what we've got

To me, snowshoeing represents the ideal that you’ll step where others – those with boots on, namely – would fear to tread. And there’s nothing like deep, crisp, undisturbed snow to go wandering in. So, we picked up some snowshoes and off we went to a local area called La Croisette, which is on the Saléve range. The video below shows it better than I could tell you.

We loved it and it’s something we’ll continue to do before the snow melts and the tracks turn dry and golden once more in the summer. But for now – get the gaiters on, fix the snowshoes and “On y va!”

I found this wonderful data visualization (from DataViz) on the stages of being a photographer, from learning how to take the lens cap off to – well, it never ends until you do. Here’s the graphic in full (click to go full size).

Where do you sit on the chart?

I would say I’m at the ‘All I shoot is bad’ stage. Well, it only gets better from here. Where do you sit on the chart?

I went out on my scooter and found some excellent high ground to take a few shots. When I got home, excited to see them, I was very disappointed to see they all had a black spot in the same place. Here’s an example – you can see the blemish  in the centre-top of sky (if you look really carefully you’ll see there’s one on the left-hand side, too, about half-way up):

Black spot from sensor dust

It’s easy to edit this culprit using iPhoto, Aperture or Photoshop for example. But I wanted a clean sensor. I went into the camera menu and locked the mirror and had a look. The sensor seemed to be covered in a grime, with a few bits of noticeable dust stuck to it. I read that this might be caused by the lubricating fluid in the camera, or atmospheric conditions. That’s it. I’m going to clean it, I thought.

At first I used a cloth I got with my spectacles along with their cleaning fluid, but I noticed that this left some lint behind and only removed some of the grime. So, I used a fake chamois leather, cutting down a piece or two to fit. I soaked a small piece in, ahem, vodka and buffed the sensor with with that, attached to the end of a blunted wooden kitchen skewer. Heath Robinson has nothing on me.

I wasn’t drinking the vodka at the time, in case you’re wondering why I might do such a crazy thing. I used an airbrush to blow the dust away, and some sellotape rolled into a ball to remove some of the lint from the housing, lint that I probably put there in the first place. I took some shots of the blank white wall, and some others outside at different exposures and so on, and – eventually – they looked fine. Phew.

It was touch and go for a while. But after spending hours disconnecting the lens, cleaning the sensor, blowing air into it, reconnecting the lens, taking some trial shots at different settings and plugging it into the Mac to get the photos visible, it looks as good as new. I did this forty million times by my last count, or it feels like that. Now, I’m not recommending you use an airbrush, vodka, or any of the methods I’ve used here: it’s your call, and if you’re worried, get a professional to do it.

Right, I’m off for a White Russian, since I’ve got most of the ingredients to hand.

Songstress Lily Allen caused a stir recently when she said that piracy was killing music, or more specifically, up and coming musicians. There have been several interesting discussions of her idea, but none so effective or imaginative or just plain groovy as this one.

I like Lily Allen and I think she has a point, although in one respect I’m ambivalent: I imagine exposure through downloads might help bands, new and old. But I’ve also used services like Spotify without buying music as a result. And you have, too, I suspect. Evidence would be useful: how many people go on to buy after illegally downloading music tracks?

It seems to be that the music industry is having similar problems to the newspaper industry, where their existing business model no longer works because of the internet’s capacity for capturing and sharing. The issue isn’t about whether we should or shouldn’t be filesharing, though – not even DRM will stop it – but how the music business will react when they want to make money. Who said we do not live in interesting times?

The move to Geneva continues quietly in the background, inexorably marching on. This is the plan: we spend six weeks or so in serviced accommodation and use that as a base to explore the region in more detail and find a place to live, hopefully for the remainder of our stay. We are having our possessions shipped via courier, so we’ll only have with us what we can squeeze into our car. That in itself might require a blog post: it feels like one of those “If the house was burning down which book / instrument / gadget would you take?” kinds of questions, which clearly requires some serious thought!

Anyway, we’re not sure where we are going to live right now, either France or Switzerland: both have several implications which we haven’t fully explored yet. But I always thought it a good idea to begin right in the heart of Geneva, the city that will be a focal point for the near future.

View Larger Map

There are two rivers – The Rhone and The Arve – nearby, and Lake Geneva is around 15 minutes away too, so there’s lots of riverside walks and such. This location is close to the old part of town, too – you know the sort of thing, cobbled streets, little bistros, quiet parks lined with trees and so on. Lovely.

Geneva's old town and parks

It’s vital, I think, that we start well even though it might be a bit more expensive. I think first impressions last, and although we’ve visited the city before, it’s not quite like living there. Geneva has a relatively small town feel for a city that known for its international organisations and banking. There’s quite a bit of traffic at peak times, especially over the main bridge Le Pont du Mont-Blanc which links the Rive Gauche to the Rive Droite. Speaking of which, here’s the view across the Le Pont du Mont-Blanc – as you would expect, it’s dominated by one of the the mountain ranges which surround the city.

The view along Le Pont du Mont-Blanc, with the range visible

It feels like we’ve taken a big step: once you’ve got an address you can start believing you’re actually moving on: as well as the practical stuff, like getting mail (re)delivered and beginning to fill in the mountain of forms that require a Swiss address. What’s more, I’ve only one month or so of work left from today. Combined with the spring feeling in air, it feels like there’s a big change coming…

(I’ve yet to really take photos of Geneva in earnest, so I’ve snaffled these from Flickr: a link will take you to the original and the alt text has acknowledgements).

A bonus

Jen is on a two-year contract working for the UN. This has some implications for how I’ve been thinking about the move. On the one hand, it means that there is potentially a point at which I might return to the UK. It’s a bit like having a date-stamped return ticket: you know you’re coming back, in this case in around two-years’ time.

But at the same time there might be the opportunity to stay on for a variety of reasons; indeed, if all goes well, we hope this will be the case. This means that the move might be a permanent one. After all, the return relocation will be (nearly, I imagine) as traumatic as the move out, albeit for different reasons.

So, I’m caught in a delicate but sustained balance between thinking I’ll return sooner or later. When the mood catches me that I’ll miss England, I remember I’ll be back; conversely, when I’m eager to leave, I know that it might be forever and I should never return. It’s a strangely comfortable state of ambivalence that I’m happy to enjoy. I know uncertainty can be exciting and daunting but I’m embracing this, as if only something good can come from it.

I think my approach is to enjoy the two years at the very least and think anything else a bonus.