Penguin went a-courtin'

If you look closely at this gentoo in Mikkelsen Harbor you can see that he's carrying one of the very important courtship pebbles in his beak.

Whale bones

There were whale bones all over the beach at Mikkelson Harbor, along with the ruins of a wooden boat.

Back in Antarctica

Looking down on the landing site in Mikkelsen Harbor. This picture gives a sense of scale that I wasn't always able to capture—how small I sometimes felt, with the mountains and glaciers just looming above us.

Sunday bird blogging

A pair of kelp geese on the shore in Puerto Williams, before we set sail for South Georgia.

Saturday reflections

I've been taking a lot of buses again, something I got out of the habit of doing during the pandemic. But with school and tutoring on the Upper East Side, and my knee no longer up to walking as many miles as I used to, it's either buses or Uber, and buses are a lot cheaper.

A view from above

I love seeing mountains from the air, and the Andes always seem particularly photogenic. This was taken on the flight between Rio and Santiago.

The umbrellas of Copacabana

Urban poetry

Christmas Day in Rio. The highway along Copacabana Beach was closed to cars, but busy with bikes and scooters.

And almost every single person was on their phone while they were biking or scooting along. I've never seen that anywhere else; lots of New Yorkers are glued to their phones while they walk, but I've never seen anyone looking at their phone while they're biking. It definitely wouldn't be great for your life expectancy here.

I sold my car not long ago, and while I occasionally miss the idea of it, I really do not miss the stress of driving in Manhattan, where two eyes and a few mirrors aren't nearly enough to keep track of all of the chaos around you.

Cascatinha Taunay

This waterfall is in Tijuca National Park, an urban park in the mountains in and around Rio. It's named for Nícolas-Antoine Taunay, a French artist who built his house on the edge of the waterfall.

More tropical foliage

I do love the colossal leaves in the tropics; I remember seeing some in Costa Rica that were taller than I am. And there was bamboo everywhere.

Jardim Botânico

The botanical gardens were part of my Christmas Eve tour in Rio. They were closing early for the holiday, so our visit was a blur of orchids, bamboo and a lot of tropical foliage.

Another phone picture

This was taken from the couch in my stateroom, in Antarctica obviously.

We were somewhere in the vicinity of either Neko Harbor or Paradise Bay. I probably got up off my ass at some point and went out on the balcony to get a better picture, but I love this reminder of the sheer magic of that trip.

Sunday bird blogging

I'm catching up on odds and ends now that the semester over, and hoping to bring some order to the mess before the summer's travels begin. So here's a white ibis in Miami in January.

Saturday reflections

Cars in a parking lot sporting some amazing reflections.

I took this picture about six months ago—I remember that I was cutting through the parking lot on my way somewhere in a tremendous hurry, though I no longer remember where I was exactly or where I was going. But obviously I had to stop and take this picture.

Anyway, it promptly got buried in the hundreds of photos on my phone related to school and our group chats, and I found it today when I was trying to clean some of the junk out.

Cristo Redentor

Even on a sunny day, with blue skies and puffy clouds, I wouldn't have been that impressed by the statue. It's colossal, of course; those outstretched arms are 28 meters across—almost 100 feet. But you lose the scale seeing it up close. If I'd had to guess how tall it was I would have said maybe fifty feet, but it's twice that. You really get a much better sense of the drama of it from a distance, or in the many photographs taken from the air.

There's a tiny chapel inside the pedestal, which was packed with people trying to get out of the rain, and I sat there for a while. I much preferred the painting there to the statue outside.

More views from Corcovado

I really wasn't expecting how beautiful all of the mountains in and around the city of Rio are. Even on a rainy day.

Rainy day

It's been raining all week here, reminding me of that last day sightseeing in Rio in the rain.

This is the view from Corcovado, the mountain with the statue of Christ the Redeemer. This panorama of the tiny boats and the city in the foreground, and the mountains fading away in the mist, was actually much more impressive than the actual statue we climbed the mountain to see.

Sunday bird blogging

Four kings in Fortuna Bay.

Sunday bird blogging

A giant petrel on the beach with some seals at Fortuna Bay.

One more week of crazy prep, and the semester will be finished. There may not be a program next year, unfortunately. We won't know if our funding has been cut until July, but since there's nothing I can do about it, I'm just going to keep my head down, grade my tests, assemble my books of student writing, and try not to think about it.

Saturday reflections

The Upper East Side reflected in a car on East 68th Street, taken on my way to the bus stop after class today.

Sunday bird blogging

A giant petrel swimming in Fortuna Bay in South Georgia.

Yesterday after class I took the bus on Fifth Avenue—walking the full two miles home after standing all day is not always possible with my still highly tempermental knee. The bus was crowded, and as soon as I got on, a young man jumped up and offered me his seat.

Reader, I accepted— gratefully—even as an incredulous voice in my head was shrieking, “Wait! I'm not old!”

Sunday bird blogging

A few penguins hanging out on the beach in Gold Harbour, in South Georgia.

Saturday reflections

The São Sebastião Cathedral looks better as a reflection.

Urban poetry

Packing up after a long day on the beach at Copacabana. I am so impressed by everything this man managed to pack onto that little cart. Most of the vendors I noticed around the beach used big trucks to haul all their stuff around.

Watching it all

I don't think it's possible to look more Brazilian than this woman on a balcony overlooking the steps.

Waiting out the rain

Some locals near the bottom of the steps who were also hanging out while getting out of the rain.

Murals

Street art near the stairs

The street below the stairs is full of murals and mosaics. (Eu te amo means I love you, for those of you who understand as little Portuguese as I do.)

Escadaria Selarón

The Selarón Steps (locally known as the Lapa Steps for the neighborhood in Rio where they're located) were created by Chilean painter and sculptor Jorge Selarón. In 1990, he started painting the dilapidated stairs outside his home, and decorating them with tiles he salvaged from building sites. The steps became an obsession, and he used his other art as a sideline to finance the project. Eventually visitors from around the world began to donate tiles.

Selarón died in 2013.

If you think the picture above isn't great, here's an example of the rest of my pictures. Not only was it pouring rain when we were there, but the weather did nothing to discourage the multitudes of tourists. I didn't even attempt to fight my way through the crowds and climb the stairs; instead I joined the more intelligent tourists huddling under awnings outside nearby shops until it was time to get back in the van.

Homeless Jesus

But I did love this outside the cathedral: a status of Jesus as a homeless man (identifiable only by the wounds on his feet), created by a Canadian artist, Timothy Schmalz.

Then there's the exterior

Ever wondered what a Brutalist Mayan pyramid would look like? Well, here you are.

The cathedral was designed by Edgar de Oliveira da Fonseca, and built in the late 60's-early 70's. I have not been able to find any information about why he chose a Mayan design for a Brazilian cathedral, except that the conical shape is supposed to represent bringing the people closer to God and a break from Brazil's colonial past. Okay.

I just find Brutalist architecture so dreary. It was a very gray, rainy day when I was there, but I've looked at many pictures online and honestly it doesn't look any better when the sun's out.

Crucifix

There's no way to capture the scale here, unfortunately, without a lot more time and camera equipment than I had. This crucifix is suspended over the altar, and is six meters high and four meters wide (approximtely 20 by 13 feet.)

Everything in the interior is colossal.

More from São Sebastião Cathedral

This is a very odd building, and I'm not sure whether I like it or not. The four stained glass windows seen from the interior are certainly spectacular (from the exterior you can't even tell that they are windows); they extend more than 200 feet from the floor to the ceiling, where they meet in a skylight shaped like a cross.

Prayer of St. Francis

A statue of St. Francis of Assisi at the São Sebastião Cathedral in Rio de Janeiro. I've always loved St. Francis, not just because I grew up in a city named for him. During the the late 60's-early 70's days of the folk Mass, we used to sing several songs written by Sebastian Temple. This is the only one I remember, not least because they sang it at my stepfather's funeral, a few weeks before it was played at Princess Diana's.

Make me a channel of your peace,
Where there is hatred let me bring your love,
Where there is injury your pardon Lord,
And where there’s doubt true faith in you.

O Master grant that I may never seek,
So much to be consoled as to console,
To be understood as to understand,
To be loved as to love with all my soul.

Make me a channel of your peace,
Where there’s despair in life, let me bring hope,
Where there is darkness, only light,
And where there’s sadness, ever joy.

Make me a channel of your peace,
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,
In giving of ourselves that we receive.
And in dying that we’re born to eternal life.

-- Adapted by Sebastian Temple

I am often not being as kind as I would like to be these days, but when I listen to this song, I am always inspired to try harder.

Sunday bird blogging

Evidence that not every penguin in South Georgia is identical.

I'm sure that these two characters are coordinating with their relatives in the Heard and McDonald Islands to cheat their way out of the new U.S. tariffs. My experience is of course limited, but after spending some time around several different species of penguin, my impression is that their primary export is poop. Lots and lots of poop.

There's a metaphor there somewhere.

Urban poetry

A fountain in Tijuca National Park in Rio.

Sunday bird blogging

Frigate birds reeling through the skies over Rio on Christmas Day.

And no, I didn't get a closer look at them.

This seal is my spirit animal

At least today. I've been very busy but I will resume posting regularly soon.