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I propose a tale of three cities. Better still: a comparison of four, based on fleeting impressions and meager evidence. My rude assertions shall prove indefensible and are certainly not peer-reviewed. So cut slack and read on. 

Amsterdam is casually energetic, broadly connected to the rest of the world. Leipzig is more insular, its culture shaped by Martin Luther and a communist era of low expectations. Praha also suffered under soviet dominion but Czech people are more openly emotional. The architecture of Leipzig is essentially sturdy and functional while Prague is ornate, overwrought, fantastical. Slavic folklore combined with gothic imagination and a ready embrace of surrealism draw tourists from around the world onto the narrow cobble stone streets. It helps that Prague survived the second world war largely intact. Vienna is another altogether different experience. I must have underestimated the power of the Austro-Hungarian Empire: Habsburg might is visible at every turn in the city center. Heroic monuments abound. Yet at some point, Kaisers on rearing steeds cease to amaze. Streets are broad, buildings elegant and grand. In Prague we visitors were constantly dealing with annoying tourists on the constricted walkways. There may be even more pedestrians in Vienna but the spacious sidewalks leave plenty of elbow room.

Can it be that in Vienna, the good life of the ultra-rich has "trickled down"? Streets are clean, people dress well and good food is readily available. Traditions are maintained but a cheery good humor might also be a continuing custom. There is even a name for it: "gemutlichkeit". Austrians seem more expressive and more overtly sensual than northern Germans and are certainly more playful. One benefit of communism's lingering oppression is the value of the dollar in both Leipzig and Prague where a room in a former 4-star hotel or palace is available at the rate of an American Holiday Inn. I did like the dark beer in Leipzig and wondered at the MaryJane-infused brownies and drinks available in Prague (some heralded as "Amsterdam style"). But as our journey takes us south, I look forward to a more vegetable-laden platter. Martin Luther can keep his meat and potatoes.

Our little apartment is a half block from the Vienna Operhaus, a sophisticated section of a very art-and-style-aware city. As in the States, a city vs. country dynamic can take hold. When I mentioned to the Austrian lady in reception that we were going to Graz, she went on a hilarious, very theatrical bender on the (country/hill) people of Styria. Flexing both arms in an exaggerated show of muscularity she said "their women are three times stronger than we are. And they need to be!" She herself was a deep-voiced athletic woman at least 5'10". With expansive gestures and comedic expressions she elaborated in a singsong Anglo-Deutsche bridge language of her own making. I did manage to catch: "and the way they talk, they don't want us to understand them". 

We are currently on another railjet rolling through the mountains toward Graz and my friend Anton Waibl who lived with us for a week 13 years ago. 

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Eurail pass train travel has been superb ... for the most part. The cheerful ticket agent in Amsterdam seemed almost excited to be helping us, an attitude we were later to look back on fondly. We were headed to Leipzig, in the former communist east, with a change of trains in Frankfurt. For our first lap we had a very nice 6-seat compartment to ourselves. It was modern, clean and fitted with smudge-free windows - terrific! Trains are indeed sleek and fast. But one downside is the difficulty of photographing a view that suddenly appears and is abruptly replaced. 
In Frankfurt's huge station we determined the connection's track number and grabbed a bite to eat. Suddenly Helen realized the track number had been changed, so we hastened to the new track and climbed aboard the first available car, soon to depart. I hoisted our luggage onto the overheard rack above empty seats. We were promptly informed by seated passengers that we had taken reserved seats. I pulled down our luggage and we searched for unreserved seats. Up go the heavy bags, and again - in German, of course - came perturbed voices. Down came the suitcases and backpacks. Helen and I had to sit separately, each by a resolutely grumpy person. After ten minutes or so the man next to me got up (kindness?) and moved to one of the verboten seats we had left under duress. Helen and I were reunited and I quickly made my way through several cars looking for 1st class quarters. We had paid a bit more for 1st class, but I found only occupied 2nd class cars. 
Several days later we were again traveling, having nestled into a pleasant unoccupied compartment. Now a bit wary, we took seats near the door, moving to window seats only after the train was well underway. After several minutes a young couple entered gently claiming we were in their reserved seats ... but no problem, we could stay put. Helen offered them chocolate which was declined. Then he offered us really good chocolate, which we readily accepted. We were heading to Prague with a change in Dresden, which I imagined must still be terribly depressing. The young couple were happily returning home to Dresden. He is an architect, she an art historian. Much of their home town has been rebuilt from complete rubble to look like Dresden pre-WW2. He regretted that the remaining architecture was obliged to be boxy and boring. He said that as we crossed the river we must peer out the other side of the train to catch the reconstructed vision of a Canaletto painting. Nice couple ...  and I'm always pleased to discover positive aspects of any place I've too easily dismissed.

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The Rijks Museum is big. It is especially rich in Dutch paintings including Vermeers and Rembrants. His Night Watch is a large painting that draws large crowds. Men in black lug heavy spears and go this way or that, all in service to their civic duty. This and a few similar paintings have long served as an inspiration when tasked with photographing a large group: individuals interacting in subgroups form a dynamic large composition which somehow manages to appear balanced and spontaneous. Van Leiden was one of many artists who relished the chance to show the devil's workshop at its worst. Here grotesque fiends mete out bizarre forms of corporal punishment.The sinners in Judgement Day could be you or me, but stripped of all clothing and facing the most monstrous torments. Under a bit less duress are the survivors of a Low Country flood depicted in a 15th Century painting. A dyke broke and thousands died. I was particularly taken by cows barely able to keep their nostrils above water. I was pleased to find a room largely devoted to the Dutch naval hero Michiel de Ruyter, as I had recently seen a fine Dutch movie, The Admiral, about his exploits and politically motivated death.

Our last day in Amsterdam saw us walking the town. Helen had decided to see the exterior of the Anne Frank house, knowing that tour tickets had sold out. She set out purposefully and I set out a bit later heading in a different direction. We both got lost. I meandered into an enclosed community - not quite a convent - of seriously chaste single women, while Helen strayed into the red-light district and took in quite a display of wanton comehitherness. Somehow we met up near the Anne Frank house which, protected by an outer shell could from the street not be seen at all. 

A week before leaving the US, I approached a man I overheard talking about Amsterdam. He encouraged a visit to the Rijks Museum (already top of the list) but bemoaned the influx of Muslims causing civic and financial stresses. I recognized his mindset yet expected to see something that might have bothered him. I did not. I saw a range of skin colors but people were gainfully employed and there was a palpable tone of contentment. We spent our time entirely in the center city of Amsterdam but I am now writing from Prague, having spent  couple days in Germany. During our brief layover at the Hamburg train station we were besieged for money several times and in Leipzig were also confronted with begging. Even so, there was no reason to think these people were Muslims or immigrants.  In Leipzig we did encounter small groups of singers with piercing outdoor voices whom Helen and I both thought were probably gypsies, or as they're called in Ireland: "traveling people".

Our last evening in Amsterdam was graced by the appearance of Bart Visser, who while studying at Rutgers became a fiend of the family and practically a brother to Will. Bart and Will, both young scientists, shared a love of  biking and hiking the great outdoors. Bart is now also well employed about 90 minutes south of Amsterdam and continues to travel widely. Indeed Bart strikes me as both a probing scientist and gracious diplomat. 

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It's currently after 10pm here in Amsterdam and I am desperately holding slumber at bay. Helen and I left home a little over 24 hours ago. My phone still shows a Montclair time of 4:06pm but it feels like 4:06am. A seated sleepless night on a 757 followed by hours of walking, required a brief supine rest once we gained access to our hotel room around 3pm local time.
While waiting to board at EWR's Terminal C, we enjoyed conversation with a couple from The Netherlands. Sociable, cheerful and sensible they seemed to embody the essential Dutch character, and that impression has only been reinforced. Proceeding down the ramp to enter the plane, I noticed the man in front of me was easily 7 feet tall. Whether or not he was a Netherlander, he bore the hallmarks of  a tall race. I see many women here who are 6 feet tall.
Amsterdam airport is sprawling but hospitable. People speak English and are helpful. Mall shoppers could go crazy in the high end stores, but we had more pressing concerns. Customs was a breeze, as was getting our phones set up with European SIM cards.
Once outside, my overall excitement was tempered by the sodden sky and late Fall chill. The temperature wasn't so bad but there was a noticeable haze that persisted through the day. A palpable sense of wonder soon overtook me when I saw a Tessla taxi, and another, yet another. The other taxis were mere Mercedes. Our VW Passat wagon would have fit in perfectly here. In the absence of SUVs, similar sleek wagons proliferate. In the city, bikes are everywhere leaning in clumps against buildings and hurtling past pedestrians.
Our first meal was in a charming place in a park-like area near a canal. Any place is near some canal - they are everywhere, bisecting the city into 90 islands.  The restaurant was fashioned out of carnival carts and merry-go-round cast-offs. There seemed to be nautical elements as well.  They specialize in crepes. Needing protein, I opted for the bacon and cheese - rather like a soft eggy pizza. The highlight of our mid-day was a free jazz concert in the hallowed halls of the Concert Gebouw. The famed acoustics were not designed for an amplified big band and chattering drums. The jazz I love involves an individualistic approach, a vocal sound no matter the instrument. It was nevertheless a delight to roam the halls and various side rooms which reinforce my notion of the Dutch culture as harmonizing and inclusive.
Our second and last meal of the day, right here in the Hotel Vondel, featured a starter of a wooden board with various kinds of smoked fish. Delicious! My main course was stamppot: potatoes, carrots and onion mashed together and a large moist piece of salmon. As is her want, Helen sought a personal variant of a menu item, here, "lasagna with forgotten vegetables", heirloom veggies, not ones pulled from the fridge's nether reaches. The waitress was perplexed but then the chef appeared -  in proper chefly attire - and explained that the lasagna had been made in advance, but he would be happy to create a pasta and vegetable dish with a cheese to suit Helen. The grilled vegetables were amazing (Helen passed to me her peppers) and had me taste something that looked like red eye gravy but which I identified as parsnip purée. The chef's accommodating spirit was not the only one we encountered in this beautiful city. Tomorrow we visit the Rijks Museum, top on our list, but whose exterior we discovered today is absolutely stunning.

Me too - why I'm blogging

I'm piling on, chipping in, breaking out and interfacing - it's about time.
Welcome to my blogsite!

My website, www.paxtonphoto.com has served me well as a web-based photography portfolio. Yet as much as I value verbal communication, my website photos were posted free from captions and context in hopes that they would speak for themselves. My attempts to describe my business approach were awkward at best. Yet there are some nearly hidden commentaries on my site (see if you can find my rattlesnake story) where text and image seem to reinforce each other. I have wanted to do more of that. My site mostly shows portraits of people I photograph once. I avoid candid shots, including events (which I love doing) and certainly avoid family pictures, however compelling. Furthermore, on my site I claim to show my subjects looking "vital and connected".

But I have a contrary streak - I like to test my assumptions and do the different. So here is a photo of family, looking disconnected, spaced-out. Well, we were in California... and had been in the presence of the world's 5th largest tree for almost an hour. Had it been the first, second or third largest, there would have been a parking lot and numerous tourists, but here nobody else invaded the solitude. My son and daughter may still be contemplating the massive girth of the Stagg Tree. Julia, my son's sweetheart seems to have moved her attention from the tree to him. I have essentially disappeared from everyone's awareness, which is often a good thing for a photographer.