Climate Across the Globe: A Photo Essay

When I compress experiences from the last 6 months the only sensical reality is that in the 8th dimension some giant being decided to pick up a random stone (me) and skip it across some strange landscape...

8 months ago I was ready for a radical change. I decided to follow a near-totally blind path and I made the leap to another world - To the Old World - Europa. To marriage, to new work opportunities, new horizons... I was open to realizing what might be possible, and impossible. The pieces from this journey from winter and now back to summer are still circulating, realizing a shorter night and lengthening day as I do, but still in a fog and fighting for better clarity.

There was intense physical pain these last months, mental and emotional pain, screaming madness - and small spiritual epiphanies - perhaps. There was unconditional love. There was abused alcohol and drugs, an awareness that was far from free. A fallout of lessons and potential, a newly populated landscape of ghosts, broken promises and distant hope. I shook hands with people from at least two dozen countries, without a Euro to my name I slammed champagne and devoured opulent snacks at parties attended by hero activists and UN delegates, rubbed shoulders with next level storytellers, found and lost a dream job in Los Angeles, stumbled across worked and threatened landscapes of three continents... Spent long hours with jets, ferrys, buses, trains, cars, press boxes, on a bicycle, on foot - swimming through this quixotic miasma of wonder, fear, hope, realization, loss. I risked everything and nothing. I cried, a lot.

Perhaps the personal climate is a metaphor for global climate, micro within the macro. Perhaps. I may have zero left in my bank account but I have gained a pirate's treasure of experience. Stolen, collected moments... Now what will I do with all this new-found loot? Dream? Wish? Proselytize? Shrink?

Things happen, for a reason...

Perhaps this unfolding story, its deeper layers, are best told through the ocular eyes of inanimate objects, my albatross and ever-present companions - a Sony A7, a Nikon D700, an iPhone 5s.

all images ©Bennett Barthelemy

How long will it take the US to realize that this is the best vehicle - kid delivery, groceries, commuting, low emission...

With the energy used to create one meal with meat (from field to table) you could make 50 vegetarian meals... 

The Atlas mountains of Morocco, small subsistence farming, a woman's co-op with argan oil at its center...

Glimpses of the past and present. I traded a camera body for a trip to Morocco and the climbing guidebook for a rug

Sleeping outside, sunrise, the backyard - things that make me smile...

Did the world hit the two degree mark two months after the Accord was signed?

Sebastiao Salgado, the Paris Undergound, a whale...

The view from Les Mur Des Scorpion... this picture makes me think of palm oil plantations, big agriculture, GMOs...

The ancient Medina in Marrakech

Cheif Raoni accepts his award - is it true that two football fields of forest are lost every minute in the Amazon region?

Crazy amounts of knowlege right here... Has the world heard what was said here at this tribunal at Cop21?

Maroc - Night Train to Tangier Ramblings...

all images ©Bennett Barthelemy April 2016

 Call to prayer at 4.53 AM drifts over the blackness like a spell. Amazing voice from this Imam. I had dreamed of The cat with neatly unraveled intestine resting just outside his stomach with opened skull that greeted us in the parking lot late last night. But presently Our car is Locked away in an ancient garage in a tiny mountain town whose name I cannot pronounce and have forgotten, passport surrendered to the French and Arabic speaking hotel keeper. Time to see if we can get them back without too dear of a ransom.

Yet Currently locked in until 7 am. Ryan, the Scotsman who speaks some French, forgot to tell me this detail that they wouldn't be in the lobby until then. Found Front door is locked by a key, as is our car across and down the block in an unmarked garage behind a huge metal padlocked door. Ryan's passport is eclipsed somewhere in the dark office as well.

Forced to Enjoy the birds music at dawn and the company of an ancient cat that has decided to visit us that can only manage a whispery meow. He is happily clawing apart the center bed. Now joining me in mine, this rumpled and mangy but purring beast with dandruff flakes on his Holstein specked coat. At least someone is enjoying this place.

10 minutes to 7 now. We will see if the employees turn up. Heard a raspy cough echo through the marble hallways just now. Suppose that is a sign of something. So much for the hoped-for sunrise photos atop the Atlas pass today... More phlegmy coughs from behind closed doors. I am heavily congested this morning too, sneezing and woke after midnight with a headache and rushed to open the sealed window. The room is passably clean but the pillows are permanently stained from greasy heads resting upon them. Realizing Some of the more intriguing pieces of travel that would be difficult to dream up unaided by the realities of cultural and income differences.

Still it seems only tiny birds, distant crowing roosters and barking dogs and this hotel cat are the only things truly awake on this sedate morning. Chilled air pushed through the ornate bars as the sun and the new days warmth will soon be here.

 Remembering the sharp vertical limestone, tottering death-blocks, nearly 300 meters of exposure of yesterday, tea with a head-swaddled swarthy Berber and haggling over carpets with no money but a used climbing guide book, the heightened state required to drive these Moroccan roads where laws seem to be fantasy especially when applied by the baksheesh seeking cop, highways busy with top heavy semis taller then long that are passed by taxis and other anxious semi drivers. Dust flies as we dive into the dirt shoulder when big rigs impossibly long for the hairpins have swung wide blindly over the center line, puttering motorcycles and mopeds are passed often holding three people and 50 meters of irrigation tubing wound around the body or a bushel of mint and three people on them that share the narrow two lanes with totally oblivious pedestrians and bicyclists in wind flapping robes connoting what Islamic sect the men belong to, or the vivid color splashes of completely covered women that seem to always travel in groups of two or more. (Spain had 1700 traffic fatalities in 2013, Morocco had 6900) Men thrust their arms deep into the traffic that are draped with heart-shaped rose garlands for sale and old men sit sidesaddle on donkeys and talk on cellphones in a world where ancient dark mud-baked ruins sit connected to new cinder blocked apartments beneath blue cloudless skies and swirling sand and clay dust. Dentistry seem to be a totally unrealized profession here. when locals are engaged and the mouth opens it is quite a sight. But the food has been great at the cafes, sizzling and well spiced veggies and curried sauces - tagine that comes in blackened terra cotta bowls put directly over fire that retains incredible heat indefinitely. the tea is also amazing, fragrant mint leaves on the stem crammed into a metal pot and sometimes rosemary and thyme are inside as well.

At 7.24 we manage our escape, walking past the over-stuffed garbage bin that has a paw sticking just past the lid. The garage keeper demands 20 dirham but Ryan manages to pay him just 7.

 I will always remember Rashid whom we met in the gateway town to Todra Gorge, the server that deftly maneuvered his way into our Hyundai rental to get the commission for binging us to the idyllic Etoile des Gorges Hotel who's mouth screamed a nightmare from missing and long abused and discolored broken teeth but his actual words were often golden. He could speak Berber, Arabic, English and French. He said to me while moving his hand to cover part of his face "speaking one language is like seeing with only one eye."

all images ©Bennett Barthelemy 2016