The Life and Times of Mark Callanan in the New Millenium

Lightning Strikes

2009-07-19T23:57:00.000-07:00

New Rules. Short entries.

°°°°°

Lightning Storm Puerto Vallarta July 18

Pic of the Day

2009-05-26T19:59:00.000-07:00

Welcome

to the
callananphoto

Lost and Found Dept.

In the course of searches through my files, digital and analog, ancient and recent, I often unearth some hitherto forgotten or neglected image that makes me smile. Either for its content, its photographic merit or for its sentimental significance, I'm creating an archive for these lost souls that might not ordinarily get public exposure; shots that were taken for a reason at the time, but without a real purpose in mind.

Here, then is a halfway house for the orphans, the accidents, the resurrected and the likeable runts of the litter.

Their only common denominator is that I didn't really know what else to do except share them; there's no chronology, no connection between successive posts, but I'll keep adding to them....until the cows come home.

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Brahman cattle. Dawn fog. Sinaloa, Mexico

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Cooling off at Austin City Limits Music Festival 2007

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Anibal relaxes with dolphin
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"WILL BUILD TO SUIT" - New Mexico

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poppies and smokering - Burningman 2008

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The Millenium Bug
During a layover at LAX in 2000, this brand new VW beetle was alone on the rooftop parking lot. The mothership beyond that it mimics is the Jetsonesque skyport restaurant. I made a feeble attempt to sell it to VW but they weren't buying.

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Somewhere in Oregon

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everywhere in mexico. La Virgen de Guadalupe
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Electrical storms are one (and the only?) good and exciting thing about summer life in Puerto Vallarta. This strike hit the water right in front of the hotel zone. Shot from my street in Amapas towards downtown PV.
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The Smoothie bus at Kahakuloa on the scenic north coast road on Maui, Hawai'i.

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Home sweet home. Sydney CBD from the Harbour Bridge

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Cantina las Perras, San Miguel de Allende, Guanajuato, Mexico. The sign by the door translates "No women in uniform or minors"
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First frame through the lensbaby 3G

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Cora Indians at a coffee plantation in Nayarit, Mexico
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Happenstance was Burningman 2000; an artcar tribute to the DNA double helix complemented by a twirling dust devil.
http://www.callananphoto.com/burningman/ http://www.callananphoto.com/burningman2008/
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Los Indios Tarahumara celebrate Easter with mud, dance, music, tejuino and sleeplessness. Las Barancas del Cobre (copper canyon) Chihuahua, Mexico.
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Carlos Santana and his Mum going home to Autlán, Jalisco, 2002
● In the pre-plastic glory days of tall ships, the henequen plant provided most of the world's cordage. A handful of delapidated haciendas in the Yucatan peninsula still process the plant and produce the fibre. Hacienda Ake.
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Seafood restaurant wallart, La Islote, Guayabitos, Mexico.
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Sunset clifftop dinner set-up for two at Four Seasons Resort , Punta Mita, Mexico
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Spiral staircase in Casa Mi Ojo, Careyes, Mexico
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Mennonite father and his children, Campeche, Mexico
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(above and below) Murals, La Habana, Cuba

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Banksia. Floral poker dots of the Sydney bushland.

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Me, trying to put some life into yet another silent architectural scene.
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Bananaboat ride, Puerto Vallarta, Mexico

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Classic Americana diner decor. Salida, Colorado

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One of the quasi-religious parades leading up to La Feria San Marcos in Aguascalientes. More at http://www.callananphoto.com/aguascalientes/
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what a sad indictment of modern vallarta....I think this is the same woodpecker I found at my doorstep as a fledgling just after they'd started to clear the adjacent lot to make way for another condo tower. I nursed it and released it and watched it fly downhill back to its roost. Four months later there are metal and concrete towers where the huamuchil tree of its birthplace used to be. It's hard not to be anthropomorphic and suggest that its thought at this moment was "wtf?"

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This horse may well have had a similar thought....6th National Charro Championship, PV March '08

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Sydney Storm from North Head

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A cuetero watches all his hard work go up in smoke and sparks as hundreds of interconnected fuses and gunpowder charges synchronise and give pyrotechnic life to a classic mexican fireworks castillo (tower).
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The seawater baths on the southern end of Mazatlan's loooong malecon. Very popular with the working class who know how to have fun for free.

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This is about as busy as San Felipe ever gets.

Dawn patrol services the departing fishing fleet.(Yucatan)

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End of the Line for the Skunk Train. Fort Bragg, Ca.
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Cuatro cubanos contentos. Aguardiente-lubricated camaraderie.
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EJW leap of faith at the science building. Eugene, Or.
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Liverpool Mall (PV) carpark at midnight
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This is my foto of Bob Gilbert's painting of my foto. (and below, some extraordinary tilework designed by Anna the Pom in the house that Bob built at Akunamatata (near Tehuamixtle, Jalisco). The scorpion adorns the threshold, the carp swim in the rockpool.

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Negative space. Max's wigwam in the aspens. Colorado
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Sneakin' a peek inside the cantina. Merida, Yucatán
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Study of chair and sculpture.
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black and white roadside attractions - 1970 BMW 75/5 and cows

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black and white roadside attractions, mexico style.

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Stay tuned

international fireworks symposium

2009-04-28T10:30:00.000-07:00

The long awaited and highly anticipated 11th International Fireworks Symposium convened in Vallarta in April 2009.

I donated a photograph to the promotional cause which became their banner image, hung all over town and was featured on the badges of the hundreds of participating pyros.

The Tlalchichilpaneco team even incorporated the image into their own banner which a couple later used as a roof to protect themselves from falling embers! (I think molten plastic is worse than smouldering cardboard.) Novel use for a stock image!

That the symposium organisers didn't present me with my own pass didn't stop me from getting in close to the action.

The 4 nights of fireworks also incorporated the water frontage to good effect, using barges and remotely detonated charges.

I made 2 sorties into the fiery fray and as with any carte blanche self-instigated photo/doco assignment it's often the serendipitous sightings away from the main stage that yield the most interesting photographs.

For more photos of the symposium event, the fireworks and its fringe go here

But if it's just fireworks you want,

ignite this
and see more castillos and cuetes than you can poke a match at.

Making my way between the firewoks shows at the stadio and the malecon, I saw a political slogan ominously predicting the fate of street foodstall patrons. I made the connection after scoffing a few volcanes con todo....

"the movement follows"

Stay tuned for more bowel humour.

Australia Australia Land of the Waratah and Dahlia

2009-04-05T22:46:00.000-07:00

My Mum's 80th in late Feb 2009 was all the excuse I needed for a visit home.

It also prompted the long threatened acquisition of a mariachi suit....manifestation of a pretend mexican.

The other clincher to make the trip was the practical reunion of my builder brother Michael and me to reconstruct the elevated verandah at Mum's house. It had been poorly made and even more poorly repaired over the years; we had the job of making it like new again. (MCsquared/Safety Third Productions.)

The verandah took 2 weeks and included the adaptive improvement to an existing pergola frame on the back of the house using the old deck boards.

The week after the party was work by day and socialise by night at a string of Sydney artworld events. The first being the archibald wynne and sulman prizes for 2009 at the AGNSW.

Socially a great event. Some great art too but difficult to concentrate on when the gallery is full of more beautiful people than beautiful art.

Visually inspired and sufficiently Iubricated, I wandered back to Circular Quay with all eyes on the citynightscape that I hadn't savoured for too long. The roadworks scene outside the Mitchell Library reminded me of the cartoonish industrial works of Jeffrey Smart.

Another event in a week of exhibitions and openings was the Moran prize in early March. It was judged solely by my nephew Andrew Quilty which was a great honour but also meant he couldn´t enter the $A80,000 comp....Dean Sewell won. You can see the their work and other examples of the best of contemporary australian photography at Oculi.

Staying in Neutral Bay meant easy access to the ferry service - a glorious 15 minutes to the city, day or night, via the Sydney Harbour Bridge and the Opera House, neither of which ever fail to impress.

Sydney coastal weather often highlighted the already spectacular beachscenes. This one squall passed over the Central coast and metamorphosed its way south down the line of the northern peninsular beaches. (Shot from South Palm Beach.)

Then it was a hop, skip and a jump (plane, train and a car) to western Victoria for 5 days at Tyrendarra, to visit a mate, his missus and friends. Days were spent doing what you do in a happy home surrounded by the Australian bush.

Nights were spent carousing and making music.

Pete's professional life is devoted to the study of the largest animal ever known on Earth, the blue whale which congregates annually along the Bonney Upwelling near Portland.

Dr. Peter Gill, also known as the biggest bloody clown on the planet also performs for us in a 4 frame movie.

And thence it was back to Sydney for a final wander and wonder.

Adieu
hasta pronto

Los Veranos

2008-11-21T00:48:00.000-08:00

Meet Jeff.

He's the only one who gets to ride the Los Veranos Can O' Peas without a crash helmet.

He owns the joint.
Lock, stock and 14 smokin' ziplines.

He built it from scratch and still likes to ride after all these years to relive the rush he created

when you step off a platform and scream your way 300m across and above
the mighty Rio Horcones.

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For the rest of the world, after a self-guided wander riverside,

the guided tour starts with a harness, helmet and glove fitting with a short demo

and then its off to get high .

and go fast.

There aren't too many activities where parents, children, grandparents and teenagers all get to experience the same rush and same thrill.

The zipline is an egalitarian tour and proves that there's no age limit on thrill seeking.

However, like parachuting and scubadiving, ziplining is not an innately human pursuit. To span voids hanging from fibres is not an instinct nor a talent we possess as a species.

Spiders do it , but we have to be pushed, and in the process, convinced that it is really OK. That's why the first zip is short, slow and low. It's the teaser that makes you want more. It's the first of many surprises.

Expect the unexpected: screamers, scream; fears are faced: the mighty crumble and the meek shall inherit the zippydedoodah.

There's always a helping hand if you need it.

But once you leave the platform, you're on it and there's no getting off it, so you might as well relax and enjoy it....et voila! Everyone arrives at the other end grinning like cheshire cats and eager for the next run.

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Teenagers, their bravado temporarily checked by lingering thoughts of mexican engineering standards, enjoy the shock of speed, exposure, altitude and experience, for a change, a sport wherein there's no sexual superiority, no fraternity other than that of secret fear. Equal rights.

Some riders retain the cool throughout the extreme conditions.

some appreciate the passing panorama

and for some, well it's just too damn exciting for words
(except maybe a shrill and prolonged "OMG............"!!! )

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If children are too small to go themselves they get a personal escort.

(Adult escort service enquiries can be directed to the Head Guide, Pale (pron. pa-lay) Hah!, not really, but girls don't seem to mind attention from any of the good-looking bilingual guides)!

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Having a personal or group video of the tour is an excellent souvenir (and keeps this guy fit).
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The names of each ride give clues to the nature of the particular thrill or physical requirements.

(dos cojones)
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Throughout the course, the Los Veranos ziplines really constitute a 'canopy tour' as they pass above it

Within it

and through it.

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After a few hours of group camaraderie, new rivalries emerge and get tested as the tour ends with a challenge race down the river (loser buys the margaritas).

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But the tour, the thrills and the challenges don't stop there....Just when you thought yourself vindicated as a fearless macho, other animals take the stage and
sort the men

and the women

from the boys and the girls.
The animals are part of the casual riverside restaurant atmosphere where you'll find delicious simple, solutions to the appetite earned from exercise and fresh air.

And after lunch, on a full stomach why not break another few rules and go headfirst into the raging torrent? Ha. not recommended but swimming in all conditions other than wet season floodwaters is a great way to cool off after the tour.

And to continue the los Veranos mantra of doing weird stuff 'at least once in your life',
there's a menagerie of other pettable animals to feed and fondle and freakout over.

You'll have them eating out of your hand.

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Monty Python, the resident boa is a favourite challenge for most people.
Some are totally fearless

and trusting.

Some try and prove something to themselves or to others.

Some just love all challenges (and animals) in whatever guise.

OK. a final challenge quiz question:
Q: what could be freakier than having a tarantula crawl across your face?

A: having it in your mouth!

How will you react?

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For more ridiculous fotos from Can o' Peas Los Veranos

click here.

Sailing in Baja

2008-11-13T15:57:00.000-08:00

I'm a lucky bastard with a lousy memory. That's 2 good reasons for choosing photography as a profession, so at least I have visual proof of all the great things I do in my life.

In the last 12 years I (think) I've been sailing in the Sea of Cortes, Baja California 8 times. I keep going back because I get invited to join other's trips and because I love Baja as much as any ecosystem in the world. I'm always happy to be there.

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Thanks to Google Earth and NASA you can appreciate the invitingly convoluted coastline of the offshore islands that lie in a daisy chain just to the North of La Paz.. Each cove is an anchorage going from whitesand beach shelving gradually to to aquamarine shallows and on to deep blue sea and usually protected from 3 sides.

and from 200' it looks just as inviting.

To leave an anchored sailboat, paddle ashore in a kayak, set off hiking uphill, reach a plateau of red slab rock scattered with looser rubble, hardy stunted plants and tall cardon cacti and there to stretch and feel the wind under the sun and to look out over a seascape of other rocky islands backdropped by mountains and washed by bluewater....

well, it's heaven on earth for me. For Gordy too, I reckon.

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The islands of southern Baja are all about the quiet, the solitude, the elements encompassed, the resilience of nature in a sparse environment, the cleanliness and purity of the light, air and the sounds. It's a place for meditation with your eyes open observing everything from the expansive to the minute. It's a feel-good movie without the saccharine. Peregrine falcons live there. I even saw a Maltese falcon there....fair dinkum. Read on.

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The first time I went there was with Emily.

(that's Richey on the bowsprit. Emily's the 30 footer).

She was lovingly built by one of San Francisco Bay's boat-building legends, Bill Garvey. She was sweet in every way except for her engine (which is paradoxically and too often the way in sailboats). Richey is also a boat builder so Emily, because she was so well put together, never left anything to do for crafstman Richey so he sold her and set about renovating a string of old woodies that needed his love and his weekends. Emily was also the vehicle for the nuptial flight of me and the missus but that's another story entirely.

Most other visits to the Sea have been aboard boats from the Moorings fleet out of La Paz. One time we got a catamaran which was like sailing an oil rig but also very accomodating as a viewing paltform.

The majority of trips were made on pop-out Beneteau monohulls produced for the bare-boat charter business. As such they have plenty of water and fuel capacity, plenty of heads and just enough performance to keep them out of too much trouble.

And when you've had enough sailing you can always just park the bloody thing and...

go fishing

go swimming

paddle,

snorkle

or explore while someone else does the driving.

You can skip rocks,

balance on a rock

balance your own rocks

or see how Nature does it.

You can find seashells by the seashore,

or practice the ancient art of fossicking.

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Sailboats and Baja are good for family reunions

good for the young

the young-at-heart

and the old farts who can rediscover their youth too in the course of an average day's shenanigans!

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In Baja,like anywhere, you can wait for photos to come to you or you can go looking for them.

Oh. And the Maltese Falcon? She was there with us in Ensenada Grande on Isla Espritu Santo - all 289 feet of her and attended by sundry support craft from a classic 100' European motor-sailor to a two-man sub! The largest privately owned yacht in the world.

more pix from the 2008 sailing tour of Baja

Burningman 2008

2008-10-18T17:42:00.000-07:00

Is this the end of Burningman, as we knew it?

I think not.

But the times are definitely a-changin'.

2008's theme was a timely focus on the American Dream. But does 'more' equate with 'merrier'?

It's almost inevitable that gatherings of creative souls that attract public attention lose impact as the ratio of active to passive players decreases. The population of Black Rock City has doubled since I first went in 2000 and I reckon my BM jollies have halved in those 8 years.

The same factor of 2 can also be applied to increases in cost and authoritarian interference. I have no issue with the cost but what used to be an anarchistic arts fest has turned into something else bound by (enforced) rules of conduct that contradict the original concept of antiestablishmentarianism. It used to advise on the tix, " upon entering, you accept the possibilty of serious injury or death" but more importantly, and emphasized underneath that in bold caps, it stated that YOU MUST PARTICIPATE. That used to be about the only rule at Burningman. The word participate no longer even appears on the ticket. Is it just assumed or has that priority fallen by the wayside?

I don't think there's a burner out there who hasn't said "it was better before". But we keep going back for the rejuvenating experiences that do happen, and happen only at burningman. Happenstance and serendipity connect the fabric of all things BM. Someone needs something; flexible, about 8 feet long and pointed at one end, et voila, someone wil have it and give it gladly. They might even throw in a homebaked cookie. People wander around just giving stuff away. It's a good thing. Edible things, drinkable things, wearable things. I was sitting at camp one afternoon having a chin wag with long lost cousin Sam who walked back into my life from the desert, and a girl skips by announcing to every person and camp that she passed that she was after the makings of a cat-woman outfit. She didn't have to travel more than a half dozen blocks before she had a complete costume, right down to whiskers, tail and pointy ears.

Despite desire, I have never managed to devote time and resources to any significant personal BM project, so I bend the rule and do my bit by giving a hand where it's wanted. That has involved helping in some big or small way to build Temples, conics , camps, cars and a multitude of smaller assists. Participation can take many forms.

This year Ellen and I put most of our last minute energies into making a cool camp with an emphasis on shade. Old sails, twine, timber, flags and fans @ 3.29 & Gremlin. "Passing Wind" we christened our home mostly for the crasser interpretation but the dust storm that raged during set-up may have had something to do with nomenclature too!

No-one was spared the dust and wind.

Weather also had a lot to do with the state of the playa. Apparently, a series of freezes and defrostings earlier in the year disrupted the make-up of the ancient lake bed's surface. It wasn't its usual hard, deadpan solidity but a much softer, thicker version that made a mockery of any but the fattest bike tyres. Cyclists at BM08 were reminded that they used to call them push bikes. Leaving car tracks used to be frowned upon; this year they were marginally better than the surroundings and were followed like donkey trails. If daytime cycling was tough, nighttime biking was quite implausible.

To accomodate the 49,000 burners the city planners took the 3 inside streets and put them to the outside which made it MUCH BIGGER , across and radially. Most of the streets were corrugated and soft. So to get from, say, the airport to the Man, you'd need to pack a picnic. And not a bad idea at that.

And the wide-open spaces of the playa were very wide and very open and punctuated by a smattering of art installations and desert distractions. It was a long haul between highlights. At night the space was EVEN BIGGER and any bright light became a beckoning beacon, and like moths to the flame we trudged, only sometimes scoring something social or interactive. Nothing like a giant rubber ducky disco out in the deep playa this year.... The lucky playapeeps retreating from the void got rides on vehicles back to the Esplanade but even that thoroughfare could be so strung out that there just weren't the usual concentration of sideshow attractions.. And music this year was pretty bad. Wandering from soundbite to soundbite waiting for something to get the dancin'bones shakin'.... but nothing hit the spot. Friday night was a disappointing anticlimax. All dressed up and nowhere to go.

OK. Ya! Time to get off the blog soapbox. Shuddup and dance.

A damsel in de playa.

giant origami

cassette slot DJ - mobile disco. Fast Forward. Fun ride.

Altered State, the aptly named and beautiful-by-day-or-night structure became site of many a BM wedding ceremony. A Hopi Indian quotation inscribed on one of the internal ladder rungs stuck in my head: "We are the People we have been waiting for."

And this was the brilliantly simple photo op; everyone's chance to be on the cover of NatPlayo.

outerspace

looooong strings of helium balloons dance the conga across the playa sky. Always good to see the third dimension used at BM. At night the daytime adornments of tinkling bells were swapped for cylume sticks so that the 500'(¿) trails would light up like bioluminescent nematocysts in an upside-down inky sea. Mesmerising by day or night.

The Temple of 2008 was a beautiful monument to waste. Basura Sagrada was, like all it's predecessors, essentially more popular than the Man itself. Sunday's burn is for many the most anticipated event. This is mainly because it is is full of humanities blood sweat and tears. Not through it's construction but through the pain and love and suffering expressed by visitors and left as a spiritual statement, an absolution, an apology, a plea for intercession, thanks, love or some emotional sentiment to be delivered by conflagrant updraft. This year the crafty constructors got to design and build their own viewing seats around the perimeter. This shot includes the decorated arch of one.

somewhere around 9 o'clock on the esplanade I think...hollow, light filled columns highlighting original glyph designs that looked at least in part, mayan inspired.

Wings of Desire? No. Spread Eagle.

Ruth and Tim of WindFireDesigns were part of the DOTA camp (Department of Tethered Aviation). The daily displays of kite flying en-masse and individually were one of the most entertaining features of the burn for me. Tired of one-too-many propane spewing metallic monsters, kites provided a quiet alternative entertainment. And they were willing to share too!

This is me playing with the devil.

And I hereby thank the girl who took this shot of me, and I offer in return one I shot of her being toyed with by a kite-cursor. Thank you!

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Another fine use of the elements and the infinite airspace above BM is an old favourite, the drifting black smokering. 60 feet across they are 'blown' and if breeze permits can march across the skyscape in series. I caught one drifting above a field of 300 poppies.

Again simplicity, trial and error and combustible fuel are the ingredients in a spectacular display.

The ringmaster at work loading his duel fuel apparatus...

followed by the big bang and widespread fallout of unburned kerosene and a beautiful big black smokering!

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I naturally get drawn to architectural pieces in all their BM diversity.

The nautilus inspired Optic Sunbrella

Common camp at on Dart and about 4.30. Two layers of HUGE parachute ripstop. Windblown it became a magical undulating being. Lying in a hammock looking up was like staring at the underside of a giant pulsating jellyfish.

Michael Christian's Elevation. Superbly constructed, finished and solid as a ....steel tower. Seating for one only at the top in the throne for 'Me'.

Something to do with a few hundred 4x2s.

Temple details plus vista.

The Zsu-Zsu emotiometer. Geeft me!
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Night roadscene from Man to Temple.

And daytime, vice versa.

This articulated predatory piscine was one of my favorite heavy metal pieces. Beautiful, strong and detailed. (artist?)

(economic crisis foretold at burningman!) The stork delivering a baby on a bomb was yet another beautifully designed and engineered, functional sculpture.

It was pedal-powered transport, looked great, told a story and used flippers as wings.

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The lamplighters are a shifting cult of devotees who perform the daily ritual of hanging lanterns on lightpoles along the mainstreets.

Being at the Temple at Dawn, either from a night of wakefullness or sleep, is a grounding and peaceful experience.

you can see a bunch more 2008 pix at http://www.callananphoto.com/burningman2008/

or from previous years at

http://www.callananphoto.com/burningman/

In my criticism of Burningman's dilution, as quantity threatens to occlude quality, I've got to keep reminding myself of the truism that one's first Burn is usually the best. That means that every year thousands more experience the uniqueness of Burningman for the first time. And therein lies the hope. The newcomers can package their reactions and creativity and reshape it as they like. The challenge with Burningman is to be original and better than before.

see you next year?

Burn on.

In conclusion I want to share an eloquent analysis of Burningman Art as written in the late 90s by Bay Area artist Larnie Fox (taken from the BM website http://www.burningman.com/installations/ )

"There is a yet unnamed art movement that may prove to be of some significance, and Burning Man is close to its center. It often manifests itself as circus, ritual, and spectacle. It is a movement away from a dialogue between an individual artist and a sophisticated audience, and towards collaboration amongst a big, wild, free and diverse community. It is a movement away from galleries, schools and other institutions and towards an art produced in and for casual groups of participants, more akin to clans and tribes, based on aesthetic affinities and bonds of friendship. It is a movement away from static gallery art and formal theater and towards site-specific, time-specific installation and performance. It is a rejection of spoon-fed corporate culture and an affirmation of the homemade, the idiosyncratic, the personal. It is profoundly democratic. It is radically inclusive, it is a difficult challenge, and it is beckoning."

La Charreada

2008-02-29T07:31:00.000-08:00

Mexico stock photography is a significant part of my business and I'm always on the lookout for bread n butter in the guise of archetypal Mexican imagery; a picture that is distinctly Mexican without any prompts other than the content and the context of the photograph. These are the images that advertisers love; when the picture tells the story and they can just come up with a coroborative and witty punch-line.

In February dos mil ocho the stock photo mountain came to Mohammed, on horseback.

So welcome to the 'Lienzo Charro', Vallarta-style.

Make up your own captions.

Google doesn't know who Miguel "Prieto" Ibarra is and I didn't think to ask on location in his namesake stadium, but suffice to say that the charreria took place in keyhole bullring in colonia Mojoneras in the backblocks of Vallarta at the height of the dusty season, 2008. But whether "Prieto' was watching from the stands or is long gone and rounding up cattle in the big rancho in the sky, I'm sure he enjoyed the 6th National Charro Championship as much as I did, and these dudes too.

It's fun for all the family and any tourists or local extranjeros who were adventurous enough to go, saw one of Mexico's most endearing and traditional cultural activities. In the north of the country it's more commonly called a jaripeo, but by whatever name it goes there are strict tests to pass before one becomes a true and complete charro. One could be excused for thinking that posturing and alcohol consumption were also part of the competition.

It was a scene of dust, leather, tequila, suede, sweat, cervezas, horseflesh, bravado, musica Norteño, some bewildered livestock, more beer, overworked baños, machismo, a great crowd y mas polvo. It starts under the noonday sun and ends under floodlight. I went twice and got there late afternoon, shot through sunset, twilight and into the mysterious world of sodium and neon. I haven't processed the b&w (Neopan 1600) yet but the D2X pushed into the grainy zone of lofty ISOs did well.

A charreada is a photographer's smorgasbord. Not only in the ring but also backstage and within the stands. The trick is to keep moving and changing the background because the fore and midground are never hard to fill in this encapsulated exhibition of man and beast.

Equal doses of active and passive lubed together by lashings of booze consumed by the watchers and the watched alike, the charreada is the equine equivalent of drink-driving with audience participation; it's a well-paced spectacle of social interaction interspersed with spurts of activity from a long character list of willing exhibitionists and their obliging mounts.

At the Vallarta Nationals there were 3 sessions a day and 4 teams of 8 riders representing ranches and charro associations from all over the Republic. They are judged by their peers.

There is tradionally a competative sequence of 7 tests either performed individually or as a team. There's a full description of each event at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charreria

But whether you understand the rules or the ritual is less important than appreciating the event and by interacting with and participating in the overall spectacle.

Viva Mexico!

(I'll drink to that.)

To see more pix of the same event go to http://www.callananphoto.com/charreada/

Ayurveda Yoga Spa.......Villa Ananda

2007-08-21T20:33:00.000-07:00

My work these days is increasingly devoted to architectural photography, which I love, but anything can get stale when you do it all the time, so when opportunities arise to do something more freestyle I jump at the opportunity....

Enter Mindy Reser and an urge to spread the wonders of Ayurveda, yoga and a sensorial array of holistic spa treatments.

She has created Villa Ananda, on the beach at Punta del Burro. This is one of the most secluded and beautiful beaches on Banderas Bay (near Puerto Vallarta) and she and her guests have it to themselves and a few quiet neighbours. Apart from the spa facilities, other star attraction are the surf break and the sunsets.

Villa Ananda is de lujo.

and comprises pool, main house and spa centre.

The beachfront setting is idyllic.

Villa Ananda is many things:

serene

and peaceful.

It is a place of fitness,

wellness,

comfort

and beauty.

A stay there is soothing,

relaxing

and is a place to sweat, chant and meditate.

Villa Ananda is a place of healing.

and is home to the simple, the good, the wholesome.

It is a place for friends

and groups.

Villa Ananda is a happy and fun place.

but be warned; you've got to bring your own beer !

A more complete photo gallery is viewable at

http://www.callananphoto.com/ananda/

A Weekend Away

2007-05-14T15:07:00.000-07:00

Puerto Vallarta is the sort of love:hate place you need to get away from every so often in order to keep that ratio in a healthy balance. Fortunately there are easy getaways in any compass direction (except west unless you have a boat or are a strong swimmer).

A couple of weekends ago I went south about 100km to camp on the beach at Bahia Chamela at a place called Xametla. I took along Cashew for some company that didn't require dialogue and together we had this beautiful place to ourselves. Cashew is a slightly silly version of a pit bull that doesn't look for fights and avoids pits. She does however love to chase a moving target but doesn't quite know what to do when the quarry is cornered. Cats and even squirrels usually have the last word. Tossed coconuts are more easily pursued, subdued and chewed.

She loves the beach but never says no to a road trip anywhere.

After a lazy start we'd arrived late in the afternoon but time enough to swim, walk and read a bit before the sun settled down for a prolonged sunset.

The onshore breeze went with the sun and the extended twilight that followed heralded an annoying spate of no-see-ums (hehenes). Repeated infusions of cold beer dulled the annoyance and lime juice eased the itching. A glorious sunset and call to tripod also took the mind off the pesky little insects. We slept soundly, Cashew inviting herself into my hammock with the pre-dawn chill. What a pussy.

A little further south down the Costa Alegre on the way to Careyes is one of my favourite seafood restaurants, La Viuda, which proves every time that you can't beat fresh fish and that an eatery doesn't have to be flash or expensive to be top notch.

A secondary reason for the weekend away was to revisit careyes to present some photographic prints of a job I'd recently performed there, shooting some of their hallmark villas.

http://www.callananphoto.com/careyes/

A tertiary reason for the road trip was to watch some international polo as USA, Canada and Central America competed for the right to play in the 2008 World Polo Championship. Canada won. Mexico, being the host nation for the 2008 tournament also get to go.

The afternoon's event was a good spectacle but the highlight was when the excitable Cashew, who had been dutifully restrained from pursuing the equestrian targets, finally wriggled out of her collar and ran on to the field, causing chaos, general panic and eliciting curses from players and umpires but conservative cheers from the small crowd. She eventually singled out one retreating horse and gave a spirited and high speed chase down the length of the field, prompting one heckler to suggest that they paint a number on her flank for the next chukka. I'd have photos of the action but was too busy chasing after the bloody dog....!

And as if that wasn't excitement enough.... on the drive back to PV the next day we happened upon a recent accident involving a fuel tanker and a case of exceso de velocidad which delayed our return to PV but added some different photos to the weekend's catalogue.

Where to next weekend? Cashew's next adventure?

(fotovero)

Stay tuned.

The Essential Vallarta - VIDEO

2007-01-06T21:40:00.000-08:00

My friend Adam, working his way into the video production business, was hired by the Marriott Hotel here in Puerto Vallarta to produce a new 30 minute in-house video. It needed to contain all the usual hotel services and facilities as well as some local tour options.

Adam wanted to start the program with an animated 'welcome' introduction and asked me to do so using my persona of local photographer as the thread for the 4 minute skit. We laced the video footage with images from my archive.

It was shot with a Canon XL2 camcorder and we did it all in one summer's day, which at least partly explains my increasingly bedraggled appearance through the show!

So now, if you're staying at the Marriott at Marina Vallarta and happen to turn on the telly , this is what you'll see every 30 minutes!

Essential Vallarta

(It's a 10MB .mov file that will take a wee while to download)

GRCC v The World

2006-08-25T18:10:00.000-07:00

"I could never live in the USA again, but I could always live in Point Arena."

Eh? Howzat?

Part of my rationale for that conundrum is cricket.

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Just inland and over the ridgeline from the foggy northern californian coast there's a magic place anonymously and unanimously referred to as The Land. It's a tract of floodplain defined by the Garcia River and hemmed in by steep hills swathed in redwoods, myrtle, fir and madrone. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Garcia_River

The Land is one of the country's oldest extant communes and home to an ageing but stalwart group of hippies who have carved out a blissfull existence there for themselves and their descendants. (For the uninformed, as a basic primer, Mendocino County wherein the city of Point Arena and The Land lie has an inordinate per capita registered artist population. Medical marijuana prescriptions are similarly abundant. Local surfers brave frigid waters, bull kelp and great white sharks to get their kicks. The 4th of July Parade happens on the 5th. Point Arena's mayor when I lived there was Raven Earlygrow. It's population hovers around 450. It's a hideaway, a fresh start, an outpost of reality in a land of false dreams. It's a gem, a real pearl amongst fool's gold. )

Smack in the middle of The Land is where Billy Rio lives. American passport holder but one who spent time in South Australia as a young teacher, his many passions include a love of cricket gleaned from sunny afternoons in the shady seats of the Don Bradman Stand at Adelaide Oval. By the fruit of his labours, his levelled backyard has, over the last decade and a half, become hallowed home to the Garcia River Cricket Club, and, like any institution it started humbly enough.

The US was virtually cricket-free in the late 80s and before internet purchases become commonplace, in order to play the game we expats longed for, we had to make our own equipment. Being a rural community of self-sufficient sorts this wasn't so extraordinary. Everyone had workshops, access to raw materials, and Time. So we all made bats of various constructions, from memory or copied from reference books at the library. Some were woodworks of art, others just 2x4s run through a bandsaw and finished with a coarse rasp. Some had a heft that would've challenged Paul Bunyan let alone Billy Rio's tennis elbow.

I had my schoolboy bat mailed over from Australia and shouldn't have been as surprised as I was disappointed that I had long since outgrown the well-oiled willow wacker that still sported my Dymo-label name tag from 1971. Still, useless as it was to adults as a tool, it looked good behind Lonnie's bar where it became an item of curiosity and conjecture amongst the locals who'd never seen one before. (The collection of homemade bats eventually made it into a local art exhibit as a mobile installation.)

Ants the canny Welshman was the master of the six-stitcher. He fancied himself a spinner and hand-crafted leather balls in better than fair likeness and action to the real thing. The new millenium provided us with access to the sports stores of the world and so our gear evolved into a more authentic collection of bats, balls, wickets, pads and even boxes and helmuts for those with breakable items deemed worthy of protection.

(There's an ongoing battle over the wisdom of using rubberised, practice balls versus the real hard balls but the unmistakable sound and feel of leather on willow really left no doubt in the minds of the true believers!)

The ground is a groomed, flat clearing in a forest of tall trees and cottage-sized stumps of giants past; An enormous and beautiful bay tree is the centrepiece of a large grassy area borderd by the river and a Billy's rickety home, inhabited by deer and goafers except on sundays in summer when it gets overtaken by a mob of various men and women united in their pursuit of a good time and a leather-bound ball.

It is the colonial tradition in its best bastardised form, fuelled by buckets of beer and a drinks trolley laden with little else than family-sized bottles of gin and tonic. Food in the form of barbequable meats, garnished with organically grown salads repletes the package. Just add a scent of bay tree oil, dose liberally with sunshine, true friends and a melangerie of pets and you have the ingredients for the perfect Sunday.

Players emerge from the redwoods on summer Sundays like morels after spring rains. They are transplants from colonial outposts as far away as the West Indies, Australia and of course the Poms and their relatives from all over the British Isles. Some have it in the blood by birthright, others have absorbed cricket osmotically during stints abroad. Locals, seeing how much fun we have, just wanna give it a try. (Un-educating Americans from the ingrained habits of baseball is a constant challenge and a lesson in tolerance, but sorry, holding the bat over your shoulder and throwing it away after you connect just isn't cricket. Nor do we pitch, strike or spit tobacco juice, though we do share with baseballers a common awe of grass stains and bloodied elbows as measures of sporting effort.)

Ageing as we all are and in various stages of decrepitude and vital signs, the day's proceedings are a compromise b/w youthful enthusiasm and the wisdon of middle age and usually follow a routine of pre-lubrication, warm-up practice, a drinks break and a session of play wherein a sequence of chalkboard batter's names are run through against whomever feels like having a bowl. No teams as such, no real innings; the timing of play v break depends on hunger, thirst, collective stamina and if the cook is on task and whether or not the dogs have scarfed the BBQ meat. A post-prandial session, afternoon drinks-break and maybe a final bat n bowl session before the lengthening shadows and creeping cool from the river drive us either indoors or to stoking the fires. The one day of the week when too much sport is barely enough often culminates in a game of bocce which is one of the few ballsports which permits drinking during play.

And if you're lucky and I've had enough to drink you might even get a rendition of Thomas E Spencer's Australian bush ballad called "How McDougal Topped the Score", a family favourite. http://www.bushverse.com/spencer/mcdougal.htm

Now don't get me wrong, and don't confuse our casual, apparently lackadaisical approach to cricket for lack of keeness. We all love the game and we all play to the best of our respective abilities; catches are dived for, runs made at the stretch and appeals always lustfully proclaimed. We just like the off-time too. It's all about having some fun. Beer, skittles, poetry, whatever it takes.

The 2006 season finale was punctuated with a visit by a team from the Big Smoke, San Francisco. This important-sounding event was much anticipated and talked about and even trained-for. More grog was procured and extra sausos ordered. The grounds were given a little more attention than usual; the boundary cleared of scrub and nettles and roped off; the baytree's lower limbs trimmed to above-head height and the ankle-breaking goafer holes on and off the pitch filled with alluvial topsoil, tamped, rolled, mowed and watered enough to keep the pesky rodents confused, damp and less eager to burrow for a spell. (An air rifle or a terrier are other powerful disuaders.)

Little did we know that the city-slickers were even more hopeless than ourselves! We trounced 'em at cricket but they saved socialn face by bringing along their own jug band and entertained us musically into and half-through the night.
.

The gathering cold and darkness prompted one final, fanciful fling.....

Roused to action by Billy Rio, the remaining revellers removed themselves from the firesides and bandstands for the commerative Napoleonic Squat. As narrated in Billy's well rehearsed preface to the event, Napoleon's troops, the devastated French soldiers, retreating from their anti-climactic occupation of Moscow in the particularly harsh winter of 1812, invented an ingenious and necessary method of avoiding undue contact with the frozen ground during the long nights......

Go on - get a bunch of people together, 20 or more, and try this: form a tight circle, front to back, almost touching the person in front of you and then, all at once, just sit down. Your knees become the seat for the person in front of you and you sit in the lap of the person behind you. The articulated human ring supports itself completely, generating and containing its own warmth. Every hour or so you wake up, stand up, about-face and sit down again. Beats sleeping on frozen tundra! This is Bily's little tribute to cooperative behaviour, a fitting statement for a commune of cricketers. Of course our non life-threatening exercises of The Squat usually end in collapse not from structural failure but from the group guffaws!

The stumps were pulled for another day, another season. The pavilion enjoyed a final morning-after cleanup and then abandoned to the coming winter, the flooding river and the wandering deer. The redwoods creep upward, the drinks trolley parked, the bats given a winterising treatment of linseed oil, the goafers left to do whatever goafers do without the threat of being shot at or mown and the ladies and gentlemen of the GRCC go back to their netsuke-carving, their book writing, their accounting, their farms, their mathematics, their schoolteaching, their art, their ambulances, their construction sites, wharves and theatres, their photography and their philosophy, their partners, their gardens, their rescue teams, their barstools and their dogs and dream of cricket next year.

Fun with Portraiture Part One

2006-07-19T15:59:00.000-07:00

If architectural studies of homes and hotels http://www.callananphoto.com/mexicohotels/are my bread n butter then people are my sandwich filler of choice. The options are wildly more interesting, and especially so if i'm working for creative art departments with a vision beyond the norm.

Thierry Blouet was a recent subject. Vallarta's most celebrated gourmand and foody entrepreneur is always looking for ways to stand out from the crowd and attract customers to his downtown establishment Cafe des Artistes http://www.cafedesartistes.com/ . Over years of successful patronage, that restaurant has evolved into much more than a sophistocated eatery and now involves several styles (and prices) of gastronomic experiences under the same roof as well as a piano bar, a cellar and even a modest range of fashion accessories for those women whose appetites extend beyond the culinary.

In keeping with the chef's flambouyant style his advertising agency http://colofon.com.mx/ were looking for something striking for some billboards. The first involved flambé a la playa. The shot was not without complications and apart from the need for dramatic backlighting and flaming skillet, also required that I risk a new Nikon D2X with salty splashes, a chef who was prepared to stand in full regalia waist deep in the beachbreak and an assistant brave enough to shoulder the high-voltage ballast box and strobes to the water's edge.

These combined efforts plus some dedicated post-production PhotoShop work yielded this result:

As with many photosessions the serendipitous shots are often just as rewarding. Our evening at the beach also produced a great moment between Thierry and his son, Sebastian.

***********

The other session was far less complicated but again called for the use of strobes though without the obvious risks of electrocution.

We started modestly with large fruit and vegies

and worked our way into more frivolous activities

which the PhotoShopping billboarders eventually construed to produce:

et voila!

BELIZE - Go Slow

2006-06-15T18:34:00.000-07:00

field report #4

Wikipedia tells the Belize story more thoroughly http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Belize but I have better pictures! http://www.callananphoto.com/belize/

To someone used to living in Mexico, Belize is a bit of an anomaly. The two countries are joined at the hip of the Yucatan peninsula but differ greatly in demographics and history. Mexico is Spanish from its Mayan head to its Toltec toes. But Belize, known as the British Honduras until 1973 still carries the Queen of England's smiling face on their currency, so the heritage is british colonial laced with piracy and its inhabitants are black and speak english, though the overall ethnicity of the islands and the country are more complex than black and white, english or spanish speaking.

The country is organically rich, meaning it has ecosystems that have a high turnover of biomass and are reproductively fecund like her inland jungles, mangroves and wetlands coastally and the world's second largest barrier reef lying just off her shore. these features and their ancillary activities are her main tourist attractions. Inland theer are forests and mayan ruins and bad roads but they will all have to wait for another trip.

This visit was restricted to the coastal fringe and most specifically to Caye Caulker and Ambergris Caye (and a cricket ground outside Belize City covered in a blog below http://callananphoto.blogspot.com/2006/03/flying-visit-to-baja.html).

The Cayes are tiny coralline islands fringed by reef. Most are about as wide as an airstrip is long and you can ride a bike from one end to the the other in about ummm 20 mins without shifting gears.

The island's motto is, afterall, "go slow". And so while I slowly criss-crossed and circumperambulated the islands my eye was always caught by hand-painted signs and simple advertising artworks, examples of which were in great abundance and style.

I seem to also be attracted to sequential shots which makes me think I should be looking to a video camera....

Being so narrow, the cayes make it easy to catch the sundown and sunup lighting effects westwards and eastwards almost simultaneously and with clear views to the horizon, though sunsets were almost always more colourful and spectacular.

I also enjoyed experimenting with long exposures in low light, letting the tripod and the processor do the work. It always amazes me how much available light and colour there is that can be gathered over time compared to what we see instantly as 'dark'. Night-vision glasses with a 30 second delay.

Boats, and sailboats in particular, have been a big part of my life and I am always attracted by their myriad shapes and sizes and purposes, whether they carry idle wunderlusters around the world or loads of sand or tourists between islands.

For more photos and less words about photography and Belize visit: http://www.callananphoto.com/belize/

British Virgin Islands - Pirate's Paradise

2006-05-19T09:38:00.000-07:00

Pirates had excellent taste in venues for plying their trade and traffic. The BVI are Paradise indeed and are still so largely because the swashbuckling traditions of rape and pillage have thankfully not extended to the modern vernacular of the real estate and tourism industries. No high-rise, no traffic, no high density dwellings, no crimes of greed.

These islands remain blissfully underdeveloped and largely unspoiled. Hillsides dotted with homes, not plastered; beaches clean and accessible. Large tracts of verdant land and their surrounding azure waters are protected, which, opposed to coastal Mexico's current chaotic land grabbage, was a delightful respite from a trend that is short-sighted and, like extinction, irreversible.

Promoting and preserving what occurs naturally and being low-key and harmonious with what could hardly be improved upon is the BVI's code for long-term success. And don't think you can't make money being conservative - room rates are high but worth it; sail charter fleets are fully booked and the envy of other cruising grounds, luxury boutique resorts do a brisk trade; large private estates are for sale, even whole islands like Necker owned by Virgin's Sir Richard Branson (how appropriate!) http://www.virgin.com/subsites/necker/.

Amidst the success there is no excess; beaches are so abundant that crowding is rarely an issue (except for a few famous exceptions); locals win, tourists win, coral and fish and hardwoods win. Sensible.

OK. Pontification over. The pictures tell the story better.

Weirdest thing about driving around Tortola's narrow winding roads is that the steering wheel is on the left, courtesy of easy US imports, but one drives on the left also, courtesy of the British heritage. Not driving along the centre-line takes a little getting used to. That's why all the rental cars come with stickers plastered above the dashboard saying " keep to the left - use horn frequently." Honk if you're happy (or about to head-on).

Tortola, seat of the capital and the largest island in the group of about 30, is bite-sized and easily explored, superficialy at least, in a day. But once you start exploring you want to stop at every look-out and every beach, 'cos it's all beautiful. One favourite 'discovery' was Josiah's Bay on the northshore. There's a few cafes/bars and bungalows but otherwise just a good longboard ride or a bodybash in crystal clear waters.

Closer to the west end of the island was Cane Garden Bay, a classic refuge for sailors and land-lubbers alike. The view goes on forever to a horizon of tradewind cumulous clouds over sand-fringed headlands and the tourquoise Caribbean sea. Yum.

Cane Garden is also a great place to ahem, just hang out.

Evening is even more tranquil.

On a more socially active note, this north coast is also famous for full moon parties thrown at beachside bars like Bomba's on Cappoon's Bay which somehow survive (or at least get rebuilt after) every hurricane season - shack sense; keep it simple and Irie. Wet T's optional.

I went to Tortola to photograph a beautiful house called The Distillery. From its elevated position on Greenbank Hill the view included another gem called Brewer's Bay. The weather cock perched on top of the pavillion by the tennis court was free. The rest of the property is available for US$4.85 mil. Worth every cent.

http://www.callananphoto.com/distillery/

Closer inspection of Brewer's Bay is pretty too.

A casual tour of the island will reveal roofs of corrugated iron in outrageous tones of lilac, pale green and lipstick red with complementary colours in the trim of wooden railings, verandah posts and window frames.

You'll also see art, spontaneous or sponsored, everywhere.

BVI's international airport is on Beef Island, joined to Tortola by a bridge over a narrow channel. Trellis Bay is the hub of societal life on Beef Is. where cafes, galleries and the sea-to-shore traffic from the anchored charter boats maintains a mildly active sense of purpose to an otherwise langourous scene. From there you an catch a short free ferry ride to the coral-fringed island of Bellamy Cay, home of the Last Resort.

This picturesque idyll provides cabin accommodations, restaurant, live happy hour music at the bar, internet access, beach chairs, great swimming and privacy with a 360° view.

Due east of Tortola and Beef Islands lies another of BVI's treasures, Virgin Gorda. I was advised by many not to leave the BVI without visiting a national park there called The Baths. Good advice.

We got there by the first morning ferry/taxi and enjoyed the solitude of a truly beautiful place. Lesson was learned a few hours later after a visiting cruise ship (to Tortola) deposited a large proportion of its passengers on the hitherto deserted beaches and boulder-strewn shoreline.

Before

After

By that time though we'd had enough sun and there were plenty of secret shady retreats amongst the boulders and lapping tide.

Perfect.

Stay tuned for a more complete gallery of images from this trip.

yep. I still love my job.

Sunseeker Cruise to Careyes

2006-05-10T19:20:00.000-07:00

Maybe I shouldn't have declared to the bloggy world that I will work solely for the sake of adventure 'cos the offers are flowing thick and fast while the rent remains upaid!

Last weekend was a ripper, though. I'm a sailor by natural inclination not a stink-boater but it's been so long since I had any high-seas adventures that this was not one I could refuse. Any excuse to go boating.

The vessel was a humungous 82' Sunseeker powerboat called 'Machiavelli' and the trip was from Puerto Vallarta down the Jalisco coast to Careyes and back. The purpose was to document in photos the trip with a view to publishing the story in a soon-to-be-released magazine called 'Costa Vallarta'.

The storyline was of three couples 'getting away' from Vallarta and at a rate of US$4500/day I guess the couples were presumed to be fairly well off. The people involved were mostly French with a Canadian and a Brit thrown in for good measure. (You could tell they were French because the word 'rabbit' was never mentioned once during the 3 day voyage.)

The trip was organised by John who runs the Producciones Viva empire http://www.virtualvallarta.com/ and who will be responsible for the new mag. As such, the trip was organized on the basis of an 'intercambio' or exchange, whereby John fills pages of his magazine with an attractive enticing story in exchange for advertising space for the boat's charter business. Free and willing models/subjects; free and willing photographer and a very expensive mobile platform for the exercise.

Somewhere down the line though the purpose of the exercise got lost in translation and we ended up being catered to in casual, paper plate/plastic fork style which needless to say didn't make my job any easier (or tastier). So there's a paucity of table-top settings in the photo line-up but plenty of others. http://www.callananphoto.com/machiavelli/

Catherine (the token Pom but fluently in French) was beautifully pregnant and as always the consumate model. Her husband Etienne did his best to stay as sunburned as possible for the duration of the cruise (I suspect as a means of escaping the camera's probing lens). John and Florencia were more than happy being host and hostess with nothing much more on their agenda other than having a good time, and Christian and Corinne, both hard-working parents also enjoyed the escape from everyday reality. All three pairs were in love and very comfortable in present company which helps when trying to photograph happy couples enjoying themselves, 'cos they are and don't need to bung it on for the camera.

The passage down the coast traverses open, undeveloped coastline without many photogenic features but thankfully clouds always provided some interest to otherwise plain scenes, Cabo Corrientes being an obvious exception.

The Careyes coast during the dry winter months is less obliging; dry scrubland is hard to translate visually into a paradisical scenario (even with Photoshop!). Tight or otherwise selective crops on landscaped backgrounds or waiting for late golden light was the only way to make the stage as 'luxurious' as the story demanded.

But most of the time, while we weren't trying to get specific shots I just shot people doing what a group of friends do on a big boat in a beautiful place; enjoying themselves, relaxing and righting it all off as a business expense. Viva el intercambio!

Mexico cricket team tours Belize!

2006-04-29T09:44:00.000-07:00

This blog title sounds like fodder for a Monty Python skit or some tabloid sports rag fielding a ridiculous banner to catch the eye of bored shoppers waiting at the checkout, but really it's true and it happened in March 2006, in the sunny Carribean nation of Belize.

Yankee sceptics might scoff and chortle but cricket, that much maligned and misunderstood product of Colonialism, ranks second only to soccer in world popularity and particpation, and Mexico is playing its own small part in the movement as an affiliate member of the International Cricket Council http://www.icc-cricket.com/icc/ who represent over 100 countries, incl other bastions of cricket culture like Qatar, Slovenia ansd Surinam as well as the biggies like Australia and England. (The ICC could well curate a true 'world series' but Snoozeball stole that domain and keeps it for their own singular amusement.)

For me the realisation that the inaugural Central American Tri-Nations Cricket Championship was fair dinkum came not when I was presented, along with the other 11 team-mates, with my official, embroidered, sponsored, commerative cap but when I saw those tall, black, very athletic Belizean fast bowlers practice their inswings and bouncers at about 90 mph. The cap was quickly swapped for a helmet.

The 3 nations involved were our hosts, Belize and challenged by Mexico and Costa Rica. A team from El Salvador was also going to come but they were having a coup. The slightly ridiculous part about the Mexican team was that we were made up of 4 Australians, 4 Brits and 4 Indians; narry a Gomez ni Gonzalez about us. The core of the team came from Mexico City where there is a very healthy competition between 3 teams that convene weekly at the magnificent oval at the Reforma Athletic Club. The rest of us came from as far afield as Puerto Vallarta and Huatulco.

This is us before we dirtied our creams in the match against Costa Rica.

(NB. the section of classic white picket fence which served as boundary and photo backdrop was no more than shown and even less after a fielder collided with it. The remaining 97% of the boundary was marked by a scorched line etched in the dirt.)

Now for those readers unfamiliar with the game, put the kettle on or better still mix a tall gin and tonic, and read http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cricket because with a basic insight into the game the following might make a little more sense.

The venue was Lord's Bank Oval in Ladyville, an outer suburb of Belize City. The pitch was a mat of woven hemp like an elongated doormat nailed over a concrete slab held down by 4" nails driven into the clay soil through Belikin beer bottle caps. (This what you do if you don't have a full time greenskeeper and dirty big roller to maintain a grass pitch.) For all its rusticity it played a true bounce and took spin but had none of the unpredictability of a turf wicket. The outfield was hard packed and super-fast. The appreciative crowd of onlookers which included several classes of local schoolchildren were scattered around the boundary but most sought the shade of tent awnings and ready access to the bar and tuck shop.

The 3 teams played 3 matches each of 40 over innings. On the Saturday, Belize, the favourites, easily out-paced and generally outplayed Costa Rica and won easily with wickets and overs in hand. Sunday saw us up against CR. We were not exactly a finely-honed team in peak condition but fortunately neither were Costa Rica.

We batted first and scored about 140 runs, all out. Costa Rica, fielding through the intense midday sun were sunburned and shagged and batted accordingly. Our fresh bowlers coupled with some attentive fielding made short work of a lack-lustre run rate and we were all back in the pavilion for some well-earned Lighthouse beers well before the sunset hordes of mosquitos decended and sent us all running for the tour bus.

Monday saw the big play-ff between the two victorious teams. We lost the toss and were sent out into the field. What followed was a truly impressive spate of bowling, some brilliant catches especially by the keeper, and the Belizean wickets, to everyone's surprise began to fall at a rate whcih made the usually vocal locals shut-up and watch as the Mexican underdogs took control of the game. I mean, we were shocked too. Not even in our most optimistic hour would we have thought to have them changing pads as fast as they were able. We had 'em all out for about 130.

Overly chuffed with our performance we went in to bat for glory and renown but I think it was a case of overconfidence, as well as the bowling attack, which, even after a good opening start, made us lose wickets way too easily. Hitting out when we should've knuckled down, trying to whack it out instead of playing the game. Belize bowled, caught and lbw'd us in quick time. My own dismal performance and premature departure from the crease was the result of a particularly inelegant (albeit original manoevre), which had me flailing at a rising ball outside the leg stump and getting a glove to it but in the flurry of the pirouette I lost my balance and hit my own wicket...

But that's cricket and when the fat lady finally found her voice it was to Belize's well-earned victory. The end result was the same; a bunch of new found friends with a common sporting passion drinking beer and sharing stories.

One of the most endearing aspects of Belizean culture is their love of music and after each game there were impromptu sing-alongs to the accompaniment of banjo, guitar and even an electric piano. Dancing too courtesy of a well-oiled local. The music was a blend of lovesick hillbilly lullabys, Patsy Clyne tunes and Belizean Bluegrass. In the company of reggae which is the other half of the local musical tradition the mix was initially incongruous but entirely appropriate as it was performed with great emotion and sincerity.

The other most memorable feature of the event were the children. Keener young cricketers and enthusiastic supporters you'd never find. They made the 3 days a real family affair rather than just a sporting event. The addition of older locals completed the communal gathering. Fueled liberally with coldies and as much chicken, beans and rice as you could poke a plastic fork at, it was a completely well-rounded tour, culturally and sportingly.

For a full gallery of images from the tour visit : http://www.callananphoto.com/belizecricket/

For a gallery of images featuring Caye Caulker and Ambergris Caye, two popular islands within Belize's extensive barrier reef complex, visit http://www.callananphoto.com/belize/

Flying visit to Baja.

2006-03-03T17:30:00.000-08:00

Three days in Baja, Mexico with friends who have expensive toys and simple pleasures.

...and let the Blog begin...

http://www.callananphoto.com/bajapix/

Being paid to travel and take photographs is a profession I can recommend. Of course Reality is a slightly paler version of that ideal, but second best is travelling anyway and making money subsequently from the photos.

I have many clients who are also friends and sometimes I get invited along on trips not just for my good looks but because I can be the designated driver (of the camera). The arrangement works both ways 'cos I get to see places and do things that might otherwise have been unattainable and get shots of places and scenes off the beaten track. Those images become my stock and trade. And I get to travel with friends.

So last week I get invited to jump on a Pilatus PC-12 from my base in Puerto Vallarta and fly 300 mph at 26,000 feet across the Sea of Cortez to go pet Californian Grey Whales in Magdelena Bay, Baja.

The plane is owned by a gentleman named Nick Coates for whom I have photographed several houses and residential projects in San Miguel de Allende, Guanajuato, like http://www.callananphoto.com/candelaria/ Nick loves to travel and gets bonus kicks out of sharing his adventures with others.

Joining him on this trip was his buddy Carson who kept us all in stitches with his constant banter, spontaneous jokes and his tireless tirades of truth-stretching.

Also onboard was Nick's business partner Jim Dolan, who could sell sand to the Arabs, and probably does.

This trip was almost men-only, with the charming exception of Mercedes, accompanying Nick's son Jeff who was along to scout a Baja venue for a desert counterpart to his thrilling canopy zip-line tour in Vallarta http://www.canopytours-vallarta.com/

The pilot of the plane was Charlie Chicharron Parker one of my dearest friends in Mexico and someone with whom I would fly anywhere,in any type of aircraft - as long as we hadn't been drinking the night before. On a previous long trip he let me

fly and claims it was my piloting which made him puke; it's an awful thing to hear through headphones. The smell wasn't great either! When he's not flying Charlie joins the swelling ranks of local land-pimps and is busy selling off his hometown of Mascota in the Sierra hinterland.

Also on board was John G Youden, who was the real reason I stayed in Mexico. Ten years ago he offered me $ for photos (coincidentally of a sailboat trip through Baja) to illustrate an article in one of his magazines, and I've never looked back on that prompt to start a career with camera. John's never looked back either because his empire has grown from strength to strength http://www.virtualvallarta.com/

The 3 day tour as a group affair of disparate sorts and various agendas was bound to be disjointed at times but we always regrouped at mealtimes and all got on famously. We landed at Cabo San Lucas' downtown airfield and while one group hired a helicopter to scout Jeff's locations the rest of us headed into town through the dusty barrios that serve as the incongruous other side to Cabos' rich veneer. John and I, making the most of the chance to document and update our image libraries, paired up and went looking for photos of the dichotomous destination that is Cabo San Lucas.

The Mexican real estate boom is keeping pace with the growing tourism trade and Cabo is growing at a hectic rate. Housing in huge private developments like Pedregal is affluence boxed in concrete and exclusive in an ignorant way, but they can't build fast enough to satisfy the hoardes fleeing south of the border to a life of retirement, retreat and lax driving regulations. Vistas of the beautiful Pacific Ocean on one side of the Cape and the Sea on the other limit the town's expansion and buffer the rampant development of the landscape.

After a night of food and wine at great expense at an eatery in the marina, the next day we hired 2 cars and drove separately to Todos Santos an hour north of Cabo. Stopping for a bodysurf along the way, eating hot chicken washed down with cold beer roadies and wandering at will with camera through the small tourist town, was for me the ideal way to spend a half day.

The other car with the older gentlemen, bravely accompanied by Charlie, saw no such attractions, made two desultory laps of the 4 block town, about-faced and drove straight through the desert back to Cabo!

Late that afternoon we re-boarded the Pilatus and flew along the Pacific coast of Baja up to Puerto Lopez Mateos. The final approaches over the extensive wetlands and alternating sand dunes of the Magdelena Bay estuarine systen were fascinating from the air and inspired plans for return trips to investigate the winding channels and flats and intricacies that we wouldn't even begin to discover during our whirlwind 12 hour visit. We spotted numerous whales in the shallow, muddy waters as a lowering sun, full bladders and a growing thirst beckoned us down.

The airstrip was compacted sand and crushed seashell and airport security consisted of an old man with a smile and a beat-up truck. The smell of pelican dung and marine offal wafting in from the fish plant set the scene and the scent for the rest of our stay there, which made no claim to be anything other than a fishing village, which was a refreshing and peaceful change from the pretentiousness of Cabo. The SKY satellite dishes attached paradoxically to cardboard shanty homes an amusing amendment to their simple situation.

Our accomodations were similarly humble but quite adequate. Dinner out on the town, which consisted of fresh lobster, prawns and fish, would've been out of character had it not been served to us on plastic plates seated on plastic chairs on a locals verandah under a single lightbulb. Narry a single car on the sandy street disturbed our feast which, fueled by numerous cervezas and finalised by a shot of aguardiente, ended early, the long day of walking, driving, swimming and flying accounting for the contended weariness of us all.

And so, early next morning, after the longest and most enjoyable of travel preambles, the moment of justification of all the preceeding was upon us. We made our communal way to the docking area where a throng of tour operations catered to the crowds of cetacean seekers by first demanding indemnifying signatures, followed by lifejacket-fitting and finally embarking on a panga with our guide. The whales migrate from Alaska each year to mate and calve and incidentally provide Lopez Mateos with a regular income.

We motored all of about 800 m before spotting a mother and calf gray whale meandering about on the surface. (The water's only about 12 m deep so there's not much place else for a 35 ton animal to be except the surface.) The mother appeared HUGE at such close range and was content, thankfully, to stay at bay while her young calf entertained the tourists. Or was it vice versa?

As we lay adrift the calf would come alongside and profer its head at which point the guide would get very excited and shout "tocala..tocala...touch eet! touch eet!" And at first we were reluctant because of the sheer size and presence of the animal but became braver as we understood that an animal with that much blubber needs a vigorous rubbing not just a gentle pat. In fact the favourite massage points were inside the mouth, along the baleen plates and especially the tongue! We cleaned a few parasitic arthropds from around it's head and double blowhole as it rolled and lollygagged about, obviously enjoying every minute of it, and the anthropomorphists be damned!

The pair eventually got bored with our erratic attentions, so we too went in search of other distractions. On the far shore we briefly checked out a sample of the dunes we'd seen from the air before returning to base. Loading up on cold beers for the flight back to PV, 5GB of RAW images in a ziplock and a barrage of new experiences under my belt, it was with a degree of smugness that I reminded myself that this was all in a day's work. I love my job.