Nov 19, 2016
I feel better already: it's been good comedy fodder. From Saori's wry comment about "isn't there an app for that?" to the fact that it LOOKS like a tablet down to a felt slip case. One of my coworkers thought it was a drawing tablet, and I almost give to him to see if he could get my new "tablet" to work. It is bright, and I've just started using it so we shall see if I notice any difference.
It was a long week with too little sleep. We watched Das Boot over two nights, both of which ended up being late, and then there was no hot water for the next two days. Why does that keep me up? The hot water in my apartment building comes from a boiler in the basement, and the management had two different engineering firms come out and take a look at it. From the Hausmeister downstairs, it didn't sound like we were going to have more hot water, so Saori asked a colleague if we could use his shower. He lives around the block, so we loaded up a bag with bath stuff and headed over. Along with a bottle of wine as a gift.
He lives alone and was happy to recieve us that late, and so he felt compelled to open the bottle and it turned out be a nice Chianti so we took turns showering and drinking wine and chatting. So that also became a very late night by the time we came back home.
Thursday the hot water was back on, and I was so exhausted (they say Kaputt in German, i.e. broken) I was actually ill, with headache and nausea, and I was in bed before nine. Felt back to normal after a good nights sleep.
Friday night, we went to go see Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them at the English language movie in Vaihingen. It was a fun movie. Not sure I would recommend the 3D version but then I'm all about the visuals, and 3D I find to be too distracting. OK plot, really immaculate and fun set design and costuming.
It's saturday. We are way behind on everything, so today I'm trying to line up christmas tickets to the US this weekend. Gray, gray days.
Nov 13, 2016
- Mom taught us the importance of taking part of the communities we were living in. She dragged Tay and I to the schools and churches to go vote with her. She voted in this election, expects us to vote, and raised to take our civic duties responsibly.
- Mom's recipe for lunchtime snack: Slice a hot dog in half, lay in a string cheese, roll it all up in a flour tortilla and microwave for a minute.
- Going with her to see Carmen and signing themes all the way back to the car
- She put me in a commercial for PetsMart
- She ventured out of her home state and took the leap to travel first to Mexico, then South Africa, and Japan, and then farther and farther afield, with an explorer's spirit.
- "experience junkie"
- Keeps calm, cool, and collected in pressure situations.
- Supported our family move to Singapore from a world we had grown up in, which infected all of us with a love for travel and vastly widened worldview.
- She bribed Tay with a Nintendo Gameboy to move. It was a great example of soft power and negotiation.
- She organized the kind of dream rehearsal dinner for our wedding, where she made happen what we would have wished if money and connections were no problem.
- Even though she gave up sugar* she bakes for her office and for her children. I'm still delighted by her Rolo cookies and her mummy cookies still make me laugh
- *Scones are categorically excluded, as is gelato when you are on vacation. The lesson for me is don't be so extreme that you miss out the great things in life.
- She gives to her children, not with the expectation that they will give back to her, but that we will pay it forward to OUR children.
- She plays a mean game of Kings and Losers, keeping Tay, Saori, and I, no poor players ourselves, always on our toes.
- Ditto for Bananagrams
- She faces radical changes and challenges in her life with incredible grace, resilience, and determination
- She sent me to Junior Cotillion where you learn to ask girls to dance and then to actually dance with them when I was in elementary school. It was horrifyingly awkward and I hated it, but it impressed upon me that A) there is a social code that people actually follow, and B) it gave me a step into dancing, which did actually does thread into and out of my life.
- More soft power parenting techniques: "Whose Day is it?"
- The difference and importance of distinguishing between "who's" and "whose"
- Relentlessly encouraging and pushing me to finish what I started in the BoyScouts to become an Eagle scout.
- She is killing it as a lawyer, working for the state
- She has a really clear view of what she wants, and the patience and persistence to work for it.
- She made a ton of friends in law school across a huge range of ages because she really is that friendly, sincere, and smart that everyone wants to know her.
- I lived with her and her current husband for about four months while I was between countries and jobs. She told me once when I was in high school that she would charge me rent to live with them after I graduated, but the only thing she requested from me in this time period was that I cook dinner once a week, which I did, with pleasure.
- She once said she was sad that Tay and I didn't enjoy cooking because she thought we were too much influenced by her attitude towards cooking, but I am happy to remind her that I am now totally into cooking.
- Cold cucumber soup. I hated it when she made it growing up, but it was still food she cooked for us and put on the table every day, and better or worse, we ate a wide variety of meals.
- We had a fantastic trip to Peru and Machu picchu together
- When we all lived in Phoenix as adults, going to mom's house for dinner and game night on Fridays.
- Napkin ring obsession
- She believes jewelry should be worn because it looks great and you love wearing it, and should not just sit hiding as a small investment in a box.
- Rule number one at the pool: No Splashing The Mom.
- Parade of Sausages in Munich
- The way she welcomes warmly and with open arms all of the friends I made, and that people who are special to me, are special to her.
- AJ's pasta night with extra garlic
- Lounging and drinking coffee in the modernist glass cube on top of the Capitoline museum in Rome, overlooking that historic city like a group of cinematographers
- Paris in freezing temperatures, Musee d'Orsay and a tiny hotel in St. Germain
- Paris in the summer, Eurodisney, and the sewer tour. And the Musee d'Orsay because it's fantastic.
- "Everyone Gets a Day" method of group travel, where each member gets to propose the day's dining and sightseeing. I never regretted a single day proposed by anyone, it was always interesting and different
- Suffered through my endless track and field meets (where I came in last, except one time when I came in second from last) and cross country races (where I did a little better) to support and encourage me.
- Insisted that I participate in some form of sports as both a means of keeping me in good physical shape and to spark some form of social skills. Finally clicked with cross country late in high school, but she pushed through all the other sport and social misadventures
- It makes me happy to know she enjoys the simple pleasure of drinking coffee in the morning outdoors and looking at the desert mountains.
- Sneaky parent dinner strategy: "asparagus is too good for children."
- Less effective strategy: "it could be your new favorite thing!"
- One of her big self-criticisms is that she has no "crafty" talent or hand-eye coordination, but she started in visual design (print media layouts) where she found a lot of success, (or so it seems to me), to the Crafting = Fabric Pinecones, to painting, to giving up painting, and finally once again finding a lot of enjoyment and pleasure in landscape design and interior design.
- Helping me rescue Saori from Homeland Security goons in DC by faxing them Saori's birth certificate from our apartment in Phoenix
- Gives great advice, whenever I had the humility and presence of mind to ask it
- Gives great advice, without being asked for it
- Once resisted calling me in the middle of the night to make sure I knew how to escape from a rip tide current
- Filled my childhood with love and delight and, along with my father and brother, taught me most of the important things about being a human being.
- Family Christmas poetry slam.
- She is a devoted daughter and sister, and inspires me as an example of how great family can be.
- "Alec, where are you going.... Upstairs to take a bath, bath, bath, bath"
- She is a PADI certified diver, and I remember the amazing time we went scuba diving in the Maldives and watching a (monstrosity? flock? alley?) of manta rays feeding off the reef, and then they were going to eat Tay since he was floating off the reef.
- She is an incredibly gracious host who reminds her children that the main point of being a host is to make guests as comfortable as possible
- 1990's fun car: Mazda 240-SX, 2000's fun car: Mustang convertible, 2010's fun car: Mazda Miata. Loves cars that get progressively smaller, to the point that in 2020 she will be driving the equivalent of a cat carrier on an motorized skateboard
- She swam with stingrays, had a black tie dinner on the Great Wall of China, rode in an guarded convoy across the wastelands of Egypt, went on an African safari, mingled with the elites of Mexico City, let her kids take a taste of the beer at the Tsingdao Factory in China, and more willingly let us try the chocolate at the Red October Chocolate Factory in Moscow, watched the national independence parades in Cuzco, Peru, and took a hot air balloon ride over the Arizona desert.
- She takes her health seriously enough to exercise regularly, goes to the gym, radically changed her diet and stuck with it.
- "Never say never"
- No longer tells the story about the time I abandoned my seven year old brother in Singapore.
- Totally swinging on a star, carrying moonbeams home in a jar.
Oct 23, 2016
I enrolled once more at IFA, one of the better language schools in town. Or at least, I tried to enroll. I filled out the online form and submitted it, and then waited to get the email with the bill and bank payment information. It never came. I tried calling, but the lines are always busy and the system dumps you out if the line is busy after three rings. Because I work for a living, I can't spend my day repeat dialing the same number over and over again. But I did it anyway for about half an hour.
I did finally get through. They told me that I had registered for the classes I wanted but that they had sent me an email with the payment instructions, and when I had failed to pay, booted me from the class and now all the classes I wanted were full. I explained that I had failed to pay because they had never sent me the bill. I know my inbox. I have a gmail account. IFA has it. They have successfully sent me things in the past. They just screwed up and then refused to acknowledge their mistake. So registered for the weekend course, which is Friday nights and Saturday mornings.
Saori's office is paying an IFA instructor to give once a week lessons at her office. Saori talked to her on my behalf, and magically, there was space available in the class I wanted to take. What a coincidence. Goes to show you no matter where you go in the world, some things stay absolutely the same. It also helps that Saori is gifted with a magical ability that people just instantly like her and want to help her.
My new instructor is actually a quite old instructor. Saori was in his classes for a long time, which is how I got to know him, and we both recognized each other when I arrived to class. A elderly Yugoslavian immigrant, philosophy enthusiast, with three children and several ex-wives, one of whom was Japanese. You don't learn all these things on the first day with him, of course. He talks a lot. On the first day of class we took some wide detours covering the importance of hand washing and the difference between the cold and flu, female genital mutilation, and Alfred Hitchcock horror movies.
Actually, the best thing about Deutschkurs is the other students. It feels a bit like a casting call round table for a new StarTrek TV series. Bright and mostly enthusiastic people from all over the world, eager to make German theirs to command and make the most of the European powerhouse. Actually, intimidatingly bright. One of my classmates is a Greek PhD student in theoretical physics and theoretical chemistry at the Max Planck institute. Another one of them told us this story:
J was from Romania, where she worked in a travel agency. She took a trip to Germany to visit a friend, but she took the wrong train somewhere in Germany and unable to speak German, mildly panicked. At the station where she disembarked, she sought the help of the DeutscheBahn assistance kiosk, and the man there was able to work out what her problem was, get her in touch with her friend and line up the trains she needed to take. He got her email, and then later they began a correspondence with the limited language they shared. He wrote to her one day that he wanted to come visit her, and did, and she later came to Germany to see him again, and one thing lead to another and they got married, and she now works as a sales clerk in Stuttgart, but also struggles with the language.
There is another story, a sadder one. My coworker, Schmid, always struck me as particularly harried, even for a specification writer. What I never understood was that his wife was in the hospital, and had been for a year, with a brain tumor. She died about two weeks ago, a few days after her 44th birthday, leaving behind her husband and three children.
The office went to the funeral, in a small town in the foothills of the Bavarian alps. Most people wore black, which is not surprising, but actually down to black button down shirts, which was. Like most funerals in the US, there was a short service in a small church, which unlike the US, included a terrible song about goodbyes from the 1980s sung in German and played through a CD player by the female minister. The casket was already at the graveyard, and we gathered once more there where I was surprised by a 15 person band in traditional Schwabish Alb costume and hats. They played some gloomy marches and then we all filed past the coffin held over the grave, and tossed some flowers on top before giving a consoling handshake or hug to Schmid. Afterwards, all the guests were invited to cake and coffee hosted one of the local traditional guesthouses.
Sep 26, 2016
From the outside: Vulcan
Relating to outsiders, you, me, the rest of the world, Germans from different villages, the stereotypical German is by-the-book, supremely logical no matter how strange the outcome is. If you can show a logical chain of reasoning, you can convince them of nearly anything. Coming from a shockingly violent past, they are rooted to an ideal of universal peace and keeping their emotions deeply in check. Attire must be clean, subdued, sensible. They know most humans do not understand them, but they are patient and paternalistic with the knowledge that with the aid of science, and a calm and quiet optimism, humankind can be guided to a better future.
To each other: Hobbit
Sep 7, 2016
Friday night, Saori invited her yoga instructors over for drinks and to hang out on the roof. O, an American-Turkish woman with a German upbringing founded the yoga studio in Stuttgart after getting burning out working in the financial sector in New York. P is O’s squeeze, a meek Italian guy from Milan who tolerates being the butt of jokes he recieves from the other instructors. E, a dude my age from Connecticut is a permenant teacher (co-owner?). A is the newest instructor, a rail-thin eastern European woman who started learning yoga the same time as Saori. For people who do professional yoga, they do seem to take the six flights of stairs a lot harder than we do- maybe we’re just used to them.
Saori mixed up a mean cocktail for them- a spicy grapefruit margarita. A mixture of lime juice, fresh squeezed grapefruit juice, a surprisingly lot of tequila, agave syrup, and fresh sliced jalapeno rounds. It’s a slow drink with a double burn: stronger than you think, and the longer the jalapeno infuses into the tequila-citrus mixture, the spicier the margarita. They brought guacamole and tortilla chips and we basically just hung out on the roof, snacked, talked, and listened to bad rap music (according to Kanye, the only word that rhymes with “asshole” is “asshole”) until it was very late.
Saturday we slept in and had a late breakfast. We did a bit of housecleaning and went for a stroll around Stadtmitte before meeting up with Saori’s coworker Daphne and her husband Georg downtown. Daphne is Taiwanese, and hasn’t worked at Behnisch that long, but she and Saori quickly became friends. We actually had them over first a few weeks ago, and they were happy to have some company out in Zuffenhausen.
Georg grilled up a fish and Daphne made some good fried pork rice and it was all pretty tasty. After dinner, we borrowed a headlamp and followed them into some pitch black woods to look for local deer and other critters of the night. We spotted some small deer, but they bounded into the brush before we could really get a good look. At any rate, it was nice to get out in the woods at night. The most dangerous thing out there is that you could slip on a waylaid beer bottle.
They walked us back to the metro station and we took a train full of drunks home, also late.
Sunday morning, Saori made me quark and blueberry pancakes. Quark is a German dairy product somewhere between sour cream and buttermilk. It’s about as thick as sour cream, although much more mild in flavor. It gave us really thick pancakes.
Then Saori immediately got busy again with my birthday cake. Last year she went on a sugar scavanger hunt through Stuttgart, hunting down exotica like treacle and dates to make me some STP. This year, I felt like something a little lighter, so I requested a matcha roll cake with white chocolate cream filling. The ingrediants were actually all on hand, so she got to work and despite some setbacks (like the roll cake turning accidently into a layer cake) she and I ended up laughing quite a lot. She brought it out to me with three tiny sheep on a green field, with a lit cactus candle on top. It was great but really really rich since we managed to basically whip the white chocolate cream into butter.
I lounged around the house most of the afternoon since the weather was rainy, and given the weather, I decided we should go see a movie. StarTrek was still out, so we trekked ourselves out to the original language cinema close to the American army base. Even though the screen was smaller than most movie theaters, it still beat a laptop screen.
After the movie, we took a metro over to Bonnie & Clyde, ostensibly a typical corner bar of the type seen all over Germany, but actually well known for and specializing in their hamburgers and fish and chips. Too many German burger joints are all about the accessories. Actually, there are some very fancy burger restaurants around, but if your cheddar, egg, avocado slices, and grilled onions are resting on a quarter-inch of hackfleish than you are kind of missing the meat. This burger we ordered was good, a solid and delicious burger with eat-them-all fries, and washed down with a beer.
I’m 32 years old. I’m married, living in Stuttgart, Germany. I had a 20 minute phone conversation with a structural engineer in German last week, and this week, both of my bosses approached me separately that I need to improve my German. This is an order. Something also needs to change here since we have some choices to make.
I bought a box of Dunkin’ Donuts for the office which was greatly appreciated and a welcome surprise. In a land of corner bakeries, DD still delivers a sweet surprise (considering there’s only one or two in Stuttgart).
Sep 3, 2016
The hotel Ivanhoe (I’m 70% confident Sir Walter Scott resided in Rome, possibly even writing the book there) is in a surprising pleasant neighborhood, a kind of trendy place based on the number of filament bulb lit boutiques and vegan gelato offerings. I was at the hotel first, and met their transfer when it pulled up. Everyone looked excited but exhausted from the long flights.
We checked in and reconvened downstairs. We started on a walking tour towards the Pantheon, which is actually quite a long way from the hotel, and when we got there, it was still closed for church services. So we wandered over to Piazza Navona where the group decided they needed some rest and coffee. We knew it was going to be all tourist traps ON the plaza but we pulled the trigger anyway. It was a typical application of “eat when you are tired” rule, but I may have to add the Piazza Exclusion (Don’t eat on the plaza) on top of the Gothic Caveat (Don’t eat at the first place you see). We got four coffees, two croissants, and a small pizza. Based on our bill, I can only assume that the coffee was sourced from passed beans of extinct mammals, the croissants were sculpted by Bernini, and pizza was baked by his Holiness.
After our snack, we wandered back through the various alleyways, as I tried to find a restaurant/store/point of interest I’d marked on my Google Map of Rome. Unsuccessful we headed back to the Pantheon, which was surprisingly open, and surprisingly, we were able to shuffle our way inside. It was crowded but not insanely so. I guess most people come to the Pantheon, gawk at the occulus, check off that box, and move on to the next thing.
Our next thing was the Trevi fountain, where mom dug out some coins and we fought our way past the selfie-stick armed hordes to toss in a coin over our shoulders. We were the only coin tossers at that particular moment, although based on the coins lining the bottom, the custom has not totally died out.
We called it an afternoon and headed back to the hotel. I wanted to pick up a few more things at Muji so I invited Tay out with me and we took the metro to the shopping streets around the Spanish Steps (closed for August) and I hit Muji again and we poked our heads into a few other stores before heading back to the hotel.
Dinner was nearby at an ok place, although the wine was pretty good. Tay had a gelato place picked out for dessert, close to Trevi fountain, but the only catch was we had to walk about 200 meters through a traffic tunnel under the Quirnal Palace to get back to the picturesque city. The number of gelato stands in Rome is its own hyperbole, but surely one of the best has to be Gelato Valentino. I ordered two scoops of dark chocolate and pineapple, and the pineapple, which I expected to be a just quiet and refreshing foil to the chocolate turned out to be fresh and zingy. The chocolate, which was tar black and about as thick and rich was like eating cold, creamy fondant- in the end, much too rich.
Mom bought a paper woven hat from a street vendor who was happy to negotiate with her. Actually, he got so excited his partner got in on it too and Tay and I played backup, disparaging the quality and suggesting repeatedly that the price was too high and we should just walk. Mom negotiated them down from $15 or something wildly audacious to $6 which was merely overpriced. We walked back over the hill, passing a surprising number of restaurants offering gluten free pasta dishes before we arrived back at the hotel.
Rome is really a lovely city to stroll in the summer evenings, ideally between the verge of sunset and 9pm. A city of little lights and intricate surfaces. A few mosquitoes nibbled on my exposed ankles, but really that was all.
Back at the hotel, we got four cold cans of peroni and took them up to the roof terrace where we sat chatting and drinking a bit. I was quite surprised that my jet lagged family was able to stay upright past 9pm, let alone nurse a beer on the first day across the Atlantic.
Sep 1, 2016
They flew in bright and early sunday morning, so to meet them when they arrived, I had to take a flight the day before they arrived, which is not so bad since Rome is a fantastic city. What is not so fantastic is that it meant I had to find accommodation for a night. Like a cheap ass, I booked a hostel at the Yellow, which is one of the more prominent backpacker hostels in Rome.
Saturday morning I made breakfast with Saori and then jumped on the metro to the airport. With my boarding card on my phone, and nothing but hand luggage, I breeze straight through security to my gate, without even an ID check along the way. The flight is Germanwings, basically Ryanair but with less active hate towards passengers. It’s delayed half an hour getting out. I feel bad since it looks like I am the only one who doesn’t get a cheese sandwich, but then I remember that I’m saving $20 on the fare for this. The flight is a little over an hour, direct to Rome. It’s as sunny and warm as I had hoped.
This is technically my fourth trip to Rome, although the first time to fly in. My first trip was a few hours as an excursion from a Mediterranean cruise and I was sick the entire time. So it really doesn't count that much. And I was only eleven or twelve at the time. Second trip was a week with Chase about 11 years ago, and then I was here again about five years ago as my own side trip from an architecture studio trip for grad school with Saori. Only in Rome for two nights that time.
Mom booked a transfer to meet her at the airport but I decided to try the typical bus. It’s slightly complicated. You need to go to a ticket counter first outside of the terminal to buy the ticket, but then they tell you where to find the bus. It’s a quick-moving line and I find the bus easily. My seatmate is Chinese: he plays a game on his phone the entire 45 minute drive into Rome. The comic-sans sign at the front of the bus tells me I’m not allowed to eat anything on the bus, and gives me the password to a wifi connection that does not connect to the actual Internet.
I enjoy the ride in actually. We pass EUR, notable for its chunky cube Colosseum erected under Mussolini, and then we drive through the city, passing aqueducts, the circus maximus, the white Egyptian pyramid, and even the Colosseum as a kind of preview tour before dumping us all out at Termini.
I cross through this massive train/metro/bus terminal and find my hostel. I’m pleasantly surprised. They have expanded across the street and recently renovated an old building to create a modern, warm, and fresh feeling reception and communal spaces, a far cry from the dinginess I remember five years ago. I check in and cross the street back to the other side to my dorm, where I rediscover the exact same dinginess.
Leaving my bag behind, I head out into Rome. I stop and buy a big wedge of fresh watermelon from a street vendor and it’s fantastic. With sticky hands I purchase a 72 hour metro ticket and take the metro out towards the Holy See, where there is a Italian store I wanted to check out. It’s in a market and the market is closed. It’s a pattern which would repeat itself over and over again. I decide to walk over to my other shopping destinations- I heading back to the ancient city, I cross the Tiber and after a long walk find myself in the Piazza di Popolo. There I find another closed store. But the cobblestone streets radiating out of it are filled with shops ranging from Italian fashion powerhouses to more commercial stationary stores. It’s a nice area and I wander through almost to the Spanish Steps. There, I finally find one of my stores open: a specialty cookware store. I look but nothing jumps out at me. Around the corner, I buy a cellophane box of freshly made pasta alla’amatricia from a take-away pasta place. Failing to look both casual and local, I wolf it down mostly standing as I lean on a barrier around a nearby church. The pasta noodles are great, the sauce is so-so. I continue on my shopping quest to my favorite Italian store: Muji where I pick up a few things. I swing back by the hostel to drop off my purchases. Despite the fact that it’s around 7pm, there is already someone sleeping in the room. He smells terrible.
I head back to the metro station make my way towards the Pigneto, a bit farther from the tourist zones but a fairly local neighborhood rising in popularity as it’s relaxed working class charm gets it’s bars and restaurants a spot on various “X Hours in Rome” travel sections. It’s a lot of walking since I don’t realize until too late that the B line and the C line of Rome’s metro system are “connected” by a 30 minute walk on the surface streets between stations. Part of the way, I walk through a long park which runs along a crumbling city wall or aqueduct. People are out in the late golden light, walking dogs, playing with their children, jogging. There are dozens of jet black cats lounging in the base of the ruined wall. In Pigneto, I cross a small pedestrian zone filled with cheap Aperatifo bars and get to Birra Piu, a craft beer bar and store. Of the nine taps, only one pulls American. I try two beers, and stand outside, watching the night fall and young people meeting up for the Saturday night.
I find the tram, old and rickety, and ride back from the stop under the freeway underpass back to Termini and from there a walk back to the hostel, which is absolutely hopping. The hostel has a big bar which spills into the street, and it is filled to capacity, as is the communal spaces inside. I can understand it now, but when I was backpacker, it seemed such a waste to travel so far to spend your time drinking with other backpackers.
Anyway, had a pretty bad night at the hostel with the constant interruptions and noise in the room the entire night, but from the sound of things, I probably had better nights than most of the rest of the room.
Aug 19, 2016
Sunday morning we were up early enough to breakfast downstairs at the bakery before going back up to finish packing and checking out. We left our bags at reception and dived back into town. We struck out in a different direction this time, to Montjuïc, the vaguely soviet quarter filled with massive empty plazas, oversized monuments, exhibition halls and crowned with elaborate stairs and fountains leading up to the national palace / art museum. First stop was the Barcelona pavilion, which is an architectural icon by Mies Van der Rohe. It was the perfect time to go. So few people we thought it was closed, and the low morning sunlight was ideal for casting deep shadows on the compositional masterwork. And also empty enough to take goofy photos of me “levitating” and Saori doing yoga in front of the reflecting pool.
We climbed the stairs to the palace and sat on the top, drinking some kiosk coffees and enjoying the view. We made a quick detour by CaxiaForum, a renovated industrial complex, all in brick, before pressing on to the Sagrada Familia.
I was given the opportunity to see this building under construction about once every decade. I saw it first with mom and dad as part of a cruise when we were still living in Beijing in 1999 or so, then again with Chase as a backpacker in 2005. This is the first time I’ve seen it enclosed with a roof. I’d booked tickets online in advance so our line to get in was only about ten minutes or so. It was of course, pretty packed.
But what a building! A baroque fantasy. By turns severe and harsh, then whimsical and exuberantly floral. The stained glass filling the nave with red and orange light, the amazing beehive like spiral towers. The two main facades on either side are astounding. One depicts the nativity, the other, the passion. They are less facades and more sculptural and symbolic ensembles which hypnotize, haunt, and fascinate. One thing which struck us odd was the central crucifix above the alter. Jesus was doubly suspended- once to the cross, and the cross suspended in mid-air, ringed by floating lights like candles, and a giant round canopy in red and white stripes overhead. ...which makes it look like He just came parasailing in from the nearby beach.
We did a quick spin through the gift shop (there’s actually two, and that’s just INSIDE the cathedral), returned our audio guides and hit the trail back to Barceloneta for lunch. Walking through the crowded Sagrada Familia subway station, I felt a jostle against my backpack, and acutely aware of the pickpocket problems of Barcelona (wasn’t this where dad also had his run in with a pickpocket?) I whirled around to see a bunch of people, any of whom could have been the picker. They didn’t get anything. Just time enough to unzip my outer backpack pocket. I carried my backpack backwards at Saori’s suggestion after that.
We went to this great little tapas bar in Barceloneta for lunch. Jai-ca, the same place we were for lunch less than 24 hours prior. The food was that good. This time we branched into some grilled prawns and tried the chorizo along with the fried seafood. Good, good stuff. We took the rest of the afternoon to slowly make our way back to the hotel, pick up our bags, and mosey on out to the airport. We could have taken our time to see one more thing, actually. Our flight was two hours delayed. Direct, but we didn’t get back to Stuttgart until nearly 1 am, which was unfortunate.
Overall, it was a great trip. I didn’t need to take any time off work, it was expensive but not blisteringly expensive, and it was Saori’s first time in Barcelona, someplace she had really wanted to go for a long time. We ate some great food, walked a lot, and enjoyed the light feel of a summer vacation. A weekend is nice- mentally, you give up on a bucket list of must-see, after all what can you do in a weekend? But the trip still ends up feeling like a weekend stretched into a week.
And what a contrast between Barcelona and Stuttgart! These are two cities which share a time zone and are only a 90 minute flight away, but are separated by a worldview. Pleasure, for Germans, is the fulfillment of a thorough and detailed plan, the sight of a shelf of black binders with everything inside hole punched and organized, drinking the familiar beer at the familiar biergarten, and very occasionally eating something or going someplace ‘exotic’ for the thrill of the unfamiliar, like wearing a costume, rather than the possibility that the unfamiliar might change something in them. Rather like Hobbits living in the Shire.
It should also, perhaps, be mentioned that Germans and the culture here power the biggest economic engine in Europe, unemployment levels, social benefits, and vacation time are the envy of most of the world, while Spain continues to languish, and many Spaniard professionals who can speak other forms of Spanish (like Mexican) or other languages have left to seek their fortunes abroad. I digress.
Barcelona. Would definately go again. Next time, maybe a crappy hotel by the beach, a day on the sand, and maybe exploring the edges of the city a bit more.
Aug 18, 2016
We were going to make an early start of it Saturday, but as wiped as we were, we just missed the end of breakfast at 10:30 when we headed out. First stop was a few doors down: Gaudi’s El Pedegral (€20 adults) a.k.a. Casa Milá. It was a good time to go, we didn’t have to wait much at all for the elevator or tickets. There were lots of visitors already but it was still possible to take photos without people in them.
How can I describe what an intriguing delight Gaudi’s works are? Is it enough to point out that the biggest attractions in Barcelona are the works of an architect who was working less than a hundred years ago? We spent a long time roaming the undulating roof and admiring the sculpted openings for chimneys, drains, ventilation etc. It was a beautiful sunny day and the strong sunshine was perfect for shading the sculptural forms. The hundreds of thin brick arches supporting it in the attic made me think about today, it could be not be even marginally economic to build in this way with the current European standards of workers wages. Especially for an apartment building.
We took the subway to Mercat de Santa Caterina on the outskirts of the gothic quarter. This is a public market hall by spanish architects EMBT who architecture superstars in the mid-noughties. In the vein of Gaudi, they also constructed a mossaic-covered organically undulating roof over the big market hall, but structured it rather conventionally. We marveled at the crowded meat counter selling specialty spanish suasages and cured hams and moved on.
Next stop was a return to Gaudi, the Parc Güell, which, if you come by subway, requires a lot of walking to get to. In the eleven intervening years since I was there, Barcelona has become even more like Disneyland: a timed entry ticket city. Even, as I was shocked to learn, Parc Güell, which closed off access to the area around the famous lizard steps and massive terrace. The fee is nominal- a US movie ticket price. But when we got there a little after one, they were effectively sold out for the day and most of Sunday.
We decided to check out what we could see in the garden and it turned out to be quite a lot actually. Old, giant agave in craggy, Seussian planters, nice views of the city below the hills, the blue of the mediterranian, and the giant W hotel tower on the coast (which one American tourist hilariously misidentified as a “Westin”).
It was pushing three so we decided to get a bite to eat for lunch so we took a leisurely stroll down the hill back into the city and then hopped the subway to Barceloneta. This is a very tightly gridded neighborhood sitting on a small peninusla between the harbor and the sea. It’s fantastic. It’s full of 5-6 story apartment buildings which shade the narrow streets from the hot sun while the cool breeze from the ocean blows through. A few small cheap shops, a bunch of tapas bars and restaurants, some liquor stores, a market hall, a church and plaza. In short, a perfect neighborhood for a beach.
The NYT named a tapas bar in one of thier famous “36 Hours in x” peices, and that was our destination, actually not all that far from the subway station and located at the head of one of the quiet narrow streets running the length of Barceloneta. Jai-ca. We snagged a small tiled table. The door glass was so heavily tinted and the place was so austere from the outside, Saori thought it was closed. Fortunately for us, they were not.
The service was not so great. Even for Europe. The crowd at 3pm seemd to be a mix of tourists and locals, more towards the tourist side, but we still found a seat. Seafood tapas and cold Estrella Damm beer were the order of the day. We started with a plate of fried baby squid which came out quite promptly actualy, and was followed by this kind of Catalan bread which was like a light cibatta, lightly toasted and spread with tomato and really really good olive oil. Then came the salad, which was tuna fish on fresh sliced tomatoes with sliced onions, and the fried whitebait, which was revelatory in a zingy vinegar marinade and a crispy fried coating. Finally, steamed mussels. And everything washed down well with the lager beer.
It was supposed to be a snack since we had dinner reservations, but it was all too good. We paid (so, so cheap!) and walked a short distance to the beach, where we kicked off our sandals and strolled up to our shins in the mediterranean. We walked along the beach, all the way to the giant copper fish by Frank Gehry, and then we walked back along the club storefronts lining the beach. We still had some time to kill before dinner, so we crossed Barcelonetta once more and settled into a beer at a craft brewery “Black Lab” not too far on the Gothic Quarter side of the intersection. We had a leisurely beer there, and then sauntered back into Barcelonetta for dinner at Barraca.
Barraca was another pick from the NYT “36 hours on the beach in Barcelona” and it is quite literally across the street from the beach. We were there right on time, precisely when it opened for dinner, and snagged a window seat on the second floor terrace. We were still a little warm from the beers we had been drinking since Jai-Ca, so we stuck with sparkling water. Barraca was also a seafood restaurant, which also catered heavily to tourists, but it really didn’t bother me that once more we were sitting next to a table of Americans and a table of Germans. I’d much rather go to a delicious tourist trap than a mediocre local dive. And the food was so good. We ordered some kind of white fish dish which came with a seafood sauce with white beans and mussels, bonito tartare, and cerviche for dessert. It was great, but we were so stuffed. We decided to stroll a bit to bajar la comida and of course we instantly run into more gelato. So we had to bajar la comida a little more which turned into walking all the way back to the hotel. Naturally, a little exhausted by the time we got back.
Friday I put in a normal morning at the office, surrounded by vineyards and the sleepy village, and left an hour earlier than the normal friday quittin’ time of 3pm. Instead of going home or towards the city, I met Saori at one of the Sbahn stations and we were in our way to the airport. No passport control, no check-in, just breezed through to our flight, 90 minutes direct to Barcelona, and fifteen minutes after wheels down we were sliding into a taxi bathed the mediterranean air and warm late afternoon sun. Yo voy a Casa Milá, por favor.
Stuttgart is a city of dark greens and grays. Barcelona is lit in golds and dusty sepia. The canopy of our hotel, Hotel Praktik Bakery, was also yellow. And it was, in fact, a trendy bakery, with a long line of peope queuing to buy some of the fresh bread and pastries before the weekend. Push past the temping display and windows looking in to the bread prep area, and at the end of the bakery counter is a reception desk, as though you might order a standard room with your matcha muffin.
Location wasn’t bad. Almost next door to Gaudí’s Casa Mila and close to Diagonal metro station. Room was small but comfortable and nicely designed. Nice tile everywhere, giant rain shower, big comfortable bed. We were on the same floor as the internet.
We were of course dying to get out, so we left our valuables in the room and started walking. We strolled past Casa Mila, Casa Batlló, and along the Passig de Gracia, a boulevard of luxury stores and Hôtel Exorbiant. Tourists thronged the town: jammed with Japanese, groaning with Germans, bursting with British, choked with Chinese, awash with Americans. We crossed the giant Plaza Catalunya and walked down las Ramblas.
Las Ramblas is a massive pedestrian street with two small lanes on either side. The street is like many other “high streets” in Euope: quick fashion stores like H&M and Zara every block, chinsey souvenier shops, American burger franchises, tabacco shops, pharmacies, and local restaraunts for the tourists marked by giant menu boards on the street reproducing the dishes at life size. There were less street peformers than I remember and more gelato stands. But still, what a street! As always, I am surprised by how much in the end I value the energy of the crowds and the architecture over the content. Ramblas stitiches together two ancient city core neighborhoods, Reval and the gothic quarter, and all along its length, narrow streets open up to reveal tantalizing views of the baroque neighborhood beyond, inviting us to dive in and explore each of them.
We walked past the pilar of Christopher Columbus, and continued to the Mediterranian. We left the throngs of people headed to the big island mall and walked along the port to the corner of the gothic quarter where we dived back in searching for food.
We picked the first place that didnt look too seedy since I have a tendency to be too picky about where we eat. Not normally a bad thing, but one of the rules of happy travel is “eat when people are hungry.” Although I may modify our rule to “pick the second passable place.” It was a basic tourist trap, behind us had some Bostonians and the table in the corner was full of Germans. Tapas were ok, but the chorizo was good and the beer was cold. Not the kind of place we would have ordered paella anyway.
We wandered our way through the gothic quarter at night, working our way by feel out and back towards the hotel. Bought a beer and some water from a convenience store but then realized that you can’t drink in the street. Technically. The immigrants quietly selling cold cans of Estrella Damm in the alley intersections suggest the enforcement is not too rigorous. We crossed the city once more, back to the hotel, where we collapsed in an exhausted heap on the bed.
Aug 3, 2016
Jul 30, 2016
Eating lunch with one of my co-workers, Magda, she was commiserating over a kindergarten project she had in the office. I asked her, what was the deal with this kindergarten? She told me this story,
Once upon a time there was a Russian Princess who married a German king and came to live with him in Stuttgart. Princess Olga, to curry favor with the locals possibly, granted the land and a school to be built on it so that students could go for free. However generous her gift to the people was, she did not provide for the savagery of time on both monarchy and architecture. The kingdom became a republic and democracy, and the buildings wore down and began to crumble.
The ownership of the property, passing from the princess to the state, desired a new building should be built, reasoning that crumbling structures are poor for most purposes, and truly unwanted for housing small children. However, to finance the construction of a new building required the income of rent from the business of the kindergarten, which was still enjoying it's tenancy rent-free vis-a-vis the Princesses edict. They didn't want to give up the position and suggested that the state simply renovate the building to which the state declined, to which the kindergarten declared it would take a long long time to move out. It is, after all, nearly impossible to evict someone in Germany, and few politicians really want to be the ones who sign the eviction order against a kindergarten.
But up to the deadlock, the client was insisting everything move quickly and we stick to a very demanding drawing schedule, while for Magda it was very clear that the tenants were not going to go quietly. We are still waiting for the resolution.
Barbara was from a well-to-do Mexican family in Monterrey. She studied cooking for several years before abandoning it for architecture, and then after she graduated, her engagement to her fiancée was broken off. Desiring a fresh start and some distance, she turned her sights to Europe. "Don't go to Paris," her friends advised her, "it's so expensive!" "Don't go to Spain!" others cautioned, "there's no jobs!" Someone suggested Tübingen, the university town close to Stuttgart, and there she studied German for a half year before moving to Stuttgart. She found a boyfriend and he came to stay with her on the weekends in their apartment overlooking Stuttgart.
She successfully interviewed at our office, Schafe+Wein, and was granted a three month trial. Sadly, shortly after she started working, her relationship with the boyfriend ended, and feeling no connection to Germany, decided to leave. She whispered this conclusion to Rafa on Wednesday the second week into her new job. Rafa confided this to me and Magda Thursday, and I confronted her about it, and she confirmed and filled out the rest of the story as I have mostly told it here. We thought perhaps she would talk to the bosses or someone and let them know, perhaps on Friday, but she didn't come at all, and never again. I related this to our team leader Apo Friday afternoon, and he was quite vexed, partly because the way this information had moved through the office (and the fact he would have to be the one to break it to the boss) but he understood her feelings and motivations.
Barbara's year in Europe was at an end. She returned the following Monday to the comforting arms of family and speculates on starting a new business. She is 30 years old.
The planning department of Schafe+Wein consists of four people:
Apo, a skilled Greek architect a few years older than I who dreams of fashion design, clean, beautiful drawings, and high-end Italian lighting who is also our team leader and has been a close friend since I came to Germany and met him at our old firm of Lüft+Licht Architekten. He brought me to the new office.
Rafa is Mexican, and now German, the same age as Apo. He is a man of few words, but with a big heart. He is happy to go with the flow, and has the same pragmatic approach to architecture which makes him very compatible with our boss and is in fact, well on his way to becoming a project manager kind of architect, capable of design, detailed cost estimation, and construction site management. He brought Apo to the new office, and most days, literally brings me to the office in his car (and drops me off after work).
Magda came from Poland, is the oldest, not quite forty, but still insists on calling us "Jungs" (youths). She has a three year old daughter and a Colombian husband. They live in the next village down. She has only been at the office a bit longer than a year. She is a skilled drafter and detailer and has a lot of experience taking projects from start to finish. She still plays CDs in the office over her headphones, mostly abominable American pop and sometimes sings quietly while she's working.
The forth planer is yours truly, without an architect license or a driver's license or even German proficiency. I can drive some software and draw and design but not with the same experience as the others. For some reason, the office management still likes me, but I'm not convinced that it is not due to some kind of totemic "American" enthusiasm that I bring to the office. My German really needs to improve.
Apo resigned on friday. He will have four weeks, and then we will have a lot more work to share among the remaining three planners.
The office is an old winery, built in the late 1700's. It has seen numerous renovations and additions. Among the interior design now, what stands out to me are odd details: a stuffed owl perched above the receptionist. A square pond in the front filled with tadpoles and lotus plants. A toilet which reminds me of a giant porcelain round sitting pouf. A drawer constantly refilled with cheap German candy. An expensive built in coffee machine which can make lattes at the push of a button but must be disassembled and cleaned nightly. A store room for material samples with an art installation of giant metalwork ants. New roof windows which punch through the old red terracotta tile roof like a transformer in disguise. Steel and glass doors reflecting cast resin garden angels and rusty steel welded heart decorations. A wooden sign in the office kitchen: "save the earth: it's the only planet with wine"
Jul 27, 2016
In which Alec talks about how he got started on the latest photography kick, muses on German drugstores and what they say about Germany, and goes into detail about the provenance of their oldest camera.
Saori and I had toyed with the idea of buying a bunch of disposable cameras for guests and having the film film ourselves, but we abandoned it as too complicated. We would need, after all, a system of distribution, recording who got what camera, collecting the cameras, and developing them, et al.
Instead, we went the easy, self-indulgent route, and got an Instax camera. Instax is basically a mini-polaroid camera. The thought was we would pass it around at the wedding and let guests play with it and shoot us and each other. It didn’t really happen because we frankly didn’t tell anyone about this plan or bring out the camera and pass it around, although our friend Emily was game enough to take it and shoot a bit when Saori gave it to her at the reception.
The Instax is quite fun- credit card sized photos, perfect for selfies and textured photos of whatever, all with instant gratification. And importantly, a print. A chemical process which creates a tangible artifact, a photograph in your hot little hands, which has really made the difference between the success of the Instax vs a cell phone camera or even Polaroid’s digital camera attached to a miniature printer which prints out instantly your photos. Polaroid totally missed it.
Anyway, the other advantage of the Instax was that it was fun to take around and use before and after the wedding too, and to use around the house and experiment. We tried some long exposure shots where Saori drew a penguin with light from my cell phone screen. I bought more film cartriges for it from a camera shop downtown and the seller and I got into a converstation about Instax and he showed me a book of architectural photography, some of which were actually shot with the Instax.
Not really happy with the credit card sized images, I scanned them all at high resolution and took them into Photoshop, when they took on a new definition and a new life with cleaned up toning and levels. I know this is something that purists would decry, insisting that the expertise with the camera and the film be the only artifice, but this is not about photographic purity.
They were still too small and too grainy, so I bought a dispoable film camera, and used it to shoot some summertime life here, as well as some of the European Championship events we went to. And the photos were so much fun.
I had been eyeballing some used cameras (“No Guarantees!”) at one of the big camera stores downtown, and took the plunge buying one. In true German style, the clerk we asked to help us had this “you customers are the reason I can’t enjoy my afternoons” attitude, but he struggled his way across the store and retreived the camera we had been eyeballing, and we excitedly looked it over. We decided to buy it.
A Minox 35 PL. Tiny, tiny, camera. Minox also makes basically spy cameras for tiny format film, but this one took standard 35mm film, actually one of the smallest cameras in the world to use this format. It actually feels like a toy. Good lens though, and an automatic exposure control. I learned later that Andy Warhol on a tour through Germany had picked one up and delighted in shooting with it back in the US. He sold a book, mostly selfies and party shots from the big clubs.
Anyway, It was made in the 60s and 70s and 80s, and miraculously, ours came with the original box. The battery it used was no longer in production but it came with an adapter, so the clerk, unprompted, brought out the batteries we would need, and helpfully loaded it up with the fresh batteries and even a new roll of film. $40, or, the equivalent of four disposable cameras.
We shot about a third of the roll before figuring out the camera wasn’t really “on” because the clerk who works professionally at the specialty camera shop had put the battery in the wrong way. But we flipped that sucker around (the battery, not the clerk) and to our delight all the lights lit up that were supposed to light up and we were on our way.
I was a little worried I was going to have to take it to speciality camera stores and labs to get it developed, but for once, Germany’s refusal to leave the 1980’s paid off- you can get film developed practically anywhere. We have a DM five minutes walk away.
DM, which stands for Droggerie Markt, I’ll let you puzzle the meaning out, is a typical German drugstore, which is to say, basically a Walgreens or CVS but a smaller selection of everything and nothing with an actual medicinal value. No aspirin, no cough syrup, no cough drops. They do have an aisle of bad-tasting teas and herbal supplements. They mostly sell toiletries and hair tools, with some organic foods, baby supplies, etc. Every time I go in, women outnumber the men five to one. I am worried I am making this place sound more interesting than it actually is.
I will add they have a photography wall with some Kodak instant-print kisoks set up so you can order prints from digitals, OR print directly from the machine. They also have a film drop. You write your name on the envelope, drop in the film, and then seven to ten days later, you fish around in the big drawer for the envelope with your name on it with the finished prints inside.
Actually, the whole thing is quite typical for Germany- you could, and quite easily, take your envelope, or hell, a handful of envelopes and walk right out the sliding doors (since it's right next to the door) and nobody would even notice. And then when you get in line at the cashier to pay for your envelope full of photos, they ask you for photo ID to make sure that the photos are really yours. When I think of the story, now, about the bank robber who was caught because he put his name and address on the deposit slip he filled out right before robbing the bank, I think, “ah, he must have been German!”
Inspired by the first prints we get back from DM (I think it was only about $5 to develop a roll!) we pulled out and cleaned off the old Rolleiflex automatic I salvaged from the house on the hill before I left.
This was the boarding house where I lived for a few months before Saori and I found our current apartment. The old man, a one time evangelist and textile merchant by the look of it, passed away, and his wife, for various and unknowable reasons, lost the house and it’s contents to the lawyers. She was actually barred from the premises. She told me that I was free to take anything I wanted, *ok, so actually, it was actually probably all at this point, property of the law office, but we we took, no one missed, and frankly would have been tossed at the curb anyway.
In the study, piled high with dusty and musty books about politics and religious tracts, I found a beat up leather case containing a boxy camera. Like most used things, condition is key, but I think this one would be worth about $200-$300 on the market. Rolleiflex cameras are known for high quality optics, build, an a unique configuration where there’s actually two lenses, one above the other, and you look down into a clever viewfinder which shows you exactly what the camera sees, on a 2” by 2” window. The camera is supposed to be very easy, intuitive, and fast to use, despite the medium format film, which is a big square. Fortunately, it is a film format which is popular enough today that I could go to a specialist film store and buy a roll. Unfortunately, the camera I brought back was also filled with what Saori identified as “roach droppings” so we had a bit of cleaning to do before we could even start testing it. Could be a lot of fun.
Next step- dark room?
Jul 24, 2016
We paid nothing for the venue, we had no real wedding favors apart from the fans, and uncle Tracy played DJ (you can blame me for the playlist though), so we avoided these major wedding costs. We also got a really lowball photographer.
Some surprises from the chart- my outfit (shoes, suit, tailoring, accessories) cost more than Saori's. (But only when you discount the hair and makeup!) Flowers ended up being a relatively minor expense in the scheme of things, considering how much emphasis we put on them at the beginning, but everything really paled in comparison to the cost of the caterers. To be fair, we wanted to pay a premium for amazing food and catering, and most of our other wedding costs were either really low or non-existent. Had we shelled out for a ballroom, DJ, or not-so-popular historic plantation, the percentages would have looked a lot different.
Originally, we weren't going to hire a photographer for the wedding.
How can you not hire a photographer for one of the most momentous occasions of your lives? You may ask. First, low budget wedding or blowout, wedding photographers still cost what they cost. On some wedding budgeting websites, the photographer is the single most expensive line item or category. Most wedding photographers sell packages which is the only way in which they will work. Even photographers who have mirror selfies, appalling Photoshop work in their gallery pages, and widespread spelling and grammatical errors still begin at $1000 and move up from there. The studios with more polished pages are more expensive. I saw one package for $2000 which included two photographers and up to five locations. Why five? Engagement photos and wedding right? Maybe three if you have your wedding and reception in two different places? You are missing the hair test and dress test and "trash the dress" photo sessions. If you want to be amazed start at TheKnot.com and look up some of these photographers prices.
The wedding industry in America has clearly taken a page from higher education. It is a multi-billion dollar industry which has massively swelled. Why is college so expensive? They added a new tier of administration to squeeze more money from alumni, governments,and students while simultaneously adding additional amenities and specialized courses. And they all point at each other and claim that every school is building a Hadron collider and a water park these days to attract more students.
Similarly, there is now a level of customization and service to all aspects of the wedding to the point that even weddings which consist of two people exchanging twist ties in the food court still must have M&Ms printed with "Babs & Al at Tri-County Savers Mall." I read someplace that the average American wedding costs $10,000.
Between the insane costs for weddings, depressing levels of student debt, and the feeling of trying to simply keep with the Millennial Jones (Tiffany got married in an old barn, we need to get married in an old suspender factory with a tango band from Buenos Aires!") many people my age are simply dispensing with the wedding entirely. Which is really sad, actually.
At one point were simply considering strapping a GoPro on a random guest, or Aunt Kim's trained Yorkshire Terrier.
We told ourselves, "Everyone has iPhones, we'll just get photos from them" which later became, "We'll ask one of our friends to be the designated photographer."
But it's a crappy thing to do to a guest who maybe had to burn some vacation time, and at a minimum bought a plane ticket and a hotel. So we wisely abandoned it and went back to the "no photographer" thought until we asked each other, "are we going to regret not hiring a photographer? " And the answer was, definitely yes.
I quickly abandoned TheKnot.com. The vendors on the site are outrageously expensive. I googled "photographer Baton Rouge" and got some photographers who wouldn't return my emails.
Before considering chloroforming a photography student from Tulane, I turned to Craigslist (Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap™) and hit up a few studios who had remarkably not terrible photos. What we wanted, at this point, was simply someone who could make sure a person was mostly in the frame and reasonably in focus. "We need someone to document our wedding," I said. I actually searched for crime scene photographers.
But in the end, we picked a good compromise. Jacqueline had a reasonable, flat hourly rate, her gallery photos didn't suck, and she replied in a timely manner to our emails. Saori wasn't totally convinced but then I asked her to spend fifteen minutes searching for other studios and after comparing prices told me "BOOK HER IMMEDIATELY"
And I'm happy we did. Actually, I think from our planning side it was one of the better decisions we made for the wedding. $500 bought us four hours of her time (plus almost an extra hour she put in free there) a ton of photos, all free to download or post or whatever (!) and a nice mix of portraits, candids, and ambience. She was patient and great to work with and proposed some things that we liked.
Now we just need to consolidate all the photos from the wedding and make a book.
Jul 22, 2016
- Charter bus
- Charter yellow school bus
- Party bus
- Bunch of Ubers
- Big limo
It was good timing too, since less than a week later the school bus company came back with the best price for an air conditioned bus. I forwarded the email to Tay with the recommendation he go with it. It was going to be cheaper than the 8 Uber trips we were going to need.