For as long as I can remember, I've loved to travel. Maybe it's something about stepping off the train after a harrowing ride in some faraway location where safety rules have gone the way of the dodo that evokes a sort a magic, a craving for the unknown and whatever lies beyond. A wanderlust, I suppose, or a mad leap of faith that the world in general - that people, in general - are fun to meet and even more fun to capture on film. As a photographer, I've found that there are few things more satisfying than receiving that first smile and knowing that, just then, you went from being a tourist to a potential dinner guest.
Over the past few years, photography has been the primary reason for my travels; it wasn't always so. I used to travel simply to travel, to see new things, to check off countries on an ever-expanding list of distant places. I always needed to a have an airline ticket. Getting a real camera and deciding to get serious about this hobby has of course changed all that (except for the ticket part - that actually got worse). Suddenly I never seemed to have enough cool lenses - and wasn't that tripod just a few ounces lighter than what I bought last week? The wallet thinned as my equipment supply expanded and the shelf reserved for history books made way for copies of the Lonely Planet and photography guides.
Fortunately, the obsession has come with rewards that far outweigh any fear of prematurely digging into my retirement plan. In having learnt to capture the world and its wild and wily subjects on film, I have found myself richer at heart and poorer at the bank, but who cares? Must keep shooting!
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