Rich Carriero is a freelance writer living Colorado. His childhood dream has been to explore beaches, mountains and ruins. He has traveled Europe extensively and lived in Turkey for three years. You can view Rich's work at www.richcarriero.com
Selinunte
Marsala, Sicilia, Italy
Spatenhaus Restaurant
München, Bayern, Germany
I brought a metal detector to the beaches of Sandy Hook when I was 12 and the coast guard came running. The sandy peninsula due south of New York City was used as a proving ground for artillery and like the fields of Verdun unexploded ordinance still lurks beneath the sand like nefarious buried treasure. Oops. Sandy Hook is its own world. Separated from Manhattan by eight miles of ocean, this glorified sand bar could not be more different from the city's concrete jungle. At the same time the Hook is also nothing like the forests and loamy soil of mainland New Jersey. A land of tidepools filled with starfish, crabs and coquinas, sand dunes covered with cacti and dune grass and wetlands home to migratory birds awaits visitors. What makes Sandy Hook truly unique from the beaches of the greater Jersey shore are the ruins of Fort Hancock. The fort, built after the Civil War, once housed some of the most advanced cannons in the world, all designed to counter a U-boat invasion that never came. Today the Spanish American War-era ruins offer a bizarre and tangled land scape of crumbling concrete and twisted steel for exploration.
Gateway National Recreation Area, Sandy Hook NJ
Pink House Restaurant
Savannah, GA
Ancient City of Ephesus
Turkey
If you could take just one photo: The complex completing the mesa
I.M. Pei carefully considered your approach. At the base of the hill you can't see anything, but as the road traces its rising arc, NCAR emerges into your line of sight as naturally as the red rocks of the Flatirons or the surrounding pinyon trees. From the west, the horizontal lines parallel the straight edge of the Great Plains beyond. From the east the pinkish stone and vertical shafts of NCAR's towers mirror the erupted bedrock of the Front Range. This visionary architecture extrapolates from the stone, the curves and lines creating a space for man perfectly compatible with the surroundings.
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The line of people waiting behind you doesn't give you time to overthink it. You ratchet up the steep ladder one rung at a time and before you know it you're in a pocket of shade that has protected the handywork of the Anasazi Indians for centuries. The view below is of unforgiving desolation—red rock and brush afire with desert sunshine; only the small, cubic homes all around you are immune. They once sheltered families, hosted religious ceremonies, and stored the corn that kept the Anasazi alive.
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