Key West, Sept 93 to May 94

Travis with his dog, Simonton, in front of his house.
(Taken with a polaroid cam.)


After, Sara and I returned from Jamaica, Sara returned to Canada to pursue her studies. I stayed back in Fort Lauderdale. I just worked long enough (10 days) to make some money to get out of there.

I met a Dutch woman, older than me (back then everyone was older than me!), and we rented a car going to Miami, looking for work on a cruiseship. It did not happen so we drove down to Key West where we heard that it was easy to get a job despite having no "papers".

It's a small island at the end of the Keys, technically part of Florida but very much island life.

When we arrived, it was very very hot and humid. I could not walk more than a block without having to drink some water! I much prefer that to fall and winter in Canada!

I first lodge at a youth hostel. I quickly moved out to rent a room in a splendid old colonial. house. My room was vast, with lots of furniture and a balcony that went all around my room. The house also had a pool but the owner (an old lady) was dirty. The rent was not cheap either.

While I was asking for a job at the local photo lab, a man (Pat Clyne) heard me and offered me a job as his assistant PR director for Mel Fisher, the greatest treasure hunter! I said yes on the spot! Most of the time the work was quite tedious but occasionnaly I had to photograph a gold coin for a potential buyer, make the museum's first newsletter, take trips to Key Largo to do stills while Pat was filming and a Miami court (the law on "finders' keepers" for treasure found near the Florida coast.) Amonst my favorite activities was going in a Cesna, a small 4 seat-plane, and jump clouds. I was to learn scuba diving and under water photography.

My dream job lasted about 5-6 weeks. It ended because they could not get a working permit for me.

Meanwhile, I had moved out of the house and moved into a shared 2-bedroom appartement with a lovely Norwegian woman and a weird alcoholic American scuba instructor. The place was tiny but my rent was cut by half. I shared a tiny room with Idun, the Norwegian. The house was situated in the Bahama village - the "black" neighbourhood. Our next-door neighbours was a sweet Cuban family. It was definately more "colorful" than my first place!

I quickly got another job, selling African art in a stall on Duval street (the main "drag".), next to Tootsies restaurant. I was working for a quiet Kenyan lady named Mary. I remained there until I had to go back to Canada for an exhibition.

To see more of my photos, please visit my Flickr stream.

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My beloved Hasselblad!

I don't have any pictures of my Hasselblad 500CM but here's a photo taken with it, taken circa 1987.

For those who don't know, a Hasselblad is the Rolls Royce of the medium format camera and it's expensive.

How I came to own one is not the story here.

When I started to travel, I brought it along with me. In the late 80s, I was living in London, England, in a youth hostel. I kept it locked in the hotel's safe for security.

One early morning, I was awaken by a frantic friend, who asked me if I had anything in the safe. "Yes, everything." " Why?"

"Everything was stolen!"

So I got up quite fast and was greated by the police on the scene of the crime. As I was describing everything I had in my bag (apart from my camera, I had my passport and all the money I had left.) , the same friend told me to come have a look because there was a couple of bags left.

So, I had a look and about the only bag that was left was my old and scruffy looking bag....with everything in it!

The morale of this story is, never NEVER put your valuables, (camera or otherwise) in a camera bag or an expensive-looking bag! The thieves had left my bag alone and I had the most expensive camera in the lot!

After that episode, I was too scared to travel with my Hasselblad anymore (with no insurance- too expensive!) , so upon a visit home, I left it there. Later sold it for more travel dineros.

My present camera (my trusty Nikon FM2-a totally manual 35 mm) is in a padded lunch bag.

To see more of my photos, please visit my Flickr stream. To buy a photo, please contact me.

You goan a Jamaica?

Our host "Chest" and his friend "Froggy". 1993

As soon as our Jamaican friend in Ottawa found out we (Sara & I) wanted to go a Jamaica, he sent us to his village, Central Village, between Kingston and Spanish Town. (locals call it "Spain".)
As soon as we arrived at Kingston airport, we knew we were in for quite a "ride"!
Since our guest didn't know we were coming yet, he wasn't there to meet us. After many deliberations with local taxi drivers, we opted for the bus. As we were waiting, we thought : "We don't know exactly where we're going." , "We have to take 2 buses." We quickly changed our minds and reached for the taxi driver with the best deal.
The taxi spead along this beautiful coastal road. Ah, the sweet smell of a tropical island.

Passing many rough looking villages."Is this Central Village?" we asked worried. "No" was our answer. We were relieved each time....
Until we forked at a very similar rough village that turned out to be Central Village. Every one was looking at us passing by. We were very worried. We arrived and our host wasn't there. He arrived shortly. It turned out that he was talking to his cousin (our friend in Ottawa) and he told him that we were coming.
Throught out our 3 month stay, many people came to see the "whiteys", who knew their brethren back in Canada.

During our stay:
- we bleached (spend a night awake) at Reggae Sunsplash, the first year in Kingston, taking short naps on our "ragga bed" (cardboard).

- We went to a few dance "sessions" at the Spanish Town Prison Oval. It's not in the prison but on a field next to the prison. One could see the prisoners at their respective window.

- With Chest, we took a shared taxi (4 at the back and 3 at the front) to Ocho Rios, visiting the Green Grotto and, of course, the Dunn's River Falls.

- Visited Bob Marley's museum at Hope street, Kingston. Quite an esoteric experience. Of course, by then, I understood "patois" (the local lingo) quite well and amazed some rastas by understanding what they told me. Eh! Eh!

- We learned how to play dominos. According to Froggy, I ketch it fast mon!

- Went to a few sessions in Kingston clubs. Witnessed the debut of Ninja man. I remember our van being stopped fro a search by machined gun cops at 4 AM!
"4 O'Clock, road block..." like in the Bob Marley's song.

- Hitch-hiked to a Kingston beach a few times, where we were the only "whiteys" there, with food vendors (mainly jerk chicken or fish) and reggae music blaring everywhere.

- Rented a likkle car and together with Roy and Chest, we went to Clarendon, Montego Bay, Negril and Mandeville. We slept on Mo'Bay's beach to wake up to find Roy's shoes gone missing!

- Went to Sumfest in Mo'Bay.

I quickly learned that "soon come", means "See you later" and not coming back soon and that "Raggamuffin driving" is crazy driving.

Althought Central Village is a very rough and poor village, we never felt in danger and the people were very friendly. We had such fun and were very fortunate to experienced the "real" Jamaica.

Found on a BM's Museum wall:

"Time is not measured by the years that you live...But by the joy that you give."

Jump up and wave!

After my amazing experience at Notting Hill Carnival in London, England, I wanted to experience it's inspiration Carnival in Port-of-Spain, Trinidad.

Carnival in Trinidad is not a 2-day thing like in London- it's a 2 month-long of festivities and for some (if not most), it's a year-long thing!
All of the competitions and fetes (parties) starts immediately after Christmas.
There's the Capypso "tents", presenting Calypso concerts. (Trad calypso has an easy-paced, distinctive beat and strong lyrics laced with satire, jokes, elegies or indignation about current personalities and events.)
The Calypso Monarch and Young King competitions in San Fernando, Mas camps all over the city (Mas for Masquerade), Steelband competitions (with Panyards all over the city.)
The whole island is in a party (fete) frenzy for 1-2 months!

I arrived in POS airport a bit nervous as I was told by numerous people that it was a very dangerous and rough island. I was immediately surrounded by regular taxi drivers that wanted my business. There was competition amonst them at who was going to get "me". I had a phone # of a friend of a friend. I called him hoping desperately for help. He told me to look in the phone book to find a hotel and take a taxi! So, I went to the "tourist" office to find help. A shared taxi, a maxi taxi ( a van holding about 16 ppl) and another shared taxi later, I found myself in an affordable hotel. A couple of days later, I befriended a Karen, who found me a room with a local family. I was set the month.

The "proper" Carnival starts on the night before Carnival Monday, with J'ouvert- a contraction of "Jour Ouvert" or "daybreak" in English. Two Brits of Jamaican descent were staying with us for the Carnival time. On that night, we had a few shots of white rhum. I hate rhum and normaly don't drink but I wanted to do like them and experience the Carnival at it's "full". Silly me!
At first I was ok but on site (a POS street), waiting for the "right" band to follow, I started to feel the effects of the rhum. Unfortunately for me, I also mixed it with a bit of smoke and by the time, we were ready to follow the band (dancing behind a giant truck loaded with speakers), I was completely legless! I was sprayed with paints, beer, soda, nothing worked.
So after a while of having 2 men on each side, carrying me around, I was "dropped" at a house were I watched the procession from a stand. I vaguely remember being given water, "salts", coffee and some food. In the morning, I was picked up and we drove back "home". What a night!

After that night, I remained sober for the 2 Carnival days and had much fun in the madness of it all.

I remember the National Road March Song (winning song that gets played the most at the carnival) was "Signal to Lara" by Superblue. That was in 1995. "Lara" is Brian Lara - Trinidad's Cricket National Hero.

What I mostly remember is the friendiness and joyfullness of all the Trinis I met....and the delicious food!!!!

Charlotteville, T&T

On my first visit to Trinidad and Tobago (T&T), I wound up in this charming fishing village at the end of Tobago island .

It was a classic case of "love at first sight", and I hadn't even set a foot in the village yet.

I had a lovely rustic old house up on the hill over-looking the village. I was the lucky first "tourist" to stay in that former home turned into a rent house. How I got it? I insisted at the POS tourist board for a cheaper house to rent.

"My" house was surrounded with all kinds of fruit trees: mango, pawpaw, lime, almond, passion fruit, coconut, you name it, I had it! I was in heaven!

Before long I had made lots of friends. I heard: "Awright Helene?" all around.

So many fond memories of that first trip of many to this island. I loved going fishing on the high sea with my friend Pash and his boat. Was never successful though but it was a fun time.

Back then it was the "end of the line".

Unfortunately those peaceful years are long gone...

Over the years, I have returned many times, each time it was getting more touristy.

Last time I returned, my favorite spot to get my peanut punch (delicious punch made with peanut butter) had turned into a internet shop/fishing tours owned by a couple of Austrians. The tourists (mainly Germans and Austrians) had bought land and built hotels, coffee shops, bars, internet cafes......

"My" village wasn't a sleepy fishing village but a bustling tourist "ghetto" (like a friend says) like the rest of the island.

It's all good for the local economy but not for me....so I'm on the look-out for another "sleeping" village I can make myself at home.

To see more photos of Tobago, please visit my Flickr stream.

Hyde Park, London.

I was living in a backpackers in Bayswater, London, England in my early 20s. It was close to Hyde Park, so one morning, very early (6 am I think), I got up and went to the park in search of photos. I met this man and we had a very long conversation until another homeless man came with a bottle of vodka and some orange juice. I moved on when they both got too drunk and weren't fun anymore.

Another time, years later, this time living in Notting Hill, my friend and I were crossing the park twice a day to go to work. (At a very expensive and posh retail store called "Harrod's") We crossed it because it was about 30 minutes shorter than if we went around it. It was a bit scary on those foggy mornings when we could see nothing in front of us.

Scarier still was when we almost got caught by bobbies (cops)! It was closed after dark so we had to hop over the fence. Sometimes an English girl accompanied us. This time we got chased by Bobbies (cops) and we just managed to hop over the fence to freedom...well all 2 of us except the English lass!

The scariest was when I was crossing alone at night and a guard with a dog spotted me. I decided it was foolish to run so I waited. I put on a very thick French accent (not hard since I'm a French-speaking Canadian.) and pretended I could hardly understand what the man said. The English being so polite, the guard spoke r-e-a-l-l-y  s-l-o-w and showed me the quickest way out. Of course as soon as he had disappeared I continued on.

I was young and foolish.