Fish and chips at the Lake District. The observant of you will have noticed that there is actually a photo of chicken and chips. That was mum’s dinner. I had cod. See also the evil look on my face just before the packages of piping hot yumminess are opened. That is the look of ‘I love fish and chips and I don’t have to feel guilty about it at all because junk food on holidays doesn’t count because it’s unavoidable and now officially sanctioned by mum and dad.’
Tag: photography
Joangineer
I am putting on my engineer’s (hard)hat tomorrow. I have to be an engineer again. I am speaking to 50+ people about why I came Cambridge and why I am a better engineer for it. How to talk about myself in public without sounding like a twat? Interesting problem. I’ve done it before but I’m afraid I will be twatful tomorrow.
It’s surprisingly easy, going back to being an engineer after months of being a social scientist, business student, technology policy scholar, and change agent. Even when I tried to think of non-engineering examples for my ‘script’, I couldn’t. All I came up with was engineering — it was all about construction and industry and water and sludge. I guess… I guess that’s what I am.
I kind of resent it.
You know what I need? I need an engineering role model. I want to talk to engineers that deal with the biggest of big pictures. I want to meet engineers who don’t always go for the technical solution (Don’t kid yourself, renewable energy is a technical solution. Why aren’t you dealing with demand management?). But maybe those that do that aren’t engineers, then.
As you can see, I am a bit crazy tonight.
Here is an example of engineering.
Isn’t it clever? Instead of using a spring to keep the gate shut, we have something even more low-tech. It’s a weight! Attached to a chain! Gravity does it all! How fantabulous.
You know you’re an engineer when you plan a trip to Paris and want to go to the Sewer Museum.
Unscheduled changing of the guard
Here is Joan, paparazzo, in front of Buckingham Palace.
While we were there, there was a changing of the guard. It was a bit of an unexpected treat because the next one wasn’t due until tomorrow at 11:30 AM.
A guardsman appeared in the doorway at the left of the photo and started moving towards the on-duty guardsman stationed in the alcove. He marched very slowly and deliberately.
Stomp.
Stomp.
Stomp.
Stomp.
It went on like this for the three minutes it took for him to get from A to B.
I suppose the unscheduled changeover was finally explained when the travelling guardsman reached the on-duty guardsman and said, ‘Your mother’s on the phone.’
24 exposures over 24 hours
Some months ago, I had filled in a survey about how I use technology. The researchers then contacted to see if I’d be interested in participating in a ‘learning landscapes’ study.
They gave me a voice recorder, a disposable camera and a notebook. Every 60 to 90 minutes, I got a text message and had to take photos of my surroundings, and record myself describing what I was doing, how I was feeling, and what technologies I was using. If I couldn’t do that, I could jot notes into the notebook. It was a fun day. I ended up going into London to meet people and go to a seminar.
It felt strange taking photos with a film camera, let alone a disposable camera. I couldn’t see if the photo had turned out all right. I couldn’t take as many photos as I am used to. I have used film cameras before but had never felt the constraints of having only 24 exposures per film. That’s because in my film era, I only took photos of the same thing once. In the digital age, I take at least three photos of the same scene using different settings, different perspectives and angles.
Using a disposable camera is no excuse for poor composition. I tried hard to take the best photos I could without being able to adjust aperture, shutter length or film sensitivity. Today, we had a slideshow meeting, where everyone presented their photos and described their day. My photos turned out surprisingly well. The darkest ones must have been thrown out by the developer but otherwise the quality was really quite good.
I think I’ll do this again for fun — buy a disposable camera and practice being hamstrung by low tech and delayed gratification.
The dancesport haka
I went to the Varsity Dancesport competition between Cambridge and Oxford. The scoring system is very interesting. The competition is split into two levels. The A team is generally better than the B team, with a few exceptions of experienced couples who are not eligible for A team because they’re not students of Cambridge or Oxford.
Everyone dances four dances: Waltz and quickstep for the modern ballroom section; and cha cha and jive for the latin section. Everyone ends up dancing the waltz three times, the quickstep three times, and so on. It’s set up like a round robin so that different combinations of Cambridge and Oxford couples dance against each other. I believe that by the time all the waltzes are done, every Cambridge couple has waltzed against every Oxford couple, and the audience has sat through about eight or nine rounds of waltz (it could have been more or less — I couldn’t keep track). The algorithm for selecting couples for rounds was a mystery to me. I had no idea what was going on for most of it. Then, of course, it’s repeated for the other three dances.
The couples are ranked in each round and awarded points. Cambridge couples’ points are aggregated and compared to the sum of Oxford couples’ points. The two latin dances are added together, as are the two ballroom. So a score is reported for Cambridge ballroom versus Oxford ballroom, then Cambridge latin versus Oxford latin. The ballroom and latin scores are summed and the winning team has the highest points.
This year, Cambridge won the B Team match for the first time. It also won the A Team match by a long way. It seems that all year, Cambridge has been trumping Oxford. These are the top two university dancesport teams in the UK and they take turns being on top. It would have been quite an experience to dance with the team. I’m sorry I’ve missed my opportunity.
Here are a few photos I took. No spectacular ones but I was there to enjoy watching the dancing rather than take photos, so anything decent was a bonus.
A quiet moment on the dancefloor.
I tried to pan with the moving couples (that is, follow the couples with my camera while the aperture was open) and actually came up with some clearer ones than this. But I like the colour and the composition here.
This is the Cambridge A Team’s ‘walk on’ for the latin section, which was a pretty cool routine. Think of it as equivalent to the All Blacks’s Haka, which is meant to frighten the bejeezers out of the opposition.
For reference, here is the All Blacks’s haka… Yep. That’s exactly what the ‘walk on’ was like.
And now, back to our normal programming — ‘A Team’ Latin.
Hey, I stick my tongue out at my dance partners as well!
And here she is, with a more conventional ‘dancesport’ face.
Triumph of swan propoganda
I used to think swans were special. You can hardly blame me; they have such good publicists. Some of their propoganda triumphs include: countless retellings of The Ugly Duckling; encore performances of Swan Lake; Schubert’s relabelled Schwanengesang; and the Sydney Swans being in the AFL grand final for two years running.
You don’t see a lot of swans in Australia so to me, they’ve been mythical beings. When I arrived in England, I was lucky enough to spot a swan on the River Cam. Excitedly, I snapped dozens of photos. SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! I was paparazzo.
In the seven months I’ve been here, I’ve come to the realisation that they’re everywhere. That’s right, swans are everywhere. Common as dirt, and they nearly all belong to the Queen.
Mum’s first day in Cambridge: ‘Oh, mum, don’t bother with that old thing. They’re everywhere.’
‘Hello, swan, we meet again.’
‘Smile for the camera!’
Smiling for the camera.
‘What, you call us all the way here and there’s no food? We’re leaving!’
They left behind a feather as a mark of their disdain.
I want to be something
‘When I grow up, mama, I want to be a boat!’
‘Oh, dearie! You can’t be a boat. You’re a trailer.’
The little green trailer clutched to his dream. Every birthday, he blew out the candles and submitted his wish to the great big petition box in the sky. But each morning, he would wake up to find his wheels still attached, his body still squarish and, soon enough, rusting.
His hope, now, is small. Years of soul destroying drudgery — lifting and trundling and carrying and bitumen — had ground even the happiest little trailer to trailer trash.
I have so much to say and I’ll burst if I don’t say it
I’ve got about ten blog posts in my head and I feel like I’m going to burst if I don’t put them down. I wish I could space them out so that you can read them at your leisure but I fear I’m going to lose a few of you with this current deluge of entries. Ah well. I guess this blog is as much for me as for you.
Yesterday, a friend who I call Dr Jason (to distinguish him from my brother Jason) came over and we went out to take photos of Cambridge. Cambridge is showing off at the moment. It’s saying, ‘Look at me! I’m so pretty, all these lovely people playing frisbee and having picnics, they like me and so should you.’
Mill Road Cemetery
I like taking photos at graveyards. The first four photos are from Mill Road Cemetery, a large, beautiful and artfully wild place. When my parents were here, they walked around town by themselves while I did my homework. They’re the ones who told me about this place.
I found I liked the angels the best of all the gravestones.
Is it disrespectful to be playing frisbee in a graveyard? This is a question obviously not troubling the dog.
There were surprisingly many people sunbathing in the graveyard. Dr Jason said, ‘What are they doing, lying there?’
I said, ‘Maybe they’re practicing.’
Egyptian Pharaohs were buried with camels so that they had transport in the next world. Vikings were buried with ships. Here in Cambridge, bicycles are the transport mode of choice.
Cows at Midsummer Common
After the mad cow disease breakout, cows were banned from grazing at Midsummer Common, a big green space just east of the town centre. The bans were just lifted and cows were celebrating, buffet-style.
Hey, stop making cow-eyes at my girl!
Watching all the cows go for the drinking trough, it suddenly dawned on me that they were herd animals. Where one goes, the others follow. Like sheep, really.
Mmm… oooooo.
Walking along the River Cam
No story behind this photo except that the webbing and the colour scheme made me think of Spider-Man, the movies. The third one is being released soon and ‘they’ say that it’s the best of the series. That’s a pretty tall order. The other two were good.
Like at Oxford, people live in canal boats. Who needs a backyard when you have a roof? Notice the pub in the background — ‘The Boathouse‘. How’s that for clever photographic composition? Applause, please, applause!
Modern art at Jesus College
Dr Jason, formerly of Jesus College, took me on a tour of his old stomping ground.
Jesus College’s gardens are full of modern art. I don’t know how modern this horse sculpture is, really. It does look nice with the wisteria in the background.
The final four photos are of the same twisty glass sculpture, post-processed in different ways. We think that despite being solid, the sculpture probably has something to do with DNA.
Walking Paris
For the three or four days we were in Paris, we took the Metro only twice. The rest of the time, we walked. It was a good way to see the city. The very afternoon we arrived in Paris, we walked ten or twelve kilometres from our hotel to La Basilique du Sacré Coeur (famous Catholic church — 800 m), to the Arc de Triomphe (monument to Napoleon in the middle of a five way roundabout — 5.6 km), to the Jardin des Tuileries (beautiful palace gardens — 5 km), then home again (3 km). That’s a grand total of about 14.5 kilometres!
On our last day, we walked from the hotel to Galeries Lafayette (massive department store — 1.5 km) to musée du Louvre (largest museum in the world — 1.5 km), to Saint Michel Place (gateway to the hip/touristy Latin Quarter — 3.4 km), to Jardin du Luxembourg (more palace gardens — 1 km), then back home (5.2 km) — 12.5 kilometres all together.
My feet hurt every day. Now, a week after I came home, my shoulders still ache from carrying my backpack (and camera) everywhere.
The reward for carrying my heavy camera was more photos! It’s worth the aches and pains.
The first couple of photos are from the Arc de Triomphe. You’ve seen it before on this blog.
Last time, I went early in the morning. In the afternoon, there are a lot more tourists.
It seems disrespectful, somehow, to be sitting on a military monument.
Actually, the day we went, some sort of memorial service was happening. There were a lot of elderly men in military dress… and this wreath from Australia. Maybe it was related to ANZAC Day.
These Segways were lying near the entrance of Jardin des Tuileries. I was confused. Was this a Segway carpark? Then I remembered that there were City Segway Tours in Paris. The group of people in the background of the photo have probably just dismounted and are getting a talk from the tour guide. I rode a Segway once, at my undergraduate university’s Open Day. It was a lot of fun.
Jardin des Tuileries seemed to be a popular place for people to slow down and enjoy the sunshine.
No Xboxes here. Just sailboats that you can push into the fountain pond with a long stick, wait for it to reach the other side, then push it again. Hours of fun for the whole family.
The Eiffel Tower…
…surrounded by people with guns.
Galeries Lafayette, the 10-storey Paris department store, is the ‘center of the fashion world‘. I went there for the food.
Lafayette’s coupole was spectacular! Beautiful! I took a dozen photos before a security guard marched over and told me that photography was forbidden.
See my previous post for photos of the Sacré Coeur and Moulin Rouge.
Red light district – Paris
I’ve visited Paris twice now. Both times, I stayed at Montmartre, north of the River Seine and home of Paris’s red light district.
After Amsterdam’s window women, there was no reason for me to worry about taking mum and dad to the Paris equivalent. So we walked to the Moulin Rouge (‘Red Windmill’), once during the day and once at night.
At night time, the pimps were working hard. One of them grabbed my arm as I walked by. Quite a few waved us down excitedly.
‘xìng biáo yăn! xìng biáo yăn!’ they called*. ‘Live sex show! Live sex show!’
Mum was really impressed. ‘Wow!’ she exclaimed. ‘They can speak Chinese!’
*If your computer can display Chinese: 性表演
The famous red windmill of Moulin Rouge.
Another view of Basilique du Sacré Coeur, which dominates the skyline of Montmartre.
