Landing at North Korea’s Pyongyang International Airport to cover the two-day visit by the New York Philharmonic, we did not know what to expect. Myself, and Reuters TV cameraman Anil Ekmecic, had never been to Korea before, and what must be a fairly unusual experience, we could now say we traveled to Korea via the reclusive North first.

As we touched down, both Anil and I, along with text journalist Jon Herskovitz, the feeling was of intense anticipation of the unknown in a visual sense. The first sight was a welcoming party, consisting of some 10 uniformed North Korean soldiers and more than 60 well-attired officials. All looking tense. Then what happened next must have been a rather unusual sight for North Korea - a media scrum. The traveling press of which we were a part of, consisted of approximately 60 journalists, 20 television cameraman and 10 photographers. But then what we hadn’t counted on was the local media, who appeared from nowhere, and were definitely not used to having to worry about getting in other people’s viewfinders, let alone being told to “get outta the way, Man”.

After the official group photograph of the orchestra had finished, we were introduced to our ‘guides’ for the two-day visit, and shuffled into buses. These friendly yet intimidating officials stated that they all were named “Kim” and they would be more than happy to accommodate our every need.

The convoy then started out to our hotel, about a 45 minute ride into town. At first we were expecting to have to sneak a few photographs and footage as we had been told on all previous official tours was the case, but all of us were pleasantly surprised when no orders to lower our cameras were given. So through thick, badly scratched and tinted windows, we recorded what we saw. A bleak and gray landscape covered in snow, dotted with run-down dilapidated buildings, the occasional car (usually an early 80’s model Mercedes), horse-drawn carts, and many many weary-looking people. Some were collecting firewood, while others were just aimlessly walking or standing by the road.

Then we entered the city itself. The gray and run-down apartment blocks were a stark contrast from the colorful propaganda posters lining the streets. One poster in particular caught the eye of the travelling press - a fist smashing into the head of an American soldier.
After checking into our comfortable five-star hotel (believe me, it wasn’t bad, but no five-star), we were taken to watch a performance by a traditional singing and dancing group that was quite beautiful. But the lavishness and quantity of food laid on at the dinner after was not. I could not bring myself to eat such food in a country where people were so hungry as evidenced by the skinny faces we had seen just a few hours before along the side of the road. The breakfast the next morning was even more extravagant, with an ice sculpture surrounded by food that the lovely traditionally dressed waitresses would surely have never seen before in their lives.

Next, we were herded into buses for a “city tour” that proved quite interesting but not all beneficial at showing real life in Pyongyang. We started at the massive bronze statue of ‘Dear Leader’ Kim Jung-il, which we were politely told we could only photograph ‘full length’, and made clear with a ‘make sure you do as I will check that you have Mr Gray’. Next was the city library, in which we all became very suspicious after being shown a room of some 40 brand new computers, all being used, and by people who we were told we could interview with ‘no problem at all’. And when Anil tried to film in a certain direction, and was promptly told he could not, he seemed to have made a very good friend for the rest of his time in North Korea.

But when we got to the next location, it provided me with my most distinct memory of the entire trip. We were taken to a subway station and ushered onto an 80-meter-long escalator, and while we were traveling down, coming up the other side were ordinary commuters. Their appearance to me was of complete helplessness, all passing slowly as if in a trance, heads bowed, staring blankly, faces unmoved. The best description is a factory conveyor-belt. The beautiful murals adorning the station seemed to become quite horrifying with their messages that all citizens exist to work for the state.

That night, the concert was without doubt beautiful and gave the elite members of Pyongyang society enjoyment. But to hear such gorgeous music in such a bleak environment did seem somewhat out of place.

The next day, our final tour site was an elite talent school for young children, involving performances of singing, gymnastics and dance. What was on stage was both amazing, and scary, with the level of talent leaving you breathless and wondering how long they must have rehearsed.

But what was even more amazing was the audience. Hundreds of students sitting with their eyes lowered, hands on their laps, no talking, no smiling, no giggling, no moving, until someone in charge started the applause. It was as if they also had been training for their performance. A sad moment happened as Anil was leaving and caught a shy glance from a young girl in the crowd. Just the fact that she was able to offer a slight smile and nod of recognition in an otherwise robotic environment gave him and myself hope that change might just be possible.

Once on the plane, after numerous photos on the tarmac for prosperity with our new ‘friends’, a wave of euphoria swept through the plane with the knowledge that being constantly observed and studied was finally over.
My personal impression of this experience - a sense of amazement that you can enter a George Orwell novel and come out the other side, especially when that novel is titled ‘1984′!

(To view an audio slideshow of David’s experience in North Korea click here. The audio is from the New York Philharmonic orchestra’s performance in Pyongyang where they began their show with a rendition of the Star Spangled Banner.)

“Uuuuuoooooaaaaaiiiiiiiii!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  !!!!!!!!”, may or may not be a Chinese word but I know exactly what my driver is getting at as he loses control of the car on a patch of ice. Even though we had only been travelling at 20 kph the vehicle pirouettes as it slides towards the sheer drop. I wonder how reliable the crash barrier is likely to be but by the time I’ve thought it we have already hit it. It holds and we get off lightly with smashed rear lights and broken bumpers.

So we continue our almost 5,000 meter climb up the mountain to the Tibetan plateau of Aba, in China’s Sichuan province. Even in a 4-wheel drive the 504 kilometers from Chendu to Aba took 12 hours.

 
I am here to visit the Tibetan Monlam or Great Prayer festival, held every year according to the lunar calendar with several days of ceremonies held in the dozens of monasteries in the region. The highlight is the unveiling of a giant thangka, a sacred painting on cloth, to be displayed on a hill outside a monastery

Aba was closed to foreigners for many years and only opened last year, which means that for most of my stay until a small group of Austrian and French tourists arrive, I am the only foreigner. It very quickly becomes evident that for local children I am more entertaining than the actual festivities.

We arrive at the hotel late at night. The rooms are simple but new, nice and clean and I am lucky to get one of only 3 rooms in the town with air-conditioning. Ity the time the war air from the ceiling vent has reached my bed all there is is a cool breeze.  I switch it off and revert to my electric blanket.

I  wake up early. Moving about keeps me warm and I the early morning light makes for beautiful moody pictures. 

I am not alone, my old companion is back. We have travelled together on my last 3 trips to the 4000 meter high Tibetan highlands - me and the headache. I have tried tablets prescribed by a western clinic and Chinese herbal pills, but what works  best is just  water, lots of boiled hot water. I drink it all day to fight the dehydration

At this altitude water boils at 80 degrees C, which has unfortunate consequences for our vehicle’s cooling system. The next morning after a very cold night the car boils just after a few hundred meters. The driver is angry. He says his boss has bought him fake anti-freeze. 

I decide to walk.

A strong wind blows-up sand as I arrive at the monastery.  I use my camera to sheild my face and the sensor is instantly covered in dust.  

It starts to snow and the young monks, (the monastery serves as a school and orphanage) play in the snow. One slips over and my suspicions are confirmed; they wear nothing under their flimsy robes - no wonder everyone looks so miserable first thing in the morning!  

Despite my heavy clothes I am freezing but the sheer beauty of the scene with the monks in their red and yellow robes against the background of snow in this fantastic landscape makes me forget all about the cold.

There are more pictures at http://www.muehlen-archiv.de/monlam/inde x.html

It was the Oscars that almost didn’t happen. Between the Writers Guild Strike, and the heavy dark clouds swollen with rain, the 80th annual Academy Awards was not graced with the stereotypical week of sunshine and pre-parties it has known in the past. Luckily, the Writers Guild of America negotiated a settlement with the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers, saving the telecast, and ensuring the ABC network would be able to collect the $1.8 million per 30 sec commercial spot that they were charging.
 
The strike didn’t help my mindset. To be honest, I was never expecting the Oscars would be held and I wanted to take some vacation time that week. Imagine the panic that set in after the settlement was announced. I asked myself, what can we do differently this year? Each year is a challenge, trying to come up with story ideas the competition hasn’t touched, and convincing the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences to let us try.
 
We proposed to do a time-lapse view of the red carpet that would be featured on Reuters.com. After conferring with Corinne Perkins, who heads up a team of editors for .com in Toronto, we agreed on the best way to deliver hundreds of low-resolution images was through our remote editing software Paneikon. However, day one of the time lapse was ruined due to my camera needing to be reset. The first day collected only 67 frames, one every two minutes  I wasn’t there to hit the button to reset the file numbering system, which happened 2 hours after I set it up. So we scrapped that and pushed ahead.
 
We had better luck the next day, with a full 24 hours of images being delivered from the roof of the El Capitan Theatre. Corinne quickly assembled them into the slide show you see here.  But the weather threw a wrench into our plans for the big day, as it forced tents to be raised to cover the red carpet and there was no chance they were coming down. We would not be seeing time-lapse of celebrities arriving, so we scrapped that project on Saturday.We will try again next year.
 
Load-in for the Oscars began Wednesday the 20th. It was a busy day, confirming the installation of our internet connection, attending media walkthroughs around the Kodak Theatre, and creating editing and processing guidelines for Reuters Staff to follow. And of course, shooting pictures. Coverage early in the week is usually handled by our freelancers. Hector Mata, Phil McCarten and Danny Moloshok provided images tenting being raised around the arrivals area, the installation of the red carpet, and other aspects of the controlled chaos.
 
Also on Wednesday, our out of town staff begin to arrive. First comes technician Rich Garen,, who worked with LA tech Tony Garcia to get the DSL running. My boss, Gary Hershorn, arrived along with photographers Carlos Barria from Miami and Lucas Jackson from NYC. Later in the week, Rich  Clement, Jim Bourg and Pete Jones joined the team as well as techs Sarah Cunningham and Hao Wang.
 
The day before the Oscars, the Film Independent Spirit Awards are held in Santa Monica. It a very busy day for me, so Jim Bourg took over the editing duties assisted by Rich and Pete. The arrivals were highlighted by Angelina Jolie showing the world her baby-bump for the first time; she is carrying twins from partner Brad Pitt. Those pics got world-wide play. Photographer Fred Prouser shot the arrivals using Paneikon running on a mini-laptop known as an OQO. With a sprint connection,we were able to forego an onsite editor and work in the comfort of our Oscar workspace. Using a Tupperware bowl and a TV monitor tray, Fred devised a way to place the OQO safely on the arrival line, protecting it from the gang of shouting, shoving celebrity photographers all fighting for the same images. Danny Moloshok covered the show inside the tent, which featured many of the Oscar nominees getting an early award.
 

Fred Prouser at the Spirit Awards

Back at the Kodak Theatre, Saturday is the final day to test our fiber connection from the red carpet. The major agencies deliver their pictures to their workspace via a fiber connection that is embedded at the theatre. The picture is shot, and sent via Canon transmitter up the fiber and dumped into one of three hubs in the workspace. Delivering pictures in the manner doesn’t allow the photographer to send voice tags with their images, once they are shot they are gone. To assist in identifying celebs, researchers  Kathleen Grathwhol, Hilda Somarriba and Leslie Taphouse will scan the internet and confirm the names of spouses and guests with arriving celebrities. It is important everything tests properly before Sunday, as the window to make corrections shrinks by the minute once the carpet begins.
 
 

Mario Anzuoni, Tony Garcia and Sarah Cunningham check their cabling - photo: Lucas Jackson       

Also on Saturday, photographers are allowed 2-two hour windows to setup their lights in the photo room. At 10am, two dozen photographers scramble through the security check-in and dash to the end of the hall, where they throw open the cases they dragged in and climb the riser. Everyone is scrambling to put their lights on the furthest corners of the light bar, to cover the widest area possible. It is chaos, with polite barbs being thrown around the room full of veteran photographers and negotiation for positions being made. Mike Blake handles the set up calmly, finding a spare inch on the bar or swing his light out over the floor using a magic arm bracket. Within minutes, the bar is full and it looks like no more can be squeezed into position. Mike set up four strobe heads, wired and synced them together with a pocket wizard remote trigger within an hour. This left an hour to test his Ethernet connection, as these picture also come straight out of camera and into our hubs in the workroom
 

Remote shot of Daniel Day-Lewis meeting Helen Mirren backstage - photo: Mike Blake   

Sunday comes around with the entire team on site at 9am sharp. Any last minute details must be worked out by 11am, at which time we will be kicked out of the workspace for a bomb sweep and to allow the caterers to set up. We have our team meeting outdoors at Hollywood and Highland, 20 people in a circle staining to hear above the Muzak that the blasting through the speakers. Maybe next year I will find someplace quieter. Last minute advice is offered, and questions answered. Messengers Jeffrey Borman and Missy Bochatey are old hands at this, having assisted in many awards shows. They are our backup plan in case we loose power on the red carpet and have to run cards back to the workspace the “old-fashioned” way. The crew heads off to a hotel restaurant for some breakfast and to wait until the 2pm call time.

Sam and Mario plot - photo: Peter Jones
 
I can’t eat. I get too keyed up before the event, and if I eat then bad things happen. I spend my time outside enjoying a momentary bit of sunshine and talking to local photographers who smoke and wait as well. I struggle with smoking, but today my nicotine patch is in full effect and has satisfied those urges.
 
There hasn’t been rain at the Oscars in over 15 years, so an overall view from above was part of the story. Lucy Nicholson braved the weather to climb the roof of the El Capitan  to make the shot, and found company with other photographers bundled against the elements. She then came back into the work space, changed into a formal dress, and covered the Governors Ball at the end of the night with her usual high quality.
 

Lucy Nicholson (C), AP photographer Damian Dvorganes and LA Times photographer Bryan Chan on the roof of the El Capitan theatre across from the Academy Awards - photo: Lucy Nicholson

 
By 2pm, our photographers are in place on the red carpet and by 3pm the arrivals are in full swing.  Lucas Jackson is in the first spot, the deadline spot. It is from here we look for the main nominees and A-listers. Anyone below the line can be filed from the second or third spots, or on second edit from Lucas’ images after arrivals are over. I was responsible for his edit, and things were going well. Then one of his cameras stop sending. His wide angle images disappeared, and we found them at the end of arrivals in a completely different folder from what they were destined. That set us back a bit. As the show was starting and I had to move on to photo room, Fred Prouser finished editing Mario’s pictures from the second position and plowed through Lucas’ new images  to balance out the report.Meanwhile, Carlos Barria’s images received Jim Bourg’s careful attention. Carlos shoots in the Orchid court, which is the last photo position before the stars enter the theatre.

Gary Hershorn shows first-timer Carlos Barria how to pose with his Oscar - photo: Mike Blake
 
The lights go down, a hush falls over the audience and the show begins. Gary Hershorn is in the balcony with a 400mm lens, connected to the fiber line, and the pictures are dropping into editor Pete Jones, who is sending his crops to Rich Clement sitting on his right. The arrival photographers return and jump right in, bringing our total number of processors to eight. Winners start arriving to the photo room, and Mike Blake is shooting studio quality portraits and timing when to shoot a remote camera on the side of the stage. I can only listen to the show on the monitors, my ears perking up for the announcement of the big acting awards. I won’t watch the telecast until I get home. In the meantime, the Elton John Oscar viewing party is in full swing in West Hollywood. Thankfully, its not on my plate as Brendan McDermid is editing Danny Moloshok’s images from NYC with the assist of processors Keith Bedford and Fred Greaves.

Fortified by nicotine patches Sam stares at his screen - photo: Gary Hershorn
 
And before you know it, its over. three and one-half hours flash past you in a blur of poses and onstage antics.  The Singapore desk re-files the stage and photo room pictures for online clients at the end of the Academy mandated embargo, and I cut loose our offsite processors. We sit tight for Lucy’s pictures from the Governor’s Ball to arrive by messenger, and mop up the last few straggling photo room images. At night’s end, everyone collects their coats, camera gear and laptops and one by one, they are gone. I am left with my boss Gary Hershorn at the end of the night, who asks me the same question each year - “Are you happy with how it went?”

Rich Clement - photo by: Lucas Jackson
 
All told, it was a gruelling 18 hour day for everyone. With no possibility of a Writers Strike next year, I better start thinking about coverage in 2009. Well, maybe I’ll get to it next week. Or over the summer. Or…
 

For me, there is nothing more enjoyable than buying used photography books. I scour second hand books shops and charity shops for these gems that you can pick up for a bargain price. Recently I picked up the bible of photo editing and layout, Pictures on a Page by Harold Evans for £8 from a book shop in Rochester in Kent. I already owned a copy for years but just couldn’t resist it. I gave it as a present to a friend who is a photo editor.   Of course there are specialist photography bookshops in London and one I read about recently in this post by Michael David Murphy on his excellent blog is Photo Books International.   I recently went to this shop which is located in a part of London I rarely visit. It’s run by Bill and Jasper, two lovely chaps who squeeze in between racks and piles of books that don’t seem to be in any order - but they are - all 5000 of them !  I picked up “Pictures of the Times” a wonderful book displaying 154 photos from the New York Times archive.

I love the picture on the cover from 1927. The press photographers of yesteryear. Are they Speed Graphics ?  What little photo book gems have you picked up recently ?  

For me, the best part about celebrating Chinese New Year (CNY), apart from the obvious “Ang pow” (Red packet) collecting is the non-stop feasting and gambling my family engages in. Now, in case you start worrying that you are going to read about the adventures of a gambling addict, I must first clarify that it isn’t what you think it is. For starters, I don’t even know understand the game of poker nor can I differentiate one mahjong tile from another, but I take immense pride in deeming myself the “Queen of Black Jack” during the 15 days of CNY annually.

CNY began with my family waking up at a mean 8am. “Mean” because my sister and I slept very late the night before. I’d love to tell you that we did that out of filial piety with the traditional belief that children stay up late on CNY eve to bless their parents with longevity - the longer you stay up, the older they get to live for. Well, that doesn’t sound quite right, but that’s the gist. The truth, however, was that the Goh sisters were busy gambling with relatives after dinner on CNY eve to “test our luck levels” for the upcoming 15 days. After a meal of about ten dishes, which I learnt that the chicken or duck must come in a whole (chopped up, but head and all displayed) to symbolize completion for the year, my “luck level” looked pretty promising.

So, on the 1st day of CNY, I put on a new shirt and with my mum’s insistence, wore the golden bracelet which I would only wear during CNY every year. I don’t look particularly flattering in gold but my mum said the jewellery was first put on me as a present during my 1-month-old birthday celebration. The reasons why I didn’t refuse were many, but mainly because it would be bad luck to have an argument on the 1st day of CNY and I thought it was pretty amusing that my wrist hadn’t grown all that much in the last 26 years. Anyway, I reckoned the tinkle from the little bell with all that shiny gold might beckon all the luck I need on the gambling table.

As a tradition, my family arrived at my 5th aunt’s house (I have 6 maternal aunties) as the 1st house to visit. After presenting the two mandarin oranges with auspicious sayings to my aunt, I was given in return an “ang pow” and the blessing that my career would take new heights this year. We were urged constantly to eat the candy laid out at the coffee table to usher sweet harmony for the host’s family. Shortly after, my aunt served two steamed fish and the two families shared it as a symbol of abundance for the coming year.

We headed to my paternal grandparents’ house after that to have lunch. My paternal relatives do not gamble but they indulge in drinking. My grandparents were immigrants who sailed to Singapore from China in the early days, so apart from a refrigerator well-stocked up with cans of beer, they certainly would not forget to be prepped with old Chinese wines (with alcohol content I dare not even ask) in intricate bottles. Thus, as we feast on more fish, with fried rice this time, we were constantly encouraged to help ourselves with the alcohol.

My sister and I headed home to catch a nap in the late afternoon while my mother visited a temple with my 5th aunt. Most likely to pray for good luck for the gambling, I thought. My sister and I knew it would be a full-on gambling marathon that night, so us being the pragmatic modern ones, chose to do what is logical - sleep (plus the alcohol was starting to compromise my focus).

After a 2-hour sleep, my batteries felt recharged. I took the train to my maternal grandmother’s house and already, all the families from my six aunties were there, including cousins and their own families. The table was set up, a fresh set of cards ready to be shuffled, chairs were laid around the table - the atmosphere was thick. They were waiting for The Black Jack Queen. I collected all the “ang pows” with shameless grins from my relatives (with the usual complain from them that I should be getting married soon so that they could save some money). I took a hurried dinner (it was buffet style - take what you want and eat anywhere you wish) and pondered for a couple of minutes before I propped myself at a seat which I thought the “fengshui” was positive. I usually don’t believe in such things, but during these 15 days when I’m up against the “professionals”, one can’t fault me for being too careful.

My family communicates most not during dinner, but at the gambling table. We exchanged threats of revenge, voiced suspicions of cheating, and cursed the banker’s luck when he/she made attempts for a “Five Dragon” combination.

(A “Five Dragon” combination is when a player or banker takes five cards from the deck and the total does not exceed 21 points. When a banker goes for a “Five Dragon” and succeeds, all players have to pay the banker double of their stakes. If the banker’s cards exceed more than 21, however, he/she has to foot all the players double of they staked for.)

It seems to be real ugly play there, but all that strangely enhanced the bond we share as an extended family and creates more laughter than ill feelings.

After a battle of 3 hours, I won a grand S$4 which are 2 euros. The rate went much slower than expected. I suspected someone was wearing their lucky underwear at the table - the most desperate resort. I had to rush off to catch a midnight movie, but promised to return for a more glorious play the next day.

The next few days we did almost the same thing - more feasting, more gambling - just that the six aunties would take turns hosting. My cousins as young as 8 sat around the gambling table despite their mothers’ disapproval. The relatives would say “this is just once a year” or “maybe it can help them add better during math in school”. Even my illiterate grandmother, despite her failing eyesight, would know the trick to choose a member at the table who seemed to be on a roll and placed her stake at his/her cards to gain some extra cash. She is one smart lady, never sitting through a session with just one person, so her loyalty wavers but the pragmatic thinking brings in the money. Stakes are never too high. Kids stick on to their 50 cents, adults at S$2-S$5 for each round.

On some occasions, when there were enough interested players, mahjong tables were set up. So we had a table of Black Jack-ers in the living room, a table of “amateur” mahjong players (usually made up of teenaged cousins) in one room, and if anyone was up for it, they could join the table of “professional” mahjong players made up by my uncles and aunties. But challengers beware: it takes experience, much more speed, higher stakes and definitely a hell lot of guts to play with them.

One good tip I’ve learnt was that once I start to lose, I should step away from the table and take a breather. Eat some candy, help myself to another bowl of steamboat, watch TV or sing some karaoke. The main thing is to realize at the end of the day, no matter how serious one seems to be about the gambling, it isn’t the money that we are after. After all, whatever I lost would simply be in someone else’s pocket whom I’d be doing the “lou hey” (a CNY tradition where participants mix ingredients on a platter as they call out blessings for the new year) together with anyway.

At the end of those intense four days, I lost S$26. It isn’t much but I was on a winning streak the previous two years. Maybe this year I wasn’t focused enough. Maybe I was thinking too much about this blog assignment. Maybe I didn’t lift my chopsticks high enough during the “lou hey”. Or maybe, I wasn’t wearing my lucky underwear… Hmm, I still have some days, I will do better.

As a child, the Chinese Lunar New year was “the” highlight of the year. There was no school, we could stay up all night, there was unlimited food and sweets everywhere, every adult we met would give us little red packets of money, cool long lost cousins would turn out of nowhere and we would play and watch TV all day long. Most importantly, there would be no mention of homework. It was like Disneyland every year.

As with most festivals, Lunar New Year would tend to lose its magic as we get older, especially when we have to start helping out, and conversations with long lost cousins go from who gets to be super duper Ultraman to who is making more money. Celebrations this year for my family was especially quiet as my grandmother just passed away and we would be in mourning for three years. We are, however, still allowed to celebrate a toned down version of it.

This is a Singaporean traditional Lunar New Year salad called “Yu Sheng”, or raw fish, to symbolise “Nian Nian You Yu”, or years and years of excess. 

There is an elaborate ritual to eating this dish, one of which involves getting the whole family together to mix the ingredients and shout auspicious phrases. Through years of experience, I have learnt that this is one of the most inefficient ways of mixing vegetables with dressing as the dish inevitably ends up being too sweet on one end and sour on the other.

As we are still in mourning, there would be no elaborate four-hour prayer session to the Heavenly God to welcome the New Year. We had a short prayer to the God of the Earth to ask for simple blessings instead, and instead of the usual stacks and stacks of incense paper money, this is all we are burning for the year… all folded by me, hence the intricate craftsmanship.

The paper money is burnt, prayers sent out, all we can do now is keep our fingers crossed.

The big day itself. At first light, we would take turns to offer tangerines and blessings to our parents, wishing them good health and good luck. In return, they would give us red packets and a short friendly lecture on working hard and being nice. “Friendly” being the operative word because harsh words and scolding are considered to be inauspicious. Doing chores and running errands are all disallowed too. During the New Year, one is only allowed to have fun and nothing else, just like in college. Also, notice my parents are both in green, not the traditional auspicious red. This is because they were both born in the Year of the Rat.

Being in mourning also means no visiting of relatives, which also means a substantial loss of income for us kids. To cheer us up, my dad decided to take us to the “River Hongbao” festival organised by the various clans in Singapore. Since young, we have always been too busy visiting relatives and/or playing to go for events such as this, and I always thought they were quite lame. But being in the thick of the action, getting squashed with the crowd, and watching young attractive women haggle with storekeepers does get me into the festive mood and put a smile on my face.

Here’s wishing all Gong Xi Fa Cai - Happy Chinese New Year!

As the pictures processor in the team covering the Australian Open tennis tournament, it is my job to help picture editor Petar Kujundzic and our team of photographers - Tim Wimborne, Darren Whiteside, Mick Tsikas, Steve Holland and Stuart Milligan, get their pictures to the Singapore desk quickly with accurate captions. That sounds easy on paper - right?

Don’t let anyone fool you into thinking that the job is either easy or for that matter glamorous. They say Melbourne is lovely in summer; however acquaintance with the city is limited to a brief glimpse on the day before the tournament starts as the schedule rapidly become so hectic that there is no time for anything but tennis pictures. I collect my accreditation and make for the Rod Laver arena with the team - all people who have covered the Australian Open in the past. Our makeshift office is a glorified shipping container underneath the stands at centre court, with a bit of grey carpet on the floor and fluorescent strip lighting to make it feel more homely. A TV in the corner will help us monitor action on several courts and keep us updated with scores and results. This is where we live and breathe tennis for 15 days.

My job requires me to do several things: caption and ftp pictures to the Singapore global desk as the editor sends them to me, run disks for photographers scattered over a gazillion courts, and sometimes shoot a little too. Sounds easy enough, but the first week is really tough. The work is gruelling, with days lasting up to 18 hours on minimal sleep.

Our days usually start with a team breakfast at a café by the Yarra River. We talk about pictures and the day’s plan, chit chat with each other and have a look through the day’s newspapers - keeping an eye out for our own pictures, which had the distinction of beating local photographers to the front pages on more than one occasion. Coffee is crucial - cups of coffee were sent back if they weren’t good enough, and we even switched cafes on the strength and quality of the coffee on offer. After several strong cups, we walk together towards our office at the stadium. It’s a nice walk along the river, and in about 15 minutes we arrive and settle in for the day. Laptops are booted up, gear is unpacked and prepared, testers are sent to the Singapore desk. Anyone shooting outside applies plenty of sunscreen to try and prevent sunburn - after 15 days the healthy tan that everyone developed was quite noticeable.

With so many matches on at the same time I find myself moving upwards of 200 pictures a day, running to far-flung courts and back to grab disks and running to the outer courts to shoot pictures. Things are complicated by the fact that to get anywhere, I have to negotiate a rabbit warren of corridors and alleys in the bowels of the tennis centre. Despite Pedja giving me a guided tour of the venue on day one, it takes me nearly 4 days and countless wrong turns to understand where all the courts are and how to get to them. The mini-map provided on the back of the accreditation pass is near useless and not to scale, so I take to making my own marks on it to get around. I can’t enter a court whenever I want; photographers are only allowed to move in and out of courts during breaks in between certain games. As a runner, it means if I don’t bolt to a court fast enough I miss the “window” and get stuck for another 2 games, wasting crucial time and worse still, annoying Pedja and photographers who have been sitting on court for hours, slowly dehydrating in the sun. You wouldn’t believe the number of times I narrowly missed a window, only to be stuck outside a court on which tennis players insist on returning from advantage to deuce enough times to have me turning my hair prematurely grey. By the time I wait for a break to grab a disk, lose my way again and return to the “bunker”, Pedja has already queued up a bunch of pictures for me to caption and move to Singapore.

Come 5 pm, people from the media centre bring two cases of beer and stack them into mini-fridges. Soon after that, two trays of food arrive - they vary from day to day - sandwiches, wraps, chicken nuggets, little mini pies and sausage rolls. Photographers descend on the offerings like vultures and the food disappears in a matter of minutes. Pedja and I eat what we can quickly and try to nab a few extra pieces for the guys who are still on court. We then collect and store bottles of beer to be had later - a daily ritual most of us couldn’t survive the Open without.

Things start to settle down in week two, but even though there are fewer matches, our picture flow hasn’t decreased since we can now put more than one photographer on each match to cover multiple angles. Come the quarter-finals, semi-finals and finals, everyone is starting to tire of the relentless long days, but our focus remains on producing the best pictures from the Open and this keep us working pretty hard despite the fatigue.

Things start getting easier as I get more familiar with the venue and more used to the rhythms of tennis. Tim and Pedja come up with a game plan: who shoots from where, when disks are going to be run and by whom. Steve becomes our expert on the roof of centre court; Tim and Darren have positions opposite the umpire; Stuart shoots from the concourse level for a little while before moving down to the umpire’s side, replacing Pedja who heads back to the bunker to edit everyone’s take.

By the finals, I’m able to manage all my tasks without feeling completely stressed - go up to the councourse level to shoot the first 5 games from a different angle; run down to pick up disks from Tim and Darren after the 7th game; make my way back to the bunker shortly after, where Pedja has also returned from shooting and grabbing Stuart’s disks on his way out. Steve starts dropping his pictures to us from a laptop he’s taken with him to the roof. We load everything up and settle into editing and processing, and still have time to go back out for the final 3 or so games of the match to ensure match point is covered from multiple angles. After match point, Pedja returns to the bunker with more disks from himself, Stuart and Darren. I run from the concourse level down to the courtside. Tim has left his disks for me in a bag and moved to another position to shoot trophy pictures. I join Pedja in the bunker and for the next hour, our heads our buried in our screens as we try to move the key pictures as fast as possible.

So, a word of warning to processors traveling to sports events: They’re tough work. There’s a lot to do, a lot of legwork, and you have to do it all very quickly. But it’s a lot of fun when you’re with a great team and the adrenalin will help you through. Oh, and leave your gps at home and bring a notebook and pencil instead, you’ll need it when you get lost underneath the stadium!

View the preparations of the Oscar red carpet from a remote time-lapse camera set up to fire every five minutes by entertainment editor Sam Mircovich.

  http://int1.fp.sandpiper.net/reuters/edi torial/images/20080220/LucyBlog.mov

Links:
http://www.nfl.com/
http://www.giants.com/
http://http://www.patriots.com/
Composer of ‘dub’ media day music: Pierre Gerwig Langer

It may have been a tough week for Paul MacCartney and Heather Mills,  enduring their divorce hearing at the High Court in London, but it was a tough one too for the photographers assigned to cover the case. 

It was tough for two reasons. First, because McCartney and Mills  drove into the court car park, giving the
photographers only seconds to pick them out as they walked between vehicle and court entrance. The second reason was the pressure on the photographers, faced with almost identical scenarios on each day of the hearing, to shoot a varied file of photographs.

However, although the photographers  had a difficult job they could be forgiven for feeling a touch of sympathy for the reporters assigned to cover the proceedings. The judge hearing the case, behind closed doors, gave strict instructions to McCartney, Mills and the assembled legal teams, not to leak any details of the case to the media. This meant that the reporters had virtually nothing to report on, except the expression and demeanour of  both McCartney and Mills. The only way they could study the expressions was from the photographs.

It therefore fell to the photographers to capture day-to-day differences in expressions and body language outside the court, thus telling the story, as far as it could possibly be told under the circumstances.

The week started well. The photographers knew that there was a chance that they would see nothing at all. But McCartney and Mills drove into a part of the car park that was visible from the pavement, knowing they were in full view of the assembled media.

Stephen Hird’s photograph of Heather Mills arriving on day one (above centre), and Kieran Doherty’s photographs of Paul McCartney leaving the court, certainly gave the reporters something to write about. More importantly, at the end of the first day we had photographs that at the beginning of the day we doubted would be seen at all.

Day two, and the expressions and body language told a different story from the day before. McCartney, Mills and the photographers had quickly found their stride - the photographers knew which entrance to stand at, and McCartney and Mills seemed to understand that their demeanour could influence public opinion, and attempted to appear cool in front of the cameras.

By day three it was clear that photographs of McCartney and Mills were not going to be in short supply, and it was time to look for something more interesting. But first, of course, there was no excuse for not shooting the, by now, routine arrival pictures.

But then the photographers found time to experiment, as the following images show. The equivalent of a cyclist standing on the saddle on one leg and shouting out ‘Look no hands.’

On day four there was nothing left to prove, except to make it all look so easy, with some elegant and solid pictures.

Day five at last,  and the photographs continued to flow as the daily events had become established as a ritual.

At the beginning of the week there was no certaintly that the pair would be seen at all, and by the end we all wondered why we had ever doubted it.

However, before we happily pat each other on the back - the hearing is set to continue…

All photographs by Dylan Martinez and Kieran Doherty, unless otherwise credited.