Category Archives: Photography

Bel Air – 2015

Bio, Dining, Photographs

The best of the best.

These pieces generally run annually in time for Hanukkah and Christmas.

The only way to live and work in Los Angeles is to avoid the freeways, for they are a living hell. No matter the time of day or night, you can be sure of wasting horrible amounts of your dwindling life span in your car, parked on a way that is anything but free.

When I lived in Los Angeles (1987-93) I was lucky to have a home high in the hills of the San Fernando Valley in Encino and a job in Century City, the other side of the transverse spine that is Mulholland Drive. Mulholland, named after the DWP engineer who literally made Los Angeles possible (it’s called water) just happens to be one of the most dramatic of roads in that thrilling city. The beauty of this location was that I could zip up to Mulholland from home, turn down Roscomare into Bel Air then wind my way though the labyrinthine paths of this haven which is a very small part of Los Angeles, exiting at Sunset Boulevard with but one city block to my office on Century Park East. Traffic? Nowhere in sight.

The small firm I called home made for great friendships and as often as not we would gather monthly after work for camaraderie at the haven which is the Hotel Bel Air. I had stayed there on business from New York back in 1985 in one of the bungalows in the lush grounds and it was a memorable experience.

When a resident of LA, on one occasion while conducting arcane tests on my Mercedes diesel to determine the exact fuel consumption (don’t ask – it’s the Engineer’s Curse) I crossed Sunset into Bel Air on the way home only to feel that superb five cylinder turbodiesel motor stumble. Barely making it across I stopped on Carcassonne in Bel Air, out of fuel. I had miscomputed the size of the tank, smaller in the diesels than in the gas models …. bloody Germans. No sense of humor.

Flashers lit and making my way on Shanks’s Pony to the Bel Air I headed for the tea room whence I called AAA, alerting the valet that he was to direct my driver there upon arrival. Sure enough, the mechanic was unquestioningly ushered into the rarefied confines of the watering hole a while later and we exited magnificently – I in suit, he in overalls – to get the beast fueled and started. (Diesels need bleeding. Pumping is involved. Again, don’t ask). My love affair with the Hotel Bel Air and with Bel Air itself has proceeded apace since.

You see, unlike most places which boast wealth, the Hotel Bel Air specializes in those costliest attributes – discretion and silence. Not only is it hellishly hard to find, it’s buried deep within Bel Air on 12 acres of heaven remote from busy streets, and if there is a more perfect place on earth to relax I do not know of it. Thus on this, my son’s first visit to Los Angeles at age 13, I determined only the best would do and one night last week found us at the Bel Air in – yes, you guessed it – one of the bungalows in the grounds.


Our room. The bed was magically split into two as we dined.


Exquisite landscaping against Southern California pink.


Winnie checks out the pool. Notice the large crowds in attendance.

While my obligatory tea arrived poolside (you can take the boy out of England, but you cannot take England out of the boy) I obeyed Winston’s dictate to think not about work but to merely gaze into the distance and think peaceful thoughts. Much harder than it sounds for one who considers vacations a leading cause of stress, but the boy was clearly onto something. He is wise beyond his years.

These thoughts were interrupted by two young girls to my left discussing education, the one a UCLA junior trying to convince the other, a USC sophomore, to transfer, the better to enjoy their friendship. Half way though this dissertation the one decided they needed a late lunch served to them on the chaise longues surrounding the pool, but things proceeded to get sticky when it came to payment. The young woman dashed back to her room in search of a credit card, returning breathlessly to admit to the pool waiter that she could find neither hide nor hair of it. After some embarrassing back and forth she called her mum only to be reminded that she has an account at the place – this at the age of 17 – and a quick “Charge it!” resolved the issue. High class problems.

I contented myself with mindless thoughts (sort of like ‘military intelligence’ or ‘stock market predictions’ when it comes to grammatical logic, I suppose) and gazing at Winnie doing his thing was a subtle and sublime joy. My boy’s first visit to the City of Angels really had started at the top, and my joy was but sublimation of my hopes for him. He rejoiced in the heated pool and I rejoiced that he was there.


A lovely fountain in the large yet discreet grounds.


Winston at Swan Lake in the grounds. Back in the 1990 the swans used to be black.
Maybe this is more PC at work?

The Hotel Bel Air takes its tea very seriously.


Winston’s first ever cup of coffee at the Wolfgang Puck over breakfast.
You can read all about his Unfair Advantage here in a piece that remains 100% correct.

There’s no need to drive anywhere for dinner for the Wolfgang Puck Restaurant in the hotel would be hard to improve on. Dress code dictates a jacket and long trousers for dinner and tattoos are nowhere to be seen. White trash need not apply and the prices see to it that they do not – this is a feature, not an issue. The women’s dresses over dinner have to be seen be believed. And they are wonderful to behold – the women and the frocks. Breakfast dress code is relaxed as the above shows, and the staff is so professional you leave regarding them as friends. Jeans are notable by their absence and let’s all be grateful for that.

Money is quiet here and waistlines are slim. The bungalows are the preferred places to stay and many have been the location of choice for discreet assignations among the Hollywood set, from Frank Sinatra to Elizabeth Taylor who enjoyed most of her numerous honeymoons in one. Or was that in seven? They came here to not be seen. Ask nicely and the hostess who walks you to your room will point out the bungalow in which Howard Hughes lived, right around the time he crashed his experimental single wing plane at the LA Country Club next door, barely surviving. It’s an episode which is perfectly recreated in Martin Scorsese’s The Aviator, a favorite with both Winnie and I. Hughes was an American with a capital ‘A’, and Hollywood history is writ large at the Bel Air.

This is a haven for the visitor. If you crave isolation, hate crowds and desire peace and quiet with the most charming friends to look after you, a stay here is de riguer.

All snaps on the iPhone 6.

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Click here for an index of all the Biographical pieces.

Downtown Los Angeles

Architecture, Dining, Photographs

From the Bonaventure.

No one could accuse John Portman of making boring buildings, and his many hotels across the world are a testament to the belief that the destination should be the highlight of a journey. He has left a massive footprint with his innovative designs which span the globe. An American original. I have always loved his Bonaventure Hotel (1977) in downtown Los Angeles and would visit frequently to enjoy the architecture when a resident (1987-93) of what is my favorite American city.

So when my 13 year old son Winston and I visited Los Angeles last week, one goal was to show him the best of the best across this amazing city. These were snapped from our room on the 30th floor. The views were simply thrilling, downtown America at its best.

The vast lobby with its many pools is a surprisingly quiet and restful place. Noise does not resonate here. It simply wafts away up the vast atrium. Check-in and check-out were exceptionally smooth and professional, American hospitality management at its best. These people clearly love what they do.


Winston stays dry.


John Portman’s distinctive architecture.

There’s an outstanding, if expensive, steak house on the 35th floor named the Prime Rib, where Winston and I enjoyed the finest steaks we can recall. Walk down one level to the 34th floor and you will find yourself in the rotating bar – quite something – and the vibrations from the motor can just be felt in the Prime Rib if you touch the table with your fingertips! These places typify the sense of wonder which pervades this venue.


The Prime Rib boasts tremendous food and views.

You can read more about John Portman here. Portman also designed San Francisco’s Hyatt.

First two snaps on the Panny GX7 with the kit zoom, the third on the iPhone 6. I used a small and very light Oben carbon fiber tripod for the night shots – a fine and unobtrusive travel companion which will fit in the smallest of bags, weighing some 2.5lbs with ball head. An ideal match for the small Panasonic camera body.

The Biltmore, Santa Barbara

Dining

For your Napoleonic complex.

This legendary corner – a very large corner – of Santa Barbara is a haven to those of short stature. For a ridiculously overpriced night at this joint, which boasts a 4pm check-in time making the already silly-expensive daily rate even higher, your inner Napoleon will be seriously catered to.

Meaning that if you are so massively insecure as to demand total sycophancy for your Rolex bewristed persona, this is the place for your short stature because obsequoisness is very much the order of the day. In fact the level of suck-upedness here would put a bilge pump to shame. After about twenty minutes of “Mr. Pindelski this, and Mr. Pindelski that” I found myself longing for those days of yore at the local Best Western. $39 a night, clean sheets and no nonsense. That and wishing my last name was Smith.

In fact, it’s impossible to walk more than 10 yards in this open prison without being accosted and greeted like the profit center you are. I would imagine the inmates at Rikers get more privacy.

And make no mistake, this place really is run by cost accountants. Everywhere you go your name is requested, nay, demanded, by one of the slim young things charged with being your best friend (most are named Carlos or Maria), and it’s not because they want to be your chum. It’s because they are after your billing data. Ice cream at the pool for your son? “Mr. Pindelski this, Mr. Pindelski that”. A glass of water? Yup, you guessed it. And be sure to record the exact choice, or else. Think I’m kidding? They immediately scrutinized/audited/verified that my son did indeed get the Klondike bar, not the Haagen Dazs. And blammo, right on the bill at 3x the market price at the local 711.

Then, when you get over the $40 parking fee and the $20 for the internet connection (for $1000 a night plus tax no way that will be free here) you begin to really miss the Best Western. In its next life this place should be named The Billmore.

My son and I dine at the Bella Vista restaurant in the resort and after they hum and haw over seating us outside – odd given that on this Monday night there’s no one there – we are served a meal of such surpassing blandness that I confess I cannot recall what we ate. OK, my son’s chocolate soufflé was fine while I focused on not throwing up faced with yet more bilge pump action from the waiter/bus boy/etc.

So if you are 5′ tall or less, need your ego polished, have to display your wealth and are generally on the insecure side of the cost accounting ledger, this place is you. Just bring your platinum Amex and suck it in.


The Billmore – the general desertedness testifies to the price.

Value for money: 2/10. Food: 4/10. General yuckyness: 10/10.

iPhone 6 snap.

A stroll along the Embarcadero

Dining, Photographs

A lovely day out.

Go back a century and San Francisco’s Embarcadero had no sidewalks. Just the road, bordered to the east by dozens of wharves hiding the nasty realities of commerce from passers by.


The Embarcadero a century ago.

But the city’s leaders got wise to the benefits of crafting great promenades (doubtless they had seen Paris) and we got the Embarcadero in its modern guise, replete with vast sidewalks for biking, skating, walking the dog, and increasingly renovated wharves which now house chic restaurants and elegant offices rather than whale blubber butcheries.

This past Sunday offered an opportunity to enjoy these privileges, so I parked my ancient (fat and ugly – no theft of fear) Lexus in my Top Secret Free Parking Spot and proceeded afoot. Not wanting any more than a minimum of encumbrance, I pinched my son’s Panny LX100, that sweet little jewel with the fine Leica zoom lens, and had at it.

Red’s Java House, just south of the Bay Bridge, has been serving burgers and fries for 60 years and no they are not about to mess with success. Just don’t expect good food here, though the views from the rear patio are great.

A few yards north and the Bay Bridge crosses the Embarcadero. It’s being fixed with (faulty) Chinese steel – what is it with America? Like we have forgotten how to make structural steel?

A few yards further north you will find our ‘heroes’ polishing their nice fire engines; there are no fires so that’s all they have to do until retiring on an inflation weighted pension at age 50:

A couple of hundred yards further north and you will find that the charming, naïve, whimsical rocket which used to grace this little plaza just south of the Ferry Building has been replaced by an execrable excrescence, complete with pretentious plaque loaded with mindless blather:

The Ferry Building itself has sprouted a sign testifying to the one hundredth anniversary of its rebuilding after the 1906 great fire and quake:

Just north of the building a lone (and no less lovely for that) Ducati hangs out on what was a surprisingly uncrowded day:

Many of the old wharf buildings now house upper end, white tablecloth restaurants. Mercifully the prices keep most of the mid-West out – from whale blubber to human blubber in three generations:

They mostly pose outside in their ridiculous garb when not riding their no less asinine Harleys:

The Waterfront is especially recommended:

Humor is everywhere to be found:

Head a block west and you will find great charm in the side streets which border the ever so steep ascent to Telegraph Hill, which overlooks North Beach:

One of the enduring sources of appeal of San Francisco is that the few modern skyscrapers it contains are in the business center with all about it largely preserved. Nonetheless, now and then an inspired design comes along harking back to the days of brick and one such is the Levi Strauss building on Battery Street:

But turn the corner and you can see the real thing, complete with Edward Hopper shadows:

Al fresco dining is always fun and every ethnicity is on offer:

Today I opt for something a tad more comfortable and end up at Il Fornaio on the self same Battery Street, again mysteriously deserted:


iPhone 6 snap.

A chicken salad and a glass of Pellegrino complete the picture:


iPhone 6 snap.

Fresh, beautifully prepared, well priced at $22 and highly recommended for the excellent service.

On the way back I spot an unusual open trolley waiting for passengers on the Embarcadero:

And the gorgeous Audiffred Building is a magnet for my trigger finger:

Amazingly the building survived both the quake and ensuing fire:

All snapped on the Panasonic LX100 except where noted.

Panasonic GX8

Micro Four-Thirds

Nice and not so nice.


Can you spell ‘bloat’?

The first impression of the Panny GX8 is like seeing that long lost cousin you were crazy about in high school. Ten years later you meet again and, to your poorly hidden dismay, you find she has spent unholy amounts of time at the local MacDonald’s and has grown in all the wrong places. And for all the really good things the paper specs of the GX8 bring, that first prevailing reaction is hard to shake.

The GX8 has succumbed to bloat and that’s a failing totally at variance with the MFT concept of ‘small body, small lens’.

I have yet to get my hands on one so this is from spec sheets. Let’s enumerate the exciting enhancements the GX8 brings to market:

  • It exists. The fact that Panny has seen fit to continue with the ‘rangefinder’ body factor when all around still slavishly and unnecessarily copy the ‘SLR hump’ look for bodies with no glass pentaprism, is good news. The GX7 was easily the most elegant looking body put out by anyone in decades and the later fixed zoom LX100 only built on that.
  • A new 20mp sensor. With MFT having been stuck on 16mp for ages, an upgrade of the original 12mp in the wonderful Panny G1, a further bump to 20mp is welcome.
  • Improved EVF technology, though there’s little wrong with the EVFs in the GX7 and LX100.
  • 4K movie recording – just like with the LX100.
  • A socket for an external microphone for proper sound recording.
  • 5-axis image stabilization with most Panny AF lenses.
  • The addition of a top plate under/over-exposure dial for quick and easy adjustments, again just like the LX100. Dials always beat LCD displays.
  • Enhanced weatherproofing.
  • A repositioned shutter button in keeping with the more comfortable positioning on the G1/3/7.
  • A fully swiveling rear LCD (or cover, if you prefer) harking back to the G1.
  • Available in chrome – yippee! – not just the ugly black everyone seems to insist on and no one needs. Fat girls and ugly cameras dress in black, with the same failed, hoped-for result. They get hot and sweaty, but no slimmer.

So what’s not to like?

  • Like every Cadillac on the road, it’s fat and ugly. The jeweled precision of the GX7 is gone. The handgrip design is awful to look at. Who on earth designed that monstrosity?


    Plane transitions brought to you by the Cadillac design team.

  • It’s heavy – 17.2 ounces compared with 14.2 ounces for the GX7. 21% more for what? Might as well buy an APS-C DSLR.
  • The handy pop-up flash has disappeared.
  • No manual shutter speed dial as found on the LX100 – which has the best manual controls bar none.
  • Enough, already, with that dumb ‘scene mode’ dial.
  • The 5-axis OIS will not work with two earlier Panny lenses which I own and like immensely – the 14-45mm kit zoom (excellent in every way) and the 45-200mm long range zoom which is everything MFT is about – miniscule with 400mm FF-equivalent reach. And no Oly or Leica lens is supported. It seems that Panny will not be making firmware updates to support these lenses. In fairness, the two axis IS in the GX7 body works fine and I have no issues with the two Olympus 17mm and 45mm fixed focal length lenses I favor on my two GX7 bodies, but it’s a shame neither Oly or earlier Panny lenses are not supported fully in the GX8.
  • For my avocation – street photography – neither the tilting EVF eyepiece or the swiveling LCD add any use. I’m not about to peer down into a small eyepiece or ponce about with silly LCD screens in this sort of work. Solutions for cowards.
  • Despite the big increase in weight and bulk the battery is bad in two ways. You cannot use the one from the G1/G3/GX7 which is frustrating. The one used is that from the G7 and it has no meaningful gain in capacity which you would expect with 4K movie capability and the big increase in bulk the body displays.
  • Price. At $1200 for the body only Panny is asking way too much. Wait a year and it will be down to $800, which seems about right.

So who should buy this body? I confess I am somewhat mystified. If you want the best movie capabilities you might as well splurge on the GH4 for $100 more and get almost everything the moviemaker needs. If you want the MFT concept defined to perfection either get a GX7, soon to be remaindered, where you will probably pay $400 for a new one. Or, if you have no need of long lenses and want a fast, wide, excellent 24-70mm Leica designed zoom, I strongly recommend the LX100 which in one package has just about everything most snappers require. New for under $700 with a crackerjack zoom lens and the small size and form factor elegance which MFT is all about.