This is a moment to remember: we finally leave the Red Sea, pass through the notorious Bab el Mandab and into the Gulf of Aden. A podcast for your listening pleasure.
In case our yotting friends haven’t heard the shocking news, we received an email this evening forwarded on by Gaby and Paul, who are based in Yacht Marina, Marmaris, Turkey. Yacht Marina is where Liz and I wintered in 2007-08. The email reads thus:
Sadla Island, Eritrea. In this podcast we take a trip ashore and start by crossing the isthmus from the west towards the windward side on the east. We’re looking for turtles but we find a bit more than what we bargained for!
To me photography is often about engaging with people. Despite being told to do so by our taxi driver I point-blank refused to stick my camera out the window of the car as we drove down one really poor street. Yet on my second visit, this time walking down the same street, we bothered to talk to the people I was snapping and everyone we met appeared so happy. Except one family. You’ll notice in amongst all the photographs of smiling faces are two brothers who look very sad. Why were they like this? It doesn’t bear thinking about but their eyes tell a different story and their portraits stick out like sore thumbs. It’s a stark reminder that behind all the laughter life is still damn bloody tough.
The Convergence Zone. A place where the unforgiving seas force lesser men to give up and go home. This podcast begins with us leaving Freedom Bay and looking at problems on other boats in the rally. It ends, however, in Marsa Dudo with an analysis of a problem we encounter ourselves. This was a grueling hundred mile trip that should have been completed in 24 hours. It took much, much longer. Along the way Esper finds herself in a critical situation.
On Sunday I’ll be publishing my shots of the Dharavi slums of Mumbai. That’s on Sunday but today is Friday, so let’s keep it light-hearted. Let’s discuss beer! Beer. The love of my life, the bain of my waist-line. A refreshment to be enjoyed at the end of the day after a hard day’s sail, a hard day’s work or a hard day’s drinking. Whatever the occassion, beer is there to help you celebrate. Here in Catholic Kerala, however, beer isn’t so understood. The booze shop is a shuttered, over-the-counter, slip-the-beverage-into-a-plain-paper-bag-before-my-wife-spots-me affair. The pubs are dirty, dark cockroach-infested holes. The imbibement of this fine libation is not encouraged like it is elsewhere in India and the mantra “alcohol consumption is injurious to health” is seen on both the labels of bottles and across the tinted windows of aforementioned grimey bars. Is ‘injurious’ actually a word? Whatever, whether you like beer or not you’ll be impressed by the sales pitch of one such beer called Zingaro. The masculine gold and red Zingaro label has an Indian, of the Native American persuasion, taming a wild horse with ‘Super Strong Premium Lager’ emblazoned across the bottom. But it’s the blurb on the back that had me in stiches…
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