The Movie Deal

When I say that I got a movie deal, it's a bit different than when Brad Pitt signs on the dotted line.

His contract is worth 7 figures. Mine is four. Brad's film will be screened from coast to coast in theaters, then available online. I jump directly to the online part. And of course Brad's debut will be accompanied by launch parties and TV appearances. I'll bring a couple six packs for the production crew once we complete filming.

Even though my world is much different than Brad Pitt's, I love making movies. And I just got the green light for "Travel Photography in Cuba" with lynda.com

This is a project that I began totally on spec. My friend Neil Bauman offered me a photographer gig on a People to People tour that he was putting together. He helped defray costs, but I had to come up with airfare to Miami, my own gear, spending money on the road, and hotel rooms in Florida. I scraped the money together.

There are some things you know you should do, and this trip was one of them.

Before departing for Havana, I wrote my content director at lynda, Jim Heid, and asked him if he were interested in a travel movie set in Cuba. He wrote back the same day. We decided that I'd go shoot, then we'd iron out the details upon my return.

The shoot went better than I could have ever hoped. And when I returned to California, we crafted the storyline for presentation to the lynda brass. Just a week later, I signed the contract.

I'm lucky that I can make a living doing things that I love, such as sharing stories and adventures from an island in the Caribbean. It's a risky business. I take my best shot, and hope for the best. There are no guarantees.

I guess that's one thing that Brad and I have in common.

-Derrick

One American Flag

We were all a bit weary upon our return to Havana from Santa Clara. Our eyes were full, but our stomachs were empty. And a glass of 3-year-old rum never sounded better.

We checked in at the Melia Cohiba Hotel, and agreed to meet back here, downstairs, at 7pm for dinner. I then pulled my suitcase over to the elevators and went up to the 12th floor. When I opened the door, I was greeted to my best room yet in Cuba, much bigger than during my previous stay. I had a view of the ocean to one side and surrounding hotels on the other. It was spectacular.

Somewhat reenergized by this good fortune, I treated myself to a Cristal that was chilled in the fridge alongside two Cuban colas and 3 bottles of water. Unlike American hotels where a beer would have cost me $6 or more, I only had to pay a couple pesos. I finished the beer, changed clothes, and closed the door behind me.

A few of us got to the lobby early and were comparing notes from the day. Someone asked, "Did you see the American flag out front?" 

"What?"

"Yes, I was told that it's the first time ever here. They just put it on a pole out front."

The Melia Cohiba Hotel was built in the 1990s when the Cuban government opened its doors to specific types of foreign investment. Since it was a choice for many diplomats and other working visitors from all over the world, the hotel began a tradition of flying flags out front representing the various countries of its visitors that day.

That is, unless you were American.

"Derrick, you have to get a picture of this."

"I will. I want it in the morning light. Morning will be good for this shot."

At breakfast, I had two cups of Cuban coffee, two fried eggs on a pancake, and a banana. I then went out front and photographed the first American flag ever flown at the Melia Cohiba Hotel. I watched it flapping in the breeze for a few moments, then put away the camera and greeted my friends.

We boarded our bus for the meeting in Havana. Our driver, Pedro (whom we all had become quite fond of), pulled a small U.S. flag from his shirt pocket. It was attached to a wooden stick, looking like a table decoration from a Fourth of July picnic. I had no idea where he got it.

He attached it to the Rosary hanging from his rear view mirror. I was tickled seeing it hanging there in the front window. We then departed for downtown Havana to attend to the day's business ahead:

Fourteen North Americans, two Cubans, 

and one American flag.

-Derrick

The Plaza in Santa Clara

A few of us were feeling full after dinner. It wasn’t that we ate too much, but the fresh evening air seemed the wiser choice for dessert.

We were in Santa Clara, the heart of Cuba, about a 3-hour drive from Havana. The night air was still, especially compared to last night’s breezy walk in La Habana.

We decided that we were going to explore photography on the plaza. It was only two blocks from the hotel. Each of us had a camera of some sort, but inside we knew that we just wanted to see what people were doing.

I was surprised to see so many locals out on Tuesday night. I’m not sure why, because I don’t really know what Cubans do on Tuesdays. I’m usually at home.

They were sitting on park benches conversing with one another, gathering in the music clubs that lined the square, or kissing and holding hands like lovers who had just found one another and weren’t quite ready to part ways.

I counted at least three groups of teenagers on the plaza. They were talking and laughing as teenagers do, with their private jokes that often go undeciphered by adults. One had a guitar and played accompaniment to others singing.

The odd thing was, not one person was texting on a phone. In fact, I didn’t see any electronic devices. Their hands were used for gestures, not typing.

We talked among ourselves in the group, comparing notes to make sure that we were all seeing the same thing. And we came to a single conclusion. Something special was happening here.

We circled the square one more time, then headed back to the hotel. None of our phones were working in Santa Clara, so we were either chatting with one other, or stayed quiet with our thoughts.

I was thinking about those kids. I felt protective, as if they were my own boys. What they had there, on that comfortable night in Santa Clara, was beautiful.

And I feared that someday soon

it may be lost.

-Derrick

South Beach Miami

I have visited just about every other major city in Florida, except Miami.

I felt like there was something here that the universe did not want me to see. So when I learned that our jumping off point for Havana was Miami Airport, I knew my time had come.

I booked a room in the Harrison Hotel on Washington St. in South Beach. Being a few blocks from Ocean Drive, it was affordable for my budget, but still within walking distance to all the action. Mostly Spanish and English overheard here. And I find myself conversing in a odd mix of both.

The best part of my room is, well, location. It's Spartan. But there's a mini refrigerator and everything is clean. So I'm happy here.

My first exploration of Ocean Drive was Friday late morning. I was scouting for the evening ahead. I'm glad I did. Not so much to ensure good shooting for later, but because it was fun.

On one side of the Drive are street vendors selling wares and delicious food such as arepas (hot, sweet cornmeal cheese sandwiches), BBQ chicken, sausages, and lemonade. With the ocean park behind them, it's a combination of alluring smoke and sea air that's impossible to resist.

Across from them are the art deco hotels and restaurants. Here's where you can treat yourself to a sit-down meal, colorful tropical drink, and music. Tables line both edges of the sidewalk, so you're actually walking through the restaurant as your explore Ocean Drive. It's the best marketing possible, because you can see the food, drinks, and help without making an immediate commitment.

Walking in general is easy here. Miami closes off the Drive to cars between 6th and 14th (or so). So you can stroll down the middle of the road, street vendors to one side, restaurants to the other, music everywhere. It's like a wholesome Bourbon Street.

I had a BBQ chicken skewer and an arepa for lunch. I could have had more, but I was working. By 2:30 pm the light was flat, so I headed back to the room to process the images and plan my attack for the evening. 

After a nice break and a bottle of water, I was back on Ocean Drive by 5pm, ready for twilight and neon. My favorite night shots aren't really at night. They're at twilight, with some color in the sky just as the building lights come on.

I was shooting with my OM-D E-M10, switching between the 17mm f/1.8 and 75mm f/1.8 prime lenses. Ocean Drive did not disappoint. Color, music, people, food, drink, and street shooting. I finished off the adventure with an Americano at Aroma Expresso on Collins Ave.

Now I know why the universe had denied me Miami. This is a special place for photographers.

And one that I can now fully appreciate after all these years.

-Derrick

Author's Note: It often pays to be lucky. I just learned from Fred, one of our readers, that I landed in South Beach on Art Deco Weekend. I walked right in to a festival, and didn't know it. The good news is that this happens every year. Plan accordingly :-)

62 Pounds

At first, 62 pounds seems like a lot.

I’m thinking about this because 62 pounds is how much my luggage weighs. I know it for sure. I put the suitcase on the bathroom scale, and the readout was 44. I then tested my backpack. There’s another 18. Total: 62 pounds.

As I fly east over the heart of America, 62 pounds is the sum weight of everything I own: shirts, socks, flashlight, camera, laptop, and phone. Items at home in the closet doesn’t matter. They can’t help me here.

It’s a weird feeling having everything you think you need in two stylish containers with padded grips. I think about such things when I walk by the man curled up behind the Radio Shack. His stuffed shopping cart of indistinguishable content is at his feet. For someone sleeping on the concrete, he looks content. Is it because he believes he has everything he needs?

I’m probably wrong about this.

In my case, however, it’s true. I’m ready for anything. Rain? I reach for my compact umbrella and Eddie Bauer hiking jacket (thanks dear!) Medical misadventure? My personal first aid kit is fully stocked. Amazing photo op? You know I have cameras.

In this light, 44 plus 18 doesn’t seem like much. New cities, new adventures. And with fingers tightly curled around each handle, me and my 62 pounds

are ready for the world.

-Derrick