We visited Pacific Union College in Angwin, a small community in the mountains east of Napa Valley. This private Seventh-day Adventist college sits on a heavily wooded campus high above the valley, largely isolated from the towns below.
I have a soft spot for fairs. As a kid, I went to the California State Fair almost every year. My favorite part was always the farm animals.
Jean and I visited Calistoga, another small town in Napa’s upper valley. It’s known for its natural hot springs and mineral water, which have drawn visitors to the area since the 19th century.
I’m kicking off a new project, Profiles, where I’ll write about and photograph what I find to be interesting people and places. I’m still forming the idea, and I’ll likely be working on several long-running Profiles in parallel. My goal is to spend as many field days as I need to collect and record my observations, then complete a polished write-up.
November 9, 2025 was unseasonably warm in San Francisco. It felt far more like summer than fall. That morning, the sun filled our patio, heating the tiles and casting a warm glow across the space. My dog, Benny, settled onto his striped blanket in his usual spot, leaning over with his eyes closed as the light settled over him. Jean, my wife, sat nearby while Bruno, our other dog, shuffled into a narrow sliver at our feet. Sunbathing was part of Benny’s routine, but that morning carried a stillness that felt unfamiliar. As I watched him rest, he seemed to accept something I wasn’t yet able to.
Laos sits in the heart of Southeast Asia, tucked between Thailand, Vietnam, China, Myanmar, and Cambodia. It’s the region’s only landlocked nation, shaped by forested mountains and winding rivers. Centuries ago it was known as Lan Xang, the “Land of a Million Elephants,” a kingdom where elephants stood at the center of cultural and national identity. Though only a fraction remain today, the symbol endures in folklore, temples, and the country’s imagination.
On my final day, I spent the morning walking down Trang Tien Street, one of Hanoi’s oldest and most prominent roads. Long before the French arrived, it was home to royal compounds, lakeside markets, and early urban life, a center of power dating back to the Vietnamese dynasties. During the colonial era, the French redeveloped the street and its surroundings, transforming the area into what became known as the French Quarter, a showcase of European urban design. At its head stands the Hanoi Opera House, framed by wide boulevards and grand facades meant to project elegance, order, and influence.
I set out before sunrise, hoping to snap photos of Long Bien Bridge just before rush hour. Built by the French in the early 1900s and heavily bombed during the Vietnam War, Long Bien is a weathered iron span that has carried generations of commuters across the Red River. It links the Old Quarter to Hanoi’s outskirts. Unlike the sleek bridges farther downstream, built mainly for cars and motorbikes, Long Bien still carries trains, and even makes room for pedestrians.
I’m back in Hanoi, this time staying long enough to reconnect with the city rather than just passing through. It’s a place of contrasts: motorbikes racing down leafy boulevards, crumbling colonial buildings beside luxury shops, and ancient temples tucked between street stalls. For over a thousand years, Hanoi has been Vietnam’s political and cultural center. Capital to emperors, colonizers, and revolutionaries.