A medina (city or town in modern Arabic)  is a distinct quarter, usually unchanged for centuries, found in many cities in North Africa. Usually walled, medinas contain many narrow, winding, maze-like streets or alleys. Often found in these quarters are palaces, mosques, and courtyards. Because of the very narrow streets, some barely a meter wide, medinas are off-limits to automobiles, making them unique among densely populated urban centers.  (Kasbah may also be used to describe the old part of a city, in which case it has the same meaning as a medina.)

The narrow, winding alleys of some medinas were actually used to confuse and slow down invaders throughout history. In more recent times, tourists falling prey to these mazes are commonplace, including my girlfriend and myself. Desperately retracing our steps back to a major square, we walked over an hour all over the northern section of the Marrakech medina, never attempting to ask people on the street to keep away from touts, resignedly asking directions from a waiter at a cafe we stopped at for a cold drink in the end.

They say you never really find a medina until you get lost in it.

(Photo taken in Marrakech, Morocco, July 2011. Copyright © Armando Nicolas PJ. All Rights Reserved.)

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It was a good day for photo hunting — nothing hectic, just slow-paced and easy. The sky was blue in some parts, the daylight enough help for my ever-reliable point-and-shoot camera. (Where’s the fun in walking aimlessly for hours while lugging around a big camera, lenses, and tripod?) The photo options are practically limitless: traditional lanterns against ultra-modern skyscrapers, million-dollar sports cars on quaint ancient streets, outdoor art pieces, architectural marvels by the waterfront, ordinary folk and famous people going about their daily life. Imagine my surprise when I accidentally ran into a photo shoot in a drab back alley, a model and photographer intent at work. I passed their corner at a deferential distance, but not without discreetly looking back to shoot from the sidelines.

It was a good day for photo hunting indeed.

(Photo taken in Singapore, January 2011. Color-processed in Adobe Photoshop. Copyright © Armando Nicolas PJ. All Rights Reserved.)

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Imagine a world where there are no windows. Buildings and homes would look like barren boxes that dot cities and the suburbs. There’d be no curtains and drapes to speak of, no sills or panes to perch on or see through, and rooms would just be ceilings, floors and walls. There’d be no draft or glare to shield from, no breeze to let in and through, no daylight or darkness to tell the time of day, and looking outside would simply be unheard of. Most of all, sunrises and sunsets would go unnoticed, and the world outside would forever be kept out. It’d simply be a dreadful, dreary world.

(Photo taken in Singapore, February 2010. Copyright © Armando Nicolas PJ. All Rights Reserved.)

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We recall the local fishermen of old out at sea, out for the day’s catch, toiling in salt and sweat to bring food at the table for their family and loved ones. Back ashore the lonesome wife, her infant child in her arms, awaits the husband’s return, praying for a bountiful harvest and his safe journey home. Shining bright and distinctly by the beach where she waits is the solitary lamp, a beacon, however small, that guides her man home. Soon, in time, the family will be together once more.

(Photo taken in Boracay, Aklan, December 2010. Copyright © Armando Nicolas PJ. All Rights Reserved.)

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A breakwater is a structure, such as a wall, that protects a beach from the forces brought by the seas. Oceanic movement, currents and waves can wreak havoc on certain coastal areas, and such structures are necessary, so beachfront property and roads are protected. In life we have similar breakwaters — lucky charms, money saved in the bank, life insurance, family and friends, faith in God — to stand against the torrents for us, keeping us intact and safe in times of great misfortune. The question is, is your breakwater strong enough?

(Photo taken in Oahu, Hawaii, December 2002. Copyright © Armando Nicolas PJ. All Rights Reserved.)

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Next to bridges, my other predilection is lighthouses. Aside from its physical beauty and strength, its mute presence is both endearing and inspiring, almost as if to show proof that you can go about your own business, and still help others in the process by showing them the right way. This is the mold for which we, especially our educators, medical professionals, lawmakers, statesmen, volunteers, and religious leaders, are cast — to do good deeds and shine as a beacon to the lives we touch — but, alas, some of us succumb to apathy and evil and greed. No wonder many are lost at sea, unable to see the light that shines and guides them home.

We are told to let our light shine, and if it does, we won’t need to tell anybody it does. Lighthouses don’t fire cannons to call attention to their shining — they just shine. – Dwight L. Moody (1837 -1899), American evangelist and publisher

(Photo taken in Oahu, Hawaii, December 2002. Copyright © Armando Nicolas PJ. All Rights Reserved.)

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There is a reason why we’re awed by the vastness of the horizon: most times we’re bogged down by our frailty and narrow-mindedness, and witnessing such generosity of space and possibilities overwhelms us. We often see only what’s laid before us, threatened by our limitations — never venturing farther than our reach, or further and beyond. Without even knowing, we follow unquestioningly, we favor the familiar, we take the road most taken; eventually we fade into the ordinariness of existing. Greatness is when we embrace the vast possibilities of who we can be and what we can achieve. Greatness is when we make a difference.

(Photo taken on Cabilao Island in Loon, Bohol, Philippines, July 2003. Copyright © Armando Nicolas PJ. All Rights Reserved.)

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