A Photo for the Ages

Judging from their appearance and feel, one would think that Panama hats are made of fabric. They're not. They are made of palm straw. From their geographical name, one would think Panama hats originated in Panama. They didn't. They originated in Ecuador.

Towards the end of the 19th century, thousands of Ecuadorian men made their way North to find work on the Panama Canal. They arrived wearing their finely woven, white straw hats which provided the much needed protection from the blistering hot tropical sun. Soon there after men of other nationality's participating in the Big Dig wanted these hats - creating a booming export business in Ecuador. As pictures of the canal and it’s workers made their way around the globe, these fashionable head pieces became internationally recognized as ‘Panama Hats.’

Cuenca, Ecuador's third most populated city, is famous for the production of ‘Panama Hats' - all of which are individually hand woven. We spent the day walking about the city and touring the hat factories. It is a facinating city with 1500 years of history - the Canari’s, the Inca’s, the Spanish, they all had their day here and all laid their tracks in this city.

We fired up 'Gaucho' and were rolling out of town at half six. It was an early morning. We had a lengthy drive ahead of us which included a border crossing - never fun and highly unpredictable.

Our previous couple of weeks were spent high in the Andes and to the East in Amazonia. As we made are way to the West side of the mountain range, the landscape changed quite dramatically. It got hot. First, hot and humid through the banana plantations and talapia farms, then hot and dry when we hit the desert that runs along the coast.

This was quite puzzling to the senses considering that just a few hundred kilometers before we were bundled up protecting ourselves from the cold and wet element. I'm no meterologist, but I reckon it must take a fairly consistent weather pattern to create these dramatic changes in landscape in such close proximity.

Water must get sucked up from the Pacific and instantly rise to a high altitude above the ocean. Then, as it's blown East towards the Andes, it must encounter a huge change in pressure at the twenty thousand foot mountain crests causing it to dump the majority of the aquatic motherload on the eastside of the range. The rush of water down the mountain creates thousands of small tributaries, that feed into hundreds of sizable rivers, that all come together to form the mighty Amazon. The Amazon makes its way through Brazil and pours its product into the Atlantic. It is here where it meets up with flow of cold water coming up from Southern Africa, creating the Gulf Stream - which moves northernly through the Carribean re-salinating and warming. As the it approaches the bottom of Florida, the majority of the stream evidentily cuts to the East flowing up the Eastern seaboard of the US and the rest ends up in the Gulf of Mexico where it brews back up into the atmosphere, travels across the Florida penisula, and creates crashing thunderstorms and that dump heavy rain on the City of West Palm Beach each summer day between 3:30 and 3:45.

All those childhood years of having to take shelter everyday from falling water which originated from South America's Pacific Ocean. Thirty-four years and thousands of miles, I'd finally be united with the source. I couldnt wait to dive into the sea and introduce myself - besides, I needed a bath.

We made our way to Aguas Verde, the Southeastern Border crossing point between Ecuador and Peru. I have been to many borders. I have been to many crazy third world borders. This border was beyond crazy. Total and absolute chaos. As we sat there completely stopped, staring up at the street buzzing with people, animals and activity about every square inch of surface space, I turned to Colin and said "Uhhh. How do you think we're going to get this rig through there?"

His elbows on the steering wheel and his head in his hands, he simply murmured "I have no fucking clue"

A little grease and six man pedistrian police escort later, we inched forward through the masses - knocking over umbrellas, up ending street stands, and scraping light poles. There were people moving everywhere - pulling big two wheeled carts of goods from one side to the other. I fully understand the concept of the flow of goods from one region to another, but this scene left me scratching my head. The same shit was going both ways. Potatoes, Carrots, Onions, Fruit - Carts of the same food staples were going both into and out of each country. Maybe I'm missing something, but that just doesnt make any sense - but consistently, there are a lot of things down here don't make any sense.

We crossed into Peru and landscape changed as dramatically as the border itself. We went from desert to barren desert. The our drive down the Eastern coast of Peru towards Punta Sal could very easily pass of a scene set in West Africa - when I make it to Hollywood, I'll inform them of this cheaper shooting alternative.

We arrived at the very small beach town of Punta Sal late in the afternoon. As we rolled in, everyone enthuisastically expressed a plunge in the ocean as the first order of business. We unloaded a few tents, our day bags, and some gear as we made our way to the rear of the lodge where we would camp on the beach. I got to the back of the building to find a very tranquil beach set-up. Marika and Colin were already sitting at a table each with a cold Cuscuenza in front of them. I walked up to the bar fridge, grabbed a brown bottle, put a tick mark by my name, and sat down with them. Things were good. Within two minutes, all gear had been dropped in the sand and everyone else had followed suit. After more than a full days drive, it was apparently unanimous that a sitting down with a cold beverage was the most logical thing to do. The ocean would have to wait.

There were to Emma's on the trip. One is a 28 year old lassie from a country town in Queensland, Australia who we refer to as Emma G. The other is a 17 year old pre co-ed from Surrey, England who we refer to as 'Lil Em.

'Lil Em was sitting directly across the plastic beach table from me. Emma G. was to my right - the other nine scattered around on both sides The sun was setting behind me creating a orange hue off the desert dunes. I looked across the table and saw something that I had not seen in previous two weeks. I already had 'her solo' which triggered mental hesitation but as I looked across the table again, I decided another shot was needed. I put down my beer and casually got up. I made my way around the corner, retrieved my camera from the truck, and casually walked back to my seat at the table.

Holding the camera discreetly at chest level as if I was possibly just scrolling through prior photos, I glanced at the LCD, and framed her with the zoom.

Half click-focus-snap. Half click-focus-snap. I pealed off seven repetitive shots .

When I hit the playback button and saw the first picture, I gripped the camera like I was holding a twenty-seven carat diamond that I had just sifted from the river. I turned to Emma G. beside me and subtly said "check this out."

Her jaw dropped. "Oh my God!"

"What?" The others came around the back of my chair, mesmerized by the images on the LCD.

*** *** ***

Justus Bergman was an artistic type who got through his early years with various odd jobs. He fell ga ga for Friedel, a German girl from a well-to-do family. Friedel's father viamently opposed the union, as Justus came from no means and had few resources.

He took a right.

He sacraficed what he knew and got a traditional job for the remote possibility of proving himself to Friedel's father. Two years later, having not had any contact with Friedel, he approached her father, showed him a copy of his bank statement and said "look what what I have done and look what I have managed to save. Now may I marry your daughter?"

Several years later - around the same time as the completion of the Panama Canal - Friedel gave birth to a baby girl in Sweden. They named her Ingrid. Justus continued providing for his new family with a traditional job, but found an artistic outlet in photography. He not only took countless pictures of Ingrid, but also of all of the town's other children saying "one day, one of these children will become famous."

Justus died when Ingrid was thirteen. His vision came true, but he never got to see that it would be his very own daughter who would be to one to become one of the most famous actresses of the 20th century.

I think back a couple of months ago when I made the difficult decision to take a left. I was at Rob and Fidie’s condo on a Sunday afternoon. I glanced down to see a random international number ringing my phone. I answered it. It was Gabriel from Bolivia. “So, we going do this? You definitely in, ready to go?

“Yeah, when do I need to be down there?”

“Get to Quito by the 25th and we’ll go from there”

The date was set and the decision was made.

The three of us were standing on the balcony thirteen floors above Midtown, Atlanta discussing my life altering decision that was locked and loaded just before during a three minute phone call from Bolivia. "You know how many people I am going to meet? A lot. And I am going to be spending a lot of time with these people. All day, everyday - cruising around South America - new adventures and experiences for everyone. We'll get to know each other very well - then boom, they will all leave and there will be a new set of faces. Day one all over again. It's going to be kinda wierd from that perspective, but probably quite exciting from many other perspectives. Who knows. Each leg is three weeks, although most people do more than one leg...so on average, I will probably meet about ten new people every three weeks...so if I continue for sixty weeks, that makes.....two hundred people.....you know I'm going to do?"

"Enlighten us."

"I am going to take an individual, non-posed, photograph of each person on each trip. Then I am going to set up an website with this single photo of each person along with a short paragraph on them. Each year on their departure day anniversary, an autogenerated email will be sent to them reminding them to update their profile on the website - and over the next twenty-five years or so, it will effectively document the lives of the people who are all connected by only three things - a short stint on a crazy continent, a big Mercedes truck, and a former accountant who had a vision."

"Could be brilliant."

"Could be. Who knows. It will be interesting to see where it goes..Ya think I can get on Letterman?"

"You mean, you think Letterman will be able to get you."

"Yeah..Good point…I’ll probably be real busy..Ahhh..but I guess if I'm in the neighborhood around 5:30, I'll pop in for a chat."

As I sit here in the Amazon basin looking at the sun set over the Rio Napo, I think of the first group. A group that included a couple of Emma's, a Hannah, an Ashley, an Amy, a Matt and several others. It’s been a month exactly since I landed in Quito, and it feels like the adventure hasn't even gotten started. At this point, I have no idea what will become of the other 199, but as for 'Lil Em - I think that quick series of snaps on the beach that day may be looked back upon in history as she goes on to become one of the most famous actresses of the 21st century. I just hope I’m around to see my vision come true.

/NSP

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