Quatorze Juillet 2015
A year ago today I spent a hot day doing yoga in the park, taking walks along the Seine river, and sitting under the Eiffel Tower with thousands of others celebrating France’s independence.
karakorabphotography reblogged
A Response to the Paris Attacks
by Kara Korab
I remember when I first fell for you. I was enamored by your culture, your architecture, your fashion, your bread. Maybe it was the café culture, sitting out on a terrace with an apéro and clope. It all seemed so romantic, so sexy. I didn’t even seem to mind the piss-filled metro and the rats running across the streets. But then, the honeymoon stage wore off. I saw more and more of your faults, your tiresome bureaucracy, your crowded streets; and yet I loved you even more for your imperfections. My view less romantic, more realistic. Routine in place, I felt at one with the city. I walked through your streets with confidence, paying no attention to passing landmarks or silly tourist traps. I was a foreigner no longer, yet not truly native. Then you were attacked. A satirical newspaper. I was in shock. Surely, this was a fluke, surely this could never, would never happen to my proud, beautiful city again. And then it did. Three months after I had left you, left my friends, left my home. In the wake of the recent attacks I’ve found it hard to express my emotions, or rather to contain them. Here are a few:
Shock; total shock. I go through waves of numbness and immense sadness. There are times I can’t breathe, I’m in car and I start sobbing uncontrollably. Then I’m numb, going through the motions, unaware of anything around me. Fear; fear for what might become. For what has already become. For the increased hatred that ensues, for the further lives taken by this ugly war. Fear that the worst is yet to come. Isolation; so far away from my once home I feel isolated in my emotions. Everyone going about their normal lives as if their whole world hasn’t been turned around. Guilt; guilt that I am safe, that I am far away when my friends are there and are suffering even more than I can imagine. Guilt that every once and a while I forget, and that it doesn’t consume 100% of my thought at all moments. Guilt that I am not there with them, suffering, fearing. Guilt for every time someone says “I’m so glad you’re not there.” It makes me wish I was. Tired; tired of people asking how I am, of bringing it up as if they can sympathize with me. Of giving me that knowing look, that comforting smile. I am tired of people’s opinions, of those who bring it up around me so nonchalantly, not knowing how much it affects me. Tired of talking about it with those who don’t understand. Love; immense love for all those who thought of me the night of, who were there for me. Even if I didn’t say much your comfort was more than I ever could have asked for. Thank you for letting me lean on you. Hypocrisy; for appreciating your love and kindness but dreading it at the same time. Selfishness; for being glad to be far away yet at the same time longing to be there, to be a part of this tragedy, to have others mourn for me. For those who believe I am still in Paris, I do not correct them. For writing this post, as if my pain is greater than others, as if no one has experienced tragedy. Confusion; I am lost. I cannot comprehend why and how this happened. How there can exist such cruel and hateful people in this world. My city, was indestructible. Now? The people have lost hope, I see it. They are terrified they are defeated. Lost; in how to talk to my friends who are there. There is only so much I can say… so much I can comfort. I feel guilty trying to relate with them. No matter how much I am affected it will never equal their pain.
I remember, I remember searching endlessly for a restaurant that had vegetarian pho. Just when I thought my search was hopeless a friend tells me he’s found just the place. We go, the space is young and crowded and you can feel its authenticity. Then my bowl of vegetarian pho finally arrives, it’s exactly what I had been craving for months. After we walked to the bar across the street to grab a few drinks. The space was popular, the beer was cheap and we found an intimate table in the back. Flash forward several months. It’s May and Karen’s last night in Paris. The mood is mellow, we want to celebrate, a going away party of sorts. We go to the canal and dine at the sister restaurant, just around the corner from my vegetarian pho place. This time I choose the vegetarian bobun and it’s just as delicious. After we sit by the canal talking, laughing, playing music trivia and trying not to think about how sad we were. Flash forward again. It’s a surprisingly warm autumn night, as warm as many of the nights I remember in November drinking out by the canal. The Parisians are out, enjoying the weather and eating a typically late dinner. As they slurp their vegetarian pho down, shots ring out. An automatic rifle fires bullets through the window of Le Petit Cambodge before walking ten minutes down the canal to the Bataclan. I remember Charlie Hebdo. I remember the fear and the confusion and the sadness. We had a reason to fight then. Now… we are lost we have no cause to rally behind. Sadness envelopes us. I think of Boston, my home for four years of college. I was in Paris for the bombings. It was my junior year and I remember the same sense of guilt, of confusion. Of total fear for my friends and guilt that I wasn’t there with them to share it. I don’t know why my homes have been targeted, I cannot comprehend it. It is not enough to say “there are just cruel people in this world who think differently than we do.” This is not an answer, this is not the answer I want. I want a why. A true reason. I want to look our attackers in the face and say why to you hate us? Why do you bomb us and shoot us and kill us? Look at me, why do you hate me and all these innocent people you have taken from this earth? Could you look me in the eye and still continue on? Maybe you could, because there are cruel people in this world who think differently than we do. (Featured in Basement Babes, Issue 12)
Iceland
Ever since I met my dear friend Asta in the fall of our junior year of college and she told me of her native land I have been fascinated with Iceland. A mutual friend used to joke that we all should go together and though appealing, I never thought it would actually happen. Iceland seemed to me this fairy tale planet that didn’t actually exist in the real world; and after traveling there my opinion hasn’t changed. After convincing Asta to meet me in Iceland (she currently lives and works in Brooklyn) and after a month wwoofing in Norway and one last final week in Paris I said my final tearful goodbyes and two large suitcases and one carryon bag later I boarded a plane to Reykjavik.
I flew Icelandair, just as I had on every occasion back and forth between the US and Europe. On top of their already incredibly cheap flights between the US/Canada and Europe Icelandair also has this incredible deal where on your connecting flight through their capital Reykjavik you can stay and do a several day “stop-over” for no additional cost to your flight. It’s really genius, Icelandair is actually genius and I know it’s just a giant PR campaign to get everyone to come to Iceland and spend money but it’s brilliant and totally working. This stop-over option had tempted me since I first flew Icelandair in 2014 but every flight I never had time to stop in between. I promised myself that before I left Europe I’d have to stop for at least a few days.
That time finally came in my lowest of times, when I was leaving Paris and Europe after a year of living and working in a place I now considered my home, to finally return to the United States. It was bittersweet, but the prospect of finally going to Iceland not only distracted me but gave me something to look forward to. A perfect ending to my journey.
I spent an incredible week with Asta and her family and another great friend Anna, who happened to be stopping on a trip into Europe to spend some time in Italy before starting grad school in the Fall. After a week I’ve concluded Iceland really is another world. The first day we hiked in Snaefellnes National Park; the whole time Asta pointed out the large rocks that used to be trolls (that I’m still not sure if she was serious or joking) and after an exhausting hike we took a nap in the moss before taking a dip in the tiniest secret 'hot pot’ (or natural spring) that was just wide enough to fit the three of us. Even though the temperature stayed in the 50's all week, we spent every day swimming in either a natural spring, the blue lagoon, or the public pool; which is apparently a very Icelandic thing to do. They only get a month or two of ‘warm’ weather and they spend every second of it going to the pool or doing some other outdoor activity. We traveled to the middle of the country to Landmanlagur to spend a day hiking in lava fields, riding Icelandic horses and taking a quick dip in a natural spring before the long bus ride home (more pictures soon). The photos you see above are from the several days we spent in the city, exploring Reykjavik and petting every cat we saw, drinking in fancy cafes and bars, exploring beautiful museums, attending a really empowering Slut Walk, and spending time with Asta’s beautiful welcoming family. I couldn’t have picked a more perfect way to end my year abroad.
karakorabphotography reblogged
Photographs by Kara Korab
“Home. Home is a question I’ve been struggling with for a while. In our globalized society the question of home has gotten more complicated than ever. There’s ‘Where do you come from?’ ‘Where were you born and raised?’ ‘Where do your parents live?’ ‘Where do you pay your taxes?’ ‘Which place goes deepest inside you?’ and ‘Where do you try to spend most of your time?’ Like many white Americans, my origins come from all over, a cultural mixing-pot of Eastern European. I was born in Silver Spring Maryland, but when you ask where I grew I’ll more likely say either say DC or Baltimore. Yet, when I was finally given the choice of where to live I chose Boston for my undergrad. My heart lies in both places, as do my taxpayer dollars. One of my favorite authors once said “Home has less to do with a piece of soil than, you could say, with a piece of soul.” So where have I left my soul? That would be Paris, where I chose to spend my first year after graduation. Where I had my first “adult” job. Where I grew more than I ever thought I could in a year’s time. Where I saw and experienced more incredible things than I even imagined. And where I made some of the best friends I could have ever asked for. So, my answer to the theme “Home/Comfort” is a dedication to Paris; to my two actual homes and to the many places and people who made me feel at home”
Featured in Basement Babes, Issue 10
A series I submitted to the wonderful zine Basement Babes last month with film from Paris.
The Day My Phone was Stolen
I’ve never had good luck with phones. When I was fourteen I lost my first ever cell phone in Florida somewhere between the rental car and airport security. I’ve had several phones that have just stop charging and die, and in my second week studying abroad in Paris, I had my phone stolen on the metro. Since then, I’ve been relatively good with phones – I had the same phone for about two years until one day this past March. I’m going to put it down to karma. It was a Tuesday in Paris, a Tuesday that I should have been at work. But I wasn’t because two of the three classes I had to teach for the day had been cancelled and I couldn’t justify riding the train for three hours just to teach one 50 minute class. So I did what I shouldn’t have done, I called in sick and gave myself the day off. So on my now day ‘off’ I decided to meet a friend in Belleville, one of my favorite sections of the city but is definitely not the, shall we say, nicest. We were going to a rally to save one of my favorite streets in Paris, Rue Denoyez, nicknamed street art alley as it is one of the few legalized spaces for graffiti in the city. I had my camera as well as my laptop, and I was planning on going to a café afterwards to get some work done. After snapping several of the pictures you see above, we wandered back over to boulevard de Belleville just as their Tuesday open air farmers market (les marchés alimentaires) was ending. The market was filled with boxes of fruit and vegetables that had been left behind and there were many people sorting through them to try to find anything salvageable. I immediately hopped in, hoping to snap a few pictures of the disorder. I knew I stuck out so I tried to be as inconspicuous as possible, taking pictures of the food rather than the people. That’s when it happened. I had taken a few pictures with my cell phone and instead of placing it back into my bag or into an inside pocket like I normally do I threw it into the wide, shallow outside pocket of my coat thinking I would be taking it back out in a second to snap another picture. In hindsight, I should have known I’d be a sitting duck. After a few minutes of taking pictures I stuck my hand into my pocket and realized in horror what had happened. I immediately had my friend try calling my phone, and of course it went straight to voicemail the thief probably long gone. I sobbed in anger of my carelessness, and a few woman who had been giving me glares before for taking pictures came over and comforted me, probably thinking poor naive white girl. After calming down I did the only thing I could do, I went home. There was no use going to the police, I didn’t have a tracker and they would have rolled their eyes at me. I remember the 40 minute metro ride home to be one of the longest I’d ever taken; with no music to listen to and no book to read I sat in silence, in shame, the pit in my stomach making me feel nauseous. I stopped at the phone store on my way home and told them what happened, they immediately cancelled my sim card and gave me a new one. I went home, changed the passwords to everything that could have been accessed on my phone (though in all likely hood they had immediately wiped the phone once they got it) and emailed my parents to let them know what happened. I then tried to figure out what to do, I needed to get a new phone immediately because my work required me to be reachable at all times. I messaged a friend who I knew had just gotten a new phone to see if he still had his old one, luckily he did and would be home that evening and I could have it. Unfortunately the reason he had gotten a new phone was that his old had had a manufacturing issue, you could make and receive calls but neither person could hear each other (yet when calling via whatsapp or facebook it worked fine). I figured good enough for now (though in hindsight it seems rather ironic to have a cell phone that did everything but make calls) and I would figure out what to do later. You see, this was the end of March and I wasn’t sure my plan yet. My work contract ended in May and at the time I was still trying to stay in Paris. If I knew for certain I was staying in France, I would have just gotten a French phone; but if were going home I would wait till I got an American phone. It was all complicated and what it amounted then to, was me spending the next 4 months in Europe going between broken phones. You see, after two weeks of having this new used phone of my friend’s, I accidently shattered the entire screen. The phone still worked, just the screen was in pieces and I still couldn’t make calls so I decided to try and get another used phone. A friend was selling her old phone, so for $40 euros I bought her almost new HTC mini. The phone was great, really beautiful and had an awesome camera. There was one problem, regardless of what the battery percent was if you opened too many things at once or even just had the data on while listening to music it would instantly die. I ended up having to constantly bring around an external charger for it. After a while I couldn’t handle how often it died so I carried two phones, the broken screen for texting and data, and the HTC for pictures and calling (when I would switch the sim card). I did this for a total of two months while I traveled Europe and stayed in Norway and you can’t imagine I relief I felt when I finally came home to the states and got a brand new 64g Samsung Galaxy S6. That is, until three days later when I was on a boat cruise and dropped it to the bottom of Lake Coeur d’Alene.
karakorabphotography reblogged
Basement Babes, Issue 10
Check out some photos I submitted to this beautiful wonderful zine about home and Paris
Reflections on Norway
There's so much to say about the month I spent wwoofing in Balsfjord, Norway (If you haven't read my last post on it you can find that here ). I've talked to many other past-wwoofers since and seems that I had a rather unique experience. I got to do a multitude of jobs and was with an incredible group of sportive people. I miss the farm a lot. The place, the people, the puppies. Looking back it seems a bit surreal that I called this breathtaking fjord my home for only a month. The days went by incredibly quickly, and my time ended as soon as it started. Each day was packed with work and activities. We spent our evenings cooking, baking, hiking, camping, having LOTR marathons, horseback riding, brewing beer, playing with the puppies, going out in the boat, or going in the sauna. All of a sudden you would look would realize it was past midnight and wonder where they day had gone (probably due to the fact that sun never set).
One of the things I loved most about the farm was the freedom we had in our work. Our farmer Bård really encouraged us to take our own initiative; there was no one proper way to do anything and he welcomed our ideas. If there was something we were passionate about, we could make our own projects. Therefore I worked on a million different projects, from building to gardening, to cleaning and working with animals. My favorite project (besides brewing the beer and taking pictures of the puppies, of course) was to build and design an herb garden for the farm. This is a project I did with one of the other wwofers Emily from Canada. We designed (well, she mostly designed and I nodded and pretended I knew anything about architecture) and built the boxes for a large flower and herb garden; leveling the ground and filling the boxes with layers of different composts. It was a huge project that I worked on until my very last day, in which I finally got to plant the herbs we had been growing and saving all month. It felt incredible to see this project we had been dreaming about all month come to life and know that it would live on past us.
Nordre Hestnes Gard is seriously an incredible place and wwoof is seriously a wonderful program. I would recommend to anyone who’s a little lost and needs a break from reality or who wants to work with their hands and feel accomplished after a long day’s work.
Norway was supposed to be my excuse to stay in Europe longer, a delay before going back to the real world but it turned into so much more than that. I learned new skills and experienced a whole new culture all while making lasting friendships and spending some much needed time in nature. I feel in love with this farm and with its kind-hearted people. I sincerely hope to go back one day, maybe one day very soon. For now here’s a compilation of film photographs I took over the course of my month there that in no way capture the true beauty of the fjord.
#karakorabphotography#Kara Korab Photography#norway#wwoof#wwoof norway#Balsfjord#Tromso#fjord#film#filmsnotdead#ishootfilm#35mm#Minolta#color film#hiking#camping#farm#farm life#horses#icelandic horse#waterfall#hest#travel#Travel Photography#travel blog#Photo blog#Photography Blog#fjordnorway#wwoofnorway
Hi hello a lot has happened since my last post. I spent another few weeks wwoofing in Balsfjord, Norway. Then traveled to Olso for a few days to explore the capital, afterwards returning to Paris for a week to say goodbye and collect the remainder of my things. Then I made my way home, stopping in Iceland for a week to visit my good friend from college Asta. Once arriving in Maryland I was home for literally a day before heading back out to the west coast to visit my family in Washington and Portland. Now finally, finally, I am home and resting for the first time in what seems like a year. I have many stories to share, and I hope I can with you. Now that I have a little more free time (read a LOT of free time, someone hire me please?) I’m hoping to finally post all the photos that have been filling up my hard drive. For now here is a shot from Norway from a roll of film I just got developed.
karakorabphotography reblogged
#tbt to Iceland and swimming in hotsprings with this pretty lady #takemeback #iceland #bluelagoon #vsco
karakorabphotography reblogged
Finally home, and hiking with @jcc_1392 #vsco #hiking #billygoattrail #greatfalls (at Great Falls, Maryland)
karakorabphotography reblogged
🐴🐴🐴 #vsco #Iceland #icelandichorse #landmannalaugar #latergram
karakorabphotography reblogged
Today we hiked through lava fields in Landmannalaugar 🌋 #vsco #Iceland #landmannalaugar #fjallabak #lava
karakorabphotography reblogged
Napping in the moss 🌿 (at Snæfellsnes Penninsula)
karakorabphotography reblogged
So I’m in Iceland and yesterday we road tripped to #Snæfellsnes and hiked and found a secret hot pot to bath in #vsco #Iceland (at Snæfellsjökull National Park)
karakorabphotography reblogged
Thanks for the most challenging, yet incredible year of my life. À bientôt Paris I’ll be back soon. (at Pont Alexandre III)
karakorabphotography reblogged
Well this is the most beautiful building I’ve ever seen 😍😍 #fondationlouisvuitton #architectureporn #Paris #vsco (at Fondation Louis Vuitton)
karakorabphotography reblogged
Not a lot of people came out for Bastille Day #14juillet #bastilleday #fetenationale #toureiffel #cantbreathe #vsco #Paris (at Champ de Mars)