I just returned from a three-day trip to Marfa, Texas, and El Cosmico.

It was both muy frio and muy Cosmico. My youngest son, Jesse, home from NYC on spring break, was my tentmate and despite the nighttime lows of 36 degrees, our stay at El Cosmico was delightful. We dodged the 18-degree temps Saturday night and left before the sleet, snow and 12-degree temps blew in Tuesday.

Our yurt at El Cosmico.

Far West Texas weather is far from predictable but we were prepared with two goose down sleeping bags each, so we were plenty toasty. I’ve braved a few 10-degree nights at 9,000 feet on the eastern slope of Wyoming’s Wind River range and I have no desire to re-live that experience.

Our first night was in a spacious yurt on two comfy twin-size futons. It was my first yurt experience. Yurts, I learned, tend to rattle in the wind, and the 30-plus mph gale that blew through Marfa Sunday night kept us awake as the fabric slammed against the framework. It’s March, and in March in this part of Texas the winds howl. My friend, Bob Dillard, publisher of the Jeff Davis County Mountain Dispatch, told me that winds in nearby Fort Davis were clocked at 96 mph last week.

So, under less windy conditions, I’m sure the yurt works. Our excellent hostess, El Cosmico‘s manager, Sarah, offered us one of the wall tents on our second night and it was as quiet as any room at El Paisano. We shared a full-size futon and slept like babies.

El Cosmico's 45-ft., 1956 Imperial Mansion.

All the trailers were taken, so we’ll book ahead next time and try out one of the vintage mobile homes. I’ve got my eye on the 1956 Imperial Mansion.

Bathroom and kitchen facilities are outdoor and communal for all guests but each trailer comes with a stove and its own bath facilities, either indoor or outdoor. All trailers have indoor toilets. Sub-freezing temperatures will typically freeze the water in the communal bathrooms, so bathing doesn’t happen until the sun warms the pipes around 9 a.m.

Bathrooms are communal and if it freezes overnight the pipes don't thaw until 9 a.m., or so.

El Cosmico's communal kitchen is spacious, simple and utilitarian.

There’s free wireless at El Cosmico‘s office as well as couches, a table and a turntable where visitors can chill and spin tunes from the vintage vinyl collection. I spent a couple hours there editing images and answering email.

The office/headquarters at El Cosmico.

There is ample space for campers who bring their own tents and there were at least a half-dozen present on our first night. All guests must park their cars at the office but El Cosmico provides handy wagons for guests to transport their luggage/gear. I’m a backpacker and I prefer getting as far from my car as possible.

There's ample space for tent campers on El Cosmico's 18 acres.

El Cosmico is perched on the outer edge of Marfa on an 18-acre plot of ground on Highway 67 south of the Presidio County courthouse. It’s a pleasant open space and encourages a communal experience. If you’re not into sharing space, El Cosmico might not be your cup of tea. Still, I found it far less cramped than any of the Texas state parks or commercial campsites I’ve stayed in. Marfa and El Cosmico are very bicycle-friendly and it’s maybe a three-minute ride from the campground to the courthouse in the center of town.

El Cosmico is all about chilling and sharing.

As we departed Monday morning, I asked Sarah about accommodations during the upcoming Marfa Film Festival, May 5-9, and she told me all trailers, tents and yurts are booked. Tent camping spaces are still available but I’d call just to be certain. I can’t wait to get back to El Cosmico when the weather is more hospitable. I’m sure that to get the maximum benefit of what El Cosmico has to offer, one needs to be able to leave the sleeping bag without risking frostbite.

But even in this week’s extreme cold, we found it to be a most excellent adventure.

You can't get cosmic without a little Zen.

During my recent working trip to NYC I was, as always, fascinated its denizens. These are random glimpses of New Yorkers being New Yorkers–and they do it better than anyone else.

They shovel snow at 8th and Driggs in Williamsburg.

They hail a cab at 8th Avenue and 52nd Street

They wear weather-appropriate footgear.

They skate in Bryant Park.

They critique each other.

They sled in Central Park

They walk their dogs in Central Park.

They gather at watering holes.

They make dance.

McDonald Observatory, located a few miles northwest of Fort Davis, Texas, threw a star party Tuesday, Jan. 5, 2009, evening and despite the sub-freezing temperatures, more than a dozen visitors got to gaze at the stars outside the visitor center from 6,300 ft. above sea level.

McDonald Observatory star party.

The Observatory offers star parties every Tuesday, Friday and Saturday evenings.

The first image is Union Square at night. I love this part of the city and I try to spend much as much time below 14th Street as possible. It’s the East Village and it’s full of interesting galleries, shops, boutiques, restaurants, record stores, book stores and theatres. If I live here, it will be somewhere below 14th Street.

The second image is the intersection of Bedford and Sixth Street in the Williamsburg neighborhood of Brooklyn. Williamsburg is bustling and vibrant and it’s filled with artists that fled Manhattan’s high rents.

Both images are straightforward and simple, just street scenes.

I’m here for a week to work and spend time with family. Thus far, the rain has been pretty much non-stop, but it’s NYC and your typical New Yorker is not deterred by inclimate weather.

I photographed a new dance piece, 27 For 17, choreographed by Jill Johnson and Mario Zambrano, on May 1, at the Ailey Citigroup Theater. It’s difficult to properly capture the energy of dance without conveying motion and for the still photographer, that can be a challenge. It’s why I’m so blown away by La La La Human Steps‘ production of Amelia for film. It’s a masterpiece of lighting, choreography, physicality and dance cinematography. It’s both inspiring and intimidating for anyone attempting to photograph dance well.

My recent trip to Jamaica included a day-long expedition into the Blue Mountains and a visit to two coffee plantations. I hired an excellent driver, Paul, who took me and my host, Elise Yap, owner and proprietor of The Blue House Bed & Breakfast in Ocho Rios, down the coast to Port Maria, south to Kingston and north into the Blue Mountains. We left Ocho at 7 a.m. and, thanks to Paul’s excellent driving skills, arrived at our destination alive.

Anyone who’s visited Jamaica knows that renting a car there is expensive and the driving is treacherous. Rental cars typically go for $200-plus per day because the car agencies have to cover the cost of damage from the roads and collisions. The roads in Jamaica are riddled with potholes you can lose a Hummer in. Coupled with the aggressive nature of Jamaican drivers, it’s a constant gut-check on every turn. Paul said, “You realize, I’m a PhD, right Mon?” I said, “Really, in what?” “Pot hole detection,” he laughed.

Kingston is a bustling metropolis and we stopped there for patties, the traditional meat-filled pastry that’s like a turnover, but tastier. From there we headed north up Highway B1 toward the Blue Mountains. The road is a series of steep switchbacks and elephant-sized potholes that, at 3,100 ft., takes the visitor past the Strawberry Hill resort owned by Chris Blackwell, founder of Island Records and the man responsible for launching Bob Marley’s career. One of the island’s top resort destinations, it’s also a popular venue for Kingston residents looking for a posh dinner or evening out.

We drove through, literally, through the middle of, Newcastle, a military facility built in 1841, where we were stopped on the road by a young Jamaican Defence Force recruit who kept us there until the soldiers just down the mountain finished their small arms target practice. The gunfire stopped, Paul drove on.

We arrived at Old Tavern Estate just before 11 a.m. and were greeted by owner, Dorothy Twyman. Dorothy and her late husband, Alex, founded Old Tavern Coffee Estate farm in 1972.

The family farm is perched on a Blue Mountain hillside some 4,000-plus feet above sea level.

Mrs. Twyman, ever the gracious hostess, invited us in and gave us a tour of her family business. The entire farm operation is run out of the cottage, so we were able to see the hand-sorting process as well as the two commercial roasting machines where Mrs. Twyman personally roasts the estate’s beans. She carefully sorted a batch of the roasted peabody beans and brewed dark and medium roasts for tasting. Fresh beans, roasted by the owner and served piping hot in her cottage overlooking the farm’s 100-plus acres of coffee plants–it’s an unparalleled tasting experience. While we sipped, Mrs. Twyman talked about her late husband, Alex, and his passion for growing what many consider the finest coffee on earth.

David Twyman, Alex and Dorothy’s son, arrived while we were tasting and filled us in on more of Old Tavern’s history and the devastation wreaked by Hurricane Ivan, which hit Jamaica on Sept. 11, 2004. According to David, the farm is still recovering from the storm that destroyed 70 percent of the crop.

Old Tavern Coffee Estate beans from Jamaica's Blue Mountains

David runs the day-to-day operation of the farm and deals with clients around the world. Varying sources estimate that as much as 90 percent of the Blue Mountain crop is exported to Japan.

The cool temperatures, constant rainfall, excellent drainage and altitude of the Blue Mountains all combine to make perfect growing conditions for Old Tavern Estate’s crop.

During my recent three-day stay in Las Vegas, I had the opportunity to sit in the B Bar at the Wynn. I don’t gamble, but I do drink and in my life quest to find the world’s best gin-and-tonic, I paused at this watering hole located next to the Baccarat room and ordered my Sapphire-and-tonic.

The bartender was engaging and despite being busy, he had time to discuss the virtues of the twist v the lime. I’m strictly a lime guy, and I’m certain that anyone who orders their gin-and-tonic with a twist, is, as W. Somerset Maugham once said, “The type of man who would wear a brown suit in London.”

I was seated at the bar next to a 30-ish man who immediately introduced himself and the fellow next to him. He said, “He’s a South African by way of Chicago and I’m a Marine by way of Houston. We don’t know each other, but hell, this is Vegas!”

The South African nodded and we all shook hands. This is what I like about Las Vegas, there’s a sense of shared adventure that binds casino-goers. The South African knew the bartender by name, so I assumed that he was a regular. Well-dressed and impeccably groomed, he seemed very much at home in the B Bar. He departed quickly, after excusing himself and instructing the bartender to put our drinks on his tab. The Marine and I shook his hand, thanked him and wished him well.

The Marine turned on his chair and faced me to ask me where I was from. As he did, I noticed that his left eye was missing. I’d also noticed, when shaking his hand, that his grip was weaker than one would expect from a robust warrior in his early 30s. He pointed to the socket that once held his eye and said, “Does this damn thing bother you? Some people really freak out.” I told him, “I’m a journalist and I’ve seen plenty of things uglier than you.” I made sure I was smiling when I said that. I didn’t want to end up face down on the barroom floor with his K-bar at my throat.

He looked at me through his good eye for few seconds, threw his head back and laughed uproariously. I exhaled.

“Where you from?” he asked. “Fort Worth, it’s west of a place called Dallas,” I said. He said, “I know where it is, I’m from Houston.”

As all itinerant Texans are wont to do, we immediately launched into a discussion about the virtues of our home state. He told me that he was in Vegas waiting to be fitted for a prosthetic eye. I asked him where he’d done his tour and he said, “Fuckin’ Fallujah, that’s where I got this,” pointing to his eye socket.

I shook his hand again and said, “Thank you and welcome home.” I grew up during the Vietnam era when returning soldiers were cursed and spat on upon returning home. I’d also spent a year managing coverage of the war on a Web site called “Dispatches,” for Belo Corp. David Leeson, my Dallas Morning News photographer colleague, won a Pulitzer Prize for his photographs of the early days of the war. In addition to covering the war, our team maintained a database of all military casualties. Spend a few months writing daily postings describing the deaths of 18-, 19- and 40-year-olds and it takes a toll. The terms “IED” and “Humvee” came up a lot.

“Was that an IED?” I asked, pointing to his eye? “Yup, and I got a belly full of shrapnel and a right hand that doesn’t work anymore too. But I’m one of the lucky ones, I’m here in Las Vegas having a drink with another Texan. A bunch of my buddies didn’t come home.”

He talked about his buddies, mostly. I told him how we’d covered the war and how for the first time, through the use of satellite phones and imbedding, we were able to post combat photos to the Web within moments of a firefight.

I wouldn’t call him bitter, but he’d definitely seen all of the military and war he wanted. His goal was to get his eye fixed and to get a job and put the war behind him. “The war cost me an eye, the use of an arm, and a good woman,” he said.

I had a dinner appointment to make, so I palmed a $100 note and shook his hand and thanked him again. He felt the bill when we shook hands, but didn’t look at it, and said, “Man, that’s not necessary. You need to use that to gamble.”

I thanked him one more time for what he’d done for me and as we parted I said, “I never gamble, I invest.”

Despite the city’s 10.1 unemployment rate, visitor volume rates declining by 12 percent, airport passengers declining by 16 percent and convention attendance down by 21 percent from the same period in 2008, Las Vegas hotels and casinos were busy during Easter weekend.

The Las Vegas Art Museum closed its doors on February 28. According to a story in the Las Vegas Sun, “We’ve tried everything to keep this afloat. It’s just a challenging time,” said Patrick Duffy, president of the museum’s board. “The economic climate has eliminated several of our donations or reduced them significantly.”

This AFP story, from April 17, details the events that forced the museum’s closing.

The March index showed gaming revenue fell by 16 percent, taxable sales fell 13 percent, visitor volume fell 12 percent, airport passengers declined 16 percent and convention attendance was down 21 percent from the same period in 2008.

The city’s largest construction project, City Center, a joint project of MGM Grand and Dubai World, is in trouble. According to an April 8, 2009 Reuters story, Dubai World sued MGM Mirage alleging mismanagement.