Category: summer

Let All Who Pass Here Know

So let’s say you and the spouse are talking, and you say “Hey honey, why don’t we gather up the kids and make a trip to that happenin’ place, San Francisco, Californey.”

Why, it’s an end-of-summer vacation destination.

And so you book the airline and find a hotel and plan your visit.

On behalf of the Bay Area, there’s a few things we’d like you to know.

1) First, thank you. We are happy to have you come and visit! Please, spend your hard earned dollars in our economy. We could use the help.

2) We have some of the best food anywhere. Please stay away from the chain restaurants and try a local place. You’ll be glad you did.

3) Everyone appreciates how difficult it is to navigate our geographically limited city located at the end of a peninsula, so don’t be a’feared to ask for directions. Most locals have been lost here a few times too.

4) No one calls it “Frisco.” Maybe a few people call it “San Fran.” You could probably get by with an “S.F.” Refer to San Francisco as “The City” and you’ll be doing just fine.

5) Bring your camera and don’t be shy about taking snaps. It’s hard to take a bad photo.

6) Oh, and lastly and most importantly, this is what the weather is like in August:

Just for reference, the exif data on this photograph reports it was taken at 12:08:14 pm on Sunday, August 8, 2010. In case you can’t tell, that’s part of the north tower of the Golden Gate Bridge.

I’m just sayin’.

Don’t pack your shorts, tshirts and a pair of flip-flops for a trip to “sunny California.” Pack pants, socks and a jacket. You’ll be glad you did.

Also, know this…San Francisco is one of the most beautiful cities you’ll ever know.

Come on out ya’ll! Enjoy! We’re happy to have ya!

Photos by Karen Fayeth taken from the Marin side of the bridge. Many, many tourists were endured in the making of these and many other photographs.

(What all this language below means is that I took and I own the photographs posted here. If you’d like to borrow them, you have to do me the favor of giving me credit for the photo and posting a link back to this page. That’s all. Fair enough? I think so.)

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Word and images in this blog post titled “Let All Who Pass Here Know” by Karen Fayeth is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License.

The Rhythm Is, In Fact, Going to Get You

Over the weekend, I had the honor of being included on a list of photographers asked to attend a local women’s martial arts training camp.

This is a long running event and my photography teacher is part of the team that pulls off this amazing training event every year.

As I am still a *very* amateur photographer, this event tested every single one of my limited abilities for taking clear and decent photographs of powerful ladies in action.

I’ve never been much of a martial arts kind of gal myself, so being a part of these classes, taught in many cases by world renowned instructors, was enlightening.

Oh the kicking! The hitting! The breaking chokes. The takedowns.

Wow!

I found myself spectating much of the time, forgetting to use that picture-taking tool in my hand for its intended purpose. It was that intense!

But for all of that, I have to say, the class that made the biggest impression on me was the Taiko drumming class, taught by a lady named Ikuyo Conant.

This tiny woman took FULL control of a class full of strong powerful martial artists and had them drumming their hearts out.

These ladies were out on a cool Sunday morning with roses in their cheeks, whanging away at the drums and laughing. They were all having the best time. Some of the most muscle bound and rather serious women were shaking their groove thang and laughing like school girls.

It was not only a joyful place to be, it was a joyful thing to photograph. The “energy in the room,” so to speak, was overwhelming. I laughed along with them. I cheered when they made it through a sequence with nary an error.

After watching Judo, Wing Chun, Tai Kwan Do, and other ancient (and potentially rather violent) arts, I found that Taiko was head and shoulders above the rest as the class I most want to take.

I’m ready to shake the maraca’s that the good lord gave me (oh wait, cross culture reference there…whoops) while I beat hell out of a drum.

I haven’t yet processed all the photos from the weekend, and I don’t have permission (yet) to post photos of participants, but here is a quick snap of Madame Conant doin’ her thang.

And oh yes, the rhythm got a hold of me, too!

: shake shake :

Word-Reduced Wednesday

A lot of blogs I read have a “Wordless Wednesday” meme where they post an image with no or very few words.

Well, since asking me to use no words is like asking the ocean not to be so darn wet, I think I can only eke my way into a reduced-word situation.

And so…

New Mexico, being of the high desert variety of places, is normally very dry. Humidity levels in the single digits are the norm, and that warm dry air makes me happy.

After all these years living in the Bay Area, you’d think I’d be more accustomed to humidity. I am not.

So I always rather enjoy a trip back to good ol’ NM to dry out (and not in that rehab kind of way).

Not this month. Nope. It rained like a sonofagun the whole time I was there. Which, honestly, is good. They need the rain.

However, swamp coolers don’t work in the humidity. The evaporative cooling aspect relies on the water evaporating. Which it doesn’t when it’s humid.

Gah!

But cloudy skies sure make pretty pictures.

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Word-Reduced Wednesday and associated images by Karen Fayeth are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported License.

¡Baila Me!

When the Gipsy Kings command you to dance, you dance.

It doesn’t matter if you don’t think you can dance. You dance anyway. You shake the maracas the Good Lord gave ya, and you have a good time doing it.

After many years of yearning to see the Gipsy Kings live, last weekend, I finally got my chance.

I got tickets back in April. I jumped on line the very second they went on sale and my diligence paid off. I scored two tickets second row center.

I knew it was going to be a good show. I had no idea it was going to be one of the most amazing shows I’ve ever seen.

The music of the Gipsy Kings is beautiful, traditional gitano music, played by brothers. The men, from two different families, were born in France, children of gitanos who fled during the Spanish Civil War of the 1930’s.

What I mean to say is…they are the real deal.

Their music moves me in ways I can’t understand.

Best not to even try to understand.

Three songs into the night, Patchai Reyes commanded us to dance.

And the people in the venue rose to their feet, and we danced.

Even The Good Man who doesn’t dance got up and danced. It was useless to resist.

At the beginning of the show, six men walked out with matching nylon strung acoustic guitars (four of them played upside down by left handers), hit a couple tune up notes and they were off to the races. I was struck by the blinding fast guitar work.

As the venue allowed photography, I tried to capture even a tiny bit of what we experienced that night. I found I was too enchanted by the music and didn’t actually take a lot of photos.

But here is a photo of Andre Reyes that gives you a small idea. I used as long an exposure as I dared to capture the movement of his hands. (Click to see a larger size)

My mother tells me that somewhere in the murky waters of my genetic past, we are what she calls “French gipsy”.

I understand that to be a true Gitano, you must be Gitano on all four sides…meaning, all four of your grandparents must be full-blooded Gitano. I’m not fully Gitano on any sides, but the rhythm resides somewhere in my strands of DNA.

On warm summer Saturday night in an outdoor mountain venue, the Gipsy Kings plucked the strings to my soul.

And I danced.

Oh, did I dance…

What Does This Image Mean to You?

Take a gander. I’ll bet this image elicits an immediate visceral reaction:

It sure does for me. If you were in college or attended any sort of raucous party in the last several decades, then you too have an instant recognition and reaction to….

The ubiquitous Solo Red Cup.

Truly an American icon.

When a keg is purchased, what must come along with it? A nice big stack of Solo Red Cups.

Having a picnic? Well then what is a certain necessity? The Solo Red Cup.

Up for a game of beer pong? Gonna need several of these bad boys.

Sometimes it comes in blue, but red is the most recognizable and widely available color.

I have a deep appreciation and a love for the Solo Red Cup that borders on something inappropriate (but not quite objectophilia).

Summertime makes me think of my old friend Solo Red Cup. Warm days, beer with a head that is way too foamy because the knucklehead tapped the keg wrong, and flip flops.

In my memory, days seem a lot simpler when I have a Solo Red Cup in my hand.

May we all have a Solo Red Cup kind of a day….

Cheers!