New Year’s Eve in Cape May is a rather surreal experience. While heavily populated in the summer months, it is only locals and scant tourists in December. There is a chill in the air and the fog rises and falls with the sun. Yet there is such a strange beauty to the calm, quiet beaches and the normally bustling town.

Within the first hour of exploring the town – which generally involves searching for the best caffeine-infusion – we stumbled upon a local named Steve H. who runs a gallery in town. As an artist, chef, musician and bon vivant, Steve is quite the Renaissance Man. Steve went above and beyond in giving us the local lowdown. He went as far as booking us in a good B & B and very good restaurant for that evening. We are all now fast Facebook friends and expect to stay in touch. Having a local your side is key. Many thanks Steve….have fun Down Under.

On Steve’s advice, we trundled over to Congress Hall the following morning. We found easy parking right in front – and free for the holidays – a win-win. While I cannot attest to comfort of the rooms at Congress Hall, I can certainly say that as far as food, drinks and nightlife – this is the spot.

With at least 3 dining options within the hotel, you may be compelled to loiter for the entire day, especially if the weather takes a turn for the worse. The Brown Room begs to offer a cocktail while lounging on the sofa in front of the huge fireplace. If you are careful to watch for the slightly impervious staff – you might even get someone to bring you a snack.

Across the lobby is the pub-style Blue Pig Tavern with the obligatory heavy fare. But the real gem seems to be downstairs in what looks to have been a subterranean speakeasy now known as The Boiler Room. It is stone-walled boozy perfection.

New Year’s Eve in Cape May is not the festive free-for-all that perhaps the 4th of July might be in the summer, but as one who eschews the hoi-polloi at all costs, it was a cold but cozy, casual affair and it brought in 2010 with a whisper instead of a roar – just how I like it.

I have been working on a “DAY OUT WITH” series where I find interesting people on the street or through contacts and spend an afternoon with them in their own space and neighborhoods. Typically, these are people in the entertainment industry, so they definitely have a way about them. However, I rarely choose those with a particularly wild or outlandish style. I am attracted to people who seem perhaps introverted at first glance but after hanging out with them for a few hours, might let down their guard and show some of their creativity and personality.

I was sitting on a rooftop bar in Old Montreal last week and I happened to notice that the music was perfect, at least to me and the handful of people next to us who were all nodding approvingly as the DJ seamlessly moved through his tracks.  An eclectic blend of old and new, it was a selection I might certainly have on my iPod but not necessarily all in one playlist. I finally turned to see the DJ who was a spectacular looking fellow. Spectacularly dressed, yes, but also with a vibrant personal style and many, many tatts…..I marched up and introduced myself, commented on his music and after a brief chat, asked if I might photograph him one day as part of the “DAY OUT WITH….” series.

His rather dramatic shaved and tattooed head, red uber-glasses, quill-adorned nose and hip-hop/goth hybrid appearance certainly belied his thoughtful, gentle nature. He agreed that I could photograph him and for the next hour or so, he came and chatted with Paul (my paramour) and I while we enjoyed the perfect, warm night.

Skwik E Kleen – printed on his cards – is a lovely man with a soulful if not strangely poetic view of the world. One who has had a tumultuous life and has somehow landed without a thud. I love his energy. He drops wildly prophetic and oft profane tidbits of wisdom – he talks of life and love and power and torment and beauty and music and all points in between.
We met again the following night, at his prompting, at Méchant Boeuf,  where he instructed us to “talk to Perry and ask to be seated near the DJ.” Paul and I dutifully obliged and enjoyed another night (and side) of a very playful Skwik E Kleen. As we left, we confirmed our plans – Saturday was the day to do the shoot. We would meet at Sqwik E’s loft and then go with him to the Montreal Tattoo Art Festival…..it was superb:

On our way back from the 4th of July weekend in Saratoga, my sister-in-law, Ana, and I found ourselves in bumper to bumper traffic on the Thruway, the sun beating down on us. We had to make the decision, stay on, or get off. Route 9 and all its concrete tributaries, winds through the Hudson Valley through some of the most picturesque towns in the state. So when the exit ramp for 9W appeared, we hopped off the Thruway in favor of the road less traveled.

Just as we were beginning to feel the pangs of hunger, we came upon another perfect Hudson Valley village, the town of Saugerties. We decided to pull over for a late lunch. We parked and wandered the main street, peeking in windows and deciding what to eat. We popped into in a vintage clothing store called Pistol Whip and struck up a conversation with its owner, a vivacious fashionista named Sara. She told us about her boyfriend Daniel, a budding photojournalist and a little about her 30-odd years in Saugerties.

We were pleasantly interrupted by a little girl named Ella who marched in wearing jean shorts and vintage pumps – she announced that she and her friend Thomas planned to swap clothes and genders for the day. Hmmmm – ok then – good to know. I heard Rod Serling’s voice echo in my head, “Picture this….a small NY town where all seems normal but nothing is as it seems…..”.

We wandered off after purchasing some vintage Ray Bans and lo and behold, there were Ella and Thomas not only gender-swapping, but Thomas was in a full victorian dress complete with wide brim hat and dainty heels. It was quite spectacular. Ella had chosen to be a somewhat demure young man, opting simply for tomboy clothes and a striped wool cap.

They disappeared and reappeared at regular intervals as we wandered the town and settled in at Pig Bar and Grill, which was inexplicably missing the glass in one of the front doors. We sidled up to the bar and a cute redhead, Nina, rather tentatively asked what we would like. She seemed quite unsure whether the kitchen was open or if they had Prosecco or in fact what Prosecco might actually be. She then clued us in that this was her first day and the owner just left and the cook was quite cranky and she would ask but she doubted he would make us anything. Off she went behind the swinging door, returning moments later with a heavyset, utterly jovial chap named Billy. Billy seemed to be completely un-cranky, it being only 4:00 in the afternoon and we being the only customers. He insisted we try his Cajun Haricot Vert, and though he warned us they were so spicy we will cry, we agreed lest his mood take a sudden turn for the worse.

In the meantime, I let Nina in on the secret of Prosecco which of course they did not have, so we settled for a glass of champagne instead. Nina let us know she just moved back home after college to figure out what she wanted to do. She was charmingly disarming and impossible not to like. We chattered away until the fiery string beans arrived which frankly were the best damn green beans I have ever had. Nina offhandedly let us know that The Pig can get quite raucous at night and that last night, after the fireworks, the place got rowdy and someone threw a chair through the window. Just another day in Saugerties.

We finished up, paid our bill and said our goodbyes. We hopped in the car and just as I wondered where the dynamic cross-dressing duo disappeared to, I spot Ella about half a block up. She is back in Ella-gear, but still in the black pumps as she teeters across the street. At the same moment, I notice Thomas in my rear view, still clad in full Victorian garb, running and skipping cheerily down the street as any sweet 8-year old temporary transvestite might do.

Rod Serling’s voice faded away into the background as I pulled away from Sweet Surreal Saugerties….”anything can happen in The Twilight Zone”.

Every once in a while I get to a place so luxe I can barely tear myself away. Sandy Lane in St. James, Barbados is one such place. Noted for ts world-class golf courses and consequently being the venue for Tiger Woods’ wedding. For me, it is the sumptuous surroundings, the impeccable service and attention to detail that make this resort so spectacular. It’s worth a visit if you ever get the chance.

I took all my hotel images the first day so was free after that to explore the environs which were in stark contrast to the voluptuous lifestyle at Sandy Lane. My first pre-dawn morning out, I ventured north towards the curiously named Holetown. As the sun finally crept up over the horizon, the colorful town began to jostle itself into consciousness. The kaleidoscopic Chattel Houses, which harbor many of the finest local watering holes remain shut tight, I suspect until a more respectable hour to begin imbibing sweet fruity intoxicating libations – perhaps around 8:00 AM.

I found parks, churches, sumptuous flowers and trees but very few subjects to approach. By 8:00AM, the sun was high and I was not quite ready for cocktail, but breakfast seemed in order. I would skip the Chattel Houses and head south tomorrow.

The following morning, I was out again before dawn, this time headed toward the far more rugged south. With very few footpaths, there were some treacherous narrow roads to traverse and several careening buses to avoid. On this side of Sandy Lane, once past the restaurant/hotel strand, the locals seemed even less interested in engaging me. I was photographing what appeared to be the empty patio of a particularly quaint cafe when a woman materialized from nowhere and shouted at me for photographing her and her establishment. I tried to explain that I did not see her to even inquire but to no avail. Best to leave the volatile ones alone. I continued on. I walked over a high point on the main road under which ran a dirt road into a shanty town. I spotted 6 or so likely lads who saw me shooting from the overpass and waved me down. Hmm – wave back and move on – which I did.

I came across an enormous power facility which was all gleaming and shiny like the beacon of light that it quite literally is. Tied in front was a lovely…cow. Why a cow? Why here? Click. Click. Click. By now I was a little tired from walking – about a 2 1/2 mile obstacle course from the hotel and knew I had the same on the way back.

Tomorrow, I would hire a driver and go to Bridgetown – the capital of Barbados. I arranged for the driver to pick me up at 4:30 AM. Ethan was waiting for me with a smile when I emerged from the lobby. He gave me a brief history of Bridgetown and said he would drop me in the center of downtown, near the Parliament Building and would wait until I called him to take me back. He seemed curious at my choice of hour, but feigned understanding when I explained the early morning light casts a cool lustre on everything it touches and then gradually glows warm as the sun takes the reins. I’m not even sure I know what I am talking about.

This part of Barbados is indeed different. Already people are out and about ad the markets are beginning to stock up for the day. I encountered an older woman who was chatty and pleasant but recoiled when I asked to photograph her. It was as if the curtain suddenly came down in the middle of a play. I have encountered the fear of “soul-stealing” before, but it is so infrequent, it still surprises me a little.

I was feeling quite gregarious that day and did in fact meet several people. Chatting up a woman on the street, a group of firemen, a street vendor and a female butcher who was young, hip and sassy. And the sky was epic.

Finally my last day rolled around. The hotel images were beautiful, but the real gems were taken beyond the guilded gates in the villages and towns of Barbados. Perhaps I will try to miss my flight…..