Spreepark was an amusement park in the former East Berlin opened in 1961.  Now abandoned after a bankruptcy and the former owner in a Peruvian prison for trying to smuggle cocaine from Peru to Germany in the masts of the Flying Carpet ride, all that’s left are carcasses of the park’s old attractions.  What I’d do for one of those swans.  The final scene from the 2011 film Hanna was filmed here.

Series by Aaron Huey.

Interiors and Exteriors of madman Ludwig II‘s Neuschwanstein and Lindenhof Castles in Bavaria.  Yes, these places exist.

]]> http://pambristow.com/2010/02/19/bavarian-dream/feed/ 0 http://pambristow.com/2009/09/19/empty-schells-forlorn-images-by-isaac-schell/ http://pambristow.com/2009/09/19/empty-schells-forlorn-images-by-isaac-schell/#comments Sat, 19 Sep 2009 17:11:57 +0000 Pam Bristow http://pambristow.com/?p=4248

I can so relate to these pics by West Philly-based photographer Isaac Schell. My favorites are the storefront churches, making the best of it.

I love Central America.  I’ve traveled through Honduras, El Salvador, Costa Rica, and parts of Nicaragua for weeks at a time, mesmerized by these half-Spaniards /  half-Indians that carry some of the same DNA I do.  There is something so magically forgotten about this little pocket of the world that is right under our noses.

My maternal family has a long history in Central America… My Uncle was Secretary of State in Honduras as well as the Honduran Ambassador to the UN, and is the current head Magistrate of the Central American International Court.  My Grandmother was the reigning Miss Central America before her death.  So I am always interested in exploring new parts of this little strip of land that connects the massive Americas, and me to a piece of my ancestry.

I’m currently desperate to check out Antigua (no not the island!), the former Guatemalan capital located just west of Guatemala City. Founded by Spanish conquistadors on March 10, 1543, Antigua retains many of the brilliant colonial architectural gems that qualify it as a premier UNESCO World Heritage Site.  And then there are the chicken buses – basically American school buses driven south from the US that are now privately owned and decorated according to the driver’s tastes – usually with the name of his current girlfriend blasted across the top of the windshield.  They run between the country’s Mayan villages, often crammed full of people, farm goods, and yes, chickens.

The best time to go has to be Semana Santa or Holy Week  - Antigua hosts the Western Hemisphere’s largest Lent and Easter celebrations, with elaborate processions that make their way through the streets.  The pics say it all…

Just returned from the legendary 127 Sale… a recap of the adventure HERE & pics after the jump…

Read my new article for the Huffington Post HERE.

Check out of Hotel Tangerina after obsessing over the coolest wall clock / calendar I have ever seen.  Head to station to catch express to Casablanca.  Haggle with taxi driver about the fare.  He wants to charge us a 50dh flat fee (illegal) and we want him to use the meter.  He reluctantly agrees and the ride is 18dh. Almost miss train but make it by the skin of our teeth after Cristina puts the guy who tried to cut her in line in his place (the wonders of cueing are lost on most Moroccans.)

Lucky to have private cabin this time although the A/C is on the blink.  Spread out across three seats and try to catnap.  Five hour ride goes by in a flash.  Arrive in what appears to be a depressing, dilapidated city, full of smog and pollution – and not a horse or donkey in sight for the first time in over a week.

Hail taxi and jump into masterpiece of improvisation. Every part of the car was either made of, held together by, or leaning on stuff that doesn’t belong in cars… like plastic plumbing pipes, straw floor mats, and empty soap boxes.  Head to our hotel, JM Suites, which we are thrilled to find in an upscale part of town. Almost faint when we pass a Lanvin boutique… and a l’Artisan Parfumeur!  Modern hotel and (kind of) modern city are a welcome sight after the past week of dusty (though fabulous) African towns.  Check in and plop onto bed in air conditioned / flat-screen having room.  Decide to have tea at the cafe across the street and then dinner at the über-glamorous / tourist-trappy Rick’s.  Totally surprised / impressed by the progressive vibe throughout the city and happy to see jean wearing women in the cafes alongside their men.  Same density of headscarves but chicer sunglasses.

Dive along the Casablanca waterfront, past the magnificent Hassan II mosque to dinner at the straight-out-of-Casablanca-the-movie restaurant.   Start off with fave new cocktail, the Martini Blanc, in a gorgeous glass.  Piano player keys out perfect 30′s classic standards.  Indulge in ridiculously delicious crab salad and sole dinner with a French white.  Deliriously happy.

Milked wine and Wi-Fi’d our brains out for three hours with the first working connection since we landed in Morocco. Both totally astonished at how much we’re enjoying this town that everyone told us to avoid.

Take lovely late night petit taxi ride back to the hotel, watch about an hour of hilarious / depressing Moroccan fashion TV before passing out on finely pressed linens.  I love my new little city.

Wake up in Fez and go downstairs to tell the riad host that we’re headed to Tangier a day early. She tells me we have to pay for the duration of the stay because they “turned down other potential guests.” I look around at the half-empty riad and she reads my mind. (I forget haggling is a sport even in the most sophisticated of settings here) We agree on 1/3 of the unpaid night after some good natured back-and-forth…

We’re getting dangerously close to our budget limit now that we’re hitting the tail end of our trip. Think about how to cut back.  Decide all food must go.  Shopping and cocktails should be fine.

Train it to Tangier on what have become our beloved first class cabins.  Meet a young American woman and her parents.  She is living in Madrid and has recently lived in Fez for six months with her husband while she was getting her PhD in Moroccan history at Harvard.  We chat for hours about Moroccan culture, she gives us some more great words to throw at assertive Arab men, and tells us our hotel in Tangier is her absolute favorite.

Change trains at Sidi Kacem and are now in cabin with eighty-something-ish woman in fabulous Chanel seersucker suit and oversize Celine glasses.  She strikes up a conversation with us and tells us in a dreamy drawly French voice that she’s from Tangier but she worked for Chanel in New York for thirty years.  We decide we love her.

Head to back of train, open rear door, and sit on steps with feet hanging out in the open air. Minutes later Chanel appears and tells us to turn around and face the sea.  We see the most incredible streak of blue to our left. Amazing to see ocean after so much time inland by desert. Tangier, she reminds us, is where the Mediterranean meets the Atlantic at the northernmost tip of Africa.  Although we already know this, when she describes it, it sounds like sex.  Debate asking her to repeat herself so I can hear it again.

Arrive in Tangier to the usual dearth of maniacally eager taxi drivers.  Settle on ridiculously inflated fare – too tired to argue – and make our way to the Hotel Tangerina.  Drive by the long strand of beach dotted with ramshakle beach clubs and faded discotheques.  Pass a group of camels resting in the sand – presumably a tourist photo op enterprise, but still amazingly exotic.

After ton of hairpin twists and turns we arrive at our little hotel, perched on the very top of the hill overlooking the whole of the city.  Walk in and fall in love.  Immaculately styled to a Humphrey Bogart-by-the-sea tee, it’s absolutely the perfect setting for this little gem of a town. Our room overlooks the city walls which drop down to the glorious Med.

Head upstairs to rooftop terrace.  It’s stunning.  From there we can see across the Strait of Gibraltar to Spain and all around the edge of the continent.

Have a mint tea and launch into full-blown photo shoot on the roof.  When we’re exhauseted, head down to the Petit Socco (square) and check out the fab deco Cinema Rif. Pass tons of magnificent French colonial buildings and balconied windows.  Stroll around and then head back to La Tangerina.

It’s now completely dark out with the moon shining on the African coast and the two oceans meeting in front of us.  Meet awesome Canadian couple celebrating their one year anniversary  - he is Indian, she Pakistani – both Muslim.  They grab a seat with us on our oversized daybed overlooking the water and bring a box of pastries to share.  Talk until 3:30 am about everything under the sun… God, religion, politics, and marriage.  It’s another amazing human connection in this wild country.  Since we’re trying to save our cash, Cristina runs down to fetch a bottle of water from our room and arrives back with two glasses… “Champagne Dahhhling???” she slurs… we crack up cause we’re almost broke.

After four hours of chatting, stumble downstairs to catch a few hours of sleep before 10 am express to Casablanca…