"Harry Kikstra, a climber/expedition leader/ photographer/ filmmaker/ producer/ writer/ public speaker/ cycler and many other things that have to do with sharing the beauty of the outdoors. I have climbed the 7 continental highpoints and have traveled a lot and will not stop soon, though normally I am based in Amsterdam, The Netherlands.
See the links to the right to learn more about me or see my detail page on the 7 summits statistics here or just Google me in word or images.
You can follow me on Twitter for news, updates and tips.
7summits.com is focused on the mountains, ExposedPlanete will also show more of the culture and other nature that is to be found on our 7 continents.
I hope that it will sparkle your imagination, make you curious or even just educate you a bit, being maybe the 3 most important aspects of society in my view.
A picture can say more than a 1000 wars and can maybe help understand the world around us. It's a small place, so maybe we can make the best of it together"
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Friday, October 30, 2009
Listening to:
Thinking of:
Momentary Melancholic Bliss
I miss having my camera around. There were some images just waiting to be taken… guess I’ll start having to suck it up and lug the SLR around. Admittedly, I’m looking for a light and versatile lens, am thinking of the 18-55 f/2.8 but alas maybe for Christmas. Will be justifying it with
a. Paris for CNY (strangely also Valentines day)
b. India in March
c. Auckland and about NZ in October
d. Fingers crossed… somewhere nearby in July
Anyway… momentary bliss spelt out from a flight out from KLIA, sat by the window when its drizzling, people going about in raincoats, flashing lights from planes and mist upon wheels down. Yes, still am obsessed with flying…
Then on, its up north Borneo to an elegantly dressed hotel room with all the space I wanted and the colors which I liked. Alas, no rest for the wicked as it’s only for my pleasure for 8 hours with my eyes closed and tucked in bed. Never mind that… breakfast in bed beckoned the next morning and lo and behold, the view… of a bustling market downstairs, moored vessels and the sight of islands in the background, blue skies and sea with perfect lighting for the sharp crisp image, yet with enough drama in the foreground just to ensure a delightfully playful photograph.
A day later filled with eager eyes and open minds. I’m once again on a plane… this time a turbo prop, oh delight… but that said, I could do with a good night’s rest right now with no work to look at.
Thinking of:
Momentary Melancholic Bliss
I miss having my camera around. There were some images just waiting to be taken… guess I’ll start having to suck it up and lug the SLR around. Admittedly, I’m looking for a light and versatile lens, am thinking of the 18-55 f/2.8 but alas maybe for Christmas. Will be justifying it with
a. Paris for CNY (strangely also Valentines day)
b. India in March
c. Auckland and about NZ in October
d. Fingers crossed… somewhere nearby in July
Anyway… momentary bliss spelt out from a flight out from KLIA, sat by the window when its drizzling, people going about in raincoats, flashing lights from planes and mist upon wheels down. Yes, still am obsessed with flying…
Then on, its up north Borneo to an elegantly dressed hotel room with all the space I wanted and the colors which I liked. Alas, no rest for the wicked as it’s only for my pleasure for 8 hours with my eyes closed and tucked in bed. Never mind that… breakfast in bed beckoned the next morning and lo and behold, the view… of a bustling market downstairs, moored vessels and the sight of islands in the background, blue skies and sea with perfect lighting for the sharp crisp image, yet with enough drama in the foreground just to ensure a delightfully playful photograph.
A day later filled with eager eyes and open minds. I’m once again on a plane… this time a turbo prop, oh delight… but that said, I could do with a good night’s rest right now with no work to look at.
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Save Our Soles
For something that tramples over grass and gunk, shoes seem to be incredibly intricate and complicated. From the type of top to the sole.
From each buckle and each stitch. Each perforation and texture... from those of 20 ringgit to those worth several thousands.
Is it any wonder why people like/ love/ adore/ worship shoes.
Though, that said... there has to be some form of limit... is there? And there's always a place for craftsmanship without looking gaudy and over the top
From each buckle and each stitch. Each perforation and texture... from those of 20 ringgit to those worth several thousands.
Is it any wonder why people like/ love/ adore/ worship shoes.
Though, that said... there has to be some form of limit... is there? And there's always a place for craftsmanship without looking gaudy and over the top
Listening to:
Thinking of:
Whilst being bathed in the warm glow of LCD screens
Speaking with old friends and wanderlust, it was a lovely night. I remember on August 9 1992, on the television, it was a night like no other... when Freddie Mercury sang with Gloria Estafan, I did tell myself at one point in my life I'd like to visit Barcelona.
10 years later, lo and behold on Spanish soil, and again and then again.
Strange as it seems the list gets a little longer every year.
Just thought I'd say...
anyway, its back to the other LCD screen
Thinking of:
Whilst being bathed in the warm glow of LCD screens
Speaking with old friends and wanderlust, it was a lovely night. I remember on August 9 1992, on the television, it was a night like no other... when Freddie Mercury sang with Gloria Estafan, I did tell myself at one point in my life I'd like to visit Barcelona.
10 years later, lo and behold on Spanish soil, and again and then again.
Strange as it seems the list gets a little longer every year.
Just thought I'd say...
anyway, its back to the other LCD screen
Sunday, October 11, 2009
From the Mouth of The NY Times
now, I'm fond of the NY Times and their coloumnists... just because...
When he heard the Nobel Peace Prize shocker on Friday, Bill Clinton went into one of his purple rages. He picked up the phone and dialed the one person on earth who would be as steamed as he was.
CLINTON: Hey, man, it’s me. This thing is plumb crazy. Can you believe it?
W: No way, Jose!
CLINTON: First that prig Carter. Then that prig Gore. And now President Paris Hilton. The guy’s in office three days and he gets the peace prize? He should have gotten the Nobel in chemistry, because chemistry’s all he’s got. Talk about a fairy tale. This ... is ... just ... wrong! It’s killing me, man. I feel like my head’s explodin’. First I had the vast right-wing conspiracy, and now I have the vast left-wing conspiracy.
W.: I hear ya, 42. As if his head wasn’t big enough. This cat is all cage, no bird. He doesn’t have a clue.
CLINTON: Heck no.
W.: See, I’m the one who should be mad. Let me tell you, this Norwegia thing has nothing to do with him. It’s just another way for the pinkos of the world to drop a cow patty on my legacy. All that garbage in the prize statement about how special La Bamba is for bringing back wimpy multilateral diplomacy, dialogue and negotiations, the kind my dad and Scowcroft loved. Those Nobel ninnies are so lulu left they make the U.N. look like a Fox jamboree. The rookie already got rewarded once for not being me when he got elected. Gosh, what would he do without me?
CLINTON: Fine, but you never expected to win this prize. You were the quote-unquote war president and proud of it. I had to put up with a gazillion hours of Arafat’s insanity, but I guess that still wasn’t enough for those Oslo ice queens. I guess ending ethnic cleansing in Bosnia wasn’t enough, or bringing peace to Northern Ireland. And I guess my work with the Clinton Global Initiative saving lives in Africa and hanging with Bono and Barbra wasn’t enough.
W.: Calm down, bro. You gotta take care of that ticker.
CLINTON: It was a case of premature adulation.
W.: Heh-heh-heh. Yeah, very pre-emptive, sort of like Cheney’s pre-emptive war policy.
CLINTON: If they weren’t going to give it to me, they should at least have given it to the Chinese human rights movement or the Iranian protesters or AIDS workers in the Congo. Or even Bono.
W.: Yeah, man. Bono.
CLINTON: That would have helped make life better for the good guys and harder for the bad guys. Once again, action loses out to talk, just like with Hillary and Obama in the campaign. Nobel Prize for blah-blah-blah. Heck, I used to be considered a pretty good talker myself.
W.: It’s aggravating, I agree. But look at it this way, 42. Everybody’s laughing at La Bamba. He gets a Nobel for nada. Being loved by Europeans isn’t gonna do him any good here in the U.S. of A. I whupped that Frenchy Kerry, didn’t I?
CLINTON: The only peace Obama has made is bringing together the Taliban, Rush Limbaugh, the Palestinians and the Israelis to agree the guy is undeserving. It just confirms everyone’s suspicion that all this dude knows how to do is dazzle.
W.: He doesn’t want to be a Decider. He wants to be a Transformer. He transformed, all right — from Miss America to Miss Universe. He’s a five-spiral crash, and getting the gold is just a reminder of all he hasn’t done. He’s going to have to look over and see that big medallion hanging up there in the Oval, mocking him as an empty suit, a pretty boy beloved by the Blame-America-First crowd, whenever he has to send more troops to Afghanistan, or the Taliban act up, or Iran fires up for nukes.
CLINTON: Maybe you’re right, George. Some winners think the Nobel’s the kiss of death. Any peace prize that goes to Henry Kissinger but not Gandhi ain’t worth a can of Alpo. Heck, if Gandhi had known he was going to lose out to Henry the K, he could have had more time to eat french fries and chase girls.
W.: And finish getting dressed. Heh-heh-heh.
CLINTON: Barack’s going to give that $1.4 million away to charity. I got a charity. How ’bout he just signs it over to me? Speaking of money, we need to do another of those joint lecture things.
W.: I’m fairly footloose. This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Go choke on a herring, Norwegia!
When he heard the Nobel Peace Prize shocker on Friday, Bill Clinton went into one of his purple rages. He picked up the phone and dialed the one person on earth who would be as steamed as he was.
CLINTON: Hey, man, it’s me. This thing is plumb crazy. Can you believe it?
W: No way, Jose!
CLINTON: First that prig Carter. Then that prig Gore. And now President Paris Hilton. The guy’s in office three days and he gets the peace prize? He should have gotten the Nobel in chemistry, because chemistry’s all he’s got. Talk about a fairy tale. This ... is ... just ... wrong! It’s killing me, man. I feel like my head’s explodin’. First I had the vast right-wing conspiracy, and now I have the vast left-wing conspiracy.
W.: I hear ya, 42. As if his head wasn’t big enough. This cat is all cage, no bird. He doesn’t have a clue.
CLINTON: Heck no.
W.: See, I’m the one who should be mad. Let me tell you, this Norwegia thing has nothing to do with him. It’s just another way for the pinkos of the world to drop a cow patty on my legacy. All that garbage in the prize statement about how special La Bamba is for bringing back wimpy multilateral diplomacy, dialogue and negotiations, the kind my dad and Scowcroft loved. Those Nobel ninnies are so lulu left they make the U.N. look like a Fox jamboree. The rookie already got rewarded once for not being me when he got elected. Gosh, what would he do without me?
CLINTON: Fine, but you never expected to win this prize. You were the quote-unquote war president and proud of it. I had to put up with a gazillion hours of Arafat’s insanity, but I guess that still wasn’t enough for those Oslo ice queens. I guess ending ethnic cleansing in Bosnia wasn’t enough, or bringing peace to Northern Ireland. And I guess my work with the Clinton Global Initiative saving lives in Africa and hanging with Bono and Barbra wasn’t enough.
W.: Calm down, bro. You gotta take care of that ticker.
CLINTON: It was a case of premature adulation.
W.: Heh-heh-heh. Yeah, very pre-emptive, sort of like Cheney’s pre-emptive war policy.
CLINTON: If they weren’t going to give it to me, they should at least have given it to the Chinese human rights movement or the Iranian protesters or AIDS workers in the Congo. Or even Bono.
W.: Yeah, man. Bono.
CLINTON: That would have helped make life better for the good guys and harder for the bad guys. Once again, action loses out to talk, just like with Hillary and Obama in the campaign. Nobel Prize for blah-blah-blah. Heck, I used to be considered a pretty good talker myself.
W.: It’s aggravating, I agree. But look at it this way, 42. Everybody’s laughing at La Bamba. He gets a Nobel for nada. Being loved by Europeans isn’t gonna do him any good here in the U.S. of A. I whupped that Frenchy Kerry, didn’t I?
CLINTON: The only peace Obama has made is bringing together the Taliban, Rush Limbaugh, the Palestinians and the Israelis to agree the guy is undeserving. It just confirms everyone’s suspicion that all this dude knows how to do is dazzle.
W.: He doesn’t want to be a Decider. He wants to be a Transformer. He transformed, all right — from Miss America to Miss Universe. He’s a five-spiral crash, and getting the gold is just a reminder of all he hasn’t done. He’s going to have to look over and see that big medallion hanging up there in the Oval, mocking him as an empty suit, a pretty boy beloved by the Blame-America-First crowd, whenever he has to send more troops to Afghanistan, or the Taliban act up, or Iran fires up for nukes.
CLINTON: Maybe you’re right, George. Some winners think the Nobel’s the kiss of death. Any peace prize that goes to Henry Kissinger but not Gandhi ain’t worth a can of Alpo. Heck, if Gandhi had known he was going to lose out to Henry the K, he could have had more time to eat french fries and chase girls.
W.: And finish getting dressed. Heh-heh-heh.
CLINTON: Barack’s going to give that $1.4 million away to charity. I got a charity. How ’bout he just signs it over to me? Speaking of money, we need to do another of those joint lecture things.
W.: I’m fairly footloose. This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Go choke on a herring, Norwegia!
Saturday, October 03, 2009
Listening to:
Thinking of:
Post September
The ninth month of the Gregorian Calendar has been a difficult time. Not difficult in suffering, not difficult in illness... just difficult in a way that has no shape or form. Not an unhappy time, just plain difficult.
Never mind the manic rush of work which led to 16 hour days at times, never mind the weather playing games and the stress in the shoulders.
At times September left me breathless, changes within minutes, news unexpected and items breaking. I couldn't manage expectation and neither could I manage my life. When neither is managed, somehow the gray area in between is pretty much nowhere. So, with almost nothing to show but yet almost insane... it's just not a good place to be.
They say home is a place one goes to for solitude, a place of rest. This also will be going away soon... news delivered in September. I enjoyed my time in Miri... but never thought of it as home. KL... well, lets just leave this for another story, but lets just say the concept of home is vanishing rapidly.
No, I don't feel sorry for myself but the heart is willing but the soul is tired. I am looking forward to a new year already... but am not willing to let this one go down without a fight.
Thinking of:
Post September
The ninth month of the Gregorian Calendar has been a difficult time. Not difficult in suffering, not difficult in illness... just difficult in a way that has no shape or form. Not an unhappy time, just plain difficult.
Never mind the manic rush of work which led to 16 hour days at times, never mind the weather playing games and the stress in the shoulders.
At times September left me breathless, changes within minutes, news unexpected and items breaking. I couldn't manage expectation and neither could I manage my life. When neither is managed, somehow the gray area in between is pretty much nowhere. So, with almost nothing to show but yet almost insane... it's just not a good place to be.
They say home is a place one goes to for solitude, a place of rest. This also will be going away soon... news delivered in September. I enjoyed my time in Miri... but never thought of it as home. KL... well, lets just leave this for another story, but lets just say the concept of home is vanishing rapidly.
No, I don't feel sorry for myself but the heart is willing but the soul is tired. I am looking forward to a new year already... but am not willing to let this one go down without a fight.
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