My Way Is The Highway

CANYONS AND BACKCOUNTRY RUINS of Southeast Utah

Last year, I was following a seasoned westerner into a steep canyon. Once on the canyon floor we must have barely walked for ten minutes when he stopped and turned. He made me turn. “Can you find your way back?” He asked me. I stood aghast. The trail that I had used a few minutes ago seemed to have disappeared. The canyon stood in front of me like a wall. He laughed. I felt like an idiot.

In order to correct this situation, I planned a trip to Utah prepared to walk some canyons alone and to get myself out unharmed. Like swimming in the open ocean, skiing down a slow covered in fresh powder or diving from an airplane tethered to a parachute, the only way to do it, is to do it. 

*  *  *  *  *

I had spent a month in preparation for there are many ways to die in this rugged country.

One can as easily die here of thirst as of drowning. Of over-confidence or panic. Of heat or cold. Of under-preparation or over-carrying. Of heart ache – loneliness or overexertion, or heart burst – premature jubilation or being unknowledgeable. Of being overtly cautious or extrovertly ambitious.  Death can be cruel, quick and ruthless or kind, slow and caring.

I had read everything that was there to read. I was dressed in layers, shod in appropriate shoes, carried a gallon of water in different bottles in various pockets of my backpack. I had a generous supply of almonds and fruit-bars with me. A waterproof copy of the BLM terrain map of the Grand Gulch was secreted in a compartment on my back. I had color photocopies of the canyons I was planning to enter tucked in my shirt pocket. I had a hi-fidelity GPS app running on my fully charged iPhone and I carried a fully charged backup charger.

Heck, I even had a three inch knife with Bear Grylls’ signature inscribed on the hilt.

I felt prepared.

*  *  *  *  *

Greek Odyssey: Two Weeks in Athens, Delphi, Peloponnese and Santorini

“Papi, Can I pick our next vacation destination?”

I froze at my 11 year old’s innocent question. Don’t get me wrong. She is a sport all right. She has trampled museums all over the world without complaining. Followed me without protesting to a myriad of dusty ruins. She has braved long flights and longer waits at the airports.

I was still skeptical. “Here comes, Orlando?” I thought.

“Greece?” Her beautiful oval eyes wide open with anticipation.

I must have jumped with joy. I myself was deep in the middle of Iliad and Troy and Alexander and Achilles. I would have picked Greece myself. The trip was signed off in seconds.

* * *

Greece has touched my life on so many fronts. India is the largest democracy in the world, but it all started in Greece. (India is also the largest bureaucracy in the world. That too, started in Greece and still continues.) Pythagoras had me floored  before I was twelve, Euclid before I was fifteen. Ayn Rand introduced me to the Parthenon a little later in her path breaking novel Fountainhead. Alexander, the Macedonian, is a personal hero, his feats – oh, so un-accomplishable. After him, “all was possible.” His teacher, Aristotle has has taught me a thing or two. Achilles is my hero’s hero.

* * * 

Most Greek itineraries are focused on talking you to the islands. The islands are beautiful but the mainland has a lot to offer. People just don’t know about it.  Ignoring all standard itineraries, I setout to design our own. The battle of Troy was high on my mind. I wanted to see where it all began. I want to see the Palace of Agamemnon. I want to visit the Oracle of Delphi.  I wanted to touch the soil that Helen once did.

* * *

Here is how it turned out…

Hampi Photography Trip – Sun on the Rocks

Vitthala Temple Courtyard, Hampi

I have been to Hampi twice - in 2000 and 2008, before I was bitten, respectively, by the travel and the photography bug. The two trips could not have been more different. Not knowing what to expect, on my first visit I was introduced to the evocative ruins of the erstwhile Vijayanagara kingdom, perpetually lighting a spark in me that led to the second, for which I came prepared with a long list of things I had to see. It led to a mad dash through rocks and ruins under a blazing April sun.

Since then, I have been to other places in the world. At first, at a hurried, frantic, fast pace. But eventually, I learned to travel slow. Few flights, fewer hotels, two or three cities in a trip, experiencing more of a place than more places… 

That is when I am not on a photography trip. The sole purpose of a photography trip is to come home with beautiful photos. Relaxation and fun is not on the agenda. In fact, my chances of returning with “keepers” is extremely bleak if by the end of the trip, I am not sleep deprived, fatigued and cranky.

This third trip to Hampi was decidedly a photography trip right from the beginning.