Things Part Due (Italian for Two): The Roads Oft Traveled

No Excuse. Sheer lack of time management and situational awareness (and other such Good Business catchphrases). Months go by and my handful of readers stumbling haplessly upon this blog get nothing from my fool brain. Many a thing has happened. Many a place visited. Many a night not slept (either working or being an insomniac). There may be, and in fact likely are, many more interesting posts I could make, but all things in good time. For the time being, revisiting the thing theme is my desire. Largely due I am convinced to the muchness of moving about I have done of late, I am inspired by the various paths and vias out there that get the World from a to b (and beyond!). Be they manmade, or just a path in the woods.

I've always found the road less traveled requires an intense soundtrack. And fig newtons. And probably some patience wouldn't go amiss, either. Dodgy trucks on dodgy roads doing dodgy things at dodgy speeds...

 Because really, one never knows, does one? When a truck full of highly explody flammable fluid will have a whoopsie and cause a trifle bit of bother.

On the other hand, the road most traveled just requires patience and a good goal - unless that goal is just the same office one inhabits every day, in which case the final ingredient is an active imagination. And jerky. Any drive can become a scene from one's next novel or the next great psychological thriller, if one just lets one's mind wander. Even the weather knows when the end goal is a less than ideal place to be. Seems to say "nooooo... don't gooooo...only pain and darkness lie this way...turn baaaack..."

Whichever type of travelled road one finds oneself on...is the journey just as good as the destination? People are always saying it is. I am always saying it depends (about more than just this...am a trifle waffly about things). Sometimes, for example, the journey is all firey and burnt on both sides, and smells rather like soggy leather.

But sometimes out of the smelly burnt dark, come signs of life. Friendly signs of life, at that. Serving as both a momentary companion and a part of the beautiful view along the trip, moments like this make the journey much more tolerable, and downright lovely at that.

I was recently the victim of a hit and run. And no, it was not in my current residentiary city (Naples, Italy). In a crosswalk on 6th in San Diego - with the little glowy man telling me it was my turn - some prat in a large SUV swung round for a left hand turn and clipped me with his dirty great bumper. So aghast was I that this had just occurred, I did not have the presence of mind to get the vehicle tag. Too, there was but one bystander/witness, and he didn't have the angle. Thus, just a rose for my trouble did I receive from said bystander. It didn't make my leg not hurt, but it did make my heart swell a smidge and renewed a bit of my faith in humanity (which the guy who hit me had severely dinged).

Right. Sorry. Blog about roads, not flowers. But still. How do these things happen? Any rate, back to it. Say your road becomes less, shall we say, supportive. Whatever then? This simply means the journey becomes more precarious, but there is certainly no need to fuss in excess. Watch your step and enjoy the ride. You might even learn something, or better yet, enjoy the trip all the more for it.

Just to be a bit cheeky (do contain your surprise), I believe that the water is just as valid a "road" as anything else. Mayhaps being of the Naval Profession has influenced this perspective. Regardless, I like a bit of sailing. Or swimming. Or floating. How great is it to just cruise and not be restricted to the same, em, restrictions as those landlubbers in their wheeled transport.

But really, what if there were no roads? Easy there, Doc, I don't mean like that - though I'd certainly take the hovercar were it to be invented (I'm talking to you, sciencey types...). These folk don't play the car game, and it seems they have a good thing going. Sure, there are boaty issues to think of, and the whole city sinking might give one pause, but those are easily dealt with, and only persons with unlimited life spans need worry about Venice totally falling into the drink.

When it comes right down to it, we are all of us a'travlin' on along many a road, route, via, or way (deep, I know). Things don't always go according to plan, but usually the view is pretty great along the way, and the right mode of transport and the right companion make all the difference.

Besides, any day now, my TARDIS may come, and one must always be of a mind to go.

Where one sun sets...

...somewhere another rises? That I suppose is the idea. Now, don't worry; this is not going to be a godawful treatise or me waxing philosophical about the sunsets and sunrises of life. I am far too cynical for that. This is simply a largely gratuitous display of some of my favourite sky pornography. The amount of space on my hard drive taken up by shots of the sky and clouds is absurd. Thus, they shall no longer hide away.

Enjoy. I'll start with a bang.

OK, maybe more of a hum, or perhaps a light knocking on the moonlit door.

Now to the more subtle, friendly, molten, kinda magic cloudy looks.

Faces in the clouds take on a whole new attitude when lit by a sleepy sun. See the big ole' alien?

Even when the clouds are taking a backseat on the awesome ride, they make ordinary trees look downright sinister, or at least a bit odd.

 Same tree...

 Same tree, different night... No fancy photo magic, just nutty light and stormy sunset.

Next, the power of a backdrop to make silhouettes of other things look brilliant. Simple Street Lamp becomes Lit Arch in front of Fire Sky,

 Sad Front Tree becomes Reaching for Heaven

 Power Line Pole becomes Connecting the Skies

 Or maybe even The Holy Power.

I should comment on the next series, but it is lateish, and I am tired. And really, the commentary is a bit unnecessary... You'll see.

How's this for fires in the skies?

And someone had a go with some crayolas

To close, I'll share with you my favourite ones. If I'm honest, this is largely because they look too good to have been taken by me. But that's mother nature for you. Lovely enough to overcome the most rubbish photographer.

Does a sunset always mean a sunrise? I certainly hope so. Mine certainly looks to keep on with it.

Better post next time, I promise. 

Djibouti Call - Good bits Part II

Much as caveats are rather annoying, I must caveat the following photos by saying that the pamphlet for Lac Assal describes it as the saltiest lake in the world (if it HAD a brochure - the PR department is a bit, well, nonexistent), and it will be very obvious that this is not a place destined to draw the Robin Leach crowd.

Intro caveats aside, the lake itself is quite the sight. But before the lake, the trip to get there is in a category all its own. Some of the roadside views are quite lovely.

Of course, the locals park and peddle wares for silly visitors who chance to goggle at the picturesque vista.

With directions that include "turn right at the big white archway in the middle of nowhere" and "turn left at the first junction you see after all the goat-filled trees" it takes dedication (and a better than average suspension system) to locate this gem.

So in order to get from this...

Aaaaaalllll the way down to this...

And finally to this...

Requires nerves and skills (and shock absorbers) of steel. This is the nice bit of road.

If only we'd had access to a vehicle in one piece. One that did not threaten to leave us stranded in the Djiboutian wilderness where our salt encrusted bones would be found weeks later...

Sadly, this would have to do. (It required jump leads to start, and the fan belt made noises I've only heard from a percussion section, oh and the shocks were such rubbish I got an unscheduled spinal realignment from driving).

Ah well. It was a good run, eh? Death by Djibouti would look fun on a tombstone.

To the good bit. Really. It was good. Hot? Of course. Humid? Have you MET the equator? But fascinating after all.

 Don't be fooled. That is not sand. Not dirt. Not even gravel. No, Djibouti has to line its lakes with razor sharp crystallised salt. Not for the faint of foot, this.

But certainly for those lacking pool floaty chairs (God bless the French).

Sinking is overrated. Though I would not recommend full facial submersion; or entry with any skin wound.  Really, entry as a whole should be avoided if you have sense (or aren't French, which I suppose is the same thing). Getting evaporated salt lake out of shoes, hair, skin, etc requires a hose (which they do not supply in Nowheresville Hazeland).

Oh, by the by, there aren't any fun little tide pool animals in these puddles. Magma hot water and razor sharp salt rocks, though, which are fun, too.

Know what else is fun? Khat-fuelled locals peddling salt crusted things (that you can find just by walking round the lake) and geodes (a bit harder to find).

Ahhhh... a sense of relief that even the third world is not immune to the phenomenon of the grockle shop.

 See? Lots of salty.

 Even  the rubbish takes on a sophisticated crystallyness

Hmmmm... yup. Lots of salt.

Despite everything, it has its charms. Neat views, salt in your bits and bobs, overpriced rocks, and a uniqueness that is unmistakable.

Certainly not like anyplace else, no?

The goats seem to like the area (they greeted us on the way out, too)

Why not?