Kind Like Joost

03/25/2026

03/21/2026

This was a journal entry right after I left my friend Rick Graham in one of the most beautiful spots on the Camino. I had forgotten about these thoughts.

03/21/2026

Day 3 - Pitstop.

11/06/2023

Here are some photos from various Alburgues on the CAMINO FRANCÉS . The first photo is me in the shower waving at the motion sensor above the door in an attempt to trigger the lights again. Thats shampoo all over my face. The second photo is me on the can. Same waving gesture except I'm on my tippi-toes. I forget exactly where I was in the bathroom when the 3rd photo was taken, but im definitely stretching my arm to reach the sensor.

11/05/2023

September 22, 2023 - Zubiri

Sometimes the most interesting man in the city is on a balcony.

11/05/2023

Fifteen minutes on the Seine.

I booked a train to hurry home to loved ones I haven't seen in too long. Yesterday I arrived to board and learned that it was a bus I booked after too many beers. I arrived in Paris this morning, my four day layover of exploration and photography was reduced to 45 minutes.

Coming out of the Cafe I notice stairs I didn't catch on the way in. Because my bus left in 20 minutes I only take one photo, spending little time on composition. I hurry back towards the bus, through a muddy park that seems more like an airport concourse, people rolling luggage down too-narrow sidewalks.

I come to another set of stairs, just to the left of the bus station. This is when I see the sign for the Seine. If not going up was an option, the huddled, wet pigeons insisted. At the top of the stairs I'm instantly drawn to a young girl holding the hand of a woman with red-tipped cane. She's guiding her hand to a statue and I hurry to get close enough to intrude with my lens. I snap a few. Move forward and snap another. I'm within a dozen feet now and I manage just 4 photos before I'm noticed and the magic of daughter sharing art with her blind mother is gone. I apologize for the intrusion. I know no French. The mother speaks English, barely and asks me what I need. The daughter says something. I understand 'photographier'. The mothers face turns from a wary unease to a smile and she says, 'Can I see?' I'm confused but say, okay. She says something to her daughter and the young girl leads her closer me. I put my camera into Play mode to show a blind woman her photo. Instead of looking down she reaches out and finds my chest with her fingertips and traces her way up my neck to my face. When I realize what's happening, I start to cry. I'm crying now, again. She feels the tears and hugs me and says, Merci, Thank you for taking my photo.

If I never make it back to Paris, this moment will have been enough.

10/29/2023

Monday, 10-23-2023 - Santiago de Compostela

10/26/2023

Fifteen minutes on the Seine.

I booked a train to hurry home to loved ones I haven't seen in too long. Yesterday I arrived to board and learned that it was a bus I booked after too many beards. Beers. I arrived in Paris this morning, my four day layover of exploration and photography was reduced to 45 minutes; further reduced by a far too expensive sandwich and coffee at the only place close to the bus station.

Coming out of the Cafe I notice stairs I didn't catch on the way in. Because my bus left in 20 minutes I only take one photo, spending little time on composition. I'm certain this photo has been taken a hundred or more times before by far better photographers. I like the stairs nonetheless. I hurry back towards the bus, through a muddy park that seems more like an airport concourse, people rolling luggage down too-narrow sidewalks.

I come to another set of stairs, just to the left of the bus station. This is when I see the sign for the Seine. If not going up was an option, the huddled, wet pigeons insisted. At the top of the stairs I'm instantly drawn to a young girl holding the hand of a woman with red-tipped cane. She's guiding her hand to a statue and I hurry to get close enough to intrude with my lens. I snap a few. Move forward and snap another. I'm within a dozen feet now and I manage just 4 photos before I'm noticed and the magic of daughter sharing art with her blind mother is gone. I apologize for the intrusion. I know no French. The mother speaks English, barely and asks me what I need. The daughter says something. I understand 'photographier'. The mothers face turns from a wary unease to a smile and she says, 'Can I see?' I'm confused but say, okay. She says something to her daughter and the young girl leads her closer me. I put my camera into Play mode to show a blind woman her photo. Instead of looking down she reaches out and finds my chest with her fingertips and traces her way up my neck to my face. When I realize what's happening, I start to cry. I'm crying now, again. She feels the tears and hugs me and says, Merci, Thank you for taking my photo.

If I never make it back to Paris, this moment will have been enough.

10/24/2023

Some of us arrived together, others awaited the arrivals. Some of them we had only met in the Square but everyone felt as though we were one, together and valued. It's going to be difficult waking up everyday knowing im not going to run into one of you, whether we've previously met or not, which was part of the magic for me. Te voglio bene, Everyone.