world famous opera house in Milano. Afterwards we shot in the Galleria and in the Piazza Duomo.

Francesco: IT guy extraordinaire. Francesco not only helped with the techno computer stuff, he chauffeured us around Milano (no easy task) and turned out to be an outstanding model.
Gracia mille, Francesco e tutte. Che vediamo a presto - speriamo!

WE RACE ON

Our clients expect us to deliver gorgeous shots, no excuses allowed. But pretty photos in bad weather? Sure! Instead of complaining about no sunshine, we change gears and shoot moody winter scenes. Lovely!

It’s a dreary, foggy, wet, cold afternoon in Vilnius, Lithuanian. Ahhh, winter in Eastern Europe! But the weather has not dampened my travel enthusiasm. The British have it right (can’t believe I admit that) when they say ‘it’s not the weather that is bad, it’s your choice of clothing’. I’m staying dry and toasty with my high-tech thin thermals underneath and my sensible hooded coat, scarf and (Italy forgive me) ugly but comfy shoes.

Several of the 8 different airlines we will be flying during the next 3 weeks have very limited baggage rules both for checked and hand carry bags. On Air Lithuania we paid as much in baggage overages as we paid for our tickets. London travelers warning - Gatwick airport security allows only one cabin bag each. So it was either check my purse or the computers – how absurd. I stuffed my purse into the computer bag (just until we cleared security) and Chris stuffed his purse, eh-I mean manbag, into our rolling camera bag. That got us down to one bag each but we were WAY over the ridiculously low 15lb limit for hand carry. We sidestepped that STUPID restriction by stuffing our coat pockets with cameras, batteries, etc., until each bag was light enough. I don’t feel one whit of guilt over using this luggage loophole. Until the day comes when they weigh people along with their bags, the rules are unfair. I should be allowed more luggage weight than that 200lb. guy sitting next to me!

Our 7 pieces of luggage weighs about 200lbs (90kilos) total.

The absurd and unreasonable luggage rules have me going Postal, but in a good way - Neither rain nor sleet, nor stupid airline baggage limits shall stop me from enjoying my appointed rounds!

We share a single very generous serving of traditional Lithuania dishes: Potato pancakes, potato stuffed with cottage cheese, potato stuffed with veal, potato dumplings with ground meat, potato sausage and about 3 other potato inspirations. Ireland eat your heart out!

The proximity of Russia to Lithuania assures a good beetroot soup on every menu. And of course the ever present potato.

Our next pit stop – Bella Italia! Continuing on with our scheduled 23 flight segments on 8 different airlines to 9 countries on 4 continents. Momma mia. Our seat backs are up and our tray tables are locked and ready for take off and landing – and take off and landing – and take off and landing…

THE FIRST LEG IN OUR RACE AROUND THE WORLD
We made it to the first pit stop – Vilnius, the capitol of Lithuania.

Lithuania is located on the same latitude as Stockholm, Sweden so it came as no surprise to find myself sloshing through sleet and icy-snow on our first night.

Vilnius Townhall with our hotel in the background on the left.
Lithuania is a new country for us, one of three we will gain on this annual report photo trip, bringing our total country count up to 65, I think. Or maybe it’s 66?


How quickly did you spot Lithuania on the map?

More later down the road...

BREAKING ALL THE TRAVEL RULES
The skies only look friendly
Rule number one in travel writing:

Never discuss your gastrointestinal problems. No matter how unique and/or strange the occurrence, nobody wants to read about it, not even your mother.

Rule number two in travel writing:

Never discuss point A to point B travel details or how long it took. Unless you got there by elephant, such minutia is boring.

Rule number three in travel writing:

Never whine or complain about travel inconveniences. Hey, at least you are out there. The rest of the world is stuck in some cubicle and will have no sympathy for your lumpy hotel mattress, missed train, etc.

I’m about to break all three rules…

ELBOW WARS

Silent warfare at 30,000 feet
I woke up with the hangover I deserved. I accepted the pounding inside my brain humbly as my just punishment. What I found unfair and quasi-alarming was the tsunami wave of pain that originated in my stomach and was now coursing downward through my body uncontrollably, carrying god only knew what horrible debris in its wake. I hadn’t been that bad. I didn’t deserve this kinda pain. My intestinal track had turned into a wild water park flume ride and some giant vile thing was whoosing too fast down the straight parts, then getting stuck (ouch) in the turns. Visions of water park enthusiasts squirting out of tunnels leapt into my still throbbing head. Oh, the pain.
I gingerly took my seat in the plane and checked my watch. A gut check confirmed what I feared. The ‘debris’ would reach the end of its flume ride long before I reached the end of the plane ride. Shit. And I mean that in every conceivable way possible.
Adding to that, the travel gods had turned against me. What started as a very early day (3AM) and about 6 hours of easy travel turned into 12 excruciating hours on a completely full flight in a horrible storm with a screaming baby in the seat behind me. Heavy sigh. But worse than that (and there are very few things on the planet worse than that) the weirdo guy in the seat next to me (not Chris, the weirdo on the other side of me) launched a full scale elbow war.
It began with a slight brushing of our arms over the neutral zone known as The Armrest. A brush, a mere whisper of contact during takeoff. It’s the Elbow War equivalent of ‘en garde’. Quickly it escalated into muscle tensing/no holds barred/I would spit on your mother, open but undeclared elbow warfare.
We skirmished in silence for more than an hour over disputed territory – the 3 inch wide highly coveted frontier of the skys - The Armrest. It’s the Elbow War equivalent of the military High Ground, the Maginot Line, the Porkchop Hill of the airways. Every time I moved my arm to turn a page in my book he used the opportunity to advance, moving another fraction of an inch. Every time he fidgeted, which was more often than I turned a page since I’m only pretending to read, I regain some minuscule armrest turf.
The Rules of Elbow War Engagement are strictly adhered to by both of us. Neither makes eye contact or speaks to each other. All movements must outwardly appear natural and civil. Yeah right, like Attila the Hun kinda civil. As a seasoned road warrior I rarely permit any imperialist elbow aggression, but hey, I was tired and he was capital W Weird.
He had a dirty ponytail and he was wearing grimy leather pants and an old Harvey Davidson motorcycle jacket, proudly flying his ‘colors’. He reeked of cheap cigars (at least I think it was cheap cigars) and he kept mumbling quasi-intelligible words to himself. Creepy.
Lots of practice allows me to sleep on just about any plane, including this charter flight with me and the boys into Papua New Guinea. Chris loves to fly so usually doesn't sleep. He would have stuck his head out the window for better views of the atolls and reefs if possible.
After another futile hour of silent but heated battle, in the name of peace I conceded the entire armrest to him. Checkmate. I sighed heavily in surrender and crossed my arms over my chest to keep them well within my small domain. I resembled a corpse in defeat. At least it’s over, I think. Tired, I close my eyes. But wait, what was that? Was that really his elbow advancing OVER the armrest boundary? Oh god, he is not content with his victory, not by a long shot. I sense his ambitious greed for new lands to conquer. He’s intent upon (literally) elbowing his way over the armrest frontier into my sovereign seat area! Damn, no matter how much space I give him his arm keeps inching farther and farther into my turf. My enemy is crazy and without remorse and I’m too tired to launch a counter attack. Now I know how Poland felt in 1942.
But I have a plan that even Churchill would applaud. I raise my hands – not in surrender but to call the smiling stew to my side carrying yet another of those cute little vodka bottles. Ahhhh, getting there is once again half the fun.

IN TRANSIT
Out with the Old Year, In with the New

As we move from 2007 to 2008 I pause to count my frequent flyer miles and reflect upon life spent IN TRANSIT.


Last year was good. Very good. We worked hard and played even harder. We laughed frequently and drank lots of very good wine. Everybody is in good health and the kids are all employed – what more can one women ask of life? Well, more first class upgrades would be nice!

Happy Trails

MY FAMILY CHRISTMAS WAS BETTER THAN YOUR FAMILY CHRISTMAS

I come from an Italian family with lots and lots of lawyers. Every gathering is LOUD and almost always involves some sort of competition. Christmas is no exception. Last year's celebration at attorney-brother Robert’s house was great, so the heat was on attorney-brother Phil to make this year’s event even better. Sibling rivalry does have its up side…

Scardino Christmas 2007 was wild and loud. It started with very festive red and green jello-shots that my usually sensible and sane attorney-sister Teresa brought. And Lo, on Christmas Day, a new family tradition was born. It sorta went crazy from there. We competed at ping-pong and god help us, karaoke. We debated over who brought the best wine. The gift exchange competition was a riot. I think I remember there was food.



Wishing you (and me) Peace and a Long Winter's Nap

BUON TACCHINO GIORNATA!
(Happy Turkey Day!)
The house as seen from halfway up the vineyard.
As much as I miss being with friends and family on Thanksgiving Day, I’m really happy about the progress with the house here in Italy. I’m praying like mad that the weather gods will permit us to get the house painted and the tiles installed before winter arrives in earnest. It SNOWED a couple of days ago and it’s been drizzling rain ever since. If the temp drops below freezing for long, the glue for the tile won’t work and the paint won’t stick. Send warm wishes our way!

Mama Mia, snow! The house as seen from the steep driveway. Nebbia (snow) is pretty but not good for construction work or driving. The law here is you must have snow chains in your car once the first snow has fallen. Chris bought chains and put them in the trunk, but we of course have no idea how to put them on or use them.

Uteh holds a piece of our floor tile up to wall paint samples. Which would you choose? There are so many choices to make and so many details it makes my head hurt. We discovered yesterday that we have never ordered interior doors, and since EVERYTHING is a custom build, doors are a 2 month project – MADONNA!

The sun sets at 4:30 this time of year, but it doesn’t stop the piastrellista (tile layer) from finishing the tile in what will be inside the kitchen island. Note the stone facade. I’m very impressed with the quality of the workmanship, and I adore our tile. Wait ‘til you see!

FALL IN THE PIEMONTEOur house as seen from the vineyard with the plaster finally on. We held our breath hoping the weather would cooperate and it did!
Our house renovation project in Italy is back on track and really starting to look like a home. Our super talented architecto, Alberto Sanquilico, sent us these recent photos.

View of Terzo (click to enlarge and see the old church and medieval tower) from what will be the kitchen window. You can hear the church bells clearly when the wind is right. This is what I will look at while washing dishes

The exposed rafters in the third floor guest room will glow with hidden lighting at night, but how about that view during the day!
We are heading back to Acqui for Thanksgiving. More news and photos coming soon.
EXCITED!

I FELT THE EARTH MOVE UNDER MY FEET
Reporting from the jungles of Papua New Guinea deep in the volcano zone known as the Ring of Fire where according to wikipedia ninety percent of the world's earthquakes occur. It’s truly the Ends of the Earth. I’m talking remote and I don’t mean the TV clicker. It’s the dry season here in the rain forest, which means it only rains for part of each day instead of a constant downpour all day long. Yesterday we ventured off the LNG construction site we are here to shoot and wandered into the bush…

An open spot on the jungle path allowed enough light for a photo op
Within 3 meters (10ft) we were totally engulfed by strange vegetation. My footfalls were muted and softened by the mushy rotting plant matter that made up the jungle floor. If someone had blindfolded me and spun me around there is no way I could have pointed the way out when the blindfold was removed. It was claustrophobically dense.

Biologists say there are potentially thousands of plants and insects yet to be discovered in PNG
Filtered sun made its way through the canopy in occasional bright shafts, highlighting the multitude of spider webs. The light level was low compared to the blinding equatorial sun just inches outside the jungle cover. The temperature was noticeably cooler, but the staggering humidity was no less oppressive and the bug population was multiplied a hundred fold, no make that a zillion-fold. The buzz of exotic insects grew with each step, along with my sense of awe and a uncomfortable prickly sensation heralding the Unknown.

THE most amazing sunsets I have seen anywhere. Our clients were as thrilled as we were!
We were advised to keep moving so the mosquitoes and other local creepy crawlers would have a harder time. Our malaria meds are rated 95% effective, but do nothing to stop dingy fever or just a really nasty bug bite and the subsequent potential of a jungle-rot infection. Our hosts strolled nonchalantly along like we were in the middle of Central Park instead of the middle of the largest contiguous jungle in the world. Meanwhile, Chris was slapping his sides and stomping his feet faster than an East Texas clogger at a Saturday night hoedown. I chose to whirl, arms flailing, like a demented but hopefully stylish dervish. Do you know how hard it is to look like an experienced professional when you are spinning like a top? It’s difficult, but I’m confident I managed to look ever calm and cool as I thrashed uncontrollably around in circles. I’m sure our clients were duly impressed with our command of the situation.

Meanwhile, my imagination turned every twig into a snake, and every leaf movement hid a stalking carnivorous beast, ready to lunge at my throat. I wouldn’t survive 24 hours here. If the animals didn’t kill me, my imagination would. Jane was nuts, no way Tarzan was worth living here. It’s CREEPY!

I had hoped to catch sight of one of the monkeys that shrieks us awake each morning or one of the nearly 700 species of birds that inhabit the region. I had to settle for a brief glimpse of an incredible blue iridescent butterfly that drifted too quickly past and then disappeared into the tangled grapevines and giant fern trees.

Monas, the icon of Jakarta. We bribed our way to the front of the elevator que, saving several precious hours of shoot time and buckets of sweat
Motorcycles are cheap and easy to manuveur through the hellacious Jakarta traffic. I've seen as many as 5 on a bike!
Jakarta, our jumping off spot for Papua, was hit by a series of mild to medium earthquakes, during our stay. The biggest registered 8.4 on the Richter Scale. That triggered a tsunami warning that included our area. Since we were within a rock’s throw of the sea, that’s something that perked up my ears.

Indonesia has the largest Muslim population in the world. We shot in Mosques, Cathedrals and the Buddhist temple shown here
Workers at the site were worried about their families living in highrise apartments in Jakarta. Some evacuated to Singapore or Thailand. One told the story of the first quake causing some worrisome structural damage to their highrise. The next quake caused the pool on the 24th floor to slosh violently out, sending torrents of water down the elevator shaft, which immediately shorted out all the lights in the building AND stopped the elevator. Yikes, I hate to think what it must have been like on that elevator ride! First the quaking, then darkness, then the flood!

Jakarta blends modern skyscrapers with its rich cultural tradition.
Hurricanes are a walk in the park compared to what the people over here in the Ring of Fire deal with. At least you know when a hurricane is coming. I wonder why they don’t name earthquakes?

INDONESIAN JUNGLE BOOGIE

Jakarta at night. If you don’t mind diesel fumes and earthquakes, it’s a richly rewarding photo op.
We are winding up a 2 week project in Asia with a stop in smog and earthquake plagued Jakarta on the island of Java, country of Indonesia.

We took our client’s environmental expert out in the jungle – just a few feet from the jobsite – for an appropriate background
Papua New Guinea, home of cannibals and penis guords, was our main shoot location and is by far The Most Remote place on the planet I’ve visited.

I stand-in for a worker while Chris fine tunes composition and lighting for one of the construction shots. I actually love industrial settings – yes, they are dirty and dangerous, but they make such majestic and grandiose backgrounds.
More on this fascinating trip when I get back – can’t keep clients waiting!

I STILL HAVE 12.5 MINUTES COMING TO ME
It’s hard not to get big headed with hundreds of people cheering for you. I got two - thanks to the giant screen.
Andy Warhol said everyone will get 15 minutes of fame in their life. I used up 2.5 of mine at the IABC International Conference in New Orleans.

Receiving the International Association of Business Communicators (IABC) Chairman’s Award is a huge honor and a thrilling experience. I gave my 150 second acceptance speech in front of a huge crowd at the Opening Reception.


The official photo of me and Chris by George Long– strange being on this side of the camera. Conference attendees were greeted with some of our member photos scrolling on giant screens. It was wonderful seeing the images so big.

Adding to the over 200 IABC member photos we have shot while on assignments around the world. Chris' great photos appear on the IABC homepage. Photo courtesy Keith Philpott

OH, THE PEOPLE YOU’LL MEET
Places – I have been to lots and lots of places on the planet. I’ve enjoyed all of them. Well, maybe not Nigeria, but just about every other place. And even in Nigeria I learned stuff and met people I enjoyed. Read about people in Africa below.


Giselle then and on my right at recent IABC Trinidad gathering
On a recent trip to Trinidad it was my good fortune to meet a number of dynamic and thoroughly enjoyable woman who belonged to The International Association of Business Communicators (IABC). Each were talented and smart and we had a lovely lunch talking about everything from iPhones to global warming to how much harder it is to potty train boys. It’s nice to know that no matter where on the planet you are, women are dealing with the same issues!

Among the group of Trinis was a soft spoken woman named Giselle Laronde-West. Giselle is married, raising 2 boys. She is the Corporate Communications Manager with Angostura Ltd. (the company that make those bottles of bitters). She was also Miss World 1986. She was the first and only woman from Trinidad and Tobago to win the title. She used the prize money to attend college in London where she earned a degree in Communications. Besides the unique experience of being Miss World and traveling around same, she is in the Caribbean Hall of Fame and has a commercial airplane named after her. Now that’s cool.

I have Confidence in Africa
May 4, 2005

We were feeling pretty ragged when we landed in Nigeria. The 21 hour commute from Baghdad was exhausting. We had expected the company Meet&Greet people to kid-glove us through the legendarily horrible Nigerian customs and immigration, but no such luck. We alternately cajoled and muscled our way through a gauntlet of bribe seeking ‘officials’ whose eyes lit up when they saw the tantalizing contents of our camera bag.

Posing with Confidence
“What do you have for me?” is the phrase you hear over and over again. Everybody here understands that phase is a request for dash – the Nigerian word for bribe. Corruption is a way of life here. Nothing happens without dash. There is crushing poverty everywhere you look. Yet someone here is making zillions off the oil & gas resources. It just isn’t getting through to the general population. There is no trickle down in Nigeria. And for that reason and others, crime in the form of theft is to be expected.

But we don’t worry because we have confidence on our side. In fact, we have confidence anytime we want, at our beck and call anytime of the day or night. Confidence is the name of our Nigerian driver. So far, he has lived up to his name.

What's in a Name?
I love the uninhibited creativity and individuality of African names. One of the children we photographed at a local clinic today was named Precious. Isn’t that just perfect? We know Genesis well, had lunch with him yesterday, but we try to avoid his brother, Temptation. On our last trip to Africa our driver was Mr. God Love. When we were told to “Go with God”, our Catholic upbringing unexpectedly popped out and Chris and I responded in unison, “And also with you”. We depended on God to get us where we wanted to go. And it was comforting to have God as our co-pilot.

The names may sound strange to us, but it makes a heck of a lot more sense than having every other person answer to John or Jessica. Each of us is a unique individual, and our names should reflect that. It would save a great deal of confusion, don’t you think? Personally, I’m uncomfortable around someone else with my name. It somehow makes me feel diminished. So I’m adopting the African custom and changing my name to something unique and appropriate to me alone. But what?

People remember me by my premature white hair, so maybe my name should be something like Snowtop. But no, the rest of my body has finally caught up with my hair and it is no longer the unique feature it was back in my teens and early 20s. I’d prefer a name that connotes action or a personality trait or maybe my lifestyle. Intrepid? Endeavor? No, people would confuse me with space shuttles or battleships.

Hmm, something to do with travel seems appropriate. How about Jet 3000? Number names are all the rage right now. But maybe that’s too faddish. What about Worldwoman? Or you can call me Earth. Hi, I’m Earth, pleased to meet you. But on second thought, no again. Earth can also mean dirt which doesn’t feel right and it just isn’t poetic enough for my taste.

Wait, I’ve got it! Farflung. That’s it! My new name is Farflung. Farflung Salvo. It almost has an Asian ring to it, don’t you think? And it makes a semi-complete sentence when combined with my last name which is kinda nifty. Hi, I’m Farflung. Cool.

Chris wants to be known as Humongous D.
Pa-leese. I won’t even comment on that one.

--Farflung Salvo

SEASICK PHOTO CHICK

Click to enlarge and you will see the swing ropes we would have used to get from the boat to the platform. Unfortunately the seas were so high the captain would not let anyone, including the seasoned hands, attempt the transfer.
We just got off a plane – something I’m always happy to say. I may be a frequent flyer but I’m also frequently a white-knuckle flyer. Bouncing around in turbulent skies scares the bejeezus out of me. But I’ve never come even close to getting air-sick. I can even brag about surviving with stomach intact many extreme helicopter rides. Most were piloted by ex-Vietnam service guys with eyes that have been bloodshot since the 60s. The take-off briefing usually includes the question, “Dudes, do you want a ride, or do you want a RIDE? It makes no difference what you answer, you are going to get the RIDE (heavy sigh). I’ve been scared, but never even queasy, much less nauseated. I hate nauseated. I could deal better with a broken arm or blood spurting out of my neck than pukey. But like I said, I never get motion sickness so I didn’t worry one bit when we got the call to shoot an offshore platform from an ocean going crewboat. In fact I was looking forward to the experience of swinging from a rope, tarzan-style, to get from the boat to the platform.

My client/contact just sent me this photo with the note:
This was taken on the crew boat as we were going out, before we all got sick.
After watching this shrimp boat crash wildly through the waves, I had a new respect for fisherman along with my upset tummy.
Me and The Guys - as usual I was the only female in a sea (hahaha) of testosterone. Iron stomach that I am, I laughed along with the rest of the crew when the captain started talking about getting hang-time once the boat cleared the seclusion of the jetties. Hang-time on a 100-foot vessel means seriously rockin’ and rollin’ high seas adventure. Or in my case, seriously struggling to hold on to the porcelain convenience. The boat was pitching so hard I literally could not stand up and walk without being violently thrown into the bulkhead. The sound the boat made as it lunged out of the water was creepy. And then waiting for the sickening crash back into the swells was, well-let’s just say it made it hard to aim.

In my wacko female brain the fact that everyone tossed their cookies - male and yours truly alike - somehow makes me feel better. At least when my eyeballs quit jumping around in their sockets I’ll feel better.

MY MONSOON WETTING

Mumbai street flooding is so common during monsoon season it doesn't even make the news.
Experiencing a monsoon here in India is quite different than what I imagined. I wrongly thought of a monsoon as a single dramatic phenomenon that lasted a few hours, like a hurricane, or Chris when he's had too many espressos. But in fact monsoon refers to a whole season of soggy, nasty wetness. It’s not that it is a continuous torrential downpour, although at times it comes down harder than an off-balanced sumo wrestler. It’s that it just never stops. From the beginning of June all the way through August – RAIN, RAIN and more RAIN. While I'm hiding in doorways and anxiously dodging puddles, Indians don't seem to mind being wet one bit. They greet each other by saying, "Are you enjoying the raining today?"

Wet means slippery roads, mud slides and bad visibility, which is why our client forbid any car travel at night. Thank goodness the vast majority of our shooting was indoors.

The view out our classy hotel window in Pune, India. I particularly like the guy in the beater (click to enlarge photo). He could see us every bit as good as we could see him. It reminded me of Hitchcock's classic, Rear Window.

Just to freak out my west Texas relatives, I got a henna tattoo on my wrist and ankle. The shop keeper tried desperately to sell me a rug to match.

Anybody know what these really long veggies are?

Gandhi was imprisoned for years in Pune at the AgaKhan Palace which now houses a museum and Gandhi relics. Pune was ground zero for the Indian independence movement from the Brits. Why can't they just stay on their little island and leave the rest of the world alone?
Mahatma Gandhi was an Indian hero and unique in many ways, including his distinctive dress. He never wore shoes and consequently his feet were one big callous. His tireless work, long incarcerations and frequent fasts destroyed his health, including his teeth. Those closest to him would whisper about his bad breath. Which is why he came to be known as The Super Callused, Fragile Mystic, Plagued with Halitosis.

I should be incarcerated in a small area with horrible food for a long time for that. No wait, I already flew the 14hr. trip here and will do it again day after tomorrow. Talk about punishment!