Glacier walking at dusk on Sólheimajökull. This was the most enjoyable thing I did in Iceland.

Southwest Iceland

Bennett Cain September 1, 2016

What is there to say about this magnificent country that hasn't already been said? Stark beauty, glaciers, powerful waterfalls, geothermal pools, Sigur Ros, lamb soup.. It's one of the few places that everyone who can visit should, because it's just so utterly unique. Visually, it's like leaving the planet.

I found myself with a week to kill before starting a new job so there was a lot to cram in. Too much. I didn't get a whole lot further than Reykjavik and the Golden Circle but that was enough for a good taste. Iceland is one of those places one could really dive in headlong and explore for years. It's completely different season to season and has several geologically distinct regions. There are more outdoor activities than you could ever get bored with and there's a cool Euro urban culture in Reykjavik with some pretty excellent live music venues and places to eat.

Here are a few photographs from my explorations in the southwestern corner of this country. I can't wait to go back and shoot more!

This isn't a monochrome photo rather a volcanic landscape completely void of color.

A fresh meltwater tunnel in Sólheimajökull glacier. How deep is it and where does it go? Who knows. 95% of the world’s glaciers are retreating, Iceland’s no exception. Here, unseasonable meltwater bore a tunnel through solid ice in less than a … — A fresh meltwater tunnel in Sólheimajökull glacier. How deep is it and where does it go? Who knows. 95% of the world’s glaciers are retreating, Iceland’s no exception. Here, unseasonable meltwater bore a tunnel through solid ice in less than a week. As always for me, reading about problems like this is just a piece of the endless stream of troubling information we receive on a daily basis. Seeing it, touching it, walking in it, hearing first-hand stories about it, always puts it into a more meaningful, lasting context.

I'm not sure what this glacier is called. I shot it on a Northern Lights viewing trip about an hour outside of Reykjavik. The frozen, desolate wastes under the endless, open sky. It's crazy to think how fast you would die out here if you lost y… — I'm not sure what this glacier is called. I shot it on a Northern Lights viewing trip about an hour outside of Reykjavik. The frozen, desolate wastes under the endless, open sky. It's crazy to think how fast you would die out here if you lost your way.

The magnificent Aurora Borealis aka the Northern Lights. Interestingly enough they appear more white to the naked eye but photograph this rich green color.

Gullfoss, the Golden Waterfall. Not for nothing, there is quite a lot to see in the Golden Circle all conveniently located within a few hours of Reykjavik. More time is always better but one can do a pretty good short trip here.

Buenos Aires, meh.

Bennett Cain August 31, 2016

Don't hate me. Surely this somewhat tongue-in-cheek statement is sacrilege, especially among those countless Americans who hold this city to such a lofty romantic ideal. And if a native happens to read this, don't think I'm disparaging your fine city. I feel the same way as you do right now when I read visitor's unfavorable first impressions of New York on Trip Advisor — I got ripped off by a cartoon character in Times Square or NY pizza is greasy and gross (they ate at Sbarro.) It takes time to come to love a place. You can't just blow through it!

B.A. it's beautiful, fascinating city unlike any other in many ways, it just didn't ignite excitement that's overcome me like the electricity of Osaka, the hedonism of Barcelona, or the exhilarating chaos of Mexico City, Istanbul, or Bangkok. Even the first time I visited New York City when I was 15. I knew that I would spend a good portion of my life here. There's just something about these places that my chemistry gravitates towards. You can't spend enough time in a place you love; you just want more, you want to know them, to own them in a way. You start thinking about how you can live there, how to be a legit expat. I think for many visitors, B.A. gets under their skin like that. The decaying fusion of the Old World and New, like Europe from a bygone era is irresistible to some. It has its undeniable charms but perhaps these visitors Spanish is better than mine.

I was here and in the environs for a little less than two weeks. Not a whole lot of time but long enough to drink red wine out of the bottle with strangers in the park, pass the mate gourd around, and eat as much beef as a mountain lion. I tried my hand (or feet and hands rather) at the Milagra, only to exhibit my poorly concealed "gringoness" to new friends, confirming their suspicions.

The Milagra — city squares that erupt into communal tango dancing. For those with rhythm anyways.

A scene from a different epoch in La Boca.

The romantic quality this city is famous for comes from its remarkable texture. Glimpses of the past are everywhere and the shiny and new often seems to be struggling to compete.

Street tango in La Boca. Note the ubiquitous mate gourd in the background.

Beautiful Recoleta cemetery featuring you guessed it, the tomb of Eva Peron.

Newer districts of the city are a sharp and shoddy contrast with the charming older areas with their intricate stonework and Southern European influences.

I stayed at a cheap hostel in San Telmo for the first five nights. I won't call them out because while the hosts were lovely, it was a pretty terrible place. The building was ancient and was once beautiful no doubt but it fallen into almost irreparable dilapidation. There was no power on the entire neighborhood for the first few days so much effort was spent dealing with just trying to figure out how to charge my phone. I rarely travel with a plan which works just fine so long as there's a decent internet connection. Devices go dead and the whole free-wheeling approach pretty much derails.

Ah my favorite thing about hostels and cheap hotels. I travel with a roll of grip tape in case it's the only way to securely fasten the damn adapter into the wall.

In these first few days I was also very hungry as I couldn't find anything to eat. Where are the vegetables? Surely someone here must eat vegetables? Apparently the diet is meat, pizza, cake, gelato, wine, and cigarettes. That's all fine and dandy but my constitution gives out fairly quickly when subjected to such regular abuse. I found this city's signature lifestyle a far cry from the cold pressed juices, kale salads, and vegan tacos of my NYC haunts. But it's good to shake things up. I did my best to stick to my usual diet subsisting on the "comida por kilo," places that are eerily similar to NY delis where you can a bite of soggy salad or cucumbers soaking in oil.

The Argentine diet was actually the beginning of the end of my two years of diligent vegetarianism. I was on an estancia outside the city and wandering around the grounds, taking it all in, Las Pampas is a ruggedly beautiful part of the world. I followed my nose and trespassed behind one of the farmhouse to see what was for lunch. There I found the asador so simply and perfectly grilling up huge sides of different beasts. The smoke stung my eyes and the smell of all that simmering animal fat made me ravenous. What, was I going to come all the way to Argentina and not eat BBQ? I'm all about the obtaining the fullness of experience. In hind sight, by eating such a restrictive diet over the past few years I've unintentionally denied myself this full breadth at many of the places I've visited over the past few years. Not anymore.

Who alive could resist this? I am no longer a vegetarian because of this.

Estancia La Margartia, a few hours outside the city. Nice place to get drunk, ride horses, and eat a bunch of meat.

His name was Flacco. He was an ornery cuss.

I spent the next day wallowing in self pity and disappointment in myself. After the meat orgy of the previous evening there was clearly no going back so the only thing to do now was go to La Brigada. There I was eating bife de lomo and papas fritas, washed down with what else but a fine bottle of Mendoza's own malbec. That's the other glorious thing about Argentina — you can get a bottle of wine that would cost $20-30 here for less than $5. So in other words, it's hard to spend most of your here not drunk and that's perfectly acceptable because you're usually in good company.

The famous butchers of San Telmo market. This guy loved me. My key to getting the kind of shots I want is to sadly, not give a shit. Yell at me, chase me, whatever. I still got it. I still captured your soul with my camera! — The famous butchers of San Telmo market. This guy loved me. My key to getting the kind of shots I want is to sadly, not give a shit. Yell at me, chase me, whatever. I still got it. I still captured your soul with my camera!

Oddly enough, barring "vacation type" countries, your Mexico's, Thailand's, etc — this is one of the few faraway places where I've found tons of Americans. Students, expats, wine aficionados, romantics. There's an odd yankee appeal here that I haven't quite put my finger on just yet. If I were to return, I'd be more inclined to just head to the wine country in Mendoza and then time permitting, Patagonia. I had a great time in B.A. but next time would be a quest for places of spectacular natural beauty of which Argentina has many. Even the skies in the city on a good day are shockingly bright, blue, and beautiful.

Something noteworthy for me at least is you don't see such raw poverty in B.A. as you do in other parts of the developing world. There are slums but nothing like cities of comparable size in Brazil for example. It's just a completely different socioeconomic situation. Here, oddly enough they're concentrated around heavily industrial railroad hubs. The most notorious is one called Villa 31, an illegal city-within-a -city wedged between two commuter rail stations. As a photographer, I'm always looking for places like this, places where the human condition has nowhere to hide. I always enter respectfully, working with a local guide, paying everyone I encounter for their time, and working as quietly as possible. After a week of trying to find someone to take me into this Villa Miseria, I gave up. I was told it was just too dangerous which I'm not entirely sure I believe but the one time I took a short cut through an outlying street in this neighborhood, someone threw a rock at me, so maybe there is some truth after all.

The wrong side of the tracks. Literally. The only way in or out of Buenos Aires most infamous slum, Villa 31.

As deep as I could safely go into Villa 31.

I suppose in some ways the lack of omnipresent, visible poverty in the city is a testament to good local government. Outside of these few areas, for a city this size, it's quite safe and clean.

After writing this I think I actually like Buenos Aires more than I thought I did. Don't listen to me. Just go and soak it up. Two weeks is enough to get a good taste, more is better if you have the time. However this is a place where the stronger your Spanish skills, the more enjoyable your experience will be. English is just not widely spoken and if you can't string together a few sentences of basic Spanish, you will struggle as I did and do in every Spanish speaking country I go to.

A still from Nicolas Roeg's seminal film, Walkabout. A major inspiration for me.

Permanent Walkabout is Live

Bennett Cain July 8, 2016

"A spontaneous journey through the wilderness of one's choosing in an effort to satisfy one's itchy feet. A need to be elsewhere, the craving for the open road, that space over the horizon...something that you can't quite touch so you have to go find it because it's you know, just there...or maybe it just feels good to go walking around. Yeah, that's Walkabout."

Who said this?

Oddly enough those were the wise words of Crocodile Dundee. Remember him? Who knew he was such an existentialist.

Travel isn't just the process of moving between two points. Travel is a state of mind. Travel is being possessed by curiosity and embracing the unknown. It can happen anywhere, at anytime, and often means taking a sledgehammer to your comfort zone. It's the cure for creative stagnation and a great stimulator of personal growth. It's also a multi-billion dollar industry crowded with countless topical blogs, many of which are driven solely by the writer's desire for social media fame and access to free vacations through their spurious content.

Travel isn't expensive. Vacations are. I no longer have the desire to be paid to see the world. By applying just a few simple principles I've learned over the years, I can do it in my own way for far less than the cost of living in even the cheapest parts of the United States. And so can you. It's not a race to the bottom but with a little bit of mindfulness, epic overseas adventures can be done for next to nothing.

This blog isn't like the others. My name is Bennett Cain and basecamp is New York City. I already have a job in the Film / TV business (and another blog!) and am not looking to ruin my passion by turning it into my livelihood. There will never be any ads or partnerships with brands. Here you'll find some travel tips and tricks but more often than not, just a record of how a place affected me. This site is about keeping that spirit of Walkabout alive, that curiosity and excitement, no matter where you are or what you're doing. There's so much yet to explore. Thank you for reading.