travel - places

A Visit to Puebla, Mexico – Street Photography Portraits

Puebla is one of those Mexican cities that is supposed to be beautiful. Everyone you meet while travelling tells you to stop there for a day trip. They will inevitably tell you about the architecture, the history of the French invasion, the battles, Cinco de Mayo, and the incredible local foods: Poblano peppers, Mole Poblano, and Tacos Arabes, all originated in Puebla, as did the Mexican tricolor dish, Chiles en Nogada. Anthony Bourdain claimed that every decent chef in Manhattan could trace their lineage back to Puebla. And the best climb in Mexico, Pico De Orizaba, is not far from Puebla.

Old Man with Hat, Puebla, Mexico

Frankly, I’ve never liked the place. Not for any one reason, I’ve been a bunch of times. Puebla is a perfect day trip from Mexico City. There is great food and beautiful architecture, and one of the best import beer bars in all of Mexico, Utopia.

Girl with Brother and Mother, Puebla, Mexico
Man with Mother, Puebla, Mexico

But every time I stop in Puebla, something off happens. The first time I went, I met a girl and we were having a romantic evening and stroll, then she got sick and vomited all over the gorgeous cobblestone streets. The second time, I watched a teenager get robbed and cracked over the head with a rock, and no one (except yours truly) stopped to help him get up or staunch the bleeding. The third time, it poured rain incessantly, torrentially, and sadly, as the Poblanos marched in the streets vociferously protesting the rash of violent crime against women and the lack of a police presence or government action.

The last time I went to Puebla, I decided to talk to as many locals as I could. They have an odd reputation, as second city to Mexico City, and nearest neighbour, they are the butt of many Chilango jokes. Most notably and crudely, they’re called Pi-Po-Pe’s, which you can look up yourself if you’re inclined to slang. But as I got to know the place a little better, I started to think that Bourdain had been onto something.

Puebla is a city with an underdog mentality. Always struggling to prove itself, whether it was against the French invaders or visitors from the capital, it was, and continues to be, the home to many immigrants who can’t afford life in the big city (there were large waves of German and Lebanese), and more recently, it is the landing spot for many deportees from the United States. As a result, Poblano’s juggle many perspectives and the city is paradoxically both welcoming, and always on guard.

If you’re interested in prints or commissions, get in touch with me.

Standard
travel - places

A Visit to Copan Ruins in Honduras: THE MAYAN STELAE OF COPÁN

Stella and Sky, Copan

If you visit my blog regularly, you’ll know I’m a sucker for ancient ruins and art. Angkor Wat is one of the most spectacular places in the world, a combination of the holy and mundane; the intricate details of the sculpture and the vast open plains of the land create a magnificent juxtaposition.

Stella front view, Copan

A half a world away, in Honduras, Copan is equally majestic, yet because of its locale, often overlooked and ignored. From its heights, the Mayans could see a vast expanses in any direction to the horizon. We visited the ruins after and incredible, tumultuous rainstorm had washed out the roads in the village and the verdant greens of the distant hills were glowing in the light after the storm.

We took a tuk-tuk moto taxi out of the town, bumping and jostling over the rocky turf and around the flood pools that swelled across the earth. At a tiny kiosk, we paid and entrance fee to the grounds, no more than a pittance, and when we walked in, only a pair of stark red parrots greeted us.

Parrots, Copan
Stela of the King close-up, Copan
Stela of the King, medium, Copan

There was an air of stillness and silence on the grounds. The lawn manicured flat as a putting green, our footfalls muted by the slick wet grass. We walked through the open courtyard, past the massive staircase, at the zenith of the steps, warriors hearts were cut out in sacrifice to the gods, so that blood ran down to the stairs and back to the soil.

Stela, profile, Copan

Alone with the stelae, pillars of stone carved a thousand years ago to solidify the enduring presence and looming nature of the rulers and kings in the people’s eyes, I felt watched. Stone eyes tracked our movements. The avian twitter and caw of the birds and the shrieks of the monkeys lent depth and perspective to the loneliness of the ruins. The animal presence of the jungle remained the one constant in this luscious hill country, since before the conquistadors had arrived in the 15th century. On one of the stela, the name of a Spaniard is scratched, the first European graffiti in a new world, a man made blemish older than the founding of most nations.

Stela in relief against the sky, Copan

We walked aimlessly through the trees and and across the lawn till we found a path that circled up and into the woods. An eerie calm remained among the wet boughs, as they dampened the sound of our breath, so only the rustle and drip of water in the leaves remained.

Lone Tree Above Copan Ruins

At the top of the climb, a tree arched out over the edge, and we were greeted with a panorama that stretched out across the plains, limitless, a vision that seemed both timeless and immediately present. At the end of our visit, there was no lesson to be learned, only the act of arrival and departure endless repeated, and the beauty of temporal memories that will soon be forgotten.

Panoramic landscape above Copan

As always, prints of my artwork are available for purchase. Contact me for more info, and thanks for visiting.

Standard