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This week I did another photoshoot for ATMA at a school called Muktangan. It is a groundbreaking school that serves as model for other schools to follow in new education theory. I shot all day and almost 800 frames. I was dead tired after the shoot from all the screaming kids. I got home and started to upload the files. Lightroom told me there were only about 350 images on my card, 200 of which were viewable. With a frantic call to Canon and use of the SanDisk File Recovery Software, all was fixed.

I am flying out this afternoon for Calcutta and will be hitting up Darjeeling and possibly Bangladesh or Nepal, not sure which. Will check in soon.

More Photos after the jump!


















































Most of these, the keylight is an Orbis ringflash on my Canon Speedlite 580ExII connected to my camera via flash extension cable and held by my portable lightstand, Vinay.

My assistant, Vinay, standing while I figure out lighting for a shot. He is wonderfully helpful. And he takes me climbing!

I bought a motorcycle two days ago. So, I needed a helmet. Why not get one that makes me feel like a fighter jet pilot?

Before I even got to Bombay I started researching the climbing community. I found a climbing wall that is set just off of a school grounds in an area called Goregaon. The community at the wall is very active and dedicated, immediately accepting me and inviting me to join them regularly on their real rock adventures. Three weeks ago I went climbing in the Sanjay Ghandi National Park, which sits inside the limits of Mumbai Municipalities. It is an impressive park with large forests topping several ‘mountains’ that roll through it.

My friend Vinay invited me out to top rope some climbs with his friend Sharad, another photographer. It was good to be on real rock again, but I was terribly out of shape, having not really trained for climbing in over 5 months.

Photo credit: Sharad Chandra Khiyali
bouldering in Sanjay Ghandi National Park

Don’t stop here! More Photos and more of the story! –>

The last two weekends I have spent in an area called Belapur in New Bombay, inland a ways from Mumbai. Vinay introduced me to the group of guys that spend seemingly every weekend climbing somewhere in these mountains. They come from all over – from Lower Parel in Central Mumbai to Pune, hours further to the East. Everyone meets at the house of ‘Bong’, a man probably in his 50’s or 60’s that is somewhat of a legend in Indian climbing. He provides the climbers with anything they need, harnesses, crash pads, ropes, or even chalk (I asked if he had any hand chalk and he pulled out a huge plastic bag and tossed it at me). Some of the climbs are within walking distance of his house, others are just a short drive up the other side of the mountain. Bong and his crew have been busy bolting sport routes and finding bouldering krags throughout these neighboring mountains.

On Saturday, after an hour and some bus ride, I meet Shree in front of Bong’s house who led me up past a slum and several Hindu temples that line the sides of seemingly endless amount of steps. My thigh’s screams remind me how out of shape I am. Ducking off the main path and following a foot trail into the woods along the cliff line we meet a guy waiting for us with all the equipment. There are five short but bolted sport routes, probably 25-30 feet (I’ve had falls that were longer), waiting to be climbed. The rock is dark and sucks up the heat of the sun quickly, amplifying the heat of the humid day. The rock has a nice feel to it, angled but not too sharp, but tends to be somewhat weak, breaking off too often for my liking. The first three climbs are a breeze, but it’s fun sport climbing again after 5 months. (in sport climbing there is no rope above you. You take the rope up with you along with carabiners to secure the rope into the bolts already in the rock. It is more challenging and a lot more fun than top roping). The furthest climb to the left has an extremely difficult start with poor hand holds and almost no feet while trying to clear an overhang. I fully wear myself out in futile attempts to get above the crux of the problem. Sundeep, despite claiming he was out of shape and not ready to try it, showed up both Shree and I in our attempts making the problem look easy.

The climbers congregate back at Bong’s house, laying around on crash pads and ratty lawn chairs, and plates of chicken curry and rice soon make their way to everyone’s laps. Most of the spirited conversation is a mix between Hindi and Marati, unless someone is asking me or answering a question in English. Sometimes I don’t mind not knowing what’s going on, only picking out the few words I know, but it also encourages me to continue my learning of Hindi so I can actively participate in these conversations. Some take off with promises of coming back tomorrow, other plan on spending the night at Bongs in the loft or scattered about on empty crash pads.

Bong wakes me up around 7:30am despite having slept at only 1:30. Climbers slowly appear from different hiding places, and some new faces show up. We start off to the climbs around 9:30, some on motorcycles and myself crammed into a small car carrying multiple crash pads up to the bouldering area. Hiking a short ways over boulders, dry grass and cacti careful not to step in the cow manure scattered about, we get to a bouldering crag that Bong had recently found. I start taking some pictures as the guys start going full out without so much as a warm up. I try the first route, but my weak left grip kills me about half way up and I relent.

Gaurang cleaning a hold before committing to it.

Vivek stretching for the final hold. He is a lot higher than I like to be without ropes.

A quick little ad for Evolve rock shoes.

Sham
*all names’ spellings are my interpretation of how I think their spelled.

I continue taking pictures down below until the early afternoon. I move up on top of the cliff and secure a rope to some large boulders. Using a Grigri autolocking belaying device I lower myself over the edge of the cliff, positioned above the climbers. I had secured my flash on my tripod under some rocks a few meters to my right.

The guy resting between attempts.

Sham in a moment of intense pain that comes from securing your weight from tiny pieces or rock

It’s high. They just drop down to the crash pads and kept off the rocks by those spotting below.

And they fall. That part’s not fun.

After the sun clears the cliff and spoils my shot I return down below and try some more climbs. Just as everyone is leaving I complete one that I had been working without success for sometime. Sadly, having only climbed a couple of routes, I am worn out. My fingers hurt, and my feet are killing me. I have an infection on my right foot below my pinky toe that has been bothering me for some three weeks, a cut on my heal and a splinter in the ball of my left foot. (That night I perform surgery on the infection, draining it of cappuccino colored liquid and cutting back ‘dead’ skin’ revealing a hole void of tissue or blood. I’m not sure what that means. I really need to get into the habit of going to the doctor here. Coming from the US where I do not have good health insurance and a doctor’s bill costs too much, I avoid them at all cost.)

Bong greets us at his house with plates of Kheema and bread, and we spread out on crash pads about his house relaxing after a tiring day. I am very glad I found this community. I’m excited to spend my new years in Hampi climbing with them.

It finally happened. After the shoot getting postponed day after day, we set the schedule for Monday morning. I meet Vinay, my assistant, at the train station, then meet Eva on a bridge by Dharavi, the largest slum in Mumbai and India, and one of the largest in Asia. Spread out over 175 hectares, or 0.67 square miles, nearly 1 million people cram into this relatively small space making it one of the most densely populated neighborhoods in the world.

I was asked to keep my camera in my bag for the majority of the ‘tour’ of the slums so that the people don’t feel like a spectacle or caged animals. This is frustrating because there is a lot to photograph. When I saw this scene, I could not help but getting out my camera.

There’s more to the story! More Photos! Keep reading –>

With a guide from Reality Tours and Travels, Vinay and I see the innards of Dharavi. The tour is basically a set course that all of the tours follow, going through specific districts to see specific things. We enter an industrial area where all kinds of plastics are recycled. If you’re in Mumbai and ever wonder where all the plastic bottles magically disappear to, this is it. (It is somewhat amazing, with all the trash that is around the city, there are rarely any plastic bottles. And when I set my trash out for pick up, my plastic bottles are always the first to disappear.)

All the unsorted plastic is brought from all over the city in gigantic bags to this place where it is sorted by quality. After it is sorted it is shredded into bits, washed and laid out to dry. They melt down the plastics, die them different colors, and send it through a strainer creating long spaghetti-like strings that are then chopped into little pellets that are sold to plastic molders around the country.

The workers make something like 150 rupees a day, or $3, and most sleep in the factories unless they have a family in Dharavi. A lot of immigrants from other states come directly to Dharavi when reaching Mumbai, and many come without their families.

Other factories make parts for machinery or the machines themselves. Some take vegetable oil cans and refurbish them for re-use. We also tasted and saw the best known bakery in Dharavi. Pretty good. But Dharavi isn’t just factories, a LOT of people live here. Getting into the housing areas you enter extremely narrow alleyways, my shoulders scraping both walls. Wires hang everywhere delivering electricity and cable TV to most of the homes. I would have to stoop low to get through any of the doorways. The individual dwellings are not large, with many people sleeping in the same living space. Even the it is a sunny day, almost no natural light makes its way into the alleys. BUT the people smile. They laugh. They have a place to sleep, they have a job, they have their families. Of course they desire more, but they make the best of their situations. Certain people groups live in certain areas. The Muslims here, the Hindus here, the Madrasi (people from the south) live in this block and make pottery. They are very tight nit and they protect each other. We could not continue in down one alley because of a wedding celebration blocking the way, so we found another way around. Dharavi is a maze, I am glad to have had a guide. Also I found myself relieved every time we popped out of the dark alleyways, able to breathe again. I wouldn’t say I am claustrophobic, but it was stressful being in that tight of conditions.

When I think of slums, I think back to my time in Uganda. Tattered tents and lean-tos sitting on top of  mud and garbage. People just sitting about swatting flies and mosquitoes. That is not the case here. The homes are mostly solid and have electricity. The people work; it is estimated that exports from Dharavi are worth around $650million USD every year. Though many areas have running water only two hours a day and 1 toilet per however many people (some areas I think were around 70-1),  Dharavi is productive. It is not ideal and things are changing, but it is not the worst of the worst. The government is developing multistory housing that residents can take for very cheap if they can prove they have lived in Dharavi since before 2000. Many areas are starting to look like most other parts of the city.

Back to the school.

Eva takes us to a school that was started by the company, Reality Cares, and uses new education theory. I’m not sure of the details, but it involves teachers sitting on the ground with the children and everything being done in circles. At the lower levels all the children sit on the floor, but as they grow older they graduate into chairs. If you are interested in finding out more, check out this website, www.muktanganedu.org. Right now the school is just one classroom of kinder-gardeners, but the school will grow with the children, next year adding 1st grade, in two years adding 2nd grade and so on.

I took these photos partly for ATMA, the NGO that supports all the other education NGOs and schools in its program, and partly for Reality Cares. ATMA is trying to stretch my commitment to volunteer to its limits…

The Co-Founders of Reality Tours and Travels and Reality Cares education.

This girl was so funny/cute when she was eating. One picture couldn’t capture it all.

One night on the train I thought I should make a short film. I visualized some shots and lighting, and when I got home at two in the morning I started filming. I filmed one more night and then started editing. This is what came out after a couple of days of editing. I am pleased with this experiment and would like to look into more video projects.

Recoil from D Scott Clark on Vimeo.

I don’t know why it looks squished, Vimeo did that for some reason.

I have started hosting Couch Surfers at my apartment, and I decided to document each one if they agree. Here are the first two.

 

The last few nights I’ve been filming a short film in my apartment, just experimenting with lighting and angles. I am excited to finish editing and see what it looks like all together. I am enjoying this venture into video and the learning process that comes along with it. Monday night I had my camera all set up for a shot and was doing some test runs before I did the actual shot. On my camera, 5DMarkII, you have press the “Set” button at the center of the scroll wheel to start and stop, as well as preview the video. I was previewing the last test before doing the actual shot and when I pressed in the button, it never came out. I tried tapping it, using gravity, finding something to suction it out – nothing worked. I called CanonUSA and they said I needed to send it in for repairs. If I were in the US, it would fully be covered under warranty, but Canon India doesn’t have to honor my warranty.

I am only two train stops away from the Canon India Master Service Center, so yesterday I set out with a list of errands to do on my way: Buy bus tickets, pay internet bill, get pictures printed, etc. I was an hour and half into the errands and walking toward the station when I remembered…I didn’t put my camera in my bag. I HATE when that happens. I had to walk back to the bus station, run after the bus I needed (everyone stares at the white guy sprinting down the road after the big red bus), run to my apartment and grab the camera, and run back to the bus stop to try and catch the bus on its return trip. By this point I am hot and sweaty. Running needlessly in Mumbai is not recommended.

The Customer Care Representative recognizes me immediately when I walk in the door. I have met him too many times before. He calls me over and asks, “What is it this time?” Well, I have a present for you. He takes the camera into the repair shop and asks me to wait to see if they can just pop the button back out. After a bit he calls me in to show me moisture inside the body. Apparently its not as water tight as it claims to be (I’ve had it in the rain several times). “It might need some repairs, it will take 3-4 days.” Buh, I need the camera, but I have my 20D back up, so its standable. I’m packing up my stuff to leave and he comes bounding out…”The button just popped back out, we’re putting it back together and will have it out in a second. I’m just going to charge you inspection fees.” Awesome! Instead of $50 mandatory maintenance fee they charge me $4.25 inspection fee. I am thankful for this man helping me out. I do feel like having past working relationship with him before helped though.

The Dharavi slum school pictures were post-poned last friday and have not been rescheduled yet. I will post the update after they occur.

Yesterday I had the pleasure of going out of the big city to a small village area about two and half hours north by train. After a long bumpy bus ride I arrived at the school. The director of the school is an incredible woman named Patricia that took over operations about three years ago, but she has been involved with the school for a while. She had been sending children affected by HIV/AIDS to the school, but on closer inspection found it sub par. She started getting investment and government grants to build better facilities, from proper bathrooms to classrooms. The school houses about 500 at risk students who live on the campus. Some are orphans, some have parents that are constantly moving or can’t support them, but some live in the surrounding areas. The children have a large garden where they grow vegetables and fruit, and they are in charge of landscaping the campus. Patricia made it sound like they didn’t have to be told what to do, the kids wanted it to look nice. The students are taught in Marati, the local language, Hindi, and English. Many of the students excel and are sent on to good universities. The teachers are enthusiastic and the children seem to be very happy. They are well fed and healthy. I asked about organized sports and Patricia reported that a girl from the school just placed 6th in the state track and field meet, and the boys have the best cricket team in the area. I was very impressed by everything that I saw and would love to go back and spend more time with the kids.

The students keep everything they do very neat and orderly, even their shoes outside the classroom

The library is lacking in books and an organization system, but there is plenty of room in the newly renovated hall. The children love to check out what books they have. I finished “Gulliver’s Travels” on the way to the school, so I donated it to them.
The school has the only chemistry/biology/physics lab in the area
I just loved the lighting on these bags coming from a skylight in the dorms

More photos after the break! Click –>

This little girl has the cutest little smile, and she would always light up in front of the camera































Patricia with a cute one

One of the administrators with the boys

One of the teachers took me back to the Dahanu station on his motorcycle. He was kind enough to stop and let me take pictures of the beautiful scenery along the way.

C’est bon!

I am doing a shoot tomorrow at a school in the Dharavi slum. Should get some good photos there as well.

October 23
I have lived in India now for four and half months and I had yet to travel far beyond the cities of Hyderabad and Bombay before spontaneously leaving over a week ago to join my friend in Ahmedabad. Stephen Keefauver came from Bloomington on the night of the 17th November, flying over a Bombay sky filled with fireworks. After a pretty quick tour of Bombay he headed off to Ahmedabad while I struggled to supply my apartment with working internet. Everything was finally installed on Thursday, so Friday I go to the tourist office in CST train station to buy a last minute ticket to Ahmedabad. Luckily I get on the train that leaves at 8:30pm and gets me to Ahmedabad around 5am.

October 24
Stephen meets me at the train station and we walk the kilometer and half or so to the Gujarat State Bus Station where we plan on taking a bus to the island of Diu. Stephen had already seen all of Ahmedabad, and I was not severely interested. We take a relaxing breakfast before loading on a bus that would torture us for the next 11 hours. The bus left at 8am and we are told we should arrive around 2pm. Sounds good. Stephen and I find comfortable enough seats by a window that opens all the way, but our knees stick squarely into the plastic backing of the seats in front of us. When the seats in front of us are occupied we find the fellows’ heads right in front of our chins; the seat backs almost completely broken. We are completely trapped and uncomfortable but not the worst off – many are stuck standing. Around 2pm we ask how much longer. “Oh, about 4 hours.” But you said…??? We arrive after 7pm in the most wretched of conditions, tired of being cramped up in that cage. Not only were we cramped, but a group of local boys badgered us the entire 11 hours. Miserable I was.

Read more after the break! Lots of Photos!

Off of the bus my condition changes almost immediately. According to the map in the Lonely Planet we figure the hotel is maybe a kilometer away, so we walk through most of Diu Village. First thing we notice…it’s quiet. No one is honking! There are very few vehicles on the narrow streets. We wonder around the maze of streets in the dark vaguely following the map in the L.P. and asking directions from strangers on street corners. At last we reach a grand white washed Catholic church illuminated on all side. The main sanctuary they turned into a museum for Diu, but all of the back offices and rooms are now living quarters for a family. We make our way to the roof where we find George D’Souza, the owner of the Sao Tome de Retiro, the guesthouse on top of the church. Our small room costs 300/- a night, so about $3 for each of us. Not the best, but for the views and location…it’s prime.

Standing on the pinnacle of the roof between two white towers I can see most of the village of Diu. I can see in the darkness a long pool with several fountains spurting water illuminated on all sides that leads to the steps of the church. In the channel between the mainland and the island a fortress sits in solitude, looking like an abandoned ship; also illuminated nicely. Just before me and to the right is another large Catholic Cathedral, St. Paul’s, the only active church on the island, and beyond that I can see Diu Fort, a massive structure built by the Portuguese.

We settle in then go out in search of food and the greatest necessity, internet. I haven’t even seen Diu in the light yet and I love it.

While at the cyber cafe a fight breaks out right in front of the large glass doors, a perfect movie screen experience. A large group swells back and forth amongst angry yelling; a large older man streams forward slapping repeatedly the head of a younger guy. The crowd gets involved and everyone appears to be slapping everyone else. (One thing I’ve found here…no one knows how to fight. It’s really comical watching their fights because it’s all slapping and what not. Even in their movies – no, especially in their movies – the fighting is terrible. Their stars throw feminine punches and three guys go flying and so on. They obviously have no idea of fighting techniques and no apparent interest in trying to make it look convincing. This I think effects the society as a whole in their fighting techniques…for better or worse I guess) The skirmish continues as the young man getting the brunt of the slaps get pushed inside the cyber cafe door, bleeding from his eye and his ear, his shirt torn beyond recognition. He struggles to push himself back into the fight and eventually succeeds. The crowd eventually diminishes when I hear the cops approaching. Exciting first night.

October 25

views from the top of the St. Thomas church.

The stairs leading up to the church.

Views of the Diu

Inside the lighthouse.

After taking a breakfast of pancakes and honey, Stephen and I rent XL something or other motorbikes from another hotel. Driving around the village I note that the brakes are not very good, the speedometer does not work, and the bike stalls any time I idle, whether I’m sitting still or coasting down a hill. We take off across the island, at every intersection choosing which road we think will take us further west. All along, cars are honking at us and guys riding doubles on motorcycles pull up beside us to behold the wonder of two white men on motorbikes. We pass large red brick gates, green fields leading to cliffs that dive into the ocean, and a golden beach covered with visiting Indians. We continue past, trying to get to the fishing village at the end of the island, but on a barren section with golden fields of grass on our right and bare beaches with small crashing blue waves on our right my bike sputters and dies. I think it overheated so I take off my sandals and wade into the cool water for a bit before trying to restart it. We go for another couple hundred meters before it dies again and does not want to restart. We leave the bike leaning against a light pole and go back to the populated beach, both of Stephen’s bike. From a nice hotel we call the “Super Silver Hotel” and they agree to bring me a replacement bike.

Larger ships than I expected line the docks that meet the end of the road. The busy-ness of the morning market has all but subsided; workers scrub the bottoms of landed ships clearing them of barnacles; men sit around drinking tea enjoying the afternoon light. The colorful smaller fishing boats I expected to see rest on the north side of the village among sun drying fish hung up like clothes on a drying line. Stephen and I make our way through the narrow streets, dodging cows and kids and other bikes. Several women in passing shops say without much enthusiasm what sounds like “chocolate.” I have no idea what they meant by it. Children run alongside saying “Money?” The paved road disappears and we follow the dirt trail along side multiple shallow lakes, farming something I could not tell (but ooh the smell, that I could tell). The scene is beauty, despite the smell, with something like white egrets launching themselves into the air from the shallow water, announcing our approach to whomever is watching.

The oddly shaped house stands in the intersection, enough space for maybe one bedroom on the top floor and kitchen on the bottom, and we decide to explore the incoming road coming from the north. Women in a multitude of colorful wraps and saris stream past us as we continue forward, not knowing what we are entering. A henna haired security guard bids us to park our bikes and follow him into a Hindu temple with screeching female vocals broadcast over an unseen PA system. Several men come and greet us and invite us to take lunch with them. Despite already having eaten lunch – Stephen actually ate three separate dishes – we heartily agree. They take us into a temple and put red powder on our foreheads then lead us to tent full of people sitting lined up on the floor eating rice and dal and chana. Today is this god’s birthday so they are celebrating with a community meal. We stuff ourselves then sit around talking with the men about what we do.

After some time the man showing us around asks, “Have you seen the prawn farms yet?” – why, no we haven’t. He leads us beyond the temple into a series of man made salt-water lakes that border the sea. In each lake turbines churn the water keeping it aerated. We are led to a hut with men working with nets overlooking one of the ponds. They throw in a net and pull out around 20 or so Tiger Prawns, creatures bigger than my hands. All this time I thought prawns were shrimp, but they are some how different. We learned a lot about prawns. They kept talking about prawns. They told us probably 15 times these were prawn farms, they just kept saying the word prawns. I didn’t know you could say prawn so many times. One guy read Stephen the back of the feed bag for the prawns, told him about mixing ratios and everything he never wanted to know. But it was entertaining nonetheless.

The road ends with several women telling us we have to turn around, this street does not go all the way through. We have to go back to the fishing village to get to the road that crosses the island on the south side. On our return journey we come across these colorful structures that from a distance look like miniature houses populating a hill looking over the beach. As we get closer we realize we’ve come across a Hindu cemetery. Little cement ‘houses’ painted in bright colors line the hillside in neat little blocks. I was hoping it would be a little bit more interesting.

The Kalpana distillery eluded us. Where the map said it was there is nothing but a petrol storage area. We just wanted to find where they make their local alcohol. We search around for a bit then head back towards Diu. We try to take roads we haven’t been on before till we find something exciting to do and come across a sign for ‘Caves’, so we decide to check it out. They are a mixture of natural and man-made caves carved into the sandstone cliffs. It is apparent they were used for some kind of ritual of some sort. Hand and footholds are carved into over hanging and vertical rocks meaning someone was climbing these cliffs, but I cannot see to what purpose.

I caught the sun set at Sunset point. I climbed down from the path to walk among the tidepools and watch the sund dip below the distant horizon.

The steps leading up to the roof at St. Thomas Church.

October 26
I meant to wake up around sunrise to go take pictures of the fishing village in its busiest hour, but I’ll just let you know…I missed that. Stephen and I take our lunch then mess around sliding our bikes in gravel and making general havoc. We had not gone out expecting to go anywhere else; Stephen in shower sandals and I naked without my camera. We search Diu for a better place to practice sliding stops and end up taking off across the island again, unsure of destination. The drive through the innards of Diu village reminds me in many ways of the tight, winding streets of Italy and I am sure they are reminiscent of someplace in Portugal, differentiated only by the random Brahman cow blocking the road. We come to an intersection with a giant gate in one direction signifying the entrance to Diu Island. The temptation of crossing the unknown and seeing the mystery of the main is too great. We cross the one lane bridge and get waved past a police checkpoint by a very jolly policeman (checking for alcohol since the State of Gujarat is a dry state and Diu is an island of drunken paradise).

The desert surrounds us, accentuated by a pack of roving camels. The land is utterly flat with no apparent change in elevation by even a few meters. We take the paved road that heads in the direction we determine we should be traveling to get to the other bridge that leads back to Diu, but soon the draw of leaving the easy road to bump along interweaving dirt paths created by herds of cattle and camels is too great. Stephen and I fly on, enjoying the freedom of life without roads provides, and occasionally sliding to a stop in a cloud of dust…because we can. Eventually even the dirt paths give up on us and force us back to the main road, which we have to take with much greater caution because of the ginormous man-eating potholes. We pass through small village after small village receiving the inhabitants’ stares with appreciative waves and smiles. In each village the women are dressed differently with different colors and patterns, with village specific nose and ear jewelry and tattoos covering arms and neck. At this point I hate that I did not bring my camera along, but I recognize had I taken pictures of everything I wanted to this half-day drive would have taken roughly three days. The teenage girl standing in the middle of the desert fighting against the wind to tie her flowing red dress; the beautifully wrinkled faces and tattooed bodies of the women staring as we drive past; the kids dropping everything they are doing out in a field and running full speed away from us at first site then turning and waving.

Stephen starts complaining about something rattling uncontrollably on his bike and we stop to look and find nothing obvious, but as soon as we start again the cause of that uncontrollable shaking becomes so very apparent. I laugh as he false starts only to come violently to a halt, and I tell him his chain is dragging on the ground. We try our best to reattach the chain, but with the guard in place we find it impossible. We sit there, not sure what to do surrounded by nothing but desert and a few trees. Several motorcycles pass us, some single riders I try to flag but all just fly by. A young man on a bicycle named Rumesh stops and tries to help but doesn’t succeed in bettering our efforts. I take him on my motorbike into the closest thing resembling a village where he grabs some tools and we go back to Stephen. With the tools we’re able to take of the chain guards and reattach the chain to the gear, and Rumesh refuses any kind of compensation and peddles off just as he came. Stephen and I take it a bit more slowly since the chain is still loose, and without incident we make it back across the bridge leading into Diu.

Relaxing and taking in the beautiful sunset from the top of the church, Stephen and I wait for the famous fish barbeque George makes every other night. The tuna and shark steaks taste spectacular, complimented by the calamari pasta. Stephen takes his bike back to the Super Silver hotel to try and get a replacement. It won’t start with the kick-start so he takes off pushing the bike. I want to take a drive then go find internet so I jump on my bike, with a powerful kick the engine roars to life and I take off down the hill, my back end swerving uncontrollably. My rear tire is completely flat. I figure the hotel will try and charge me for the tire so I walk the bike a kilometer or so to a petrol pump, conveniently finding it closed. I ask around and since its after 9pm, I can’t get any help till the morning. I walk the bike uphill back to the hotel and they inform me they won’t replace the tire or the bike…I can pick it up at 9 in the morning, even though I only have it through 10am. Both Stephen’s and my bike are out of commission. This is disappointment since I was planning on going to the fishing village at the end of the island early in the morning to catch the morning activities at the fishery.

October 27
George’s brother rents me another TVS XL and I take off across the island in the morning light, enjoying the wind in my face and the cool breeze. The fishing yard is a buzz with activity – ships unloading their fresh catch into motorcycle rickshaws, workers scrubbing barnacles off of beached ships, and boats getting necessary repairs. I am frustrated here, feeling that I do not capture what I am seeing; something I felt repeatedly in all of Diu. It is such a spectacularly calming and beautiful place. I wasn’t doing the portraits I so love doing and wasn’t capturing the scenery as well.

Barnacles attached to the bottom of a ship

Stephen and I catch a nice breakfast, check out and try to catch a bus to Una to get the 2:30 train to Junagadh. We end up riding in a overstuffed motorcycle rickshaw, the Royal Enfield engine struggling to pull the weight up even a miniature hill. Stephen is stuck inside, constantly being interrogated in Gujarati and not understanding a thing. I had the advantage of riding standing on the tailgate and holding onto the luggage rack alongside a long gray bearded Muslim man. We find our way to the train station in Una and buy our tickets. 23/- for a 155km trip. This trip should have taken two to three hours at the most, but we spent seven hours on board the overstuffed no reservation train. We start out in the luggage compartment squished like sardines, everyone slowly shifting to the right and left, move this foot and that arm, so most everyone can somehow find a way to sit down. I break out my camera and my co-inhabitants mostly enjoy getting their pictures taken. We decide after the sun cools off a bit we will move up to the roof of the train, which in reason has to be less crowded than this compartment. About 4:30 we climb up between the cars using pipes and bolts to lift ourselves, only to find the roof almost just as packed as the inside, but the young guys up there shift around so we have room to sit. This…this was a good decision. The views were spectacular and the company entertaining. The fresh air is much preferred to the stuffy, sweaty insides. As the sun sets and dark sets in we get a magnificent view of the stars. We chug into Junagadh amongst a constant back and forth jeering between those on the roof of the train and those watching the train go by. It’s quite entertaining and I am encouraged to yell at every crowded intersection.

At the train station we find we cannot get a train directly to Bhuj and we should try to take an overnight bus. Several of them leave in an hour so I we hurry to the bus depot only to find all of the A/C Sleeper coaches full so we resort to enduring another state bus experience.

October 28
The seats are not broken – that is a major plus to this bus – and it is overnight so we get some amount of sleep, but it stops so often and the guys on the bus will not stop talking to us. They cannot believe that I cannot take Indian Chai (milk and tea) and every time we stop they again try to make me drink some. We finally reach Bhuj around 6:00am and stumble through the city trying to find our hotel. We ask people on every corner and they give us different directions, pointing this way and that. Eventually a woman tells us it’s just down this little alley.

The City Guest House is much larger than I expected, three stories and built like a proper hotel with rooms overlooking a courtyard. We awake the workers sleeping on the floor of the office and they deliver us to our simple room on the first floor, then we sleep till sometime in the afternoon. We rent peddle bicycles and roam around the city, struggle up the road on the hill with a wall that resembles the Great Wall of China, and finally make it to the police station where we get permission to visit the outlying villages between Bhuj and Pakistan. I had the whole day been traveling around with my heavy backpack on full of photo gear, and I reached inside to pull out my camera. My lenses are there, my accessories, but no camera! I had forgotten that I took out my camera to repack the backpack and left the camera sitting on my bed. I carried all that weight all day for absolutely no reason!

Lots of photos! Read on –>

Bhuj is a nice city, very dry and hot. The people look and dress a bit differently than in Bombay. The men wear much more traditional garb with colorful headscarves and long dress-like garments. Some of the women’s colorful wraps and saris frame their dark, weather-lined faces accented by huge nose rings attached by chains to their earrings. Some women are much fairer and Persian looking. There is a large Muslim presence here as well as Hindu, but I do not recall seeing any churches.

October 29
The motorcycle is waiting in the courtyard for us to finish our breakfast, beckoning us to start our journey. The 125cc Hero Honda starts to life with a kick and I walk it out to the alleyway. Stephen hops on the back carrying a pack with my equipment and stuff for us to spend the night if we need to. We shakily make it out of the alley and into the busy road and I kill it. I try kick starting again and the engine sputters and dies. No amount of force will do the trick. The fuel gauge needle sticks very convincingly to the ‘E’. After picking up a couple of litres of petrol we start again, shakily making our way through traffic. Note. This is the second time I have driven a manual motorcycle. The first time I drove around the block killing it every time I stopped. Learning to drive this unsteady machine with another human being on the back is maybe more motivation to not fail.

Asking directions all along the way we pass through the little tiny villages marked on our map. The landscape in between is dry and desert, accentuated by a few trees and cactus. Medium sized brown hills lumber off on both sides. After some 30km we stop in a village called Kodai to get some drinks and get out of the sun. A group of boys surround us but to not barrage us with the usual questions, just sitting and observing. They laugh when Stephen and I hit our heads on the low door of the shop and I take some pictures, which they are reluctant to let me. Our map has photos of certain highlight of the area around Kutch and one of the boys points to a temple ruins. I think he says Lodai, which is the next village on, maybe 10km or so. They kept saying we had to go see this temple, so we get back on the bike and head on towards Lodai. Asking a group of boys preparing to play cricket where this temple is, they inform us its in Kodai, the village we just came from. We decide to keep on going, making our way over rough roads, around sharp turns, wading through water ways flooding the low parts of the road till we get to the main road leading towards Pakistan. This road is in great shape and we take off ‘flying’ down the road. While Stephen drives we stay at about 55km/h (34 mph) and many vehicles are passing us. A passenger bus goes by with a man trying to get our attention and to look at our rear wheel. Upon investigation we find the wheel a bit low on air.

We enter the next village and find a tiny booth with a man that fixes tires. He airs our tire for no cost while a man invites us to his house to look at local crafts his village creates. I say sure, why not…we might get lunch out of it. He leads us off of the main road and into what seems like a dried up creek bed filled with fine but deep sand. We choke through the dust of his bike leading us, our bike sliding this way and that. After about ten minutes we reach a collection of circular huts, colorfully painted thick mud walls with grass roofs. Children run up to inspect the newcomers and we’re asked to sit in a large hut. Inside a small fan hanging from the apex of the hut stirs the noticeably cooler air. Our host beckons us to sit and he brings us dal and rice with a very thick and delicious roti. He shows Stephen many intricately beaded and embroidered cloths, spreads, bags, hats, and dolls. I am not interested in the least by anything so I wonder around the compound taking a few photos. The women flat out refuse to let me take any photos of them, even though they are so beautiful and have such interesting characteristics. Stephen buys almost 1000/- worth of presents for his family and we return to the main road by way of the sandy creek bottom.

Kavda (Kowda) lies about 70km from Bhuj and 30 or so from the Pakistan border. We follow the points and gestures of men to what appears to be the center of ‘town’, which is busy with activity. Men sit around everywhere watching us as we pull in. Stephen just wants a break from sitting on the bike. I need some water and go off asking for “Thanda Pani?” They lead me to a cement cauldron with a long metal ladle. Eh why not? We’re so far from any major city, shouldn’t be contaminated. I start taking pictures of some men with henna in their beards, which leads to everyone in the area to want their photo taken. I am lead from one group of men to another, each asking me to take a photo then show them their face on the screen. I love when this happens; it’s a lot of fun.

We ask a group of men sitting on a wall which way to Kuran and they point off following this road to the northeast. We go along this deserted road that slowly dwindles down to nothing. We ask at least three people along the way which way to Kuran and they all point the way we are headed. We come to an intersection and two men on a tractor tell us it is the opposite direction. We head back 5km or so back to the main road and take some extra petrol to be safe, then head out for sure in the right direction. The scenery gets even more desolate and desert-like the further from Bhuj and the closer we get to Pakistan. A sprawling mountain with black sides forms the mass of the view to our right, and in the distance there seems to be a lake of some sort to our left, though I cannot get a good view of it. We get close enough to this great body to find it completely void of water, only the white of salt reflecting the light and the heat giving off the impression of water. The road continues on crossing over a section of this leading to a military post. A man with a machine gun steps out of a hut letting us know we are not welcome past this point. We ask him where Kuran is, having not seen anything resembling this village, but he uninterestedly points back the way we came.

We find we passed a sign that says Kuran in the Hindi script that was partly covered by a bush. As we make the turn and see the village I feel the back end of the bike swaying unnaturally. Are you serious? We have a flat tire? Stephen gets off the bike and I cautiously make my way into the village to ask for help. There is absolutely nothing there except a few huts; nothing resembling a shop of any kind. The nearest tire shop with an air pump is 20km in Kavda. No one in the village seems to have a vehicle besides a motorcycle. I go back to Stephen and inform him of our predicament. Several goat herders had joined Stephen and were trying to communicate by some sort of sign language, the goat herders knowing no English at all and Stephen knowing an equal amount of Hindi and Gujarati. In my little knowledge of Hindi I was able to communicate the problem and what we needed, etc. They used my phone to call some people they knew in Kavda, pulling out little address books from somewhere in their full length man-dresses. They tell me someone will come in 15 minutes to help us. Sweet. The sun begins to fall from the sky, it being around 4:00pm at this point. The shepherds offer us chai and make a small fire next to the road, pull out pots and pans from somewhere I didn’t see and make a delicious cup of tea, so says Stephen. Since they only make it with milk, I cannot have any. An hour and half later I ask when their friends are coming. Ten minutes. Alright. Another tea session, but this time with flutes! The orange glow of the fading sun just makes the scene seem even more unreal.

The flat flat tire

This picture cracks me up everytime.

After some more time the shepherds start pushing the bike back towards the main road, hoping that we will catch a passing lorry or motorcycle rickshaw. A few minutes into our wait a large Indian Army truck rumbles past. I flag it down and run after it, explaining that we need a ride back to civilization because our bike has a flat. I ask where they are headed.

-“Bhuj.”
-Oh great! We’re going to Bhuj too.
-“We can drop you off in Kavda.”
-Thank you, but we’re going to Bhuj too.
-“We’ll drop you at Kavda. We can’t take you all the way to Bhuj because we are the -Army.”
-Oh, ok…that makes perfect sense.

They are very nice and buy us tea in Kavda after a very bumpy ride in the massive truck, which somehow made me appreciate how smooth the motorcycle ride was. It’s funny to me seeing these large buff army men wearing their intimidating fatigues and delicately sipping tea from tiny blue and white porcelain teacups. The inner tube of our tire is shredded and we pay 180/- for it to be replaced.

By now its mostly dark and I am a little anxious about driving the 70km back to Bhuj in the darkness, but we have little choice (plus if we get the bike back tonight, we don’t have to pay for a second day). We decide to go for it, and take off through the night. For the most part we are alone on the road, which is nice, but whenever a vehicle comes from the opposite direction I lose all sight of the road. It is lucky the road is almost perfectly straight and in good condition. When I am unopposed by on coming traffic I travel at an average speed of 70km, a breezy 43 miles per hour, but I feel like I am absolutely flying. I can’t imagine hurtling down an interstate in the US at 70mph, but also the 125cc bike was straining to go that fast, so that could have something to do with it.

We get back to Bhuj with an abundance of petrol and not quite sure where in the city the road brought us, so we zipped around for a while on the deserted streets, enjoying the freedom. We eat dinner at a super cheap, super good non-veg restaurant then return to the hotel to beg for a room at 11:30 at night.

My feet were so dirty from all the dirt and dust on the motorcycle ride.

October 30
We have no plans for today, I spend time reading and working on my Hindi, just waiting till our A/C Sleeper bus leaves at 10pm. We eat a couple more times at the same non-veg restaurant and talk with our waiter from Nepal. While walking around I take some more cultural portraits. The women frustrate me by absolutely refusing to let me take pictures of them. They get angry if I even ask. They have such interesting characteristics that just beg to be captured. Meh.

Loved this just sitting in an alley. I thought of my friend Katie right away.

Donkeh!

The bus is super comfortable and we fall asleep with little problem on our way from Bhuj to Ahmedabad. I will definitely travel like this in the future.

October 31
We arrive in Ahmedabad around 6am and make our way to Gandhi’s ashram he ran for some 15 years. It was interesting and peaceful. Gandhi had some strange ideas about what made him stronger, like not eating meat and abstaining from sex, even with his wife. And he always squeezed his lips together so tight in pictures…it gives the image of self-righteous prude.

Stephen sleeps as I walk around as he already saw the place before. We catch a bus back near the train station and walk around for a bit. It’s 10am. Our train leaves at 10pm. What to do, what to do? We eat a big lunch and waste as much time as possible there then head out in search of an internet cafe. We pass a theatre and decide that its not a bad idea to waste three hours of our lives in air-conditioning, even if we do have to endure a Bollywood film to do that. We pay 30 rupees to get in and try to sleep through their new rendition of Aladin. We sit in the very last row and try to curl up on the seats, but nothing is comfortable. I wind up staying awake through it all. The movie is entertaining at the least, but laughable in many parts (not as in comedy). The plot seems to have little motive to move, and they don’t fully explore much of the story even though they have three hours to do so. They jump from one scene to another, a loosely tied together story. They don’t explain why one character is afraid of another just by his name or how this one gets his super human strength. Over all the quality of filming is quite good, but they use quirky techniques that belong to the Disney Channel’s afternoon productions. The film would be so much stronger with out the fast forwarded running and silly running sounds, etc and pure silliness in general. They have a good story they could have told; they had good production team and actors; I just don’t understand why it has to be silly stupid.

Halloween passes without incident with us passing the evening on the train. I surprisingly cannot wait to be back at my apartment. We get in about 5:30 and get back in time for Stephen to sleep before we head off to church.

This was my first real chance to travel around India even though I have been here twice and lived here for four and half months. It was great. I loved it. And it is much cheaper than flying all the way to Indonesia…I look forward to getting to see more of India. Also it was good traveling with Stephen. He was a great traveling partner.

This week I started a project for an NGO that works on education for children who would otherwise wind up on the streets. This particular school works with special education. The day was frustrating sometimes, but over all it was good. Plus I didn’t have any equipment failures!

Read More after the Jump –> A lot more photos!

I broke out the ring flash and started experimenting.

Turns out, the ring light is a nice defused light when used off of the camera axis.





The hall is open to the outside and the gray day provided great quality light for these portraits against the colorful backdrop of paintings.

About a month ago I was playing cricket with some local kids in south Bombay. After a big hit I took off running and something snapped on my right Chaco. The outside heel riser had completely separated. I was is absolute awe that my indestructible Chacos broke.

Chaco asked me to send pictures for proof and to see if they will replace them. I hope they will, would be awfully nice of them.

I shot these on my floor with my Canon speedlite 430EX as the back light bouncing off my white wall and my 580EXII on board my camera either bouncing off the ceiling or as a fill, stopped down to 1/64th power.

Things are happening here in Mumbai along with the very unseasonal rains (people say they have never seen rain in November, and it is forecast to continue into next week!). I spent last weekend in Hyderabad visiting some friends and attending a wedding. I will just say that I am glad that I am not an Indian and will not have to endure my own Indian wedding. Not for me…

I am finishing up my visual journal from my trip with my friend Stephen around the state of Gujarat. There were some great adventures and some exciting photo opportunities.

Today I did some volunteer work for an NGO. My photographs of school children and teachers will be used in a calendar to sell to corporates to raise money for the NGO. It was fun and frustrating working with the children. Should be some good results. I played around with using my ring flash as a defused key light, which worked out very nicely with great prospects for future use. There should be some more work for the calendar in the next couple of weeks.

I am working with a friend who is an actor, doing some headshots and personality photos, as well as working on a stop-action project he is directing.

I have also stepped into the shoes of a graphic designer, working on a logo and design for a clothing company start up that has a focus on helping rescue women from the sex-slave trade in India and train them in skills so they can earn a living. I am excited to be involved in the project and hope to see it come to reality. I hopefully will have more information on that in coming months.

My broken photo equipment should be fully repaired and returned to me within another week, so I can go out and start doing some more portfolio work in nearby high-end hotels. Once I am happy with the work I have I will start presenting to architecture and interior design magazines.

I am excited to be doing work again. Not doing purposeful work for almost 4 and half months was draining on me. I will have photo updates soon! Cheers!

I have uploaded a new video that tells the story of climbing Mt. Rinjani on the island of Lombok in Indonesia. I am enjoying working with video. I would like to develop it some more.

Climbing Mt. Rinjani, Lombok, Indonesia from D Scott Clark on Vimeo.

I have been wanting to draw more. I would like to try and draw something every day, but I fail daily. A few weeks ago I went to a village a few hours north of Mumbai with a friend. I was asked not to take photos so when I ventured out I sat and drew for a while. I was in a quite valley surrounded by small mountains. Children sat quietly around me while I drew, whispering to each other and looking over my shoulder. After I finished this I asked one of the boys if he wanted to draw something (asked is a stretch. I tried to motion to him to take my pen and draw), but he declined so I started drawing a portrait of him. When I tore it out, signed it, and had him sign his name on it, he ran and proudly showed it to his mother. I have to say I was actually proud of the portrait. I do miss drawing.

Right now I am in the city of Bhuj, about 100km from the border of Pakistan. I have been traveling with my friend Stephen for the past few days, which I will update when I get back about all of that. There has been some amazing sights and some frustrating equipment failures. Highlight…riding on the roof of a train from Una to Junaghadh. Awesome.

This is exciting. Finally I can reach the world without leaving my apartment. It is what I have dreamed of and toiled for two months to attain! Let us hope it lasts.

I think I am going to Ahmedebad tomorrow by train to meet up with my friend Stephen. We might go to the beaches of Diu and then the city of Nasik. I am excited since I have not really gotten to travel around proper India much at all.