While flying from New York to California, I watched some re-runs of Top Chef. In one episode, Tom Colicchio complains about a dish that he says suffers from seasonal disorder. This is not a dish without seasoning (a complaint I seem to hear often on the current season of the show), but a dish that mixed ingredients from two different seasons.

In some ways, I feel as though New York is going through its own season of seasonal disorder. A brisk fall morning can evolve into a sweltering summer's afternoon before settling into a spring-like dusk. Today, the morning was warm and I found myself carrying my jacket in my arms but by the evening, I wished I had brought with me a heavier coat. Not that I'm complaining. Other than my allergies going haywire, I'm enjoying the current weather.

In Denver last week, it snowed.

A few weekends ago I was meeting with people at Time. I ended up meeting with Lynda. While walking around midtown to kill time between one meeting and another, I waited in the courtyard in front of the Time-Life building. The day was clear, perfect for spring cleaning.

A few weekends ago I joined yw at the Guggenheim for the Cai Guo-Qiang retrospective. I wasn't sure what to expect. I ended up mesmerized.

We made our way slowly up the ramp, pausing to listen to the audio guide or to read plaques. We stopped and watched each video display, which brought new insight into his process and technique. Watching him make his gunpowder paintings was fascinating; watching his assistants attmempt to quickly put out any fires that were lit by the exploding the gunpowder was surprisingly funny.

This is a photo of the main atrium of the museum looking up towards the skylight. The work seems particularly apt in his use of materials to explore his art. The firework lights speak not only to his Chinese background (in courtyards across the country you can find the sparkly light installations) and his fascination with pyrotechnics. I hadn't realized just how perfect it was until after the exhibition.

I rarely find myself in this part of town, all the way Midtown west. Highways lead into the city or run up along the edge of the island; paths criss cross above you in the air.

I recently read an article where someone mentioned the stacked life of New York—how in any given area, there are lives being lived below ground on the subway, at street level, and above ground in apartment buildings and offices that stretch towards the sky.

It's always fascinated me that so much can go on around you, and in New York it's more fascinating still how so much can go on directly above and below you. There are times I wonder at the bumps in the night that I hear from upstairs and wonder what noises Frank downstairs might be hearing from me. Fortunately, the people above me have soft feet, though there are those nights that I can hear the sound of heels being dropped on the floor and I know they have just come home from a night out on the town.

A few days ago I met Lynda for lunch at the Museum of Modern Art. I hadn't been to the museum for food since it's reopening. Lynda hadn't been there for the art.

After our meal, I convinced her to join me in partaking of the member's preview of the Olafur Eliasson exhibition. While the part we saw was small, I was enthralled by the careful execution of his seemingly simple concepts. Previous to the exhibition, I was unfamiliar with the artist. Now, I am eager to explore more of his work, and am making plans to see the rest of the exhibition at P.S. 1.

I took this photo while walking along 53rd street to the museum's entrance. I wasn't to meet Lynda for half an hour or more and spent the time exploring the color exhibit. One of my favorite aspects of that show was the Gerard Richter color swatch paintings. It makes me kick myself once again for missing his retrospective.

Occasionally, before an opera or Lincoln Center event, I'll meet a friend here. We'll grab a snack or use the atrium as a convenient meeting place before walking together to the Met. Once, we actually stayed in the building and saw Bettye Lavette in a performance space upstairs. Unfortunately, that was also the night I suffered from food poisoning.

On this night, we were going to see the brilliant production of Peter Grimes or fortifying ourselves for the marathon staging of Tristan und Isolde. It might have been the night I watched people tell their stories of a perfect night with Bertolli to win a trip to Italy, or it might have been the night that rain threatened to flood the city streets. In one of my coat pockets I still have a coupon for a frozen pasta meal.

My opera season has ended. Tristan was the final production for which I had bought tickets. I had thought of getting tickets to Philip Glass's Satyagraha but lost momentum. After reading about Juan Diego Flórez's performance the other night in Donizetti's Fille du Régiment, however, it makes me want to go one last time before the season's end.

A few weeks ago I was in Cambridge on a short gig. My first job had been in Boston, and I lived with a friend in a large one bedroom apartment in Porter Square. My time there was short-lived, and soon after I left Boston for New York, so did my friend.

I hadn't been back in years. I felt like a ghost, walking through the deserted streets of Harvard Square. The students were on spring break, and the empty streets reinforced my sense of displacement.

I was staying with a friend mid-way between Cambridge and Porter Square, and I felt my former self walking beside me as I retraced my steps along Massachusetts Avenue. I was surprised how many shops had remained unchanged: the video store, the paper store, a Chinese restaurant. Foozles, a discount bookstore, had not survived. A sporting-goods store had taken its place.

I ended up not having the time to revisit some of my older haunts. I stayed pretty close to home. By the time I finished work and dropped off my laptop back at the house, there weren't many hours in the day left to exploration. I resisted the urge to peek into my old apartment, long since converted to condominiums. Though from the street, I could see a light on in the window.

A few weeks ago I saw the Kronos Quartet at Zankel Hall. The program consisted of a number of premieres, and many composers emerged from the audience to take their bows on stage. The concert ended with an arrangement of an Iranian folk song. They did not disappoint.

Afterwards, we walked south to a noodle restaurant. En route, I snapped this photo, looking towards Times Square.

While passing form a train to the station via an overpass, I looked down and saw this scene below.

I spent one of my last days in Taiwan wandering around Ximending. The sky was overcast and a light rain fell in spurts.

The last time I was in Ximending, I was lost. I had taken the bus, but was unused to the crush of people and was quickly turned around. A cousin had first brought me there to get some chops cut. Eventually, I found the correct stand and collected my chops. I remember shopping for CDs at an HMV that overlooked the street.

Returning some 13 years later, I found the area less confusing, and much cleaner, though for some reason I couldn't locate the HMV (not that I searched that long). The rain began to fall more steadily and I grew tired from touring the city. I went home after a quick tour of the environs.

In other news, I've launched a redesigned photography portfolio site: Fotokuo.

On one of my first days in Taiwan, Sophia took us all to Jiufen for a hike in the mountains. Originally a mining town, it had gained new fame as a result of its being used by Hou Hsiao-Hsien as the setting for one of his films. It now seemed to have become a fairly major tourist attraction.

We hiked through the hills, then

We descended quickly towards the town, which was teeming with Chinese tourists. The narrow roads were packed with cars and buses inching their way down. We passed through cemeteries and then made our way to Jishan Street where we were swept along by the river of people. The street was lined with stalls selling all sorts of snacks, and we quickly made our way to an ice stand for tsua bing.

Our mouths and bodies cooled, we backtracked to find a recommended fish ball place and sat and ate them with deliciously well-cooked noodles. Our bodies sated, we pushed back into the crowds. Tini saw a boy holding a sliced fried potato wound on a stick and stopped to ask what it was. His father told her to try it, but the boy was reluctant to share. A few stores down we saw the stand and Tini bought her own. We stuffed our stomachs to overflowing.

The story of the entire day can be found here. This woman was tending another stall on the street.]]> tag:www.226-design.com,2008:/monochrome//4.1601 2008-03-22T03:28:14Z 2008-03-22T03:35:50Z

A few times I was in Taipei, I took a wrong turn; rather, i would confuse one building for another. Once, on my way to the National Palace Museum, I found myself at the National Museum. I had remembered the Palace Museum being a large structure set into a hill, but I emerged from the subway in the center of town. As I walked around a garden, I couldn't imagine that the museum had moved until I read the signs more carefully. On this particular afternoon, I wanted to go to the National Theater, near the CKS memorial hall, but ended up by the Sun Yat-Sen memorial; I had confused one memorial for another.

I did, however, manage to get this shot of Taipei 101, currently the world's tallest building. The group in front was a school group. I didn't have the time to actually step foot inside Taipei 101 on this trip, however. There just always seemed to be other things to do. Maybe next time I'll go and have dumplings at the Din Tai Fung there.

We took a day trip from Taipei to Jiufen, the site of Hou Hsiao-Hsien's City of Sadness (I have yet to see the movie; I can't seem to locate a copy with English subtitles). We hiked a path through the mountains and arrived from on top of the city. The views towards the ocean and on to Keelung in the distance were spectacular.

In town, we spent the afternoon squeezing our way through the throngs of Chinese tourists flooding Jishan Street. We ate shaved ice too cool ourselves down and then bowls of noodles which warmed us back up. We sampled delicious assorted cream mochi and potato, thinly sliced in one continuous spiral and fried on a stick.

At the end of the street we looked into the competing tea houses, one of which was featured in the film, and one of which featured views to the ocean. Winding our way down, we passed some of the original mines, and then walked through one of the original tunnels that cut through the earth. We kept walking down until we reached a plot of land that served as the bus station, where we caught a bus to the train station.

There, a stage had been set up and a group of violinists were warming up for a performance. Their teacher busied herself about the stage arranging them for the camera. Parents were lined up in front taking photos. They played "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" and Chinese songs. Sophia recognized some of them. We watched and we waited for our train.

Years and years ago (I won't say exactly how many) I attended the Overseas Compatriot Youth Formosa Study Tour. Those of you who know what it is know it by another name; those who don't can Google it.

During the week, we had classes and trips; on the weekends we were free to do a we pleased. One Saturday afternoon, some of us decided to go to the Chiang Kai-shek memorial for a free jazz concert.

Unfortunately, my friends left before I did to do some shopping; I told them I would meet them there. Uncertain how to take the buses, I took a cab, and arrived just as they were taking down the stage. My friends were nowhere to be found, and so I walked up the stairs of the National Theater to get a better view of the square. There, I met a Taiwanese girl who had also missed the concert; she had also lost her friends.

We started chatting about this and that. She was the first person I had randomly met in Taiwan, and it was one of the few opportunities I had had to practice my Chinese. The sun set as we talked and my curfew approached. She was familiar with my program and asked me what time I had to return to campus. She told me she would put me on the right bus and tell the driver where to let me off. At the appropriate time, she did and bade me farewell.

Since then I've done more traveling and have met a lot of random people in various countries. And though I can't pinpoint when exactly the travel bug bit me, I can't help but think that interaction on the steps of the theater first planted the seed. It was amazing to me then that I could be so far from home and yet find someone I could so easily talk to. I don't even know what we talked about, but I remember being amazed.

This photo was taken on my last trip to Taiwan, a few months ago. I had gone hoping to buy tickets for a performance by the Cloud Gate dance company, but they were sold out. In the end, my friend Ed had a friend with an extra ticket, and I spent my last evening on that visit inside the theater instead of just on the balcony.