Oh, I see! moments
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Best Way to Experience Yosemite?

by Eva Boynton on January 16, 2017

A view of Yosemite Valley, showing that to experience Yosemite fully all you need to do is open you eyes. (image © Sam Anaya)

Mountains of experience reach beyond the edge of the picture frame. 
© Sam Anaya

Open Your Eyes, Take Home the Full Picture

Whenever I set foot in Yosemite, I feel the need to capture the grandeur of nature, extend the experience, and take it home with me. But, on this trip, I put my camera down and heeded a quote from Henry David Thoreau:

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.

A deserted cabin in Yosemite Valley forest, illustrating that to open your eyes to experience Yosemite may be beyond the camera frame. (image © Sam Anaya)

Is it possible to capture the intangible essence of an experience in a photo?  
Or, do you just need to be there?
© Sam Anaya

How did I reach that decision? I found myself surrounded by other travelers engulfed in recording their experiences, one eye always shut as they looked through the lens of a camera. I came to realize that opening both eyes, without anything in-between, was my best way to experience Yosemite.

Snap-Snap-Snap

Yosemite is THE spot to capture iconic nature images. Early photos of the park were made by mountain men who experienced nature and weathered difficult conditions without modern conveniences to be there.

On tour of the vista points with my friend Dana Swarth, I observed that, nowadays, visitors experience a place through their cameras. They snap photos as frenetically as the White House Press Corps.

Two photographers crouching on the ground, showing how people try to experience Yosemite. (image © Eva Boynton)

Diving for photos
© Eva Boynton

A woman takes a selfie at Yosemite Falls, illustrating how you can forget to open your eyes and experience Yosemite. (image © Eva Boynton)

“I’m here!”
© Eva Boynton

On one stop at Yosemite Falls, I encountered—

  • A couple adeptly using a selfie stick to photograph themselves from every perspective.
  • A dad lying on the ground to find the perfect angle of his wife and kids in front of the scene.
  • An older man, smiling all the while, making a 180° scan of the “entire” view with his iPad.

Photography can be like a sport in Yosemite—a rugged solo expedition to get selfies or a race to the finish line by competitive clickers. The winner? The person with the most photos.

Yosemite Falls, a view to appreciate when you open your eyes and experience Yosemite. (Image © Sam Anaya)

Nothing can quite capture the towering Yosemite Falls.
© Sam Anaya

It was seeing the crowds hold onto their cameras for dear life that made me skeptical of my need to record my experience in pictures. People came and went without taking a moment to look with their own eyes.

What’s the Focus?

Whether it is a face, hand, or a single toe, too many photographers intentionally place some body part into the landscape to say, “Hey, I was here!” I watched a woman reposition her iPhone up and down, left to right, in an attempt to capture herself in the frame. She was the subject; Yosemite was the background.

A thumb's up in front of a mountain in Yosemite Valley, a selfie attempts to show how to experience Yosemite. (image © Eva Boynton)

Click. I “like” this mountain.
© Eva Boynton

Some articles reinforce this focus on self. “How to take a great selfie in Yosemite gives tips that include dividing your time between sites so as not to spend all your “selfie juice” in one location or hiking to Mariposa Grove where trees dapple your selfie face with light.

A selfie of three people in front of Yosemite Falls, people trying to experience Yosemite but taking the idea "Open Your Eyes" in the wrong direction. (image © Sam Anaya)

We were certainly there! But what was behind us is a little blurry.
© Sam Anaya

Amid the unparalleled grandeur of Yosemite, it seemed to me that the focus belonged on the experience. Sure, I could ensure a photo album of selfies and prove that I was there, but I decided to adjust the focus, make Yosemite the subject, turn around and see the real deal.

Dropping the urgent need to archive and record myself brought focus back on the raw experience. Thoreau had made the same discovery years ago. He processed his findings on time spent living in the woods by writing his experiences in his own hand. He focused on deliberate experience and awareness, lifting himself out of a snapped frame and into the woods.

Tall trees with the sun behind at Yosemite Valley, showing that if you open your eyes without a camera you might see a little more. (image © Sam Anaya)

Take a moment to feel small in comparison to the colossal trees of Yosemite Valley.
© Sam Anaya

Too Big to Frame

During our tour of Yosemite, Dana took us on a hike off the main tourist track. We sat perched on a rock, overlooking a valley with mountains as the horizon and a carpet of autumn-colored trees below.

We took in the scene with all our senses, feeling the cool spray from a waterfall behind us while the sun warmed our faces and shoulders. I began at the waterfall and slowly turned my head to the left, seeing every inch of the full picture.

A drawing of Yosemite Valley in front of the drawn landscape, showing how a frame cannot open your eyes to really experience Yosemite. (image © Sam Anaya)

Yosemite without cropping
© Sam Anaya

I had followed my own advice, “Open your eyes,” and experienced Yosemite in full. Even so, I couldn’t resist recording some part of the experience. I took out my ink and paper and tried to etch the view into my memory.

As I lifted my finished drawing to the real thing, I noticed that the lines went off the paper. Oh, I see. The Yosemite experience was too big to frame. Living is already naturally panoramic.

Comment on this post below, or inspire insight with your own OIC Moment here.

Thank you, Sam, for your photos and, Dana, for the tour of Yosemite.

Check here for more information about Yosemite National Park.

New Year’s Travel Inspiration

by Meredith Mullins on January 9, 2017

Paul Salopek in eastern Turkey (2014), nearly two years into his walk around the world
© John Stanmeyer/National Geographic Creative

The Out of Eden Walk Around the World

If I had made New Year’s resolutions, “walking around the world” probably would not have been on the list.

A get-off-the-couch, 10,000 steps a day? Maybe. 10 million steps? Not a chance. That would be travel inspiration of the monumental kind.

The 10 million number is not random. Ten million steps is an important milestone for Pulitzer Prize winning journalist Paul Salopek.

Why? He is walking around the world.

And he just reached the ten millionth step of his 21,000-mile journey. Millions more steps will follow.

Great Rift Valley, Ethiopia, Africa, travel inspiration for Paul Salopek and the Out of Eden Walk. (Image © AL-Travelpicture/iStock.)

In January 2013, Salopek began at the beginning—The Great Rift Valley in Ethiopia—one of the
world’s oldest human fossil sites.
© AL-Travelpicture/iStock.)

Out of Eden

I have followed Salopek since he began this ambitious odyssey in January 2013. For me, an adventure lover, the idea of a walk around the world was as mesmerizing as it was wild and crazy.

His “Out of Eden” project, sponsored by National Geographic, follows the path of the first humans as they migrated out of Africa during the Stone Age to begin their exploration of the planet.

World map with Out of Eden route marked for travel inspiration a la Paul Salopek. (Image © Chrupka/iStock.)

The proposed route mirrors how the first humans migrated out of Africa.
© Chrupka/iStock

It took them 40,000 to 60,000 years to make the journey— from Africa, across the Middle East and Asia, and finally to North and South America.

Gulf of Tadjourah view in Djibouti, travel inspiration for Paul Salopek and the Out of Eden Walk. (Image © VUSLimited/iStock.)

Salopek’s African journey took him from Ethiopia to the Gulf of Tadjourah in Djibouti and a boat
(full of sheep and camels) to Saudi Arabia.
© VUSLimited/iStock

Salopek’s journey will be shorter—a mere 7- to 11-year commitment. The original projection was seven years; but now, in his fourth year, he knows that plan was overly optimistic.

I’m way behind schedule and thankful for it . . . I’m having the time of my life.—Paul Salopek

Slow Journalism

What inspired this expedition?

Salopek believes that if we slow down and observe carefully, we can rediscover our world. He calls it an experiment in slowness.

Slowing down doesn’t dull the world. It makes it sharper. It makes it crisper. That’s what walking does.—Paul Salopek

He explains that he is simply moving from story to story. It just so happens that his feet are what gets him there.

Feet in Ethiopia, part of the travel inspiration of Paul Salopek for the Out of Eden Walk. (Image © rweisswald/iStock.)

When talking about a walk of 21,000 miles, feet become a topic of conversation. Most of the desert dwellers wear plastic or rubber. Salopek wears Merrell hiking shoes. Each pair lasts about 1000 miles.
© rweisswald/iStock

This walk is not about setting records or walking a certain number of steps a day, he explains. It’s strictly about storytelling.

The stories are about the people he meets, the changes he observes, and what it is to be human.

Walking is addictive, in a positive sense . . . It forces you to engage with people. You can’t ignore them. You have to say hello.—Paul Salopek

He interviews and photographs the strangers he meets (with a “Milestone” story every 100 miles, in addition to his frequent dispatches.)

He observes and records changes, such as camel grooves becoming oil pipelines and The Silk Road moving from a trade route for silk and spices to a route for oil and gas.

Hasankeyf, Turkey, and ancient town that provides travel inspiration to Paul Salopek on his Out of Eden walk. (Image © Asafta/iStock.)

Salopek sees past and future changes. Sections of the ancient town of Hasankeyf, Turkey will be inundated when a new dam is built. Layers of civilizations will be erased.
© Asafta/iStock

He writes often about the hospitality of strangers—sharing the last of their water, alerting him to the challenges of the terrain, or helping him to find the perfect camel.

Although he sometimes walks alone, he is most often with local guides, translators, or his trusty pack animals. Many of his guides have become good friends. (And, yes, mules and camels can be BFFs too.)

Camels in the desert, travel inspiration for Paul Salopek on the Out of Eden Walk. (Image © Meredith Mullins.)

A walk around the world is never lonely when there’s a good camel by your side.
© Meredith Mullins

Occasionally, he is joined by National Geographic photographer John Stanmeyer, whose stunning photographs add a unique perspective to the continuing saga.

In the virtual space of the internet, his footsteps are followed by thousands of people around the globe—well wishers, students, educational partners, and fellow adventurers who want to see, as Salopek does, what the far reaches of the globe are like.

We should be relieved to find out that Salopek’s view (so far) is that “the world is, by and large, a hospitable place.”

Evening view of Jerusalem, Israel, travel inspiration for Paul Salopek on his Out of Eden walk. (Image © Silverjohn/iStock.)

The path along the Red Sea included Saudi Arabia, Jordan,
the West Bank, and Israel. (Jerusalem is pictured here.)
© Silverjohn/iStock

Paradise Lost?

As he contemplates his journey, he imagines the world’s first walkers. They had no maps, he notes in his walking journal. They had no pre-planned routes.

In fact, he concludes, “they had no destinations because the very concept of ‘destination’ had yet to be invented.” This leads to his final conclusion: “These pioneers were, by definition, never lost.”

Hunter walking on a mountain, another traveler seeking travel inspiration along with Paul Salopek of the Out of Eden walk. (Image © Oner Enarih.)

You may think you’re the only traveler in the remote mountains of Kyrgyzstan, but there is always
life in the distance. Here, a hunter walks on a secluded hillside.
© Oner Enarih/iStock

You can tell he wants to walk as if he is one of these first pioneers . . .  to feel never lost.

But we live in a mapped world. There are destinations, borders, and GPS coordinates. It is possible to be lost.

The good news, Salopek says, is that getting lost can be a positive thing—it wakes you up.

You stand a little straighter. Your eyes and pores open. You become more alert. You study the world carefully, scanning the horizon for landmarks, signs, clues — for a way forward.

 But ultimately, you become alive to possibility: a new compass bearing, a new story, a trail untaken.—Paul Salopek

A Map for Adventure

Salopek’s route is fluid. There are challenges. He is influenced by which countries will grant him visas. He also listens to his inner survivor and tries to avoid places in conflict.

He has logged nearly 5000 miles in his first three years, from the Rift Valley of Africa to Saudi Arabia and a path following the Red Sea through the holy lands, to Cyprus and Eastern Turkey, to a trek across Georgia into the Stans.

Registan Square in Samarkand, Uzbekistan, travel inspiration for Paul Salopek on his Out of Eden Walk. (Image © Ozbalci/iStock.)

The journey interweaves brutal deserts, endless mountains, and historic cities, such as Samarkand, Uzbekistan, one of the major stops on The Silk Road trade route.
© Ozbalci/iStock

He is currently wintering in Kyrgyzstan before he tackles the Tian Shen mountains into China and the Taklamakan Desert (also known as the desert of no return). He will eventually make it to North America and walk south to the southernmost tip of South America.

Mountain peaks of the Tien Shan, Kyrgyzstan. (Image © Oner Enarih/iStock.)

After Salopek’s winter in Kyrgyzstan, the Tien Shan mountains await.
© Oner Enarih/iStock

Oh, I See: New Year’s Resolutions

No, I will not add walking the world to my New Year’s resolutions. But the travel inspiration that Salopek provides and his Out of Eden words and images will find their way into my core. There are many “Oh, I See” moments in his stories.

And so, if I had made New Year’s resolutions, they might have looked something like this.

  • I will slow down to really see.
  • I will look for the best in humanity.
  • I will seek the trail untaken.
  • I will live new stories.

These are resolutions worth keeping. Thank you, Mr. Salopek.

You can follow the Out of Eden story here. See more of John Stanmeyer’s photography here or in the OIC story about his World Press Photo Award. Join the Out of Eden Facebook page here.

Comment on this post below, or inspire insight with your own OIC Moment here.

An Idiom Abroad

by Joyce McGreevy on January 3, 2017

The statue of the Duke of Wellington in Glasgow shows that Scotland's fashions go beyond the wordplay of clothing idioms. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Trafficking in high fashion, Glasgow style. 
The Duke of Wellington monument at the Gallery of Modern Art.
© Joyce McGreevy

A Wordplay Stitch in Time

Sew, a funny thing happened on the way to a textile exhibition. One morning in Glasgow, I stopped at a café to write. The assignment: draft a column  about the wordplay of clothing idioms.

I’m no smarty pants, but I hoped to leave readers in stitches so I put on my thinking cap, booted up my laptop, and buckled down to work.  As cellphone users aired their dirty linen in public, I felt hampered and wished they would put a sock in it.

Then the barista buttonholed me with a shirty question.

“Wherever do you writers get your material?” he asked starchly.

His remark needled me, but surely I could pin down a sharp reply. A stitch in time saves nine, but darn it, the next ten minutes unraveled as I hemmed and hawed.

Awkward silence cloaked the café. You could have heard a pin drop.

A 17th century glove from Glasgow's Burrell Collection inspires off-the-cuff wordplay and other clothing idioms. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

The gloves were off. I grasped for an off-the-cuff remark.
A 17th century glove, Burrell Collection, Glasgow.
© Joyce McGreevy

The Truth Can Be Crewel

The truth is, we writers fly by the seat of our pants, sometimes crafting stories from whole cloth, sometimes hanging on by a thread. We spin a good yarn, yet often feel as if we’re pulling the wool over our own eyes.

I considered embroidering the truth, as if I always had a trick up my sleeve. But my tongue was tied, so I zipped my lip. I was skirting the issue, and in Scotland one can get kilt for such things.

Seeing that I hadn’t a notion, my questioner dropped the topic like a missed stitch. Hat in hand, I weaved uncertainly into the fog that blanketed the city of Glasgow.

A Queen's Park street in Glasgow leads to a textile exhibition that inspires the wordplay of clothing idioms. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Before me loomed a patchwork of city streets. I knitted my brow, feeling crotchety.
© Joyce McGreevy

Haberdasher-ing Down the Road

The road unspooled before me, shimmering in patches, as veils of cloud cover gradually lifted. With a few quid burning a hole in my pocket, I threaded my way through Pollok Country Park. There I saw people surging toward the museum that housed the Burrell Collection.

The Hornby Portico in Glasgow leads to a textile exhibition, a visual reminder of clothing idioms' wordplay. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

A coat of arms crowns the site of strategic textile maneuvers.
The Hornby Portico, 16th century, Glasgow.
© Joyce McGreevy

As a traveler on a shoestring budget, I seek out pockets of inspiration that won’t cost the shirt off my back. Like museums, where I feel as comfortable as an old shoe.

So in I darted.

There it was—a textile exhibition perfectly tailored to the situation: Gilt and Silk: Early 17th Century Costume.

Oh, I see:  This was truly a stitch in time.

A 17th century petticoat at a textile exhibition in Glasgow, Scotland reminds us that a stitch in time is more than wordplay. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

How do you order remnants of chronological events? In sequins, of course. 
Detail from a 17th century petticoat, Burrell Collection.
© Joyce McGreevy

Material Witness

I realize textile exhibitions bore the pants off some people. But I grew up in a close-knit family where a head for style went hand in glove with an eye for art. We’ve always cottoned to costume displays and would go at the drop of a hat.

Turns out it was final curtain for the Burrell Collection. The museum was about to bolt its doors until 2020, allowing renovators to roll up their sleeves and gussy up the place.

In other words, this textile exhibition was no dress rehearsal.

Silver and gold embroidery at a textile exhibition in Glasgow reflect the gilt-y pleasures of wordplay and clothing idioms. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Taking a shine to silver and gold threads made me feel gilt-y.
© Joyce McGreevy

Cloth Encounters

Intent on bobbin’ my head at as many items as possible, I zigzagged from display to display.

Some of the clothing knocked my socks off.

Like a woman’s waistcoat made of linen and polychrome silk. The snug little bodice brought new meaning to tightening one’s belt. Ah, but those silver-gilt threads in a pattern of flowers and foliage had me wearing my heart on my sleeve.

A 17th century noblewoman's waistcoat at a textile exhibition in Glasgow, Scotland threads the needle between clothing idioms' wordplay and their source. (Image @ Joyce McGreevy)

Wealthy noblewomen had a vested interest in waistcoats.
A 17th century waistcoat, Burrell Collection.
© Joyce McGreevy

Satin’s Handiwork

Some items left me hot under the collar. Like the outfit worn by the little boy in this painting.

A medieval ruff, as depicted in a painting in Glasgow, Scotland, inspires the wordplay of clothing idioms. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Seems like ruff circumstances for a little kid.
Detail from a painting by unknown artist, Burrell Collection.
© Joyce McGreevy

I guess M’Lord Senior was a stuffed shirt. And M’Lady had a bee in her bonnet about handling play-clothes with kid gloves.

Meanwhile, another area was bursting at the seams.

Museum-goers had fanned out around the highlight of the show—a crimson silk satin petticoat. You can bet your boots that showcasing this extremely rare article was a feather in the cap of the museum’s director.

Thus did the hours unfold. I stared at historical fashion like it was going out of style.

A 17th century textile exhibition in Glasgow provides rich material for clothing idioms and wordplay. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Nothing’s petty about a  17th century petticoat. The layered look was big back then. 
© Joyce McGreevy

Nothing Old Hat Under the Sun

Finally, it was time to throw in the towel. With a new experience under my belt, I felt once again ready to toss my hat into the ring. (As a freelancer, I wear many hats in order to line my pockets while pulling myself up by my own bootstraps, as I refuse to ride another’s coattails.)

So I returned to work and tied up a few loose ends.

A 17th century cap at a textile exhibition in Glasgow, Scotland is "a tip of the hat" to clothing idioms and wordplay. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Hat trick: This embroidered cloth became a close-fitting cap.
© Joyce McGreevy

True, I still hadn’t answered the question of where writers get their material. Not every mystery can be sewn up in a neat little package.

But by following a stitch in time at the textile exhibition and collaring a few clothing idioms, I’d reconnected with the fabric of life. And my guess is, there’s a pattern in there somewhere.

A detail of a 17th century cap at a textile exhibition in Glasgow, Scotland "puts a cap on" clothing idioms and wordplay. (Image © Joyce McGreevy)

Animals on caps symbolized the senses. H’ats all, folks!
© Joyce McGreevy

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