Like the Clouds All Started To Cry

Whenever Vita-L took pictures of Eddie Bert as we walked around, I'd comment that the picture would look much better if she'd just wait a couple more months for a cloudless day to capture the full beauty of the city. But she always said that you don't want pictures of just the good days. The pictures during the grim greys remind you of how great the sun is. So walking around yesterday, with the rain beating down on me (but not getting through my L.L.Bean Gore-Tex), I snapped some pictures of dark and depressing Eddie Bert.






























And here, the groundskeepers of Princes Street Gardens were preparing to unroll the lawn when rain interrupted. This city is at its peak beauty during the tourist season in the summer. That's when all the scaffolding finally goes down and you can see buildings again. ("Sometimes," Hannah said, "We just put up scaffolding and forget we've put it there. Or what it's there for.") That's when all the asphalt machines and jackhammers cease and you can walk on paved roads again. And that's also when I pack my bags and head for the boondocks of Chinar.


























Speaking of Chinar, here's a Chinese restaurant sign I do not comprehend. Yeah, big surprise there. I never comprehend them. But isn't the general logic of naming restaurants after place names that the restaurants serve food reflective of said place and the food is supposed to evoke feelings of the place? (Ex: Eddie Bert's own "China, China." A Country so nice they named it twice.) So why would you name your Chinese restaurant after a city not in China? Twice? That does not bring sweet images of authentic cooking in my mind, but lots of communists invading poor areas. Maybe that explains the color of the banner.















One last picture. Went to the National Portrait Gallery yesterday and enjoyed some portraits and tea. I didn't know if I was allowed to take pictures or not so snuck one really quick. I think I liked being in the building almost as much as the actual exhibits themselves. The word 'cavernous' kept coming to mind. But that might just be because I don't really know what cavernous means. But the place had a cool feel to it. The museum explains that it's the type of place where sometimes, the subject is more important than the person who had done the piece and that made me feel less bad about the poor picture I took of the Gallery, because it's not how poor of a photographer I am that matters, but that I captured a shot of the National Portrait Gallery.