“It's only about living” by Pacho Coulchinsky

"To our dear friend Alan Roseman, a great guy and mate who loved to travel and continues to do so"

They say that traveling, the heart gets stronger

because walking new ways, makes you forget the previous,

I hope this happens soon

so my sorrow can get a rest

until the next time”.

Travel ... escape ... try new paths, although in pandemic times this is almost impossible, we always invent something and in my case, I must thank my work that from time to time allows me to escape. And in that last getaway unexpected things happened, as fortunately always happens and its surprise us ... we go out on the road with an irrepressible voracity, eager for the pics we will take and sometimes forget the essential: the essential empathy to get in tune with the places and their people.

On this occasion, my course took me to the Northwest of my country, at the foot of the Andes, a magical place, so different from the one I live where the Plain is the leitmotif that colours our passing. There it is the omnipresence of the hard mountain that places us in the place from which we should never have left: humility.

“And so you find a wounded pigeon

that tells its poetry

of having loved and broken another illusion.

Surely in a while it will be flying

inventing another hope

to live again.

Surely in a while it will be flying

inventing another hope

to live again.

... and there are many wounded pigeons (or not) that we find ... if we are willing.”

It's Sunday, a huge and empty fruit market welcomes me, but as I walk through those aisles that will be invaded by thousands of buyers on Monday, I am finding the loneliness of silent men, who seem not to want to break the spirit of a Sunday foreign to them ...

… A singer and poet at the top of an old railway viaduct filling the hills with music who tells me about his sadness at not being able to go on stage with his music and poetry because of “this bug that came from far away”, a man from to speak simple but deep that leaves the love of his landmark in my heart, the land where we can still walk through those ruins built by the Incas.

… Adobe houses that blend into the mountains and seem abandoned but the goats locked in a corral deny it to me…

... A child who has to suddenly become a man to take care of his blind grandfather, the crops and the animals on his little farm because his mother has to go out to work almost the entire day ...

... A famous goldsmith who suffers from Parkinson's disease is taking him further and further away from his passion ...

… The rural teachers who are seen so frequently on the roads of my country, hitchhiking to travel to their schools, so far from the places they inhabit… self-sacrificing to the point of heroism.

“I think nobody can give an answer,

nor tell what door to knock

I think that in spite of so much melancholy

so much pain and wound

it's only about living.

In my calendar there's an empty date

is the one of the day you said, that you had to go,

You must walk through new ways

so your sorrow can get a rest

until the next time.

Surely in a while you will be loving

inventing another hope

to live again.”

“It's only about living”

Author of the Poem: Lito Nebbia (1979)

Pacho Coulchinsky

Holi, the festival of colours by Deepbrata Dutta

Holi, the festival to cherish, the festival of colours, the festival that marks the beginning of spring and most importantly that marks brotherhood among all. Holi, the festival celebrates the eternal and divine love of Radha and Krishna signifying the triumph of good over evil.

India is a country of diversity where every festival is celebrated with utmost enthusiasm and when it comes to Holi Kolkata definitely knows how to rock the floor with those amazing colours. Where on earth would you find anymore grace than in the streets of Kolkata. From retro to the gen Z Kolkata and its people are always there to fill you with colours.

Talking about that, did you know before the Holi actually arrives each year, the madness and the craze is all around. The best part of which is when a vintage Rolls Royce begins the procession in style from a temple in Howrah and crosses the entire Howrah Bridge. It enters the streets of Calcutta through the congested lanes of Burrabazar marking the beginning of the show and stunning the Howrah Bridge still with people head over heels for the love of colours. Here around a few 100 people start the procession and it doubles no sooner than it crosses another lane bulking up its journey. Almost a hand full of 2500+ people eventually joins the procession around a stretch of 10 km making the event a grand success. On this Holi I've seen Kolkata rejoice the colour of nature, purifying every soul with love and colours.

Come together lets celebrate the festival of colours with Kolkata and some more sweetness.

Deepbrata Dutta

The prohibition of chametz by Shimi Cohen

The prohibition of chametz* is a severe prohibition at every moment of the holiday - "not to be seen and not to be found."

Chametz has no lesson or measure, it is forbidden even in 'something', not even in a minimal amount! And it can not be cancelled, even if you mix it in something that is allowed, because a small crumb forbids eating - a huge stew.

What's the 'story' with the chametz that is so forbidden? That not even a crumb is allowed? After all, we eat chametz all year round - and enjoy it!

During the year we saw ourselves as flaws that made life difficult for us, and we would like to 'burn' them, do we have some pride or condescension about the other?

A little anger, a little bitterness and sadness ...

A person who is a little self-deprecating, living a happier and happier life. But, it is difficult for a person to work on his measurements, what will he do?

Let him decide he does.

On the eve of the holiday - a chametz test is performed at home 'Holes and cracks', what is the implication of a chametz test on the human soul?

"And he shall not show you chametz and you shall not show you a lesson in all your limits" - the Torah forbade two types of chametz, chametz and shaur** (Pesachim***, Mah.

According to the rabbis and religion, chametz and shaor symbolize two types of evil instinct:

Chametz - symbolizes pride. Shaur - symbolizes bitterness, which leads to sadness and despair.

These are the two passions that lead the human soul to doom! According to the rabbis and religion. The greatest destruction and devastation there is in human life, comes - from these dimensions!

By and large for me burning is just not eating the carbs I love so much in any type of pastry.

Hag Sameh

Mea Shearim - Jerusalem, March 2021

*Chametz (also chometz, ḥametz, ḥameṣ, ḥameç and other spellings transliterated from Hebrew: חָמֵץ / חמץ‎; IPA: [χaˈmets]) are foods with leavening agents that are forbidden on the Jewish holiday of Passover. According to halakha, Jews may not own, eat or benefit from chametz during Passover.

**Shaur = Sourdough is a stable culture of lactic acid bacteria and yeast in a mixture of flour and water. Broadly speaking, the yeast produces gas (carbon dioxide) which leavens the dough, and the lactic acid bacteria produce lactic acid, which contributes flavour in the form of sourness.

***Pesachim (Hebrew: פְּסָחִים‎, lit. "Paschal lambs" or "Passovers"), also spelled Pesahim, is the third tractate of Seder Moed ("Order of Festivals") of the Mishnah and of the Talmud. The tractate discusses the topics related to the Jewish holiday of Passover, and the Passover sacrifice, both called "Pesach" in Hebrew.

Shimi Cohen

Prayer of Mothers by Shimi Cohen

For two decades, violence in the Arab sector has been a real problem that requires treatment and solution. In the last year, the situation has reached an unprecedented low.

Attempts to understand the crisis of violence in the sector sometimes seem like a mud battle in which the parties place the responsibility on each other. These argue that the accused depends on the institutional attitude towards Arab society and its long-standing neglect, and these argue that the infrastructure for this lies in the violent culture of the Arab sector and social norms that are difficult to suppress.

Our understanding of the violence in this society should be seen as based on both internal-cultural factors and external-institutional factors.

Internal factors include rooted social norms, a traditional social structure and a culture passed down from generation to generation, while external factors include the attitude of the Israeli government towards Arab society.

In order to deal with the internal-cultural factors, it seems that Arab society is the one that needs to take internal responsibility for itself.

One of the most powerful tools for eradicating violence is social pressure. Social illegitimacy for acts of violence and condemnation of criminals are not norms that change in the blink of an eye, and these are processes that Arab society must go through and promote. Possession of weapons should become unacceptable, and its use, even in happy circumstances such as weddings, should be banned by community leaders. The Arab leadership must work for the establishment of new social norms and impose severe sanctions on those who do not adhere to them. The same is true of cases of domestic violence and murder of women that local authorities have in the past turned a blind eye to.

This is a slow and painful process that Arab society must go through with itself.

As much as a social process concerning the change of traditional social norms ultimately also this process can and should take place from the bottom up in the way in which society itself seeks to change its way of life.

Such a step, although seemingly simple and understandable, can take several years and the ability to influence it from the outside is quite limited.

For years there has not been a sharp and clear voice of protest against the widespread use of weapons in the Arab sector, against domestic violence and the ease with which a minor conflict turns into a bloody quarrel. In recent months, when the wave of violence seemed to be rising again, citizens themselves have begun to get involved and demand the protection of their security.

Last Friday, immediately after the end of the prayer, thousands blocked Road 65.

This is what was seen through my lens.

March 2021, Umm al-Fahm

Shimi Cohen

Tokyo Desu by Gerri McLaughlin

After seven years of coming and going and deepening my connection to Tokyo I finally achieved my dream of moving here to live, albeit in the middle of a global pandemic! My journey into Street Photography started here and so it continues only now as a resident. This series reflects how I see Tokyo and it's peoples before and now during the time of Covid 19...

May We All Return To Abnormal Soon!

It's been a year since we first heard of Covid and I was in Tokyo when it started, I returned to Europe right at the beginning of it and have been in lockdown of one form or another since then. I see there is a noticeable difference in atmosphere on the streets since I moved. Certainly fewer people and an unspoken awareness of the virus permeates the air. Masks, hand sanitisers, paranoia & temperature tests are de rigeur almost everywhere but I also see that people are tired, Covid fatigue is also observable, less precaution, less social distancing and a sad longing to be back where we were with just our everyday challenges to contend with.

So at the moment I am shooting less but I am fortunate that I had taken so many photos in Tokyo over the years, the upside of the pandemic( I have to find an upside! ) is getting time to trawl the archive and find some hidden gems, shoot first worry about editing later I say ….

In Tokyo I shoot from the point of view of an outsider and although I live here now and as yet am not part of my local community, big city life doesn't always lend itself to that! That's been a developing theme in my photography being on the outside looking in as I left "home" in 1989. I've since come to believe that "home" is not a place as such for me but more of a feeling inside where I am at peace with me rather than the rest of the world.

I hope that these different series of shots will give the viewer a small and some intimate look at the city and the people as I see them, it's easy to feel comfortable in Tokyo, it's a relaxed place considering its size and population, my aim is as ever to capture the beautiful ordinary of people doing people things…

"Children pick flowers, Let them. Though having no further use for them in hand they have no further use for them but leave them crumpled at the curb's edge." William Carlos Williams.

Children still play and indeed ice cream will be eaten…

Ichikawa

Tokyo

Chiba

children

Gerri McLaughlin

"Street Photography for me is a natural expression of my love of people and their cities, tiny fragments of their life stories captured in one fleeting instant, the vibrance and emotion of the street, it lifts me up and drags me down and shakes my emotions all around, no other type of photography holds my attention like street."

by Shimi Cohen

שלקליה-28.jpg — **Tearing nature into shape, as it takes revenge**

**by Shimi Cohen**

The plight of the Dead Sea is scary, like a horror movie.

Our salty wonder child is drying up and becoming extinct under the auspices of indifference, fluttering on the bottom with exposed nerves, and in return pulling out predatory sinkholes.

The sea once proudly proclaimed, with it’s black mud and selfies, sat in the lowest place in the world, is a scorching testimony to how low this country can sink.

Then came two kibbutzniks who decided to resurrect this image, our great sea.

Modestly but with a brilliant idea, a spectacular project rises on Kalia Beach in the north of the Dead Sea that attracts leading street artists from Israel and the world - Gallery Minus 430. The artists gathered and created a living art space in front of the dying beaches. The result is captivating.

The urban desolation of what was once a Jordanian army camp has become a complex of spectacular giant paintings with strong messages, all on a full-time volunteer basis.

If it’s indifference you want, look elsewhere.

This is a special project called ‘Gallery Minus 430’ . The name derives from the lake’s height ‘above’ sea level.

The project was created to raise awareness of the dismal state of the Dead Sea area as we know it. This sea is slowly dying, shrinking all the time. The beaches are far from ideal but the artwork aims to add more colour to the area, currently dominated by the desert yellow and the Judean blue of this inland sea.

There is also another goal, to raise the issue of coexistence between Israelis and Palestinians living in neighbouring Jericho.

This is a special project of 30 artists from around the country and from around the world. But not many know that this is a volunteer project and none of the painters receive any financial reward.

The buildings that were formerly used by the Jordanian army have existed for about 40 years, but only recently with the joint effort of Itai & Maor, a resident of nearby Kibbutz Kalya, PPL studio staff and artists from abroad, who shared the vision was this beautiful exhibition created.

The paintings are of a protest nature and the result is photogenic and spectacular.

FIELD REPORTER

Shimi Cohen

The river still belongs to them by Delfim Correlo

Doubt. The word was there, written on a small square sticker, attached to the handrail of the D Luís I bridge’s lower deck. I noticed this when I photographed him: he balanced on the iron railing like an experienced juggler, focused, without hesitation, showing experience.

He came near to his friends who were preparing to jump into the river and were already outside; hands and arms intertwined in that X-shaped iron lattice with over 130 years old. In front of them, more than 50 feet down, the river that, shining in the sun, looks like gold. They show no fear. They smile at us while we pass on the bridge, "give me one euro so I can jump into the river" and closing the hand "I hold it here when I jump, I don't lose it". "Give it to me and I'll keep it in my shoe"- said a second boy - "in the end we share". I know it's true because I saw it more than once. They do it in groups of 3 or 4 and, in the end, they get together and count the money they made, before and after the jump.

They are near to the north pillar of the D Luís bridge - a bridge in metallic structure built between the years 1881 and 1888 - in its lower deck, which connects the riverside areas of Porto and Gaia.

I remembered my son. The youngest would be how old? 12, 13 years? The older ones are between 16 and 18 years old… but they usually jump next to the South pillar. There it is more difficult. The access to the margin forces them to climb a stone escarpment that supports the pillar itself and that gives access to a small square, which is at the level of the bridge deck, and where tourists gather to admire its jumps.

Here, on the north side, when they jump, they will swim to the margin: a stone ramp that, going around the pillar that supports the bridge, goes up to the riverside where some of their family members sell handicrafts, souvenirs from Porto, in makeshift stalls (one table to display the artefacts and a sun patch). The business has never been easy, but this year, with this "covid thing", is getting worse.

They don't jump yet. "Not now. The river still pulls”. And they wait a little longer. They laugh. Three guys and a girl. And suddenly, the first one jumps. He seems to fly. One by one, carefully examining the river they know so well, they jump. They take breaks (“the river still pulls”) and I notice that, after the jump, they don't swim right up to the riverside; they wait down there, for the others, and only when they are all safe they swim to the safety of the stone ramp that goes down to the river.

Along the riverside area of Porto, we see tourists scattered everywhere, some taking a break and enjoying the sun, sitting on the restaurant terraces overlooking the river and the south bank. Being outdoors - whether having lunch or a drink - you don't see many masks, giving this whole picture a strange feeling of fragile normality.

Several cruise boats, which provide routes on the Douro River, are anchored here and there are already lines of people to buy their place. And it is here, next to these anchorages that we see them again: the river's boys. Here the jumps are neither so high nor dangerous; here they don’t receive one euro for doing it. They are just children who live around here, who love their river and like to bathe in it, the strokes are hugs they give to an old friend and the jumps into the water are repeated dives… their parents did the same once. This is where they learn to swim and get to know their river: "o Douro".

There are stories that are told: the man who, trying to commit suicide, threw himself off the top board, about 200 feet. He was saved by a woman, a saleswoman, used to the river since she was a child who launched herself into the water. Or the young American couple; he decided to imitate the boys he just saw and jumped off the lower deck ... but it was not his river.

Here everyone knows them. We see news in the newspapers and on TV calling them “the boys of the river”, saying they become a “tourist attraction” and, a few years ago, a Spanish director even made a short film about them and with them.

I hear whistles in the distance; the older ones must already be on the south side, over the railing of the bridge. One will be on the small square asking for one euro for the friend who will jump and take a dip ... ”5 euros left”… “3 euros left”… At fifteen / twenty euros he shouts to the guy on the bridge: “You can jump!”. And he jumps, swimming to the cliff and making his way through the rocks to the top. A friend will come to him with a towel and give him a hat for, in a second round, the boy who has just jumped to collect some more money. You can see that he trembles and if we ask him “Why did you do it?” he will probably answer with an honest look “for the money” and, kindly, he will say “Thank you”. Then they will rest against the huge stone wall of the pillar. And they will start again, until the summer ends.

I know the question because I asked it myself too: is this legal? The official answer appears to be "it is not illegal".

There’s a second question: “Is it fair?”.

I leave the river behind, I go into its steep streets, where several restored buildings gave rise to properties for local accommodation, hotels, restaurants… an economic model, post-crisis, based almost entirely on tourism… centrifugation… looking up I see cranes in the sky. They claim their space, they are made of steel too, like the bridge from which they jump.

The jumps from the bridge to Douro. Perhaps it is a statement: the river still belongs to them.

Ninety-nine red balloons Floating in the summer sky

"Ninety-nine red balloons

Floating in the summer sky

Panic bells, it's red alert

There's something here from somewhere else

The war machine springs to life

Opens up one eager eye

Focusing it on the sky

Where ninety-nine red balloons go by"

An incendiary balloon landed in the yard of a house in one of the towns in the Sha'ar HaNegev Regional Council and was extinguished immediately.

There were no injuries.

The balloon launches were renewed last week, after over a month during which only a few incendiary and explosive balloons were reported.

The last round of consistent balloon launches was in June.

Countless incendiary and explosive balloons have been launched by Gaza's terrorists in recent years.

They sometimes have books or toys attached to lure children. Some have sparked large wildfires, mainly damaging crops.

Since May 2018, the State of Israel has been dealing with incendiary balloons inflated by Hamas from the Gaza Strip towards settlements in the Gaza Strip.

In the summer of 2018, Israel responded mainly with non-military measures or limited military operations and low intensity against the phenomenon, due to the limited harm of this terrorism, which did not lead to deaths or significant damage to property. Israel has refrained from escalating and is embroiled in a widespread confrontation with Hamas.

Molotov cocktails are a weapon that is considered primitive, but is new on the modern battlefield. In doing so, Hamas shows initiative and creativity, and uses tools that are accessible wisely. Evidence of Hamas 'tactics' success is the decision by Assad's army to make similar use of incendiary balloons against rebel-held areas in Syria.

The use of incendiary balloons inflated expensive Hamas media capital.

The tool itself - balloons - communicates innocence and children, and is well photographed. In this situation, it is difficult to formulate angry condemnations from the international community and other weighty factors in the world despite the arson.

In the Arab world, the images and videos of the arson distributed indicate the alleged great damage that Hamas is doing to Israel, and gives the organization prestige as a player that manages to stand with Israel for a long time.

As I stepped into the fire to take photos, I ignored the heat and the destruction.

When it's all over I thought to myself, it's just an innocent balloon …

And NANA's song started playing in my head.

A song that even talked about hope and not about war: the 99 balloons represent the many dreams that each person had. At the end of the song, she just wants to prove that the German people did have dreams by finding one balloon - she finds one balloon, a dream, and lets it go.

No more wars

No more bloodbath

Peace

Shimi Cohen

The symbolic value of the mask

(Israel's anti-Netanyahu protests continue) by Shimi Cohen

117158259_3514790795254451_5103433241468703158_o (1).jpg — **by Shimi Choen**

Jerusalem , August 2020

Guy Fox's mask may be familiar from the movie ‘V for Vendetta’, but has been in history since the 17th century for Best Seller.

The protest, or the many protests that have taken place in recent months, have many visual features that are common to all: signs with slogans, megaphones, backpacks, mouths open for shouting and hands raised. But all of these are completely random.

Alongside them are also agreed-upon features that have been adopted as distinct symbols of protest, such as the bandana, but the most prominent and intriguing of them all is the mask, which appears again and again in a variety of protests of recent years, and is exactly the same everywhere around the world.

This is the Guy Fawkes mask, best known as the mask from the Hollywood movie ‘V for Vendetta’ based on the comic book of the same name by Alan Moore.

In 1982, when Alan Moore was working on the film 'V for Vendetta' on which the film is based, whose plot focuses on future and dystopian England, he decided to give his main protagonist - an anarchist working against the regime - a Guy Fox mask, as an appropriate homage to similar circumstances.

Twenty-four years later, when the film was released, the mask began to spread around the world among protesting organizations against governments or financial entities, both as a symbolic act and as a way to disguise the identity of the protester.

The symbolic value of the mask, that is, from the idea that corruption is universal and temporary, and that it must be fought by exactly the same means, regardless of the period in which you live or the geographical area in which you are.

The idea that a 17th-century revolutionary, a fictional figure from the future and an activist living today ultimately share the same agenda is quite charming, but also utterly discouraging. While today’s protesters do not use gunpowder in their protest (at least not yet), they do face a world that has yet to face lessons and has not made the changes that were supposed to happen centuries ago.

Israel's anti-Netanyahu protests by Shimi Cohen

“The madness continued all the way

We live he said from Saturday to Saturday

Ideology and money do not go together

And the facts of life are as sharp as a knife

My name is Mister Love The Romantic Lie

Which sinks slowly into the big swamp

Begging on my knees that you will never be again

Goodbye youth Hello love”

Lyrics and melody: Yuval Banai

Jerusalem on July, 2020

Tembel is a derogatory word in the Hebrew slang for a man of low intelligence.

In July 1980 the Moscow Olympics is in full swing. Local media has been busy with it all, stars such as Nadia Comăneci have been competing in it, and the Western world - including Israel - has boycotted it and not taken part in games, amid tensions between the Cold War blocs. Among the plethora of news about the results of the games, there was only one small ad in the daily that told that Vladimir Wisotsky was dead.

Arcdhie Duchin literally translated Wisotzky's poems for Micha Shitrit, which reinterpreted them in Hebrew. Jonathan Geffen also helped them translate one song, "Tembel." Berry Sakharof was also enlisted to help.

The poem "Tembel (Dumb)" describes what happens to someone of low intelligence, who you wouldn't look at in the street. How this person is given the power to rule and control with rigidity and fear. In our words, it is called: "From being a slave to royalty".

The same idiot becomes a power-drunk and works only to increase his power. The poem describes a spiral process in which the man uses the power given to him and through the power he attains a higher status and controls more power until he reaches the king's position.

I do not know how it is said in the Russian origin, but Yehonatan Geffen describes it as "a man with testicle, but without a brain." The combination of power with the lack of discretion is a terrible danger.

Although the revolution took place in France, its general principles can also be applied in other countries, as indeed happened in the wars that tore Europe apart and in the "Arab Spring."

France was a country where doubt in religion was taken to the ultimate extreme. A country where questioning religion was automatically also questioning monarchy, since reverence for the king was based on the perception that monarchy was given to him by the grace of God. If there is no God at all - at least not one that personally interferes in human politics - then royalty is also a scam. It was the making of the king secular that opened the door for his removal.

In many ways, 1990 was similar to 1790. Both came after a period of tremendous change. 1790 was the year following the fall of the Bastille, while 1990 marked the first anniversary of the fall of the Berlin Wall, two events celebrated as a festival of freedom. But these two forms of freedom were completely opposite. Only a few years ago we witnessed another social protest from the French, the "yellow vests" protest.

And yesterday in Balfour street, the people were fed up - people of all ages and across almost the entire political spectrum. People are fighting for their livelihoods. They point the finger of blame at the government and its leader. Only a handful of people blindly the current government.

Hi, I’m Shimi Cohen and I invite you to explore my work and to learn more about the photographer behind the lens.

I'm an engineer by profession but my passion is photography and mainly- street photography. The streets enchant me and I find myself drawn to them and their inhabitants every single free moment. People attract me and the streets challenge me and push me further inside in search of a good story.

I'm a story teller with a lens.

Shimi Cohen

The queues of hungry by Pacho Coulchinsky

Covid 19 - Chapter 85 - or… What happened in my convulsed town on day 85 of this endless quarantine?

Autumn gave us a disgustingly sticky day, with terrible humidity and a temperature above 25º C, despite being only a week away from winter. I tried to console myself thinking that the cold, unforgiving South wind would come any moment to sweep dry the sidewalks that I walk every day. I hoped too that it would ease hearts in the process; troubled with so much pandemic and bad news.

At mid-morning, I came across a long line of people who meandered for several blocks and rounded the corners of my neighborhood. My curiosity led me to the head of that seemingly endless snake and I arrived at the door of a large store run by the Bolivian community, where bags of food were being delivered. The colourful snake measured about 800 meters!!!

A Bolivian community in this lost town in the interior of the interior of Argentina???

Argentina has been a country of promise, the destination of thousands of immigrants in its last 150 years of history. At the end of the 19th century and the beginning of the 20th, a great wave of Europeans and inhabitants of the Middle East landed in Buenos Aires and became dispersed within our territory. They escaped from hunger and wars. For example: my paternal grandparents, Jews, escaped from the Pogroms of Tsarist Russia; my maternal grandparents, from hunger and poverty in Lebanon; my wife's grandparents, from impoverished Italy after the First War, and so on. Thousands and thousands of stories. In recent decades, this wave of immigrants is mainly made up of our neighbours: Bolivians, Paraguayans, Peruvians ... now Venezuelans, and also thousands of people from the far East, especially China.

The Bolivians who came to Reconquista started selling clothes for the whole family at very affordable prices, in stores that belong to a countrywide network. This has made them very popular and their sales significant. For this and other reasons which I will not expand upon, Bolivian merchants are not viewed with sympathy by their local competition.

Immediately I could not resist the desire to record a historical event as a result of this crazy pandemic: Bolivian citizens who came to my country dreaming of a life that would lift them out of poverty, with safe work, with the guarantee of free education at all levels, especially the access to the excellent public university education of my country... GIVING FOOD??? Advertising manoeuvre… return of favours… limitless generosity? The questions skyrocket, but the important thing about all this is that a large number of people were receiving something very necessary and scarce at the moment: food.

It's also fair to ask: Did all the people who were waiting in that seemingly endless queue really need this food? Maybe yes ... maybe no. I do not know.

People within the business worked tirelessly to distribute said food, but suddenly municipal officials arrived, demanding that the protocols required in this Pandemic be followed. Impossible to make order of so many people’s anxiety !!! .... chinstraps, regulatory distance, cleaning of hands and feet ... a real madness.

What was the motive of the inspectors? Stop the delivery of food? I decided to mediate and explain to the inspectors that this decision would be a mistake: imagine the reaction of all these people who are waiting for their food bag! “Do you think they will go home like empty lambs after waiting hours in this terrible weather?”

The situation relaxed a little, the police arrived ... fortunately, the task was finished. I also retired because it was time to go back to my work. In the afternoon someone informed me that the decision was made to close the store of my Bolivian friends because the protocols had not been respected, something that was true.

I took the phone and communicated with friends at the Municipal House and reminded them of that quasi-millennial law: “The greater good must be above the lesser evil” ... without forgetting that the political cost of such a decision would be something terrible for the current government.

Around 7 PM the store opened its doors and it’s closure was already history. Bolivians: happy!!!... and many with a plate of food on their tables for at least the next few days.

My head laid upon the pillow in that anteroom of death that is sleep, I tried to make sense of my thoughts concerning this eventful afternoon…

Suddenly, the long awaited South wind bludgeoned us with all its power throughout the night. This nest of contradictory passions that is my people, like yours and that of the neighbour, was being purified.

Sheet and tablecloth

Its are rags of being human

if human they let it be.

Simple poor's gala

and not fancy bourgeois

that you can have a lot

but have no one with whom.

The son of the elements

weaves them more than once

and can with green leaf

adorn your nudity.

Wild one who sleeps miserly

and it kills hunger standing up.

Sheet and tablecloth.

They don't give them to you in jail

and no matter how much they give you

in exile they don't usually

relieve sleep or thirst

because they don't know the story

written on your skin.

One stained with wine

what a sign of joy is

and the other moistened

with dew to love

that no one is missing

in this cruel world.

María Elena Walsh (Argentine poet 1930-2011)

Pacho Coulchinsky

A Journal of The Plague: Two-Week Quarantine in South Korea by Michael Kennedy

May Quarantine #20.jpg — **A Journal of The Plague: Two-Week Quarantine in South Korea**

**by Michael Kennedy**

Introduction

Monday, April 27, 2020 – Arrival in Seoul from Los Angeles: 5 a.m.

The Mission

Leave Seoul on Friday, April 24 - and return immediately as a 90-day tourist, without enduring a government mandated two-week quarantine anywhere during the experience.

I have lived in Seoul for 10 years. For nearly half this period, I worked as a high school teacher at the Yongsan U.S. Army base. This provided me a special Status of Forces Agreement (SOFA) visa.

Since my retirement in 2016, I have had the status of a 90-day tourist in South Korea. I’m here, and nowhere else because of my Korean girlfriend. She is also my age and retired. I cannot imagine experiencing the Third Act of my life without her.

Of course a residency card via marriage is the easy answer to my problem. Sookyung and I plan to make our arrangement legal. However, I seem to be married to someone else. These things happen.

Los Angeles offered the best option for entering a country along the Pacific Rim without any quarantine policy. This also helps explain why the U.S. has the highest death rate for the Chinese virus in the world … now at 56,000.

Guam offered a sensible option to returning to the United States – until the USS Theodore Roosevelt aircraft carrier docked with a shipload of infected sailors in mid-April. All Korean airlines cancelled flights to Guam immediately.

On to Hell-A.

South Korea does have a two-week quarantine that applies to all arriving travelers – including nationals … with an exception for home duration if there is proof of a local residency.

All travelers entering South Korea – foreign or national, must submit to daily monitoring of both location and health conditions. This helps explain why South Korea has one of the lowest death rates for the Chinese virus in the world … now at 243.

Before I bought a round-trip ticket to Los Angeles on Korean Air, I asked the same question several times:

- “If I have a residential address in Seoul, can I fulfil the quarantine policy at that location?”

- And each time, the answer was: “Yes.”

The real answer is that I am …

“On lockdown, like penitentiary.”

- Doin’ Time/Summertime (Uptown Dub) (1997)

Sublime

Mission Impossible

For the next two weeks, I’m in quarantine in a dormitory room at Semyung University, with a view of a lake from my generic third-floor balcony. This is 125 miles southeast of Seoul, in the low-rolling Daemi Mountains of Jecheon.

Although I arrived here by 10:30 a.m. today after landing from Los Angeles at 5 a.m., the official two-week period begins tomorrow. I will get out of jail on Tuesday, May 12.

Sookyung did everything possible to intercede with Korean Immigration and gave assurances that we are a legitimate couple, and that I should be able to fulfill the mandatory quarantine from “home.”

“Where is your residency card?” the Korean Immigration official asked me at Incheon Airport.

“I don’t have one,” I said. “I live in Seoul with my girlfriend – for the past six years. On a tourist visa.”

“No residency card?”

“That’s correct”

“Then that’s 30-days in the hole.”

“Chicago Green, talkin' 'bout Red Lebanese
A dirty room and a silver coke spoon
Give me my release, come on
Black Nepalese, it's got you weak in your knees
Seeds and dust that you got bust on
You know it's hard to believe.”

- Steve Marriott

Humble Pie - Smokin” (1972)

Day #1 – Tuesday, April 28, 2020

Since the plague came to town, I have not seriously used a camera since my visa-run to Fukuoka on February 7. I went into self-quarantine as a matter of common sense. Korea – which is to say South Korea, did not go into lockdown like most countries. However, for the first six-weeks of Fear and Loathing in Seoul, most people kept a low-profile.

My usual pockets for street photography in downtown Seoul have dried up.

For my visa-run to Los Angeles, I took my Ricoh GR II because it’s light and durable.

Out of sheer boredom, I’ve used the camera to document my present cell – since Room #306 feels like jail.

I just want my life back.

When I arrived at LAX – with 54,000 Americans already dead from the Chinese virus, there was no medical screening.

No questions asked by U.S. Immigration officials, not even:

- Do you have the Chinese virus?

- Do you favor a Lysol cocktail?

- Do you object to nude photos of First Lady Melania Trump?”

Most of the staff wore facemasks – but only about half the passengers. LAX looked like a ghost town. Most all shops were closed.

The same was true of Incheon Airport when I left Seoul on Friday. The difference is that before you could check-in at Korean Air, there was a temperature check, and some serious interview questions about health.

The difference tells the whole story.

The attempt to leave Korea, step into another country and return here for a 90-day visa has become ungodly expensive - but all you need is love.

Day #2 – Wednesday, April 29, 2020

I am a negative person.

I’ve been told this numerous times throughout my life. The comments always resulted from my attitude, which happened on the home front during high school, the college that expelled me, and two or three employers who abruptly showed me the door.

Today, when I emerged from quarantine in Room #306 long enough at noon to pick up the generic airplane food that is delivered to the door, there was a large envelope with my name in English. It contained a one-sheet record of my COVID 19 test from yesterday.

I am a negative person, and this time it’s good news for a change.

Yesterday two health workers, a young male and female entered the general area wearing some quasi-science fiction looking space garments to administer a COVID 19 test to me. They were pleasant and spoke some English – with a proficiency that easily exceeded my Korean.

The test consisted of jamming a thick tongue depressor into my mouth and taking a swab of the interior, followed by a long thin Q-tip inserted into one passage of my nose that felt like it reached my brain stem.

My English was very impolite when this happened.

Day #3 – Thursday, April 30, 2020

It is another fun day in Room #306 in the middle of fucking nowhere.

If Dostoevsky could manage four years of exile with hard labor at a katorga prison camp in Siberia, I can manage two weeks of chillax behavior here.

Yet I can’t begin to linger at the well of self-pity in light of Nelson Mandela and his 27-years of solitary confinement.

Day #5 – Saturday, May 2, 2020

While I must endure my sentence in Room #306 in order to reach home like an exaggerated version of Odysseus on his journey back to Penelope, I sometimes imagine myself as Thomas Merton (1915-1968), Trappist monk, writer, theologian, mystic, poet, social activist, and scholar of comparative religion.

Here I am in my austere surroundings with time suspended and only an electronic device or two for contact with the outside world. The airplane food is placed outside the front door, and the same old soothing female voice alerts all prisoners that it’s time to eat.

I can feel the imaginary ankle chains, like Paul Newman scuttling along in Cool Hand Luke.

Thomas Merton comes to mind now because the Benedictine Order (Ordo Sancti Benedicti) – while not exacting a vow of silence, there are such lengthy periods of contemplative silence throughout the day that the tradition is virtual policy.

Day #6 – Sunday, May 3, 2020

These are wretched times, and I’m waiting for Americans to rise up and overthrow the corrupt charlatan in the White House.

My country – regarded as the richest in the world now has 65,776 people dead from the Chinese virus. They are not so much dead from the Chinese virus as they are from the abject unfitness of a deranged narcissist like Trump. Yes, drink bleach; that will help.

I cannot understand why Americans have not taken a rope, tied his old white legs to the rear axle of a pick-up truck and dragged him through the streets of New York City. My God, 65,776 people dead in eight weeks. That’s more than the American deaths in the 20-year Vietnam War. Eight weeks v 20 years.

Day #8 – Tuesday, May 5, 2020

Today marks Day #8 of my captivity in Room #306. Seven down, and seven more to go.

The death toll in the U.S, - as of this morning, is 69,355 people. While Donald Trump and ladyboy Jared Kushner are trying to sell the American people a broken down car and calling it a new Executive model.

Meanwhile, Trump’s Wall Street racketeers benefit from his Crony Capitalism. As long soup kitchen lines form in New York City, experts predict the death rate in America will be 3,000-per day within three weeks.

Day #9 – Wednesday, May 6, 2020

I’ve been very busy this morning, and cleared my schedule to wash a polo shirt in the bathroom sink. It’s all down hill now.

Foolish me, I did not pack for a two-week quarantine, and I have not lived in a dorm room in 50-years.

This one is austere … barebones, almost Spartan. I’ve seen worse.

Yesterday I ruminated about some of the places I’ve lived during my exciting high-octane life.

For one-night stays, the absolute worst was a semi-derelict hotel in Poza Rico, located in the state of Veracruz in Mexico – near the site of El Tijin, a spectacular Mayan pyramid. I passed through the town in 2000. The hotel was straight out of Peckinpah’s Bring Me The Head of Alfredo Garcia (1974). It’s the only place in the world I’ve stayed where the TV was chained to the wall.

Day #10 – Thursday, May 7, 2020

The idea of 74,807 dead Americans in two months – and a President who offers no empathy, no plans, no leadership – only ambivalence … it is beyond shocking. We can read about the atrocities committed by Hitler, Stalin, Mao, Castro, and so many others – but that’s “others,” not us … never us … not America.

I’m struck today by Rick Wilson’s article in the The Daily Beast. Wilson is an interesting fellow. A long time Republican strategist, he has broken with his past and is dedicated to defeating Trump. Wilson is also behind The Lincoln Project, which just aired Mourning in America.

The man really behind The Lincoln Project is George Conway … the husband of Kellyanne Conway. There are a lot of just absolutely strange marriages, and Blowjob Bill and Hillary Clinton easily come to mind – but the Conways now set the bar.

Day #12 – Saturday, May 9, 2020

There were some documents (in English) with this morning’s gourmet airplane food about my release from Room #306.

I will bust out Tuesday morning – on a bus to Seoul that will take me to Seoul Station, the biggest in the city. I know the place well. This is where the Gray Panthers have gathered the past three years to protest against their corrupt President, alternately chanting: “Down with Moon Jae-in,” and “Moon Jae-in is a Communist.” The usual slings and arrows directed at the clown driving the bus of the ruling elite … everywhere in the world.

The drop-off at Seoul Station puts me six subway stops from home – about 12-minutes, altogether.

I can kvetch about the austerity of my circumstances, but this ain’t no Hezbollah Hotel in Beirut during the 1980s. This marks Day #12, and I’ve been left entirely alone.

Two health workers administered a COVID-19 test to me on the first day, which was negative.

A week later another health worker stopped by and violated my ear with a medical instrument for a body temperature check.

So far, that’s it.

I don’t see where this measures whether I might be infected 12 days after entering Korea from another country – specifically the U.S. where 78,615 Americans have died.

Day #13 – Sunday, May 10, 2020

Little Richard is dead. Long live the King.

Little Richard’s death at 87 is a vivid reminder of all that I miss about America, a land that is enriched by its diversity. What makes Rock & Roll one of the finest expressions of art is the multi-cultural tapestry of traditions and heritages and genres that bind Americans together, and has given a lasting gift to the world.

Richard Penniman (1932-2020), an androgynous black man who came of age in Macon, Georgia – during the Jim Crow era, was an inspiration to generations of people.

Was Little Richard gay? Yes, yet who cares?

Was Little Richard bi-sexual? Yes, yet who cares?

Did Little Richard show the courage to be true to himself, and express himself through music that was uplifting and inspiring? He did this all – for a truly American genre, and proved how much richer we are for our diversity.

How did Thomas Merton endure his time at the Benedictine Abbey, and his virtual vow of silence? He was obviously not Irish.

How did Nelson Mandela make it for 27-years in solitary confinement without losing all hope … and his mind? This was a man of intractable toughness.

The death of Little Richard evokes nostalgia for an America that no longer exists.

When James Joyce (1882-1941) left Ireland for good in 1912 to live as an expatriate in Trieste, Paris and later Zurich, he carried with him a map of Dublin that he posted on the wall near his writing desk. The Dublin of his imagination existed for Joyce the rest of his life.

I carry with me a map of St. Louis for the same reasons. What I miss about that city on the Mississippi River belongs to the past – yet as William Faulkner (1897-1962) said: “The past is never dead. It’s not even past.”

Long live Little Richard. Long live American Rock&Roll.

Right now I could use a cheeseburger and fries with a strawberry shake from Shake Shack.

Day #14 – Monday, May 11, 2020

My 30-days in the hole end at midnight. It’s only 14-days, yet it feels twice as long.

Here is what I’ve missed during incarceration:

- Sookyung;

- my faithful canine, Rorie the Wonder Dog;

- freedom;

- uncensored internet;

- my book collection;

- genuine Korean food, not this airplane food rubbish;

- the city of Seoul, especially walks around Namdaemun Market with a camera.

Since I began this effort to acquire another 90-day tourist visa, I have written 50-pages of letters to friends.

I am homeward bound.

Michael Kennedy

Last Dance by Aviram Bar-Akiva

The first time I met the Holy Lindy Land group was at an open air party in the streets of Tel-Aviv. It was a warm and humid summer night and they held a dance jam in Dizingoff square during the summer solstice parties of 2016. It was during of my early photowalks, the first year I started shooting street photographs. The Holy Lindy Land dance group take themselves seriously and their focus is Swing.

Swing is a group dance developed from Jazz music in the 1920s. The Lindy hop is the most popular style of Swing originated in Harlem, New-York, in the 1930s. Their fluid dance moves and stylish outfits immediately caught my eye and a nostalgic feeling of a different era overtook me.

So it was more than a pleasant surprised when I got a call from Ron, one of the group managers, with a tip about coming to their dance jam one Friday night. “It is a special night for us” he told me, “we are saying our farewells”.

They gathered for dance jams regularly on Friday nights, but this time it was different. They grouped together to say their farewells, last Holy Lindy Glam-Jam of 2016, last Jam in their favorite dancehall of “Bikurei Haitim”. It was built somewhere in 1960s in a central spot in Tel-Aviv, and still held its charm.

The authorities had given them notice, and according to the city planners the old dancehall must be taken down. The following year they were going to build an elementary school on the same site. On Sunday the bulldozers were going to take the building down.

However, on this, their last Friday there, they put such thoughts aside and danced the night away.

Aviram Bar-Akiva

Beduins in Israel by Neta Dekel

The Beduins in Israel is one of the minorities that believe in the Islam Religion. They are around 3.5% of the Israeli population and are based mainly in the south of the country, in the Negev.

The Beduins origin is in the Arab peninsula and from the second century, they migrated north and up to the land of the future to be a part of Israel.

In the modern times, the Beduins have a lot of problems. On the one hand, they want to preserve the lifestyle of ancestors, but on the other, they are forced to adopt to the modern times of fixed houses, industrialisation, equal rights for women and much more.

The Beduins, unlike the other Muslims in Israel, are serving in the army, and try to blend into society, but for many years, the government failed to treat the Beduins as equals. Thus, most of the Beduins population are still living in tents and other types of temporary housing.

Rahat is the biggest city of Beduins in Israel and it is the first and only attempt of the government to move the Beduins from the temporary housing to fixed-place city.

The result of the collision of cultures is a very problematic society, full with anger and frustration that results in crime and violence.

I was visiting the City of Rahat and the surroundings a few years ago. I tried to bring back the sights and scents of the local market and the modern Beduins way of living.

Corona Department at Hadassah Medical Center

Jerusalem

Deep silence, these are the first words that come to my mind immediately after entering the Corona Department at Hadassah Medical Center in Jerusalem. As if everything is in parts: patients and therapists, religious and seculars, women and men, Jews and Arabs, respired and non-respired..... But after a few minutes of being there everything blends into a new dynamic dance with new and precise rules.

Therapists are dressed in protective clothing according to international rules, all similar, the same clothes and colours. Only their eyes are seen through which they try to express, it's hard to understand if there is a smile, if there is a wordless message. But it is not enough. Recently, an idea began to be implemented - each therapist's photo will be attached to himself or herself, perhaps this will allow a sense of closeness. They are constantly in a hovering movement, do not give up contact with the patient, come close without fear, talk to them, ask professional but also personal questions and everything quietly resonates.

The patients, most of them from Jerusalem, some standing and waiting, some lying down, others using oxygen, many praying, wishing and hoping for health, and more health and more health... Everyone is surprised, as if they do not understand what they are doing there, wonder when this "dream" will end, when will the miracle cure, or the long-awaited vaccine, arrive.

All together, close to each other, communication is minimal. Despite the human presence in every corner of the department, the loneliness envelops everyone, each one has closed himself off. Then I meet a couple of patients who both got Coronavirus. They are not alone, they are together. Smiling, laughing, talking about the wonderful care, the children and especially the conversations through the zoom with the grandchildren, conversations with no contact or ability to hug and kiss. They are optimistic, she can already go out of the hospital to a hotel, he is still symptomatic and so she stays with him, in love, for better or worse, always together.

In another room, I meet a religious man whose attention is given to a Rabbi, a famous religious litigator. The Rabbi lies supported with oxygen, he has a sweet and warm look, in him neither anger nor frustration, speaking quietly, in Yiddish.

In the corner of the room sits a young, religious man who puts on Tefillin with piety and deep concentration. To him we are not there, no one is there, only he and his God, his God whom he trusts to heal him and all the people of Israel. Then the Intensive Care Unit. Another story. Everyone is euthanized, respired. Here no one will remember what he was going through at this time. In spite of the medical equipment they are connected to, they have a deep, peaceful sleep. The brothers and sisters look after them like parents to their children.

These were unique, sad-filled photography days, full of human beauty of therapists and patients so different but so similar in their character.

Bruno Lavi

A glimpse to corona frontier inside an Israeli hospital

00-JDSC08102 (Custom).jpg — **A glimpse to corona frontier inside an Israeli hospital**

**by Raviv Meyouhas**

It’s Corona time.

The illusive virus that attacks worldwide makes us change our mind set and behavior. We all watch the news and try to adapt to a new reality that is forced on us for the past few weeks.

But it’s not only us as individuals that have to adapt. It is the entire state that needs to change rapidly, and especially the health system which stands to fight at the front of this battle.

It is a huge challenge for the health system and especially the hospitals to make the necessary changes, and make them fast, in front of a new disease that spreads quickly and kills thousands indiscriminately.

A hospital is a big and complex organization that employs thousands, and has to make many major adjustments in a matter of few days or weeks: split the ER to corona patients and non-corona patients; build new and special corona departments; write and apply new working procedures; change staff’s shifts; use special equipment and much more.

This unique challenge is very intriguing for me as an industrial engineer and a photography enthusiast, and I decided to do a documentary photography project at Rambam Healthcare Campus in Haifa Israel, not far from where I live.

Rambam is the largest hospital in the north of Israel, and I knew it is making a huge effort to prepare for hundreds of COVID-19 patients. I received the management approval for the project, made the proper arrangements and went to shoot at the heart of the hospital for two days, including inside the corona department.

Day 1 – Getting familiar with the changes

My first exciting day started at the ER.

To my surprise it was almost empty. In usual days the ER is packed with people and action, but these days most people are afraid to come to the hospital and prefer to stay at home, which is a risky decision. There were only 10-15 patients at the two regular wings. The other two wings of the ER were dedicated for suspected COVID-19 patients, and most of the beds were empty.

It’s easy to notice the difference between the wings. At the regular wings the staff and the patients wear masks, but at the corona wings the staff wears special protective clothing, and nobody gets in or out unless authorized.

I stood for a while at the ER near the security desk, trying not to obstruct the staff’s work, when someone told me a new corona patient is arriving. I rushed outside to see the ambulance team wearing white astronaut-like clothing take him out of the vehicle and bring him inside the ER, straight to the COVID-19 wing. Everything was done quickly and quietly with great care and caution. The patient was taken inside the closed wing where I couldn’t follow him anymore.

I noticed the staff at the COVID-19 wings suffers from heat inside their heavy protective clothing. From time to time they tried to relieve some of the tension, joke a little, move around in the long corridor, and chill themselves with a glass of cool water.

My wife which is a doctor in the hospital came to take me to my next stop - the brand new COVID-19 section. There are two new departments in this section, one of them is active with patients, and the other one is ready in case more patients will come. We visited the second department so I can walk freely and see how it’s built and organized. It was completely established in four days (!), including all the essential medical equipment, special communication systems and safety measures. Very impressive.

We continued to the control room of the active COVID-19 department. A staff of three watches over the patients 24/7 using big screens. They talk with the patients using communication systems, assist and guide them when needed. All the communication is done in a calm and kind way that gives confidence.

I took a few shots, we thanked the staff and went on to our next stop - the underground parking. Floor minus 3 is a huge parking lot designed to operate as an emergency hospital. Cars don’t park there at this time, and hospital teams work around the clock to turn the parking lot into a hospital with a potential capacity of 2000 beds. The infrastructure is ready, but a lot of equipment hasn’t arrived yet and there’s a lot of work to be done. This area will be used only if there will be hundreds of patients or more.

We finished the first day tour at the hospital management, where the nurses were having a meeting about the plans for the next stage. It was encouraging to see the great teamwork.

Day 2 – The heart of the fight

This day was dedicated to the COVID-19 department and labs.

My wife took me to the corona department and gave me different colored clothing and a detailed brief of what I can do and what I can’t. At the dressing room a nurse guided me step by step how to wear the special protective clothing. The procedure took a few minutes and I felt fine and quite comfortable. My breathing was OK, I could see clearly through the transparent face shield, and I knew I’ll be OK as long as I follow the instructions. It wasn’t bad for a short visit, but I’m quite sure it’s not the nicest feeling to do that on regular basis...

We went inside the department – a senior nurse, my wife and me. There were only few patients at the department, and one of them, I’ll call him “Mr. D”, was willing to tell us his story and to be photographed. Great !

Mr. D. told us in a quiet voice he was sick for some time, his condition got worse and he was connected to a respirator for 5 days. Now he can finally breathe by his own !

It was clear to see his enormous gratitude to the staff. Only now he begins to understand how critical his condition was. We all got emotional and I took a photo of the Mr. D. surrounded by the staff.

While walking in the department’s corridors I discovered that preparations were made for all kinds of cases like a birth, dialysis and other things. Challenging and impressive.

The patients that are in good condition need some distraction and activities, so the department includes a small but equipped training room (donation of Decathlon), reading books that people donated, and even a smoking area at the open terrace.

We left the department, undressed one by one with the guidance of the nurse, and took a deep breath. And then another one.

But this was not the end. We went next to the laboratories where COVID-19 tests are done. The laboratory workers work very hard, quietly and efficiently. I got as close as I could and took a few shots.

This was the end point of my tour, which turned out to be an exclusive, almost adventurous experience. I admire the hospital staff for their professional work, consistency and dedication.

THEY ARE THERE FOR US.

They took the load on their backs, and they adapted to the new condition and requirements admirably.

This is true not only to Rambam hospital, but also to other hospitals and health teams all over Israel and around the world.

I hope we won’t need their care. Stay at home, and STAY SAFE !

Special thanks to Rambam hospital management, and especially Mr. David Ratner, the spokesperson of the hospital, and my dear wife – Yael, that accompanied and guided me in this unique tour.

Las Vegas

6th to 8th day and the days after, when I went back home

Hi!

Here's a short report from my 6th to 8th day in Las Vegas and the days after, when I went back home. Wednesday, March 11th to Sunday, March 15th.

* Wednesday: Breakfast and then got out on the streets. I had noticed, while riding the bus between Downtown and The Strip on previous days, that there's quite a long stretch of city between these areas which is not as busy as I thought it would be. Many abandoned lots, with or without abandoned buildings on them. The Arts District is in this part of town too. Which is nice, but with a feel of a formerly abandoned industrial park about it. The day before I had the idea to explore this part of town. I realized not many people would be there, but at the end of the trip, I felt I needed to do something different. To fit the vast empty spaces, I put on my Zeiss Batis 25 mm lens instead of the 35 mm I had used during most of this trip. The photos in this blog were all shot during a 6 hour walk between the Plaza Hotel and the Stratosphere and back again.

* Thursday: Gym and tanning at the pool. The news that Trump had stopped all Europeans from entering the US came. My airline said flights would be cancelled, but not how many or which. Decided to wait out the information instead of buying a ticket to the UK, which was exempted from Trump's ban. I had planned to go streeting in The Strip again, but all energy for shooting left me when this news came. Packed my bags in the early evening.

* Friday: Woke early and checked the Scandinavian Airlines facebook and web pages immediately. The information was there. My flight from LA on the Sunday was cancelled. My original plan, to go by bus back to LA on this day and have another day of shooting there before going home would not work.

* I started looking at alternatives. I wanted to get home sooner rather than later, since the situation in the world was changing so rapidly, with new countries closing their borders almost every hour. I managed to get a new ticket back home through San Francisco, Copenhagen and Stockholm before landing in my home town Umeå. Taking the bus to SF from Vegas would be 14 and a half hours, so I decided to find a flight instead. Got one with United at 3.52 pm. Booked a hotel near San Francisco airport and unbooked the one in LA.

* While waiting at the gate, I checked some news again and saw that Denmark had closed its borders. Copenhagen is the capital of Denmark and I was worried that transfers wouldn't work either.

* After finding the SF hotel, I had a nice walk along the Bay waterfront and an even nicer dinner of ribs at the Elephant Bar, right across the parking lot from the hotel.

* Saturday: Woke early and checked the news. The Danish police had issued a message saying that all transfers at Copenhagen airport would be OK.

* Did a pretty good session at the hotel gym and took a nice, long shower. Breakfast was included in this place. I enjoyed it at a slow pace, since my flight wasn't until 6:30 pm.

* Sunday: Spent in planes and airports, got home at about 7 pm.

Take care, everybody!

Niklas

The other Amsterdam by Frans Kemper

Amsterdam is like many other European cities intensively visited by tourists.

The social media are full of mostly the same (and lovely) images of the many attractions this city has to offer.

Usually with some tulips or stroopwafels. A pity the famous sign “I AMSTERDAM” disappeared in front of the Rijksmuseum, as this was also a beloved place for images and selfies.

There are some fundamental differences though…(Excuse the light hearted way I penned this)

First of all, Amsterdam is the capital of the Netherlands. The others are not…. :-)

Amsterdam is compact, all you want to see and visit is in walkable distance. Try that in Paris or London… (We do this on purpose as to keep the rest of the city to ourselves)

Amsterdam has more bikes than citizens and even more exciting are those locals who ride the bikes. They scream, yell, curse and don’t hold back if you are getting in there way… (If you know what I @#$%& mean…)

Amsterdam has the most canals of them all. (Yes you Venetians, start counting…)

Amsterdam has more culture per capita than any other city in the world. (No comments…)

Amsterdam has the oldest woman in the oldest profession. And they are twins! You can book a tour with them through their “working” neighbourhood. (The BEST attraction in town. The stories they tell you…)

Amsterdam is the first city where you can book your overnight stay in a 3D printed house from recycled material…(Bring your own plastic waste as the bathroom is still to be printed)

Amsterdam has the highest number of nationalities out of any city in the world: ± 178…(Never got to count them…)

Amsterdam lies below sea level, a whopping 6.7 meters at its lowest point. (And that’s why…)

Amsterdam has the tallest people in the world… (We all try to keep our head above water…)

BUT, and this explains my love for my own city: Amsterdam has the Amsterdammers…

⁃ We are professional criers and complainers

⁃ We have a very big heart

⁃ We are emotional

⁃ We have a dark sense of humour

⁃ We bike…always…no matter what and with anything, doing anything…

⁃ We love our city… There is one particular song about Amsterdam that brings every local to tears, myself included

Now with this out of the way, and leaving you with a loud and clear picture of my beloved city, here are some anti-tourist images of this magical place and its citizens….ENJOY!

Frans Kemper

PS1: If you are curious about that song, follow this link to see and hear it playing on the carillon of the famous Westertoren. Played on my request by carillonneur Boudewijn Zwart,

PS2: If you have any questions…. Please read it again…😎