The new cards have arrived...

Thanks to everyone who helped me with the development of my new business cards a few weeks ago.  The cards came yesterday afternoon, and boy are they pretty. From a design standpoint, I wanted to ensure that they fit in with my life's "vintage travel" motif.  If you know me, or even if you knew me at certain periods of my life (I went through a pretty intense Indiana Jones phase), you know all too well that the romance of 1940s travel and adventure is one of the heaviest influences on my life.  Before you say anything, I know.  The world has changed.  Ultra-light packing has pushed the steamer trunk out of vogue.  The modern American insistence on dressing to be "comfortable" on airplanes has effectively replaced the conservative gray traveling suit.  Scottevests and canvas bucket hats are more practical than field jackets and fedoras.  I understand all of this, and to a certain extent I appreciate it.

But when it comes to presenting one's self to the world, and for capturing the spirit of adventure in your own mind, I defy you to tell me that this is a real improvement over this.

In that spirit, the cards...

Thinking of Florence and missing the magic...

Have you ever been to a place that does more than get under your skin?  Have you ever woken up to the morning bells of a dozen churches and been able to honestly tell yourself "I am happier here than I have been, would be or could be anywhere else?" That is what Florence, Italy means to me.  Of all the places I have been, it is the one where I felt least like a stranger.  To the contrary, I felt a part of it from the moment I arrived.  The people I met, the places I visited and the monumental relics of art and history to which I stood witness all beckoned me forward instead of pushing me away.

It has been just over two years since I was in Florence.  I've wanted to go back ever since, but can just never get the time and funds to align to make a proper trip there possible.

But I still have my memories.

Locking my camera away in an effort to literally avoid putting anything between myself and the city.

Clambering up campanile steps in a blind zeal to see the city by morning's light.

Botticelli's Venus hanging in the Uffizi; bigger than I thought it would be.

Being taught how to properly pronounce nocciola (hazelnut) at the Gelato Festival.

Walking across the Arno on one of the city's many bridges to watch the sun set from the Piazzale Michelangelo.

Getting lost on the way back from the sunset and seeing the southwest neighborhoods come to magical life in a manner rivaling scenes from Midnight in Paris.

That beautiful girl behind the counter at the pizza shop.

Michele, the hilarious shop owner near the duomo who always demanded a kiss, like a blustery Southern aunt.

Mirko, the architecture student who moonlighted as a waiter.  He emailed me a year later to that I photograph his wedding...I wish it had worked out.

Michelangelo's David, tall and proud in the Galeria dell'Academia.  I swear he was breathing.

Kissing the cold marble of the duomo when it was time to leave.

Myself.  Alone and quiet, entirely at peace and completely content to move through the city on booted feet, and simply bear witness to it.

Florence is magical.

New Photography Hub: "Travel Photography: Practicing close to home for stellar images abroad."

I've been writing about photography on Hubpages again! In this latest article, I return to the subject of travel photography, going over the skills which every good travel photographer needs to have, as well as how they can develop their skills when not abroad. Give it a read and feel free to contribute your own tips and experiences! Travel Photography: Practicing close to home for stellar images abroad.

Travel photography requires certain skills.  A good travel photographer needs those skills to produce the best travel photography possible.  This article provides advice and ideas on how to practice skills necessary for travel photography before ever leaving home.

A letter posted too late.

I took some time this evening and wrote a letter to a very kind, older Italian couple whom I met on a train between Faenza and Bologna two years ago.

I was an American kid who spoke no functional Italian; they were a retired couple in their middle sixties who shared my train compartment. "I work in the trains for twenty years," Renato told me in his scant but earnest English, "now, I rest!" He and his wife, Lena, were on their way to eat lunch at the staff commissary in Bologna where he would always eat when he worked as a train conductor. They invited me to lunch with them, and we had a wonderful couple of hours together eating lasagna and green salad before I went on to Venice and they went back home to Faenza. They saw me to the platform to make sure I boarded the correct train.

I have had their address in my journal for two years. This evening, I was informed by my father of the recent earthquake in Bologna, strong enough to be felt as far as Venice and Verona. I will post my letter tomorrow to see if my "temporary Italian grandparents" are alright.

It's times like these that I really hate my own apathy.  I should have been writing to them since I returned home two years ago.

My favorite place in New Orleans.

I'm not a drinker.  I'm not a partier.  I find long nights on the town [baby] to be a complete waste of time unless they are spent having good conversations with one or two good friends in a quiet environment; preferably a gourmet restaurant or an all-night coffee joint with a good dark roast.  I'm not sure if I number among the ranks of the strict introverts, but all signs seem to say so. With that stated, it might come as a surprise for you to hear that New Orleans is one of my favorite cities in the United States.  I have multiple reasons for liking it as much as I do.  Primary among them is the elemental geography of the town.  New Orleans' layout is as close to a European city as any place in the US; the individual neighborhoods have their own restaurants, stores and entertainment venues, yet they remain small enough to get around on foot.  As Ray Oldenburg stated so brilliantly in his sociological critique The Great Good Place, strong communities need easily accessible places where residents can come together on a regular basis.

Aside from their being accessible, the shops and restaurants in New Orleans are excellent.  I have no use for most of the nonsense that goes on in the French Quarter, but even in that environment, a few gems exist.  Among these places is The Librairie Book Shop; a true diamond in the rough, just off Jackson Square.

The Librairie blew my mind when I discovered it.  Used book shops are often prone to having dodgy selections of books which might be better off recycled and made into new books, but The Librairie's stock is excellent.  The last time I was there, they had most of the Library of America collection of novels, priced at a jaw-dropping $9 per book.

The overall atmosphere of the shop feel completely foreign to the insanity which goes on elsewhere in the French Quarter.  It's quiet and secluded.  The old lady behind the counter only completes the feeling of near-cinematic whimsy.  Check it out the next time you're in New Orleans.  Please, just don't go to The Libraire after a round of Hand Grenades; I don't want to regret sharing this place.

External Links:

Ray Oldenburg - Project for Public Places

The Librairie Book Shop - Google Maps

Library of America - Official Site

Hand Grenade (cocktail) - Wikipedia