Looking forward to seeing our four-legged friends, again… soon.
See more of these little beauties
One of our favourite pastimes, when in The Gambia, is hanging out with the #9 pack of rescue dogs – and assorted random beach dogs.
Beach walks and making documentaries, with Jason Florio
Each and every one of them has real character, which we also have A.K.A. names for too: White Tip / ‘It’s All About Me‘ (because she demands ALL the attention); Rascal/’Little Titch‘(the smallest, yet the feistiest of the pack!); Wolf/’Silent Bob‘ (the stealthiest dog I have ever met); Kalu/’Black Dog‘ (ermm…not a very inspired AKA…he migrated from the Indian restaurant across the street to #9, and ‘Kalu’ is an Indian word for black); Junior/’JuJu‘ (and, sometimes, ‘Teenager‘, because he can sleep for Gambia!).
And, the dogs who have a piece of my heart – The Gang of Seven:
Lest we forget… the inimitable, Mr P (a.k.a Poet, Poe, Poetta, the P-sta, P-Diddly…), the dog star of Portobello Road, London. We rescued him when he was two or three years old, and he graced us with his serene presence until he reached the grand old age of 17 or 18.
As ever, there are lots to see and do – and, a little time out from work to reconnect and celebrate with old friends
And, of course, there is always the #9 pack…
Connected to what we were up to last year, early on in the year and later in November, we headed over to Serrekunda and joined in on the Solo Sandeng Memorial March, April 14th, 2018, which took place to commemorate the prominent activist – of the opposition party, UDP, and youth leader – and other victims. Sandeng was murdered whilst in custody on this day in 2016, under the old dictatorship of Yahya Jammeh. His death sparked a national outcry and the beginning of the end of Jammeh’s brutal rule – Gambians had decided that enough was enough. Saturday’s march would never have been possible under the former regime, without there blood being shed and/or lives lost
On Monday, 16th April, we headed over to the capital of The Gambia, Banjul, to join a peaceful vigil by families of victims of Yahya Jammeh‘s regime, to demand that the Gambian government release the bodies of exhumed victims, and to open a dialogue with the families to help keep them informed of what they are doing to bring the perpetrators to justice.
We are looking forward to the next few weeks, here in The Gambia, to see what else our journey presents to us… feel free to follow us
on Instagram – for regular photo updates.
Wherever we are in the world, we walk, a lot, Florio and myself. As far as I’m concerned, it’s one of the only ways to truly discover a place – and the people who live there. One time, in 2009, we decided to walk around the small West African country of The Gambia. A mere 930km, with three Gambian friends, two donkeys (‘Neil’ & ‘Paddy’.), and a cart to carry our camping and photography equipment. As one does.
Along the way, we met many people and photographed quite a few of them. Amongst them, around 43 village chiefs and elders, the photos of which are now award-winning portraits, ‘Silafando – a gift to you on behalf of my journey‘
Another time, we took it upon ourselves to take a stroll along the coastline of The Gambia – a much shorter walk of around 80km. Again, we met and made friends with many people along the way.
And, our walks in certain places always seem to attract a good deal of attention
Of late, we’ve taken to meandering – going off-piste whenever possible – discovering the clifftops, valleys, and crevices of Malta.
And, just when you think that you’ve seen all it has to offer, the small island in the middle of the Mediterranean (sandwiched somewhere between Sicily and the North African coast) never fails to reveal something more of itself.
‘Originally known as the North West Front and sometimes unofficially known as the Great Wall of Malta…a complex network of linear fortifications known collectively as the Victoria Lines‘
What a revelation… to find so much nature, and tranquility, particularly after having read recently the tiny Mediterranean island of Malta equated with the word: ‘cementation’‘. And, in some areas, justifiably so. Where we live, for example, we are surrounded by deconstruction, reconstruction, new construction, behemoth cranes, and all the constant racket (and dust!) one can expect from the aforementioned.
From our starting point in a small village near to Mgarr,on the west coast of Malta, we walked along the Victoria Lines, across the country – with views (largely) unimpeded by towering metal structures – clambering up and down steep man-made steps, down into rocky ravines, clambering over lush countryside (yet another, much welcomed, revelation), with ‘distant sea views’ (much used by island estate agents), all the way to Medlienna on the east coast. Although officially 12km distance, we managed to cover a total of 22km, mainly due to the Victoria Lines wall no longer being there, in places, causing us to go (albeit pleasantly) off-piste a couple of times!
Well recommended. So, get your walking boots on!
What goes around: On our most recent trip down to The Gambia, West Africa, we were excited to be able to donate Jason Florio’s award-winning portraits of Gambian village chiefs and elders, ‘Silafando: a gift to you on behalf of my journey‘ to the National Centre for Arts & Culture, in The Gambia.
In April last year, we exhibited the portraits in The Gambia (with huge thanks to the organizers of the Athens Photo Festival, where Florio was invited to exhibit this series, in 2013, for shipping the prints all the way from Greece to West Africa!), which were taken during our 930km walk around one of Africa’s smallest mainland countries, in 2009.
In the coming months, once we hear back from Hassoum, Baba Ceesay, and all at the NCAC, we’ll be posting more news as to where the portraits will eventually be housed and exhibited, in their permenant collection, in The Gambia next.
Not that I haven’t always been a walker (Florio and I once walked around an entire West African country – albeit tiny, but 930km is by no means a stroll along the beach – oh, hang on, actually we’ve done that too!), but the point is I have never been one to gravitate towards what the masses do – right from my young punk rock self, back in the day in the UK, drawn towards a scene where we were then considered ‘outcasts of society‘ (that’s the polite way of putting it – you really don’t want to know the shocking names we got called, or what we got thrown at us, as we strutted past a bunch of market traders on a weekend, cockily showing off our newest Crazy Color barnet (fair/hair, get it?) de jour – red, blue, pink… .).
as our old lovely Dad was apt to say – rather wistfully. Somehow, though, thankfully I never did. Ok, not that I sport a different tropical-bird-coloured hairdo every week (he was right about that part), these days, but I do still tend to steer away from what the masses do, preferring to go down the route less travelled, which could mean making the very easy choice of Kinshasa, DR Congo over, say, a nice pre-planned itinerary holiday on a Greek island, to going out of my way to find a less-trampled country pathway, where I feel sure there will be little chance of bumping into anyone else.
However, after spending the last week heading out of the door just before the sun comes up, iPhone in hand, walking purposefully down towards the sea, only to find dozens and dozens of other people who gravitate to the seafront early every morning too, running or power-walking along the promenade, I can certainly see the attraction, can’t you?
Mind you, I do veer off the promenade as soon as possible, for an – almost – solitary walk over the rocks, bar the occasional dog walker or a lone guy practising Tai Chi, away from the masses. Just how I like it.
More images on Floriotravels/Instagram
I once read an interesting travel article by a writer, Guy Trebay, about how he still sends postcards from wherever his travels take him to. I say ‘still’ because it does seem, at least for the vast majority of people I know, as if the action of putting pen to paper (or card) and writing ‘wish you were here’ is most definitely a thing of the past.
What with the advent of the ‘electronic postcards’ – i.e. Twitter, Facebook, iPhones, and blogs such as this one (we are guilty – see ‘postcards‘ posts) – snail mail seems far too… well, slow. Not only from sticking the postcard in the mail box, then its journey from the senders location to the recipients location (and depending where you are in the world, you could even get back before your postcard arrives – or doesn’t even reach its distination!), there is also the physical aspect that one has to put in to find a befitting card, and then wracking your brains to find a witty way to compress your travel stories onto a tiny 3 1/2 x 5″area; if you want to avoid the clichéd ‘wish you were here’ or ‘wish you weren’t here’. And, don’t forget the postage stamp – these days, if you don’t want to buy a book of stamps (of which the remainder will probably sit on a shelf, gathering dust), as most stores no longer sell single stamps, you will also have to line up at the post office. To much time, thought, and effort… perhaps?
On the whole, we seem happy to have shrunk our worlds into the electronic medium of (often round-robin because it saves time) communication and, hey, I am more than guilty of taking this easy option of late. There was a time when, whilst on my travels, I wouldn’t think twice about sending a postcard – if only to my dad, to add to the collection, stuck on his fridge (with magnets, also from mine and my sisters travels). It seems such a shame that we don’t take the time to hunt out interesting, quirky, or clichéd postcards – or make your own from photographs you’ve taken – looking for just the right card for, say, your best mate, the one that only they would get the joke, the nuance, of the particular chosen card.
As Mr Trebay so succinctly put it:
‘Historians of Facebook and Twitter will be left to scrounge around the internet for the fugitive relics of the present communication age’.
Not for them, scene upon scene of the diverse wonders of far off places – the sun set over a Costa Rican beach; camels overshadowed by monolithic pyramids; African drummers around a bonfire; or, heaven forbid, those ‘naughty’ 70’s cartoon postcards, depicting two old men, sitting on striped deck chairs, eyes popping out of their heads as two young, comically over-endowed busty, blonds (who apparently have more fun – allegedly) walk past in itsy-bitsy bikini’s, with some lewd comment written underneath, a la: “eeeh, Stan, you don’t get many of those to the pound these days!”
Let’s not deprive ourselves of this ancient(ish) ritual – apparently, the first picture postcard was printed in 1840 in London, UK – nor the pleasure of our friends, or loved ones, picking their post up off the mat, shuffling through the usual generic brown enveloped bills, boring circulars… only to come across a flash of colour in amongst the mundane and, moreover, along with a personalised hand written note on the back.
How refreshingly old-fashioned, I say.
(first posted on May 25th 2010, NYC)