Venice: A City as the Stage

Way back over the holiday break (which seems like years ago now), we went to Venice. I have to admit that we've neglected Italy a little too much over the years and we were way past due to visit its most romantic city. The vacation days finally worked out last year so that we could have a good stretch of time there to take the city at a mild pace. With all the fabulous places visited in 2016- Iceland, Lisbon, Ireland, etc., Venice kinda fell off our radar for a while. But as the trip approached we remembered, "Oh yeah, we're booked to go to Venice for Christmas!" It turned out to be the perfect place to close out the year. Now, rumor had it that the Christmas break wasn't as popular as the peak summer season for tourists, so we were pretty excited. The thought of having the famed city mostly to ourselves and the locals sounded like just the way we wanted to experience it. We'd been to enough tourist traps over the years that seeing such a popular place when most people don't is a very attractive concept. I didn't really want sunshine and warm piazzas. I was after overcast skies, a little fog, and somewhat empty cicchetti bars.

Somebody lied.

Venice was packed over Christmas. Apparently it is the place for the French to visit over the holidays. You know, come to think of it, I rarely see French tourists outside of France, so maybe Venice is the only place they go? A question for another day...

So much for having the place to ourselves. The weather was cold, but clear so I never got that gloominess I was after either. But, one thing I've learned is that even when my vision never becomes reality, there is usually a new one just around the corner if I'm willing to let go of the original plan. The thing is, if there's ever a place that is photogenic no matter what the conditions or the popularity, it is Venice. If I didn't know better, I'd believe Venice was built just for photographers.

That wonderful haze.

Thanks to the lagoon there's this really magical thing about Venice and the surrounding islands. The light is good all day. I don't know if this is just a winter phenomenon or if it occurs all year, but it's pretty incredible. All that water in the air creates this haze, and it's not the usual kind of haze that just obscures distant views. It's a haze that is all around. The haze and the low hanging winter sun brings a softness to the afternoon that makes golden hour last for several hours. I was totally obsessed with it and maybe spent too much time (and storage) trying to capture its effects. Have you ever seen the vedute paintings of the 18th and 19th centuries? They're those big sprawling paintings of cityscapes and harbors that were really popular when well to do people went on Grand Tours of Europe. Every major art museum has at least a dozen of these. Venice was one of the most common places for the vedutisti to paint, for good reason. It looks like a painting. And so after you see the city in person, you realize the paintings look like photographs and some photographs actually look the old paintings. It's all because of this incredible light.  Check out the works of Francesco Gaurdi  and Antonietta Brandeis to see what I mean.

The haze wasn't present in the cold mornings. They were perfectly clear, and oftentimes full of brilliance. Every morning we get up before the rest of city and walked out to where I wanted to photograph, shoot for a couple of hours, then head back to our apartment for a late breakfast and, usually, a nap.  By the time we went out again in the early afternoon, the magic haze was in place. I'd photograph pretty heavily until the end of blue hour in the evening. All of that makes for an extended day's worth of shooting. I came home with three full cards (two 32GB, 1 64GB) and two more mostly full ones (32GB each) after only 5 days. If we had stayed there any longer I would have needed to pick up some more cards at one of the incredibly overpriced camera shops in Venice. I was in total love with this afternoon light.

While everyone else was interested in the glass shops on Murano, I was fixated with this bridge.
There was something about the long shadows, railing, and that haze.

No filter!

And, it's not just the light. That probably isn't even the first thing that makes Venice amazing to photograph. While the light seems like it is being crafted from unseen stage rafters, the locals look like they a cast from a movie. There are so many beautiful pairs of shoes, perfectly tailored suits, luxurious furs, and stunning hats walking around. They're not even going anywhere that requires this sort of dress code. They're just going to the market or to get a coffee!  Here you have all these tourists stumbling about in their trekking pants and Northface alongside Venetians in bespoke three piece suits, handmade Italian shoes, and cashmere topcoats! It's bloody bizarre, but absolutely riveting. I don't know. Maybe they were dressed like this because it was the holidays and they were all on their way somewhere glitzy and just needed to pop into the Coop for a Panettone on their way there. But, I like to think that there's this whole island city that is truly trapped in another time. Yes, the architecture is all from a by-gone era, but maybe the people are too. They aren't denizens of the old glory days of Venice. I mean it would be a bit ridiculous for the men to strut about in doublets and tights and the women to be laboring to the grocers in 3 voluminous layers of linen and wool gowns while clopping in wooden clogs like the cast of the Merchant of Venice. No, these folks seem to hail from the time when Peggy Guggenheim was just moving her gallery to the Palazzo Venier dei Leoni and throwing her famous parties on the Grand Canal. They're not headed anywhere special. There isn't a dinner party every evening. Is there? No, there can't be. They just can't imagine leaving the house without their studded pocket watches, freshly shined shoes, their white gloves, and their furs. It just isn't done. So, for street photographers Venice is magic. There are no cars to worry about being run over by and no bicycles either. Venice even moves like it is from a slower time. Everything is at a walking pace. Even the boats move leisurely (unless piloted by the Carabinieri). You can take your time and watch the scene unfold, filled with the classiest cast you could encounter on a Tuesday afternoon. Admittedly, I had a bit of a hard time photographing them. Even though cameras are as common as water in Venice, pointing it at the local people instead of the city itself was a struggle. They always noticed and for some reason I found that intimidating. Getting over that fear is something I definitely have to work on. For those who are past that phase in their street photography, go to Venice!

 

Morning shoppers on Burano.

Of course if the locals are a bit difficult to capture, there is always the ever present and ever photographed gondoliers. These guys are so used to being photographed that they don't bat an eye and some will ham it up for the camera a bit. I couldn't resist the visual draw of those sleek gondolas with their casually posed pilots moving through the canals around the hubs of the city. Ferrying bus groups of Koreans, families of four from France, quartets of Indian businessmen sitting in awkward silence, and starry-eyed couples alike on their required 20 minute quick and dirty gondola rides, the gondoliers are always a solid go to subject- especially if you can catch them without their cell phones or, if you're really lucky, without any passengers.

One of my favorite photographs from the trip is one that I didn't take. I was set up along the Grand Canal near all the popular restaurants taking long exposures of passing boats during blue hour one evening. We were tucked next to an unmanned gondola booth. From one of the side alleys came three gondoliers and they were quite angry with each other. Apparently, from what we could understand from our limited knowledge of Italian, the booth was not supposed to be unmanned and it was definitely somebody's fault. Of course, no one wanted to admit it was theirs and a passionate argument went on for about 15 minutes between two of them (the third just sulked after a while) and they were probably still arguing by the time we were long gone. The Italians, God bless em, are famed for their love of arguing. It's a passion passed down from generation to generation and one that can be witnessed or involved in wherever Italians have made their way into the world. However, the best Italian arguments are, of course, in Italian. And this one between the two gondoliers was one of the best I've ever seen. It was chock full of gestures, profanity (the Italians have the best curses), huffing, puffing, eye rolling, stomping of feet, false exits and returns, long dramatic pauses, and operatic tones.  During the height of it, I had my back to them holding down my shutter release for a long exposure. Trapped by my current task I asked my husband to try his best at capturing the drama behind me. So, he pulled out the X70 that he had been using that week and hiding it slightly against me so as not to turn the heat of the wrath on us, fired away with it on automatic mode. I adore this image.

Ok, maybe the light and the people aren't the first things that come to mind when you think of Venice. They weren't for me either before we went. The main attraction is the scenery itself. There is a reason people have been painting, sculpting, composing, writing, and photographing here for so long. Despite that everything is slowly dissolving back into the lagoon, it hasn't lost its inherent beauty. Almost every alley and canal enters into another perfect scene. If you visit, get up before dawn at least once and stroll the place in its glorious soft and quiet hours. It will reward you with a memory no souvenir can give. It will just be you and the garbage men, a couple of photographers, the bakers, and the city. While there may be no time of year to see the city without the hoards of day trippers, there are a couple hours every day when you will be guaranteed to have the city all to yourself.

One of the classic views.

St. Mark's Square just after a winter sunrise.

Light trails of an early vaporetto on the Grand Canal.

I came home with more photographs than I imagined possible. It took me three weeks to get through them. It was a wonderful three weeks of editing and reliving five days in one of Europe's most iconic cities. Every single one of those days presented me with incredible performances thanks to the light, the characters, and the set. Venice is not overrated. You just have to give it a minute or two, maybe stand in the cold hours before dawn, be a little brave, and, behold- scenery, light, action. All you need is to bring your camera. I'm not sure if the world is a stage, but Venice definitely is. And it is just as stunning as you imagined it would be.

The moon sets, the sun rises, and Venice begins to wake.
This image was created after a very long walk and then a cold wait on the Ponte dell'Accademia.
This moment was shared with just one other photographer. It captures a time when
I believe Venice is at her most beautiful- dawn.

For all the photographs click here!

Shooting Iceland Part II: The Aurora

Unbelievably, it's been almost a month since we were in Iceland.  I figured by the time I got to this post, I'd finally have a hand on how to talk about our night with the aurora.  I'm afraid I don't.  I take comfort in knowing that this is a common problem for those who have witnessed it, but I'm worried that this post isn't going to do the experience much justice.

After two nights in Iceland, we hadn't had a single opportunity to catch the aurora.  The night we came in on the plane there was a blizzard and the next two nights were completely overcast.  I kept telling myself that the aurora was a bonus, and that thus far the trip was a total success.  Even though I was well aware that catching the aurora wasn't a guarantee for the trip and I was trying to be as pessimistic as possible about our chances so as not to be totally gutted if we never saw it, it was still nagging on me.  The reason to come in Winter was to partake in the ice tours, but also to have a chance to catch the lights.  If we didn't, we were going to be bummed. There was no way around it.  At around 1:00am after getting back from our two day southern coast tour, I sat in bed looking at our schedule and forecast.  It was obvious that we had one shot to catch the aurora on this trip and it was going to Easter Sunday night.

I went to the website of Reykjavik Excursions which was advertised on the reception desk of our hotel.  They still had a couple slots open for Easter, the price was good, and the forecast was calling for crystal clear skies.  My husband was already sound asleep, but I nudged him awake telling him that I had found a bus that would take us out to the lights and I wanted to book it.  He enthusiastically replied that he was down with the plan then went back to sleep.  I wasn't surprised when he was completely baffled the next morning as I reminded him that we had to catch the bus that night to see the lights.  He didn't remember a thing about the conversation at 1:00am.  For him, it was like I had booked a surprise.

After a full day of wandering on a mellow Easter day in Reykjavik, we went back to our hotel, changed into our cold weather gear, and waited for the minibus that would shuttle us to the big tour bus at the depot outside of downtown.  Once again, we marveled at the efficiency of Icelandic tourism companies.  For such a laid back people, they had scheduling and logistics down to a science.  The tour left the depot at 10:00pm.  It was a packed bus full of tourists from all over Reykjavik, ranging from excited to downright exhausted.  We were joined by an enthusiastic guide who spent the ride out of the city giving us all the information one could possibly have on the auroras- the science, the differences from place to place, and the different types of displays (clouds, ribbons, rain, etc). Lastly she explained how to get a photograph of them.  Unfortunately, this information was way too late for 95% of the group.

So you aren't one of the people groaning on a tour bus at the news your photographs haven't a chance of looking decent, here's what you need to know if you want to get a usable shot of the aurora.

1. You need a tripod.
You will need to take an exposure of about 30 seconds in length and there's no way you can get that handheld.  Also, get a shutter release cable or a remote shutter release.  This is not the time to rely on a smartphone app.

2.  You need a camera with manual control.
Sorry, smartphone users, if the aurora isn't super, super bright you won't be able to capture it successfully.  The way to get those lights to show up in an image is through a long exposure time, a wide aperture, and a high ISO.  So, you need a camera that has manual mode so you can set it up yourself for these conditions.  If you haven't shot outside of Automatic mode before, start practicing before you try on the Aurora.  You don't want to waste time (and warmth) trying to figure out how to change your camera settings.  Also, you'll probably want to use manual focus.  You will be shooting where it is really dark, so automatic focus will probably struggle.

3.  You need a camera that has high ISO capabilities.
Full frame isn't necessary, just make sure your sensor is four thirds or larger.  But, check to make sure the camera you're going to use actually performs well at high ISO levels 3200+.  Read reviews.  Look at sample images.  Not all sensors are created equal.

4.  You need a good lens.
Don't bother with a lens that doesn't have a max aperture of f/2.8 or lower. Preferably, you want it at f/2.  You probably won't need a zoom lens in this instance; auroras are meant to be shot wide.  So, if you have a wide angle prime this is its time to shine.  But, a high quality wide angle zoom will be just fine too.

5.  You need a flashlight or headlamp with a red beam.
It takes about 10 minutes for your eyes to adjust to the dark and any infiltration of white or blue light (car headlights, camera and phone LCDs) with destroy the adjustment your eyes made.  The only type of light that won't screw your eyes up is red.  Let folks laugh, you will be the only one out there that can see anything.

6.  You need to know how to use your camera.
This seems like a given, but there were a lot of people on that tour who suddenly realized that they had no idea what they were doing and spent the time staring into a menu instead of the most glorious display in nature.  That's just sad.  Don't be that person.

Ok, so back to the bus.  It wasn't long after we got beyond the lights of Reykjavik that the guide directed us to look out the bus window (for once we happened to be on the correct side of the bus).  A huge ribbon of green was starting to appear ever so faintly across the sky.  The guide got really excited.  This was going to be a good night.  The driver found a gravel road a few minutes later and pulled in, along with another bus and about every other car that happened to be on that road at that moment.  The guide gave us reflective snap bracelets (making this child of the 80's very pleased) so she wouldn't lose us in the dark.  Then we all disgorged from the bus.  It was madness for about 5 minutes.  The display of the lights was far more intense and vivid than I expected, and by the sounds of it, the guide wasn't quite believing how bright it was either.  There was some jostling and tourists clambered around in the dark, sinking up to their knees sometimes in the snowdrifts.  Those of us with tripods tried to get out in front of the crowd so we wouldn't get the masses in the shots and would have a little space to ourselves.

I had already got the settings ready before we left the hotel and got the camera on the tripod during the ride out.  It was a good thing too.  It was bloody, bloody cold.  I'm not sure how cold, but the wind was pretty strong and it didn't take long for my hands to start going numb, even with gloves on.  We're from Northeast Ohio, where the Winter temps regularly dip to 0F or below.  My time living in more mild Bavaria may have made me a wuss, or it was hovering somewhere around 5F with the windchill. I kept the tripod low to the ground so I could block the wind with my body.  My shutter release cable is mercifully plastic and long enough that I could pull it into my coat pocket, but I still had to take my hands out in order to focus the lens.  I use fingerless gloves that transform into mittens because I need the dexterity to feel the focus ring.  It only took a few minutes of messing around with the focus ring on the metal lens for the first signs of frost nip to start.  I didn't think about it too much though, because what we were seeing pretty much pushed all other thoughts out of our minds.

We knelt in the snow as the colors changed from yellow green to deep green and back with little hints of pink and red every once in a while.  I snapped away, trying my best to stay in the moment while still managing to capture the display.

There is nothing you can do to prepare for photographing the aurora.  It's not like portrait photography; you can't just practice on your family.  It's not like landscape photography; you can't just practice in your local park.  It's not even like regular night photography; what you're witnessing doesn't happen every night all over the world in a dark place.  Unless you are blessed to live in a place where the aurora occurs, there is no way to practice before you go out for the shot.  If you're lucky your visit will have a couple clear nights so you can get a few chances to practice your technique, but there's no way you can predict that.

The most common display of the aurora is a faint cloud, barely perspective to the human eye.  The display we were given on Easter night was far more intense, bright, rippling, and massive.  I was elated, overwhelmed, and, yes, the emotions were high.  If my eyes weren't already tearing up from the cold, I probably would have gotten teary anyway.  At the most I had hoped just to see the cloud aurora, this was more than I could have dreamed to witness.  We kept saying to each other, "Look at this!  Look at this! Can't you believe this!?!"  The rest of the group was going pretty nuts too.  But, one by one, they started to climb back into the bus.  It was just too cold, and they soon gave up trying to capture it with their phones.  A few of us remained out there with our tripods through the whole time, with just a 5 minute retreat to thaw our faces.  There was no way I could sit on the bus.  My fingers were killing me, but this could be the only chance we have in our lives to see this amazing event.

All in all, the preparation I had done beforehand had served me well.  I made adjustments here and there as the lights intensified or dimmed, but for the most part it was going smoothly for my first time photographing the aurora.  The hardest part was focusing.  Like I mentioned above, it was far too dark to rely on automatic focus.  The spot where the bus had taken us was perfect for seeing the lights, but there wasn't anything bright enough to focus the lens on.  I settled on a bright star, but discovered that my teared up eyes had played some tricks on me and things weren't as sharp as I thought.  I had more success as time passed, but it was probably the hardest part of shooting (besides the freezing part).  Ideally, there would be something on the horizon like a light or a building to focus on, but we were in a stark landscape.  The wind was also a bit of an issue, it caused just enough vibration a few times to cause blurring.  Also, shivering wreaked a bit of havoc.  As I got colder I had a harder time being deliberate with my movements, and clearing bumped the tripod a couple of times.

It wasn't easy, not by a long shot, but it was totally worth it.  It was the most incredible thing I have ever seen, it was the coldest I have ever been.  It was one of the most rewarding moments behind a camera.

Ok, so what did I do to get these shots?  I used the X-T1 with the 16-55mm lens because the lens gets a max of f/2.8 and weather sealing is a must when the temps are this low.  I had it mounted on good old Brian from Three Legged Thing.  I opened the lens all the way and usually took an exposure between 20-30secs.  Any longer and you start to get start trails.  ISO was set at 1600 for the most part, I did raise it a touch when the lights became dimmer.  I actually didn't do too much to these shots in post.  I edited them in Photoshop RAW, to reduce the noise that is inevitable with a higher ISO.  I also lifted the snow in the foreground in most of the shots (thanks to Fujifilm's excellent dynamic range).  Are they the greatest aurora shots out there? No. I'm a novice at shooting them, but I'm totally satisfied at the outcome.  I certainly wouldn't pass up a chance to shoot them again.

My husband demonstrating our awe of the scene before us, holding very still.
That wasn't easy.

Like I said in the last post, this trip was intended to be one of several.  We'll go back for a summer and, if it works out, will return for another winter trip.  For that, we wouldn't use a tour to see the lights again.  They definitely got us there, and it was great having the information from the guide, but the location wasn't the most exciting.  I'd like to be able to set up somewhere with a good focus point or a stunning foreground.  Also, it would be nice to get away from the roads.  There were a lot of headlights to contend with and several cars that had gotten themselves in accidents or stuck because it was too crowded in that area.  But, those are minor things I would change.  This was, without a doubt, the highlight of our trip.  It is a highlight of all our travels.  As long as I live, I'll never forget the dancing lights over the snowscape (something a still photograph will never properly capture).  I'll never forget being so overwhelmed by such intense beauty that I didn't notice I had lost feeling in my hands.  I'll never forget being brought to my knees, reminded that we are really just insignificant creatures with no comprehension of the magnitude of this universe and this planet.  I'll never forget it.

Misadventures in Wallonia

So, last weekend we drove over to Belgium to celebrate the Valentines holiday (it's not really observed in Germany) and pick up some of Belgium's finest beer (also not celebrated in Germany as a rule).  But, because it is Belgium one must always expect things to go a bit awry.  The weather is the biggest factor which affects whether things go well or, um, go differently.  Belgian weather, either Walloon or Flemish, is notorious.  With that in mind, it seemed like this little jaunt was the perfect time to test a  XF 16-55mm f/2.8 R LM WR lens.  This is the only piece of Fuji gear I wanted to add to the kit this year.  A weather resistant camera is all well and good, but without a weather sealed lens, it's still a vulnerable setup.  With the trip to Iceland fast approaching it was time to fill in this last hole and a weekend in Belgium seemed like the perfect test.

The XF 16-55mm f/2.8 R LM WR is a really cool lens.  It's hefty, for sure, but with its nice range, it's difficult to argue for another lens in the bag anyway.  For a trip that mostly focuses on landscapes 16-55mm is all that's needed and if those landscapes are prone to cold and moisture, weather sealing is a must.  So, I stuck the X-T1 with the new lens in the bag and the  XF 55-200mm f/3.5-4.8 R LM OIS

just in case something specific in the landscape caught the eye.  

Well, all good plans of mice and photographers... Enter Belgium.  Now, we spent two years living down the road from the Ardennes.  Its fickle weather puts the weather of other places to shame.  Seriously, people from just about everywhere say "if you don't like the weather here, wait five minutes."  In Belgium, you not only need wait, but you can also drive 3 kilometers and be in a completely different situation.   

It all started out well enough.  We crossed the border into Belgium around lunch on Saturday after a very brief pause in Luxembourg to do some shopping (it's the only place I've been able to find molasses).  As we crossed into Wallonia the weather took an immediate dive into the worst.  Rolling over the hills of the Ardennes, we passed from pouring rain into sleet and then full blown snow and then back through the previous two when we'd lose elevation.  It was all very Belgian and authentic, but unfortunately far too blustery to photograph, the only reason being that we couldn't see a darn thing.  

Reprieve From the Toils Courtesy Handpresso

And, of course, being Belgium, it was no surprise to discover when we pulled into our beer shop's parking lot that they had shut for the week.  So, no crafts beer for us.  Sigh.  With nothing else to do, we headed on to our final destination for the weekend, the hunting town of Saint-Hubert.  The weather was getting progressively worse so we brainstormed on how we could salvage the errand.  Instead of setting up for wide landscapes of the Ardennes (which didn't appear to be present anymore) I was shooting close ups of our espressos on the dashboard as we paused at a rest stop.  I'm happy to report the new lens performs admirably in these conditions.  We opted to stop at the next Delhaize supermarket we came across to pick up a case of whatever unique beers they might have on hand.  That was quite the experience, the story of which I'll spare you at this time.  The feeling of trepidation rose the closer we came to Saint-Hubert.  While we weren't concerned about our dinner that evening (our favorite restaurant of all time never disappoints), the fact that we were forced to book a different hotel was starting to cause us some concern.

One of the hotel's finer specimens

Folks, you should always trust your gut.  I can't quite put my finger on the feeling we had when we stepped over the threshold of the "hotel" we had booked for the evening as it was a cross between amusement and horror.  You know that scene in Psycho (1960, or course) when Norman is talking to Marion Crane in his office and there's all these horrible taxidermy sculptures(?) all over the room?  Well, when production wrapped, I'm pretty sure the lot of stuffed animals was sold to the proprietor of this hotel where they have hung or sat on shelves ever since (never having been dusted or preserved in any way).  The fur was eaten away by time and whatever creatures eat dead animal fur, feathers were missing, the plastic eyes had fallen out or were positioned at disturbing angles.  The first of these horrors was a snarling fox that had been positioned in an anthropomorphic position that included a walking stick.  Stepping into the office we discovered more moth-eaten terrors and what seemed to be a hoarder's den.  Tools, magazines, books, papers, and Lord knows what were piled on every imaginable surface and some unimaginable ones.  It looks like most had been sitting there since the Reagan era.  This did not bode well, my friends, and the situation did not improve when we met the proprietor.  By all appearances "The Hotel By The Abbey" is operated by a boy of about 12 years of age.  He was very professional, despite his sweatpants and Crocs, and patient with our dusty French.  He gave us the key to room 11 and instructed us that any further questions should be directed at his Papa, who for all we knew was the lone patron at the restaurant.  Then the boy went back to tending the bar, yes, tending the bar.  As you can imagine Room 11 wasn't any better than the rest of the establishment.  Smokers could get all the nicotine they needed from the hazy atmosphere.  Something green and slimy that I believe guest starred in an episode of the X-Files (original run, of course) had taken up residence in the shower.  The bathroom was outfitted with fixtures and accessories one normally finds in a public restroom, complete with supplied sanitary paper for the toilet seat.  I half expected to find a condom dispenser hung inside the door.  By the way, every guest room in this hotel was equipped with a small orange light over the door that could be switched on from the inside.  Interpret that as you will.  Anyway...the long and short of it is, we were stuck.  There wasn't another available room in town and the only hotel with a free room was 15mi away.  This was just going to have to be something to laugh about in the future...if we made it to morning.  We deposited our locked suitcase in the room (and nothing else), stepped out our door and over the stain which suspiciously looked like evidence of the expiration of some poor guest or perhaps one of the moldering creatures on the wall, and headed back out into the gale.  Anything was better than this hotel.

We jumped back in the car and desperately drove around the countryside hoping the weather would clear or at the very least calm down enough to see the countryside.  No dice.  We had to accept defeat and return to blighted Saint-Hubert (for my Ohio readers, think Warren).  The only option left to us was a pub.  Now, if Wallonia is struggling in everything else, there is one thing you can always count on being reliable, albeit with the potential for mild creepiness. That is the pub.  Saint-Hubert is well supplied.  We opted for The Miami as it wasn't full of grumpy old men or seedy young ones and settled down for a nice session with some dearly missed Trappist Ales.  The great and wonderful thing about Belgium is that nearly every pub has Trappist beers on the list.  Things could definitely be worse.  These couple hours at the pub were the only time I decided to take out my camera on the trip, and you know what?  I'm totally ok with that.  The pub was by no means full, so it also provided the chance to test the updated Fujifilm remote camera app and the electronic shutter.  Fujifilm finally updated their remote app when they announced the X-Pro2 last month and for the first time I was able to get it to work.  Let me tell you, that app paired with the electronic shutter makes for a perfect clandestine operation (PIs, take note).  Leave the camera on a table and operate it with your phone, and no one will be the wiser.  In a quiet environment like a nearly empty pub, this is certainly a helpful set up.

Regulars at The Miami
Camera: X-T1 Focal Length: 50mm Exposure: 1/60, f/2.8, ISO4000

Pinball and Orval
Camera: X-T1 Focal Length: 16mm Exposure: 1/8, f/3.6, ISO4000

After we finished our beers (Rochefort 8) we could finally head to the restaurant for dinner.  Things certainly improved when we stepped in the door of L' Ancien Hopital and before long the woes of the day were fading away.  There is no better balm for a disappointing trip than a fantastic meal.  It made up for the lack of craft beer in the trunk, the hour lost at Delhaize, the wretched weather, the taxidermy creatures and cigarette smoke, and the complete lack of photos on my card.

The next morning, we tipped our hats to Wallonia and headed home.  The weather was still the same and we were exhausted.  Sometimes things go wrong and plans fall apart.  That's ok.  That's totally ok.  I'm just relieved we survived that horrid hotel.