A photo accompaniment to the post Spain: Beginning at the End It’s Sunday, our last day in Barcelona. Cora is sitting in on Sunday mass at Iglesia De Santa Maria del Mar, a grand 14th century church in the Ribera District. It’s an opportunity for both of us. It’s been three weeks since she’s been …
It’s early morning in Barcelona. Without looking out the hotel window I can tell by the sound of cars sloshing through puddles 3 floors below on Via Laietana that it rained again last night, We’re staying in the Hotel H10 Cubik in Barrio Gótico, just around a long corner from La Rambla. Like its name …
It’s early morning in Barcelona’s Barrio Gòtic, a neighborhood at once trendy and medieval, bright and darkly mysterious. While my wife is back at the hotel sleeping, I’m winding through narrow streets and alleys that were built centuries ago to accommodate carts and pedestrians. I’m looking for a kiss. Not just a kiss, I’m looking …
Featured image: San Francisco’s famous Painted Ladies as seen from Alamo Square. It’s not a difficult thing to find colorful buildings in the San Francisco Bay Area. A drive down Highway 80 from home brings me to Oakland’s Chinatown where the buildings are alive with murals. Below the mural on a city owned building is …
All that these men and women wanted was to live normal lives, be ordinary people, have families and not end up immortalized on sheets of plywood because they died for our sin.
For days following the killing of George Floyd, the city of Oakland was in flames, if not literally then figuratively. Peaceful protests turned into confrontation which turned into violence leaving the city littered with tear gas canisters, rubber bullets and broken glass. As calm returned and peaceful protest prevailed, the city took a moment, a …
Taking a breath of viral free air to offer something pleasing and to try to relieve some of the angst if only for a few moments. The San Francisco Bay Area is rich in street art; some of it sanctioned and some not. Below is a small sampling of images of a few of the …
On a winter night in the 1970’s, Ross Alley was a dark, dank place pocked with ruts and potholes filled with rainwater that reflected the few dim lights in its close confines. Here the bustle of Chinatown was muted