I've always enjoyed looking out of windows. There are cafe windows where one can peer onto the pavement (pond) life outside: a veritable river of people flowing with eddies and whirlpools. I also enjoy looking out of train windows onto the backyards of domesticity - the washing on the line, the garden hose, the vegetable garden, the endless rows of neatly trimmed hedgerows: domestic bliss or middle class staidness and banality? There is a 'Wagamama' restaurant where I often go on weekends for a spot of lunch. It has a special long table that faces the long outside window - its great for people who are eating on their own. It's just you, your plate of food, and a window through which you can view the people walking pass. I can look out onto the shoppers and they in return can watch me slurp my soup! I've noticed there are 3 basic types of people that walk pass: 1) the one's that don't look at you at all as you are eating - in fact they look completely the other way (probably because they're too embarrassed) - 2) the one's that will stare at your soup through the window and even stick there nose right up to it to get a better look! (no embarrassment at all for these!) and 3) the sort that will look at you from the corner of their eye, but as soon as you look at them, they'll avert their gaze and look away (sneaky fellows these with an ounce of dignity!).
There! I've taxonomically grouped the human race into 3 distinct types. Look Aways, Look Closelies and Look when not looking! I also enjoy looking out of car windows onto the concrete monotony of the motorway. Aeroplanes windows can be great fun too - the scarred landscape that man has wrought - his presence written on the ordered geometry of fields. Train windows can be the most relaxing. Why? Well, unlike an aeroplane you're not 36,000 feet up in the air and therefore not in imminent danger of sudden death. 36,000 feet is an unnatural position for a human being to find himself in - hence the reason why you can't really relax on an aeroplane - whereas on ground level you're pretty much on home turf. And with trains you have the added advantage of the landscapes and peoples faces changing like a kaleidoscope - especially on very long journeys that last days.
What a wonderful thing this thin sheet of window glass is! A thin sheet of clearness - that separates you - from the outside - what a miracle of human ingenuity it is. It is strong enough to keep you warm and dry and safe and full of oxygen. Whereas the world on the outside might be cold, wet, windy and dangerous. What would the ancients have made of transparent glass? Oh, how they would marvel at the view from a car or train window! I think at first, they'd probably not even see the glass at all. They might even attempt to pass through it - only to be met with a wall that refused to budge. A magic wall - and then; as their eyes adjusted, they would see it for what it is. A miracle!
When I'm on the train and if I have a window seat I play a little mind game. I close my eyes for 5 minutes and then when I open them, I pretend I'm opening them for the first time. It's a muse that allows me to view the world as if fresh and brand new. Suddenly I find myself just born and in this weird place called a train carriage, with lights, and a view that whooshes past, and it's warm inside - and it stops at places called 'stations' where people get off and new people get on...it's cold and wet and windy outside - I can see the trees and branches dancing and swaying. But inside it's nice! It's a less concentrated version of the feeling you get when you're in some poor hot country (like India for example) and sitting comfortably inside an air conditioned train carriage sipping ice-cold lemon tea - whereas outside, it's a baking oven with countless skinny brown faces - struggling away. It's good to be on the right side of the window. Always has been - and a large chunk of travelling pleasure is gained from this very feeling. It's an unfortunate truth, but a large portion of the pleasure of travel (not all of it) is based on the reality that the world has two types of people in it: the have's and the have not's. Tourism is, in a way, a form of colonialism - but at a safe distance. When we travel abroad; especially to poorer nations - we are like the colonials of old. How the locals dither and dance to our every whim! How obsequious they become when they hear the chink of ready money.
There! I've taxonomically grouped the human race into 3 distinct types. Look Aways, Look Closelies and Look when not looking! I also enjoy looking out of car windows onto the concrete monotony of the motorway. Aeroplanes windows can be great fun too - the scarred landscape that man has wrought - his presence written on the ordered geometry of fields. Train windows can be the most relaxing. Why? Well, unlike an aeroplane you're not 36,000 feet up in the air and therefore not in imminent danger of sudden death. 36,000 feet is an unnatural position for a human being to find himself in - hence the reason why you can't really relax on an aeroplane - whereas on ground level you're pretty much on home turf. And with trains you have the added advantage of the landscapes and peoples faces changing like a kaleidoscope - especially on very long journeys that last days.
What a wonderful thing this thin sheet of window glass is! A thin sheet of clearness - that separates you - from the outside - what a miracle of human ingenuity it is. It is strong enough to keep you warm and dry and safe and full of oxygen. Whereas the world on the outside might be cold, wet, windy and dangerous. What would the ancients have made of transparent glass? Oh, how they would marvel at the view from a car or train window! I think at first, they'd probably not even see the glass at all. They might even attempt to pass through it - only to be met with a wall that refused to budge. A magic wall - and then; as their eyes adjusted, they would see it for what it is. A miracle!
When I'm on the train and if I have a window seat I play a little mind game. I close my eyes for 5 minutes and then when I open them, I pretend I'm opening them for the first time. It's a muse that allows me to view the world as if fresh and brand new. Suddenly I find myself just born and in this weird place called a train carriage, with lights, and a view that whooshes past, and it's warm inside - and it stops at places called 'stations' where people get off and new people get on...it's cold and wet and windy outside - I can see the trees and branches dancing and swaying. But inside it's nice! It's a less concentrated version of the feeling you get when you're in some poor hot country (like India for example) and sitting comfortably inside an air conditioned train carriage sipping ice-cold lemon tea - whereas outside, it's a baking oven with countless skinny brown faces - struggling away. It's good to be on the right side of the window. Always has been - and a large chunk of travelling pleasure is gained from this very feeling. It's an unfortunate truth, but a large portion of the pleasure of travel (not all of it) is based on the reality that the world has two types of people in it: the have's and the have not's. Tourism is, in a way, a form of colonialism - but at a safe distance. When we travel abroad; especially to poorer nations - we are like the colonials of old. How the locals dither and dance to our every whim! How obsequious they become when they hear the chink of ready money.
The photographer too views the world through glass. Albeit a glass lens that can distort distorts the view - making it wider or nearer, or (as with a fish-eye lens) totally alien! Looking through a camera is like looking through a cafe window at the pavement life. It's just more concentrated with a camera - and the camera records moments in time, not motion pictures. And the photographer has the artistic license to put his own stamp on the image. To say something. To say: This is I, and this what I have seen, and what I have felt.
