Locks of Love

Cliché blog post title aside...about 42 million tourists flock to the city of Paris, the city of love, each year for a variety of reasons: for the extraordinary architecture as described in my last post, for the wonderfully rich French food, for boutiques that line boulevards and contribute to the city's fashionable reputation, and for the general romantic atmosphere of the city--from an evening in front of the Eiffel Tower to placing a padlock on a bridge and throwing the key into the Seine.

The love lock phenomena itself is worth noting. The trend began to garner attention and adoption in the early 2000s within Europe and throughout much of Asia. Today, love lock bridges appear throughout Asia (China, Japan, South Korea), in Russia, throughout Europe (France, Czech Republic, Germany, Italy, Spain, Switzerland, UK), in Canada and Australia and Uruguay, and throughout the United States (Napa, San Diego, throughout Utah, and in Hawaii).

I feel as though the Paris love lock bridge has become the most well known. As you approach the bridge, the gold locks make the crossway glimmer in the sunlight. The bridge itself seems to be made of gold. Then as you cross the Seine, you can watch couples work together to pick a special place to attach their lock, they crouch together and work together to fasten the decorated padlock to the bridge, and then they take a photo, they preserve the moment.

I hope to one day to return to the lock bridge with my own lock, though that may sound incredibly cheesy. In the meantime however, I enjoyed watching the couples who had traveled from Germany, from the US, from Latin America in order to partake in this permanent gesture of love (which is probably safer than a tattoo). The particular couple photographed above I believe capture quite a bit of the essence of the the love lock bridge and Paris' reputation as a city of love. For these two men, maybe their love is not legally recognized in their hometown, maybe they cannot exchange rings in a church. But, their love is real nonetheless and they hope to symbolize that with a padlock.

Foreign Thrills

Tourists. I am one, you are one, and there are quite a few of them here in Prague, in Cesky Krumlov, in the Czech Republic, in Paris where I sit writing this, and in all of Europe. We have chosen to flock to this place because it is new and offers thrills different from our hometowns--whether museums to visit, architecture to photograph, food to try, or women and men to admire. We battle language barriers, and crazy Euro prices, and airport security, and long lines for the Eiffel Tower all for a new experience. We want something different, we want the promises of the postcards, we want to take stories back home to our friends and family, and really we want something greater than the souvenir, we want the memories.

The photos are from Cesky Krumlov, where the old man fondles a seat chair. I think he was German, not that it matters, but I think he desires something that he hasn't had in awhile. As he posed for this photo, several of his tourist comrades stood around him laughing. He is the brave one, the jokester, the comical vagrant. I think as tourists, we also realize that we can sometimes get what we want, and what may usually be unattainable for us. As a photographer in a foreign place, I definitely am more adventurous with my shots. I will put a camera right up in someone's face because if they yell....well I don't understand. For the young-en's in our program, they have access to beer and wine and alcohol. We get what we want in a foreign country.

For the packs of Asian tourists that trek across Europe, their personal foreign thrill lies in technology and the photograph. They are rather comical, the peace sign pose is a real thing, and they mov in unique ways. Possessing the latest digital cameras or expensive SLR lenses, they hold the devices outstretched from their bodies. Their subjects pose solemnly or throwing up the peace sign or lean against a statue, attempting to be model like. I like them. The elders allow their faces to fully display expressions of awe. The younger ones seem to pose for fashion blogs.

Ultimately, you have to love and embrace the tourist. It's in every one of us. Often, I forget to remind myself that I am a photographer first and then the tourist. Nonetheless, the role of the tourist allows us to get away with breaking the rules, going after the things or the photographs or the thrills that we so desire, and allows us to fully witness these new places.

Tourister

Yesterday, Professor Dennis Darling took half of our Maymester class on an early morning bike ride around Prague. We grumpily started at eight (about 1 AM, central US time), were equipped with some pretty extreme mountain bikes, and then all set off to explore the city. Dennis claimed that we were heading out early in order to avoid the tourists that flood Prague and popular tourist attractions around midday, but ha ha Dennis, we are tourists.

We biked around Old Town and then crossed over into Lesser Town Prague. All along the way, Dennis acted as our personal guide and Czech historian. He told us the tale of the One-Armed Thief at the Church of St. James, pointed out examples of various architecture styles from cubism to baroque to art nouveau, took us around hidden corners to the Lennon Wall and the locks of love bridge, and even supplied us with a Starbucks fix. Yes...a venti chai tea latte here in Prague. It tasted just like American consumerism and simultaneously, Christmas in a cup. Delicious and just as spectacular as the surprises along the bike ride.

Arriving back at Old Town Square, sure enough, hundreds and thousands of tourists were afoot. Dennis warned us, "don't hit the tourists...you may need to get off and walk your bike." After spending several hours on the bike and seeing much of the city, after getting to know the transportation system and several Czech phrases, Dennis's warning made me scoff and think--it's so hard to be a local in this town. After a mere three days, I was feeling like Prague was home. Ridiculous though it may seem, I was ready to shed my even more ridiculous American-tourister skin and adapt to Czech ways of life.

So I began to stare. Like the Czechs supposedly do. Like photographers should do. I began to stare at the tourists. As they took balanced and clichéd photos, as they spoke loudly to one another, as they attempted to emulate postcard photos and absorb Czech culture by listening to a polka band, as they bent their head anxiously over metro maps, as they held out their point and shoot cameras. I began to look out for the tourists, just as Dennis warned, but only to capture them in seemingly normal, but relatively awkward moments. As tourists, not from these parts, attempted to blend and learn and see.