Dispatches: Photog In Peril

Photo by D2 Photography

There’s a welcoming breeze tonight. Gentle and calm, just enough to brush the whiskers of your arm—cool and collective. In my tent, I’m typing to you via a satellite internet connection from the safe house I’m staying at. Communication is slow, banks are closed, grocery stores are merely open long enough to keep items in stock from those who can afford to shop. All the roads are congested with traffic. Debris from fallen buildings block certain intersections from being entered. It’s chaotic here, to say the least. Water is scarce. Electricity is only available to certain parts of the city, intermittently.

Every minute I’m here I become closer to those I meet. They’re no longer strangers to me anymore. We connect. We talk and laugh. But when I’m alone, I realize that the closer I get, the harder it becomes for me to be here. And obviously, the harder it becomes for me to leave them behind. Yet, having been away from home for so long now leaves me yearning for a warm shower, clean clothes, and a goodnight sleep. It’s a bitter sweet feeling.

I’ve been here for a week now—and to be quite honest, I don’t think I can handle much more of the emotional pain that comes with this assignment. Everywhere I turn there’s people suffering, children running naked, crowds rushing for rations being handed out. Seeing tents remind me of my time as a refugee. Listening to the unfamiliar language—yet universal motions of people begging tears me to pieces.

And I don’t know why it’s bothering me so much this time. I’ve been in situations like this many times before—but as I’m typing this, I’ve come to realize that perhaps it’s because I can relate to them so much more than I ever could in other places. And it hurts. Selfish, maybe. But I’ve thought about it long and hard—and you know what, despite the lens before me, I’m human, too. When I put my head down at night, it’s hard for me to fall asleep—to find closer to my day—which, some nights, I don’t think there ever will be.

For the past few days I’ve been in and out of City Soleil, a part of Port au Prince that has been forgotten by the outside world. I’ve got amazing access—and an equally amazing story to cinematically put together. Truth-searching is hard—especially when the truth hurts. But thankfully, I have you—my dear readers and friends who have sent me countless emails and messages via Facebook. Your words of encouragement mean the world to me. You remind me of my calling and my obligation to the art I have inherited. I am forever indebted to you.

I have two more days here before heading home for some much needed rest—and then, after a few days, I’m off again to my next destination: Kuwait.

I will write again soon. I hope all is well. Please take care of yourself—and each other.

Blogger Note: For up to the minute status updates and to see some photo's from Haiti, join me on Facebook.

Dispatches: City Soliel

Cell Phone Photo: Driving through City Soleil, March 11, 2010

I'm emotionally drained, physically exhausted. Too tired to think, too weak to talk. The day went by fast. Too many thoughts, too little time.

I'm not going to explain to you the disaster, nor am I going to show you images of people suffering. Truth is, I'm sick of seeing it on mainstream media, and I'm sure you are too. That's not why I came here.

I came here to tell stories, to bring meaning to suffering, to give a voice to those who are muted by the few who are overly vocal.

Part of my job involves truth-searching, simply by walking the beat of a journalist. On days like today, I'd scour certain areas without a camera and arm myself with nothing more than a pen and note pad. People look at me eye to eye. We talk--human to human, and through words, I'd develop my story and determine what I shoot and how I shoot it.

In Haiti, there's a section of Port au Prince called City Soleil (Sun City, pronounced 'Solay'). Heavily fortified for decades by gangs and guns, few people enter this area and make it out alive. Known by the international community as one of the world's most dangerous slums, City Soleil is currently home to thousands of Haitians who live in the most sordid conditions humans can fathom. The United Nations security team dare not enter this part of the city. Instead, they guard the perimeter and only enter when foreign nationals are caught between the lines.

I entered City Soleil yesterday. Driving through in our un-marked pick-up truck, people stared at me thru my window, some waved, children smiled. I decided to venture there because no one would. Aid groups ignore this area. Journalists can't find the ratings to justify such stories to be covered. So there I was.

I was guided by a local who knows the area well. He's young, trusted, and accepted. A few times, we had to stop on the side of the road so he could call his people a few blocks up--and we'd wait. When all was clear, we proceeded.

When you first get to Haiti, you're blown away by the number of tents scattered throughout the cities. Companies like Coleman donate their brands through aid groups for distribution--and like a finely decorated store window, you'd pass by a parade of logos--as far as the eye can see. But sadly, in City Soleil, the world has strangely forgotten about their existence. So instead of water-proof tarps with double layered sun resistency and break-proof poles, they use thin bed sheets that are riddled with holes, sticks and stones to hold everything together, and with hope and prayer, they call it home.

Walking through some of the hardest hit areas, you can smell the scent of human waste and rotting garbage. It's enough to make you vommit--but through respect, you hold it in.

I couldn't sleep last night. Every time I closed my eyes I saw their blinding stares, the linen walls they call home and the children that called me 'friend.' Laying there alone in my tent, I couldn't help but to remember the time when I too lived within linen walls--when as a refugee, I too lived in tents that were held together with nothing more than a string of hope.

I'm going back to City Soleil. It's a story I need to tell and capture with my lens.

Dispatches: Haiti Flight 1291

Photo: Passengers on board flight 1291 try to get a glimpse of Port Au Prince from the air as the plane slowly descends.

At 35,000 feet, the plane fell silent. The hum of a jet engine filled the cabin as children slept, mothers and fathers sat there staring into the abyss as if the seat in front of them held their fortune. To my left, a lady sat there twitching her thumb, head held low—neither asleep nor really awake. Rays of light spilled through the windows, glistened off her dark—velvet skin, casting a reflective stroke of light off the contours of her face.

Every now and then I’d catch her peeking at my watch, wondering how much longer until we land. The plane would veer left, then slightly right, slowly descend and gradually climb again. She’d turn to her left, look out the window and realize that we’ve yet to push past the clouds that enveloped our plane. A few minutes later, she’d return her eyes to my watch—counting every second that went by.

Flight 1291 wasn’t just another flight for me—and neither was it for the 200 or so Haitians returning home for the first time after the quake. For Silvia, this was her first trip back since leaving as a child.

Looking into her eyes, I can see her fear, sorrow and the unknown. Asked if she was excited to finally be home, she softly replied, “no,” paused, and silently turned her head the other way.

Flight attendants passed out snack-boxes of cookies and juice, but few had even opened their box. Looking over to Silvia, I saw her packing hers away—perhaps saving it for a loved one.

It’s hard to explain the emotions on flight 1291. Perhaps, it’s unexplainable. But sitting there, looking at Silvia, listening to the deafening hum of utter silence, every emotion I had ever felt in my life felt incomparable to that of hers.

Sometimes, words just can't explain.

Blogger Note: I'm currently safe in Port Au Prince. My team and I are staying at a safe house, but due to the structural damage of this building, we're forced to sleep in tents in the compound. The whole 2nd floor is gone, and the rubble is thrown all over. Driving to the safe house, tents can be seen as far as the eye can see. Tomorrow morning I will venture into the epicenter of the quake. For status updates and mobile picture uploads, please feel free to add me on Facebook.

Believe

Photo by: Dewi Amsari Ameer/Sunset in Banda Aceh Province, Indonesia
Current Location: Jakarta, Indonesia 6°12′45.61″S - 106°52′23.74″E

I was sitting on a promontory at the edge of the world. Above me, darkness rolled in as it continued to stretch to infinity. Below, jagged rocks jutted from the sea. Beside me, my camera.

Looking out before me, there was neither moon nor stars, as if they'd taken shelter from the scorching, tropic sun. Yet, sitting there, the warmth in the air permeates to the marrow of my bones. I've been caught in something much larger than life, much more romantic than love itself--a mere synapse of a moment so beautiful that I had to put down my camera and view it with my very own eyes. And as the clouds became darker, I began to reflect on the challenges I've faced, the people I've met and the person I've come to be.

Viewing the world thru a lens is not just a job, its a way of life. You live with it, breathe it, see it in your sleep and wake with it on your mind. Being here, I've come to realize that no matter the challenges or the hardships that I must endure, the quest to quench my thirst with visual stimuli out weighs it all. It's worth every ounce of sweat, every drop of blood and every measurement of your imagination to know that you've captured something more powerful than words, more meaningful than text and titles. It's an amazing feeling few will ever understand.

As I stare into the abyss, I'm reminded of the people I've met, the way they've invited me into their lives and opened their hearts to a stranger from a far off land. I'm reminded of Ahning and Riahn, their new born child and the shelter they call home--poor in wealth, yet rich in so many ways beyond all our fortunes combined. And just as inspiring were the people who helped to guide them, giving them hope, letting them know that they're not alone--people like the group I met at Lentera, International Aid, Habitat for Humanity, and CHF International. Throughout this trip, it was the image of their smiles that gave me the strength to push forward, to keep going in the hopes that people like Riahn and his family can one day live better lives. After this assignment, I too, have hope.

I was sent here to tell stories, to capture in picture and sound the plight of those who need our help. It's a task I've been given many times before. Yet, I was scared. Afraid of failure and terrified of tribulation. My fears rested not on my technical or artistic merit, but more so, on my ability to correctly tell their story, to give them the voice they so desperately need. It's a fear I constantly live with--an obligation I hold dearly in my heart.

I sat there on that ledge, on the precipice of defeat knowing that some how, I'm a different person. I leave here tomorrow with a notion that I, too, can make a difference. I too can help change the course of humanity--even if its just with a turning of the lens. And so can you! In the depths of the World's most under developed regions, they need not your money or your wealth, but more importantly--all they need is your love, your guidance and your prayers, your knowledge and your insight on how they can sustain themselves in poverty and despair. It's a simple concept, really. One that all of us can be a part of.

Watching the rolling clouds that roared above me and the waves that crashed ashore, I reflected not on the hardships that I've endured, but on the hardships that THEY constantly live with. And like the sun that prevails every morning to the east, I know that there's hope, there's life after the storm and rainbows to be cherished.

You just have to believe--in yourself, and each other.

Be well, my friends. I will write again soon upon my return home.

Ron

Jakarta, Indonesia

Stinkin' It Up In South East Asia

Current Location: Kuantan, Malaysia 3°49′00.00″N - 103°20′00.00″E

With my left arm flung in the air, I swiped my right hand across my arm pit up and down. The merchant lady looked at me like I was performing some sort of magic trick. She turned to her partner, smiled at each other, and giggled. Great! What does a guy have to do around here to buy a stick of deodorant?

Right now, I'd do anything for a bag of Doritos Chips and a bar of Old Spice! A burger would be nice, too.

Tomorrow morning I will board a military plane headed for Banda Aceh, Indonesia to document the relief efforts in the region.

I just wanted to send a quick note to thank each and everyone of my readers for your thoughts and prayers--and words of encouragement. After a day of rest, I am feeling much better; my stomach is stable and I'm starting to eat solid food again.

Smell ya' later!

Ron
Kuantan, Malaysia

P.S: I'm not sure if I will have Internet connection in Banda Aceh, so I might be offline for a few days. I'll be in and out of the jungles and in remote locations. I'm assuming there won't be much in terms of communication.

From One Edge To Another

Current Location: Kuantan, Malaysia 3°49′00.00″N - 103°20′00.00″E

Photo (Top): Crossing a stream in the Malaysian Rain forest

Photo (bottom): Blood soaked pants from blood sucking leeches

It occurred to me today, while awake at 3am, that my job is not normal. But I guess that's what you get when you hoist a camera for a daily wage--a lifetime of intrigue, confusion, and the occasional moment of terror.

As of late, sleep is hard to come by. I've managed to get a few hours through the night, but for some reason, my mind will not rest. Maybe it's the constant change of environments or the sheer fact that I've traveled through 18 cities, 5 countries, and have boarded over 14 planes in the last three weeks. I've lost track of time. I have no idea what day it is, nor do I have any clue as to what's happening in the outside world. At times like this, maybe it's best not to know.

Lately, I've been filming deep in the Malaysian Rain forest, documenting the indigenous people and their fight to save their land. Their stories are compelling, to say the least. But for me, shooting in such an environment has put a toll on my body, my mind, and my spirit. I have a fight of my own--that is, to survive.

Traversing through mountainous terrain on foot, we hike for hours upon hours, looking for endangered species of plant and wildlife. Going up a 75 degree slope, at times, my body would shut down--totally dis-engaging every muscle and joint I have left. While resting, we'd fight off insects, lizards and snakes that roam the area. Feeling a pinch on my leg, leeches the size of human fingers would crawl up my legs, into my pants and fill their bodies with my blood. In a desperate attempt to get them off, we'd take turns rolling up our pant legs and torching them with lighters. It's the only way they'll let go of your skin.

By mid-afternoon, the sun is directly above us. We cross a flowing stream, climb on rocks covered in slime and eat our lunch consisting of a banana and granola bar under a gushing water fall. Purified water filled my stomach to quench my hunger. It was either that--or we'd have to kill an animal for lunch. I wasn't in the mood for snake on a stick. With my stomach churning, I knew I was getting weaker by the minute. I made the decision to call it a day and head back.

Making our way to base-camp, the sun quickly disappeared as rain began to fall. An orchestra of thunder echoed through the jungle while lightning danced above us. Covering the camera under my poncho, my body would sway left to right, right to left, in a desperate attempt to maintain balance--jumping from one rock to another. In retrospect, I don't know how I did it.

Sitting in my hotel room, I'm now suffering from a major bout with diarrhea, a loss of appetite and feeling extremely weak. I'll be recouping for the rest of tonight and all day tomorrow before heading out again.

From the northern coast of Kuantan, Malaysia.

-Ron

Life At Ground Zero

Photo Courtesy of Charlie Pahan
Current Location: Jakarta, Indonesia 6°12′45.61″S - 106°52′23.74″E

For the first time in a long time, I held a shot that I couldn’t stop rolling. Her face was full frame in my viewfinder—and for a synapse, it felt like our eyes locked as she turned and stared down my lens. I couldn’t stop recording.

Every now and then you meet people who touch you, reach deep into the depths of your heart to remind you you're still human. Sometimes, you cannot understand why. We do not share a language, have never graced the presence of each other or yet to believe in common bonds--but some how, we are connected.

In the slums of Jakarta, children toil through a landfill of shattered dreams. Picking and prying their way through hills of garbage, they look for scraps of plastic and metal, bags, bottles, paper and food to sustain their existence. It's hell on earth--a form of unsurpassed humility to the human kind. I've seen images like it on television before, but never did I imagine that one day I'd be behind the lens--focusing, tilting, panning, and zooming amidst a pile of trash and treasure. War, conflict, and tragedy--some how merely measures up to the effect that this has had on me.

I've been behind on posts lately, mainly not because I'm offline or struggling to marry images with prose, no--it's because I've yet to find that rhythm in my heart to best describe what I've witnessed. But when I awoke this morning, it dawned on me that maybe, just maybe, I'm not desensitized after all. I'm still able to feel, to hurt...and to cry.

I've been following a group of volunteers from Lentera, a Christian aid group that provides medical care for the people who live in the heart of Jakarta's slum district. Their work is remarkable--reaching out to the poor, the needy and the desperate--sharing the love of God to those who need it most. I forever admire their efforts.

Standing upon a mound of garbage, I collected light by scanning with my inner peripherals, feeling that pounding rhythm in my heart--knowing that what I'm capturing speaks a thousand words. Shot after shot, I zoom in and out, close ups and wides--a marriage of light and magic. I was merely transfixed by my surroundings. Zooming in for a close up, my lens had lost focus. A hypnotic blur of light filled my screen. Turning the ring clock-wise, I brought in clear focus a set of eyes that stared directly at my lens. And that's when I stopped moving.

Through her eyes, she spoke to me.

Ahning and her husband Riahn collect garbage for a living. Making less than one dollar per day, they walk the streets of Jakarta finding things that you and I would discard on a daily basis. Without gloves or masks, they hand pick each item, looking through piles of unwanted treasure. When I asked her what her dreams were, she said she hoped for a better job, a brighter future for her family, and a healthy up-bringing of her newborn son. He laughed and smiled, clapped his hands and waved at us as we started the interview.

Through a translator, she described to us her plight, her hopes and her dreams. Fighting back tears, she spoke of her family, the love for her parents and the determination she has to move forward. Her voice cracked, her face somber. Barely looking at us, her words echoed through my headphones, telling me how lucky I am. Standing there with the camera rested on my tripod, my hands began to shake, my eyes watery and my throat caught in rapture.

As I packed my gear to leave, I gave her and Riahn fourty U.S dollars. She kissed my hands, cried, and hugged me in her arms. I can only hope it will help in one way or another. I've never felt so helpless.

Beauty At Peace

Photo By Ron Sim: Off The Coast of Nias Island, Indonesia

Current Location: Jakarta, Indonesia 6°12′45.61″S - 106°52′23.74″E

I have to admit: having seen so much of the world has made me less intrigued by the suffering that I so desperately try to capture. Being in a third world country is beginning to feel natural. The people I meet, the images I capture and the plight I witness are all starting to look the same--a constant recycling of events from one country to another—and I think, because of that, I’m no longer emotionally touched as I once was. Lately, I’ve been debating whether my desensitization of the world I see is normal, whether that feeling I feel is right or wrong. It’s a battle that rages in my heart, erodes my soul and wakes me in the midst of a midnight dream.

Sometimes, when I’m awake, I lay there in bed, playing back in my mind the images I’ve captured. A close up of a hand in prayer, the smile of an elder, or the smirk of a lonely child peeking out the window all play back in slow motion replays—and sometimes I can even hear them, recall their words and remember the ambiance of the moment. And most times, I just lay there and smile.

I smile. I laugh to myself and I feel joy knowing that some how, I’ve managed to capture more than what is already evident. In the developing world, it’s easy to see suffering, to see poverty and despair—it can rip through your heart within seconds, tear away at the very fabric of your soul. The hardest part is to look beyond that--to see love and life and happiness and laughter.

But just before I close my eyes again, the image of their suffering hasn’t even flickered in my mind. But to be honest, I hope it never does. Desensitized, I know. I like being at peace.

There’s so much beauty here that it out weighs everything else.

On The Edge of The World

I'm writing from a remote island off the cost of Northern Sumatra, Indonesia. Nias Island is home to over 700,000 residents, tribal and indiginous people alike. I've ventured thru some of the toughest terrain I've ever been thru, setting a new record for the number of times I'd wished I would've paid more attention to my physics teacher in highschool...wondering if our pick-up truck should really be going up that 50 degree embankment or not.

I'll be in Indonesia and Malaysia until March 12th, documenting stories on the rebuilding efforts of the worlds leading Non-Governmental Organizations in post tsunami Indonesia and Malaysia.

I wish I can post pictures, but there's only one internet connection on this whole island...and it's slower than trying to teach grampa how to look for porn on the world wide webby.

As for me, I'm feeling fine. I'm healthy...been drinking gallons and gallons (liters and liters for my Canadian readers) of water every day! And don't worry....no signs of death by diarrhea...knock on wood. But then again, I had Durrian fruit earlier....google it if you don't know what it is. It smells like baby poop, but tastes amazing!

I love it out here! I get to wear the same clothes over and over again! I don't have to shower and I no one cares if you wear deodorant or not. I smell like a whopper with cheese! The cool thing is: we all smell the same! So no one can really say "hey, Ron, did you shower?" Nope, because I'll just deny it and they'll go sniffing the next guy! SUCKER!

Haven't really had to eat anything weird yet. Durrian fruit is probably the weirdest...but I like it so I guess it doesn't count as weird. Dinner last night consisted of two deep fried cat fishes off the side of the road. I ate it...devoured it...head and all! Even the whiskers were good!

Alright...I hope all this typing gets published when I hit the "publish" button to finally submit my first post from Indonesia. I hate it when internet explorer pops up saying "Windows Cannot Open This Page"...bastards! OK...so I'm getting dilarious...I've had little sleep lately as I've gone from one extreme to another...from the freezing Canadian snow to the tropic mosquito infested jungles of South East Asia...so please bare with me.

I will be in Jakarta in two days. Hopefully I'll be able to recharge my batteries and recharge my soul. Will write again soon.

Love, Peace, and Chicken Grease!

Ron
Nias Island, Northern Sumatra, Indonesia

Worse Case Scenarios

Current Location: Changi Airport, Singapore/ 1°17′35.0″N 103°51′21″W
On Layover, en-route to Medan, Indonesia

I don't know what's worse:

• Giving birth to Octuplets
• Dropping the soap in a jail house shower
• Having your colon checked/Ovaries for the ladiez
• Finding out you're a member of the Jackson family
• Being interviewed for a job by Donald Trump
• Realizing you've forgotten your Malaria pills while in the jungle

OR

Being on a flight from Vancouver to Singapore for 21 hours, sitting beside a lady and her 3 month old baby girl. Her melodic screams echo through the cabin, ripping apart any hopes of maintaining sanity. And to make matters worse, now that baby has stopped crying, she poops. Mom snores, fast asleep.

I don't know...you tell me.

Vancouver 2009: A Week in Review

Current Location: Vancouver, BC, Canada/ 49°17′60.0″N 123°4′60″W

Truth: I haven't showered in two days.
Dare: Take a whiff of me...go ahead, knock yourself out! Literally. I mean it!

Ok, so there you go: not only am I behind on my blogging, but I'm also behind on my date with the shower--the one and only thing that I can "turn-on"--hot or cold. Ha-ha-ha. Yeah, ain't I funny? Laugh Out Loud (LOL). This is what happens when you've been deprived from scribbling your thoughts online for the masses to read...or the five or so people who actually frequent this thing.

Being here in Vancouver to cover the preparations for the 2010 Olympic Winter Games, I've been subjected to some of the most extreme weather conditions I've ever faced. Add that to the three hour time difference, the altitude, and the fact that I've been lost more times than I can count, I've gotten myself a severe case of "Canadiana Diaspora"--symptoms of a confused and bitterly frost bitten Canadian on his own soil.

Sure, I have the comforts of a warm hotel room in the evening and the potential to indulge in three square meals a day, but let's think beyond that--beyond the luxuries of modern marvels and delve deeper, deep into the world of a traveling photog. Here goes:

Getting strapped in. This doesn't look too good...

Five minutes later, I found myself swinging over the wing of a 777.

Shooting on the tarmac of Vancouver, International Airport


This shot almost busted my knees. Yeah, I'm gettin' old.

Up close and personal with The Ice Maker.

Riding shot gun with The Ice Maker on his Zamboni.

The Ice Maker cruisin' at Pacific Coliseum on his Zamboni. Home to the 2010 Speed Skating Competition.

'Chillin' at the Bob Sled Track in Whistler, BC.

I almost had a Death by Diarrhea moment getting this shot.

We actually don't look too cold here. On top of the 2010 Olympic Nordic Ski Jump.

OK, so there you have it. That's what I've been doing all week. Now, as for not showering, let's just say that I'm conditioning myself for the jungle. Will be in the jungles of Indonesia in 48 hours!

Be well.

Ron

Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada

Just Cold!

Photo: View of Olympic Park/ 2009
Current Location: Vancouver, BC, Canada/ 49°17′60.0″N 123°4′60″W


Call me a wuss if you want, but it's damn cold up here! Maybe it's not the chill that bothers me so much, but more so, the fact that my body is just not used to the thin-arctic air in these elevations. Sometimes, when I'm roaming around with my camera, I can feel my head pounding like someone's driving a jack hammer thru my skull.


Beleive it or not, as a Canadian, I hate snow! I can't stand the cold. It makes my skin dry, freeze my toes and sucks the oxygen out of the air. Yeah, I'm a baby! So what?

Me, Mexican?

Photo: At The World Cup Winter Games/ 2009
Current Location: Vancouver, BC, Canada/ 49°17′60.0″N 123°4′60″W

When you hoist a camera for a daily wage, it's bound to pay off in more ways than my weekly stipend. Girls stare, old geezers strike a pose--while kids wonder if that fury thing on my camera is a puppet or a dead cat. Whether I'm shooting in a war zone or covering a sporting event, the camera on my shoulder usually gets me access to some of the coolest places on earth--allowing me to see in real life what others only get to see on television.

I'm here in Vancouver, covering the 2009 World Cup Winter Games--a pre-qualifier to the 2010 Olympics next year. So far, I've frozen my butt off, been spoken to in Chinese, German, and Polish, and even was mistaken for as a shooter from Mexican TV--Do I really look Mexican? All in all, I'm here to capture the world's need for speed, document the science behind the games, and interview those who race for a living--on the ice and around the track, skaters and bob sledders, skiers and Lugers alike.

Even though I'm shooting from within my own country, it still feels like I'm shooting abroad--on a foreign assignment. The mountainous landscape here is absolutely amazing, breath taking at times, yet awe inspiring to realize that this is my country, my Canada! I understand their English, speak their lingo and can appreciate a good poutine! Google it if you don't know what that is. You'll definitely want one, eh.

I've met reporters and photographers from all over the world: Latvia, Russia, Romania, and Italy, to name just a few. Yesterday, I had the privilege of dining with a few guys from Sports Illustrated--that was cool! We shared exposure settings and dined on hot dogs. Life was good.

Tomorrow, I'll be shooting a story on the secrets of making ice. Yup, ice! Should be interesting. Will write soon.

Be well.
Ron
Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada