First off: GIANTS!!!!!!! World Series Champs! (Uhummm….I am based out of San Francisco you know. )

When doing presentations or just talking to other photographers about street shooting in foreign countries I get asked quite often if I pay the subjects either before or after I take a picture. Short answer is pretty much never.

First of all, if I’m dolling out the local currency, the natural dynamic of the scene changes. You suddenly have numerous children rushing at you and grabbing for your hands, pockets and photo gear. Somewhat of a mob mentality as they know you probably have limited resources and they want their piece before you run out.

That being said, I think there are a few things that you can leave behind that doesn’t involve money. For example, taking the time to show your subjects their images on the back of your camera’s LCD screen goes a long ways towards establishing a laugh or a smile. In many cases, especially in more impoverished areas, it can be the first time they’ve ever seen a picture of themselves, let alone by a westerner (at least in my case).

Greet your subject eye to eye and say “Hello”, “Good Morning”, “Thank You” in their native language with a warm smile. Simple and effective.

After being haunted by children yelling after me about 14 years ago in Morocco and the Northern Sahara screaming “un stylo” (a pen) or “un crayon” (a pencil), my final trick in the hat (I mean bag) is to present, in the case of children and teenagers, a pen or pencil. First off, they are easy to stow in your luggage and then ultimately your camera bag or pocket of your cargo pants. They’re cheap, a recent box of 50 pens I bought at the US retail chain Target cost me about 4 cents per pen.

Finally, they love them. With every smile as I hand them out I can’t help wondering if one of them will go on to be the next James Joyce or Picasso.

Chaing Rai, Thailand (June 2008)

I woke up early the next morning and had breakfast in the hotel’s outdoor dining area while watching the dragon boats haul tourists down river to the Elephant tours. My guide arrived about 8AM in an oversize green van with driver. She introduced herself as Tau, a twenty-something student on summer break working in the Thai Tourism trade. After discussing numerous itinerary options, including exploring the mysteries of the “Golden Triangle”, I asked if we might head straight to Burma. She looked a bit perplexed as she adjusted her black thick framed spectacles then issued directives to our driver in Thai. He nodded as he smiled back at me exposing a gold capped central incisor and handed me a cold bottle of water from the built-in ice chest between the two front seats.

Along our drive, Tau and I didn’t speak much as we drove through miles of green farmland.   About an hour later we reached the northernmost Thai city of Mae Sai, which directly abutted Tachileik, Burma. It was here in the dusty streets that I got my first glimpse of longhi (a sarong style skirt) wearing Burmese men and women with their faces adorned with tanaka. “You ain’t in Kansas anymore”, I remembered thinking to myself.

The driver parked  near the border crossing and Tau requested I step out of the van. I asked her why we weren’t driving across. She said it would be impossible because we had a foreign passenger. (I assumed she meant me ). She asked me to follow and we walked past a metal gate to an old wooden outpost. It reminded me of Col. Klink’s office from “Hogan’s Heroes”. The Burmese military officer inside was sweating profusely as he requested my passport and had me fill out a short form. After a short conversation with the gentleman Tau asked me to hand her twenty dollars. I said, “You mean baht?” She said, “No, they prefer US dollars.” Fascinating!

After handing over my paperwork, money and passport I received a day pass for travel into the Burmese border city of Tachileik. My guide and I walked over a long wooden ramp and then down into the paved roadway below. Various market stalls lined the roads on both sides with peddlers selling their wares with everything from spices to touristy nicknacks like small golden pagodas. Just as I was catching my breath I was immediately surrounded by three teenage boys wearing longhis and with what looked like vintage cigarette trays or boxes on their stomachs supported by a rope around their necks. “Viagra, Cialis…”, they shouted in perfect English, “Good price!” Tempting, but we moved on.

I finally got the nerve to ask Tau if there was anyway we could try to make it out of the city. She thought not, but would give another guide a call who was Burmese and lived on this side of the border. After a short phone call, Tau said we were in luck as she had reached her friend and she could meet us at a nearby pagoda in about 25 minutes.  She suggested we book one of the trishaw (tricycle-rickshaw) drivers that lined the streets eagerly awaiting fares from tourists and locals. After the price was negotiated with a tall thin man wearing a longhi, we climbed in and sat up front and the driver commenced peddling down a pebble laden dirt road. I didn’t speak much as I was trying to take it all in, the smells, the noisy diesel generators, the overwhelming brightness as the sun reflected off the light colored building walls and bare streets.

Within 20 minutes we were at the large golden pagoda. The wide base tapering upward into a long narrow tip reminded me of a dinner bell. We paid the driver as Tau immediately saw her friend and ran to greet her. I was introduced to Siri and immediately asked her what she thought of getting out of the city. Her feeling was that there were guards posted along all the main roads at the city limit to prevent foreigners from penetrating the Burmese countryside and it might be a bit dangerous.

I asked if she wouldn’t mind taking us for a look and she said she was game. “My car is over here”, and  she pointed  at a small light blue Chinese made sedan. We walked past and bowed to a group of monks wrapped in red cloth and carrying their alms bowls and got in her car. Siri peeled out in the parking lot’s loose pebbles as we drove off down the hill and toward the town’s edge.

(to be continued…)

Side note: Please check out my new Product video featuring our “FineArt Prints” on my main site. You can access it here.

When checking into a Hotel in a foreign country where English is not the first language, I always make a habit of asking the front desk person for a Hotel business card written in the native language so that I can hand it to a cab or tuk tuk driver when heading back to the hotel after a long day of shooting or at an evening dinner out. Typically, the cab and car operators do not speak English and only read the native language.

This is an absolute must especially in Tokyo where the street addresses can be a little funky (even for the locals) along with being written in kanji. But there it wouldn’t be the absolute end of the world as you could check into a local “Love Motel” (prices by the hour) until the sun rises and you can reset your bearings.

(June, 2008)

I had an ominous feeling that walking straight through the front gates of Burma might not be as simple as portrayed by the Thai Passport Agency I contacted over the phone when sitting comfortably 8,000 miles away in San Francisco just over a week ago.  After returning to my room, I immediately called the Agency and asked for the owner/manager Ms Didi. I was immediately connected and she sounded slightly saddened as she repeated the news I had just received downstairs in the Lobby.

“Any suggestions?”, I asked while sitting on my fluffy down comforter and staring at a copy of the “Bangkok Post” lying near my feet.  “Well you might want to try up North near the city of Chiang Rai. There you can walk across the border into the Burmese city of Tachilek. I think Mae Sot to the west is closer to where you want to be, but might be a little too dangerous right now.”

“I’m in your hands”, I responded.

Within an hour Ms Didi had sent me an itinerary with a one-way airline ticket to Chiang Rai. She had taken the liberty of booking me two nights at a hotel she felt I would find “very comfortable”. The flight didn’t leave until the next morning. That would give me some time to run around Bangkok for the next  couple of hours and do some shooting in the infernal hear and humidity. Note to self–hydrate baby hydrate….

The flight to Chiang Rai International Airport was uneventful. By the large number of military transports and helicopters parked on the side of the runway, I assumed this must be a hub for the Royal Thai Air Force. Probably due to the large number of unmanned military aircraft impeding our path to the terminal via the taxiway, the pilot of our Airbus came to a stop and then made a low speed u-turn whereupon he taxied right down the middle of the runway we just landed on. God I hope the tower crew isn’t out to lunch!

The fairly short cab ride to the hotel from the airport was a welcome respite to the bedlam that was Bangkok. The driver took me through acres of pineapple and tea farms. No one seemed to be in any rush, I gazed out at the lush green landscapes,  minute mountain ranges and inhaled the fresh air.

Upon arrival at  the Legend Hotel Chiang Rai, I was greeted by two bellman who rustled my bags onto a trolley, minus my camera bag—that always stays with me. As they escorted me down the long teak entryway to the open design of the Lobby and Reception Desk, I was amazed at the panorama that surrounded us. The hotel was built directly on the eastern bank of the Mae Kok River and I was engulfed by densely vegetated rolling hills. If someone had pushed a Mai Tai into my hand with parasol and pineapple spear, I’d swear I was in Maui.

My studio room was gorgeous, overlooking a small garden and infinity pool with fountains. A mosquito net encircled my bed  and cascaded over my plush mattress and down filled pillows. I unpacked my gear, swung my Leica M8 around my back and headed immediately back to the Lobby. Greeting the lovely Thai receptionist adorned in  traditional Thai costume once again, I asked for her advice on how to get to the Burmese border. She said unfortunately all the guides had been booked that day and were already in the field with other guests. “How would tomorrow morning be?”  ”Fine”, I murmured and she jotted my name into her ledger.

I then inquired about getting into town and any recommendations for a traditional northern Thai lunch as I was starved. She handed me a hotel card written in Thai and explained this is so I could hand it to a driver when I wished to return. She then pointed in the distance to the hotel gate at a couple of tuk tuks and asked if I wouldn’t mind if she escorted me out so that she could translate the name of the restaurant, a place called C&C, to the driver. I grinned and have to say, felt a little like Yul Brynner  (also a Leica shooter) in “The King and I”, as we strolled past the fountains and Thai architecture resembling ancient times.

What a pleasure to get out of the tuk tuk at the restaurant and be greeted by these nice young ladies. It was only then I learned what the Cs in “C&C”  stood for. “Cabbage and Condoms”! Sometimes you can’t make this stuff up…..

(To be continued…)

So here’s the scenario. You’re late for your flight and have to make it through the almost impenetrable barrier of the TSA scanners and X-ray machine. Shoes off and in one gray container (check), laptop out and in another (check), carry-on and laptop bags laid on their side and placed on the x-ray conveyor belt that always reminds me of a Luigi’s Brushless Car Wash. You walk forward and place your feet on the mat with the chalk outline of the shoe homicide and look forward at the agent on the other side of the metal framework. She waves you forward and the buzzer goes off like you’re the one-millionth customer at an Arby’s. Sure enough you left your cell phone in one pocket, your keys and loose change in another and what’s that bulge?…..they suspect your wallet is made of weapons grade plutonium. So back to the other side, place your items on more trays and send them through the conveyor belt as well. This time things go as planned, no onerous whistles or blinking lights and the TSA  agent waves you through like a 747 taxiing on the tarmac. But wait, now my stuff is scattered around the X-ray machine like the clothes rack at a  two dollar sale at Walmart.

Want to avoid all this?

Designate a Pocket! Simple, designate the front pocket of one of your carry-ons (in my case it’s an Urban Disguise Laptop bag made by Think Tank) which also carries various other photographic items and my iPad. Before stepping into the chaos of the TSA line, I place my wallet, watch, belt, loose change and iPhone in the front of the bag and zip it tight so I can forget about these items until I’m safely on the other side where I only have to gather my shoes, MacBook Pro and carry-ons. I then sit down at the first available seat and put everything in their rightful place or pocket. One less hassle to deal with…

With a simple photograph I’ll try to illustrate why the Apple iPad, in my mind, is an essential travel device. Between  iBooks, amazon.com, and borders.com there are no shortage of travel guides available to the eBook market.  Also, with Zinio, you can manage your magazine subscriptions so they are delivered as digital subscriptions every month (save a tree). With many airlines charging for each piece of luggage and every kilo over a certain limit, it makes more and more sense to put one of these babies in your carry-on. I don’t leave home without it!

Bangkok, Thailand  (July, 2010)

This time things went so much smoother at the Burmese Embassy. First, let me step back about two years earlier.

In May of 2008 cyclone Nargis slammed into the country of Burma killing tens of thousands of people and affecting at least a hundred thousand more (in early reports). As the weeks rolled by, these numbers increased exponentially.

With some idle  time  on my hands and having been promised a Burmese Visa within three days upon  my arrival in Thailand, I was off to bustling Bangkok. My DEET, Malarone, Power Bars and water purification tablets were crammed into my carry-on alongside my reliable Leica M8 Digital Rangefinder camera and Summilux lenses.

Still a bit jet lagged from my late night arrival at my hotel the day before, my fruitless attempts at slumber were interrupted by the incessant ringing of my room phone. It was the concierge announcing that I had a visitor at the front desk. The red LED of the alarm clock burned 9:00 am into my retinas. Throwing on a ” Club Femme Nu” t-shirt (don’t ask) and Adidas track pants, I hustled into the elevator and descended to the Lobby twenty-five floors below.

At the front desk I was greeted by a Thai teenage messenger who with the help of the concierge acting as a translator, asked for my passport, two passport sized head-shots and asked me to fill out two Visa applications. I did and handed everything over to him. His white uniform with gold epaulettes reminded me of Captain Stubing from the “Love Boat”.  We bowed to each other clasping our hands in front of our faces and then I escorted him out of the air-conditioned Lobby and into the sweaty, high-pitched squeal of the Bangkok streets. “Jesus, it’s Africa hot!”, I remember thinking to myself. He sped off on a motor-bike that sounded like a mosquito.

I re-entered my room at the Sheraton Royal Orchid Hotel and stared out the window at what seemed to be an old-style junk with triangular sail running from an ocean freighter floating down the brown murky discharge of the Chao Phraya River. “Only in Thailand”, I murmured to myself.

The room phone rang again, this time releasing me from a an intense hypnotic state that comes with my first deep sleep after a long transcontinental flight. “Where am I?”, were my first thoughts. “12:15 pm” was beaming from the alarm clock beside my bed. It was the concierge informing me that I had a guest. I couldn’t imagine who it would be as  almost no one knew I was in Thailand and those that did lived in the US.

After rolling out of bed out and grabbing my plastic laminated key card, I paced down the hallway towards the elevator and passed a mirror. “Shit, I look like Marty Sheen in his opening scene from Apocalypse Now”, I thought, making my way to the elevator. In the lobby I was surprised to find the same messenger greeting me in the formal and civilized Thai way by clasping his hands to his nose and bowing, then passing my passport back to me (which I had just entrusted to him a few hours before). That was quick!

The concierge informed me that he (the messenger) regretted to inform me that my Visa application had been denied by the Burmese consulate. “And the reason why?”, I groggily replied. A long conversation ensued between the two in Thai. The concierge turned to me, “He suspects that they (the Burmese militia) feel that you applied to stay in Rangoon a little longer than they found satisfactory”.

“But it’s the only city that they are allowing foreigners to travel right now!”

Turning towards the messenger, the concierge reiterated my statement in Thai. They both turned towards me and shrugged apologetically. I thanked them both for their time and gave them each a few baht before retiring back to my room on the twenty-fifth floor.

Time for Plan B!

(to be continued…….)