Light in Gdansk rises on the horizon at 3am in summertime. Only a few hours earlier had I laid my head down for rest at a Polish hotel. Now I was struggling to pull my socks over my feet. I complain internally. If I've seen one middle-century-european fresco I've seen them all, dangnabit, "Unngh," is about the most verbally articulate I can be at this hour. By 4am Alicia and I are walking north to the old quarter of the city. I know before I arrive that it's a wonderful sight: medieval towers stand tall against the shore of the MotÅawa river, re-constructions of beautiful buildings from the time of the Hanseatic League, a modern riot of 13th century architecture. Yet, as we continue forward under fading starlight, all I want is the hard starchy pillow back at the hotel room. I'm reassured once again that the a.m. is going to be the ideal time to experience the familiar DÅugi Targ and "Royal Road." My grumpy skepticism is not interested. But then... The sun began to appear, warming the cool pockets of shadows with long soft light. For the next hour we share the fresh illumination in Gdansk's old town with the ancient walls of the Golden Gate, the processional paths of historical European kings, and relative silence. The past competes with the new millennium for these moments. It is victorious. Gradually, the town wakes. A half-dozen bicyclists or so glide through our shots, an alarm clock placed in an open window goes ignored, and matrons shuffle to market, plastic bags in hand. Still, in that time between starlight and bright morning, the diffused visuals and quiet corners of legacy returned for us. --Matt

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Everything we read told us not to go alone. They told us not to go at night. Brochures admonished to always enter with a group of people (safety in numbers). Don't wander astray! Curious warnings indeed for St Louis Cemetery No. 1 in New Orleans. Heeding the cautions we took off anyway. I have to admit that when we first walked in - alone, wandering astray - I was more than a little nervous and honestly somewhat creeped out. The narrow alleyways, tilted tombstones, long shadows and muddied pathways knotted my imagination. Slowly, gradually, the grounds and mausoleums shifted away from sinister. I became a little more comfortable with the surroundings, I released my grip on Matt, looked more into my viewfinder and less over my shoulder. For me, cemeteries have always piqued an interest and created comfort. They are celebrations of lives and places of histories. So as the winds parted the clouds and revealed blue skies, the titled white marble tombstones looked more like well-worn jewels. The narrow alleyways became a maze of discovery. The shadows gave contrast to my photos. The muddied paths created the perfect texture for old and new shoe prints. So heed the warnings, but don't ever get creeped out. -Alicia

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Pink petals of velvet snow shrouded the April morning. I witnessed the wind carry soft pastel folds across the skies... and as they covered the ground in a light blanket of pink. Sakura snow. This season of warm color continued to romance me in a torrid yet all-too-brief liaison. The petal pathways on the ground were leading to the end, but the dawning of my new love affair was still a fresh recollection. My first Cherry Blossom season started when I overheard some ladies telling each other they had spotted an opening bud on a tree near National Hospital, their voices full of temporal excitement. Eager to see for myself I grabbed a camera and headed out. Discovering the location, my courtship began. I photographed every stage of the trees transformation, from tiny florets to full blossoms and finally green leaves. But the most memorable time was towards the end of the engagement as the flowers began to drop and envelop the ground, creating a sensual cloak of snowflake blossoms. Some consider it sad to see such a relationship end, but impermanence infatuates me. And two weeks after arrival, this new suitor was gone. My Sakura had moved northward, charming anew. Vanished, but leaving my restive ardor behind, anticipating the next embrace. -Alicia

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Alone with white sand and white noise. Losing myself by design. The Indian Ocean's waves poured warm salt foam across my bare feet. I had been wandering along the coast for over an hour, capturing images of the seascape. The view gradually changed, but never became any less impressive. The isolation crept up on me, much like my languid pace. Turquoise blue, sea turtles, and the tracking sun was my company. I hadn't seen another soul for hours and I wouldn't have it any other way. This is the typical beach experience in Exmouth Australia, and the seclusion of the afternoon made it my own; wonderfully unique. These moments accumulated over the next handful of days as I explored the western coast of the island continent. Even when touring with a small group of friends, the isolation remained, impossible to escape. The sweep of the landscapes and the expanses humbled me. That experience remained as I returned to the modernity and aggressive cacophony of urban life, far away from the brush and shores of the outback. I long to get lost once again, distant vastness on the edge of the world. Exmouth is still there there to hide me. -Matthew

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"The Last Great Race on Earth" has a starting line, but that line seemed a long way from where I was standing; surrounded by a howling pack of grungy mutts on a warm and muddy mountain plateau. "These are the best dogs for the job," I was assured. "All they want to do is run," Matt Hayashida claimed while rubbing a torn ear on one of the pack leaders. Matt is the owner and breeder of the clan that was howling in anticipation. "We keep these dogs in training year-round." The scene was yelping chaos as his favorite collection of dogs were harnessed and attached to a metal-go-cart contraption. Eight people piled onto the buggy. I couldn't imagine the train of canines moving this unwieldy apparatus with any sort of energy, but Matt recommended I hold on tight. He recommended it three times. Good thing. This particular dog team was in training for the Iditarod. Alaska's winter race spectacle runs from Anchorage to Nome on the western Bering Sea coast covering over 1150 miles in the middle of the arctic winter. The milder summer of Juneau and a wheeled cart turned out to be hardly a challenge for our accomplished pack. "Get it! Get it! Get It!" sent the yelps into the background as the dogs suddenly lurched forward. I went the opposite direction and became, rather quickly, very personable with a housewife from Sacramento who was also along for the ride. Her parental grip saved me from spilling backwards out of the now surprisingly supersonic chariot. "Once they start it's hard to wind 'em down," Matt had mentioned earlier. And, for me, imagining the Iditarod starting line in Anchorage suddenly became a whole lot easier. -Matthew Nothelfer

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If you're a tourist like me who prefers walking to bus rides and subways, then a hike inside the City of Lights is perfectly historic; especially if you start at Notre Dame where all the roads, as well as the city, originated. Finding the first Parisian island in the middle of the Seine was probably a bit easier back when the Romans were stomping around, but in modern day Paris you best know how to read a map to figure out where Notre Dame is exactly. Sometimes topographical skills suffer in the morning hours, so sitting in a cafà sampling cheeses and wine before noon will help you get your bearings. Once grounded, a simple hand gesture to the right by your waiter will clearly show the buttresses of the cathedral as it stands (in front of your re-focused view) just over the river. Wandering to the other icons of Paris should be as the French say, "morceau de gateau," or a piece of cake. In theory, yes, the Eiffel Tower peaking through the skyline and the Louvre's internationally known glass pyramid should be easy enough to locate, but with wanton feet it's not always so obvious. Even Moulin Rouge, though a few blocks from your hotel, might seem to evade you for days on end. And of course, The Arch de Triomphe from the south of Champs-ÃlysÃes looks like an easy walk, but at this point who has the energy!? --Alicia

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Bits of red would jump into the corner of my eye the first time I visited Japan; glimpses around corners and behind modest doorways. I saw that familiar color again on my second trip. I began to look closer at the vibrant crimson hats and bibs adorning cherubean stones. On my third visit to Japan, the personal exploration of various faces, sizes, shapes and meanings of the Jizo intrigued and impressed me even more. "Who would take the time to warm these humble stones?" "Why?" I learned more. I asked people about the meanings and I even found myself reaching for my camera every time I can across one. I was reaching for my camera a lot. Once I inquired, it did not take long for me to learn that Jizo are a very special part of Japanese culture. They offer protection from evil, comfort for losses and hope for our dreams. Now when I see the statues I am comforted. I am reassured by their faces. I know their meanings. I understand their power. We continue our Japanese photo series this month and our second edition shares with you the color, the faces, the clothing and the meanings of Jizo. A special thank you to Kyoko Yanaso, who's help, enthusiasm, and quest for knowledge helped make this episode possible.

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Textures, patterns and colors seem like they are haphazardly thrown together. Combinations that at first seem unfathomable come alive with grace and fluidity. Would you ever put indigo blue and pink orchids together with florescent orange and green embroidery? I couldn't, wouldn't even know how to, but witnessing a Kimono ensemble come alive is a thing of beauty, wonder, magic and most of all Japanese tradition. A month and a half after arriving in Japan, I shot my first images of a kimono. I remember the mid-December night that I watched my friend Noriko tie an obi, the heavy broad sash that becomes the Kimonos belt, with precision and grace. At that moment I said to myself, "before I leave Kure, Im going to do a Kimono series". Almost a year to the date of that thought, the series is complete. This special photographic podcast is 1 in a series of 4 photo essays about Japanese culture. After living in Japan for over a year I wanted to share some of the things that amazed me, made me wonder or simply entertained my visual senses. I hope you enjoy this first episode on Kimonos and see how wonderfully beautiful the women in the textured patterns are. --Alicia

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If you visit Venice you probably leave with your own story of disorientation among the canals and foot streets. Confused wandering can be frustrating, but getting lost offers certain rewards. Walking aimlessly, and most likely in circles, through Venice we strolled into a rather strange studio, OltreConfine. It did not offer traditional Venetian Carnival costuming, but rather masks and designs inspired by pagan mythology and modern comic books. Artist Maurizio Di Celestino was quietly modest, telling us of dreams to create contemporary artworks, and how he made his dreams into reality opening his boutique. From new to old, Maurizio put us in contact with local designer, Francesco Briggi of Atelier Pietro Longhi. Visiting his studio was a journey into the past. Watching his artists put handmade details into authentic period clothing proved that both shops were different, but they were also what Venice and Carnival are known for: a departure from reality, the opportunity for the metaphysical. Sometimes being lost will help you find exactly what you looking for. --Alicia

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Two wheels through the heart of Milan. Fun stuff for a scooting go 'round. Many times my eyes were closed, and my knees were usually squeezed tight as we crisscrossed through traffic. I struggled to keep my bag balanced in front of me. I really did try not to bump my helmet at every stop. I swear I did. It took a little getting used to but hey, if the Italians can do it gracefully, well I can at least I can try too. Seeing Milan on a scooter is thrilling and surprisingly comfortable. It gives you freedom and the luxury of speed. Riding a scooter also implies in some sense that you know what your doing. Luckily, the helmet shields uncertain looks from the other drivers. Catching glimpses of small neighborhoods, taking a 10 minute espresso break at a corner cafe, noticing those small shops that you might miss if you stayed on four wheels or long after the feet give out, what better way to discover The Bone Chapel or Bar Metro? As a photographer, experiencing Milan from this perspective was exciting and challenging. Capturing the city from the back of a moving vehicle is a blur. A fast paced, nonstop flow, and a great experience to be right in the middle of it. It's not an easy task. The roads dead end. Pedestrians are everywhere. You have to hang on to your belongings and be constantly aware of your surroundings. It's not an easy task at all... and I was the passenger! --Alicia

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Eerie. Sulfuric. Hissing. A few of the words used in our travel guide, and more intriguing than those of a typical Japanese destination. We headed north to the Aomori prefecture to witness these curious adjectives first hand. Once in Mutsu, we boarded the local bus to Mt. Osorezen. The road up the mountain proved scenic. Subtly, quietly, slow chanting was piped through the buses intercom, electronic ghosts in the crackling of broken speakers. A glance at the only other foreigner we'd seen for half a week brought a moment of comfort as we shared a similar edition of the Lonely Planet. Comrades via travelogue! The brakes squeaked in discordant harmony and there was an unannounced, (or perhaps announced - who knows) roadside stop to a mountain spring. The locals escaped the bus to fill waiting cups with cool water. Willing to try anything we participated in drinking. A sudden flash of potential intestinal regret, but we shrugged it off and returned to the crackling. As the bus rolled to the top of the mountain the initial impression was normalcy, but then the breeze picked up and you could hear a squeaking rising in volume with the swirls of the gusts. We walked onto temple grounds and the pinwheels left behind by grieving parents came into view, thousands of colorful sticks whirling, some intact, some forced apart, others lying sideways on the rock cairns. The images viewed through a lens seemed limitless. A few shooting hours later, hungry and completely windblown, we entered the only cafe for a cool ice cream treat. Was it ice cream? We don't know. It was cold... sorta. Paying the bill the waitress asked hastily, "Bus-Ka?" Without our answer she ran out of the restaurant flagging down the latest return ride into town. Many "X" hand gestures later we convinced her we were not ready to leave. Going back for a second pass, there was still plenty of viewfinder and shutter exertion remaining. A few hundred exposures later the light turned into magic hour. Perfect! Unfortunately it was time to catch the final bus to Mutsu which was anxiously idling in the parking lot 500 meters away. Grabbing our gear and making a run for it we both saw the same "must have" image. Only one of us could get it while the other held the bus. "You can do it, get the shot!" I ran to the eerie statues silhouetted against the hissing sulphur sky. I fired the shutter 3 final times. Best shots of the day. --Alicia Mountain of dread Osorezan Sai-No-Kawara

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