“Go West, young man, go west – that is where IT
happens!”
There seems to be a time, when young or not, one
packs the car, the dog jumps on the back seat, and heads West. Once it was for
gold, for the unbelievably open spaces, or for that bohemian lifestyle we all
have a different way of defining. No matter the reason, our 10 year old dog
jumped on the back of the Jeep, and last week we said goodbye to the East Coast.
The drive was expected to be fast in the first two
days, then more scenic and slow for another 3 days. A total of 4000 kilometers
of asphalt, passing through mountains, forests, cities of steel and concrete, over
the mighty Mississippi, then the increasingly arid and desertic plains of Oklahoma,
Texas and new Mexico, to end up at 2000 meter high mountains of Arizona.
The journey took us through Maryland, Pennsylvania,
West Virginia, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Missouri, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico, and
Arizona. Although the Blue Ridge
Mountains of West Virginia wear mysterious shades at sunset, the real
attraction for a street photographer started in a small town of Texas, called
Vega.
Vega, Texas
I may be the only blogger who writes about Vega…
Located in the Northwest of Texas, the sign to the town said “Population 841”.
Surrounded by huge electricity generating windmills, Vega is a stereotypical
Small Town America. A courthouse, a short main street, a General Store and
sand, heat and windmills surrounding it. I stopped for petrol and was surprised
that it was more expensive than in previous states that did not produce oil…
Reminded me of the Port wine price in Portugal or the price of Medoc wine in
Argentina—I was able to buy both of these cheaper in the United States than in
the country of origin.
The General Store had two gas pumps. The first sign
I saw was about a local bar. What was interesting was the picture of the two
ladies advertizing the good times one can have at that bar. But what got my
attention was the seemingly left arm of a man on the left of the picture
appearing to reach the ladies! Why leave that arm in the picture? Needless to
say, it was intriguing enough that I took my first picture of the journey.
Then I looked across the street and here was the
name of the organization one enters through an iron arch.
A minute later my Jeep had left Vega and soon the
Great State of Texas.
Albuquerque,
New Mexico
I have been in this lovely city many times and have
written about it on this blog. This time however it was different – it seemed
to have become a more “generic” city with big store names, predictable street
signs, and taller buildings.
However, a bit of the old Albuquerque I knew was
found in the decoration of the men’s toilet in a small pizza place we stopped
for a goat milk cheese and pesto pizza because heavy rainstorms were passing
over the region.
After Albuquerque, the sun was back and I needed to
refuel my car. A stop at another small store gave me a chance to capture what I
identify with the vast open spaces of the South West.
Yes, it was time to take the leather jacket off and
enjoy the sun of the desert!
Route
40: Entering Arizona
Arizona, like New Mexico, is home to numerous
American Indian nations. While one drives 75miles an hour on the open highways,
the signs on the side of these highways are most telling of what to expect, how
things are advertized, and how the desert winds affect these signs. I tried to
take a few pictures from the car.
But there cannot be "driving pictures" without including one from the thousands of 18-wheeler trucks going coast to coast. Look at the driver of this truck-- do you think his master is sleeping in the back of the cabin??
Flagstaff,
Arizona
Finally reached these high mountains at 6000 feet
elevation (somehow in my mind 2000 meters seem more impressive…). Flagstaff was
just waking up at 8 am when we entered the city and had to stop for a double
Espresso. Then we needed to walk a bit and give our dog a bit of space to run.
So went to a quiet cemetery on the campus of North Arizona University.
Can one find cubism in nature? This Aspen tree seemed to be looking at me
while keeping an eye on the quiet grave stones surrounding it. It was Picassoesque;
it was Salvador Dali; it was just perfect. So with the old Nikkor 105mm wide
open at 2.5, I framed that look with a gravestone silently blurred in the
background.
… After five days and 4000 kilometers across America, it
felt good to be on a firm mattress 2000 meters away from the desert below….
October 2, 2014
© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2014
No comments:
Post a Comment