Let me tell you, summer in Tokyo is hot and humid. That’s something I’m somewhat used to when traveling in the summer, although I don’t enjoy it at all. Photographically speaking, it’s not a big deal for me, as I prefer to photograph from the moment our star starts getting sleepy onwards.

Some might argue that six days in the same city is a lot. In Tokyo, it is not. There’s so much to see that I simply didn’t have time for. We stayed in Shinjuku this time. Not that we’re particularly keen on the nightlife activities of Kabukicho, but because there’s so much to see there and great connections to the rest of the city.

There’s something fascinating about these announcements and the arrival of a train.

It’s impossible not to get lost in Shinjuku Station, even more so when work is ongoing and several paths are blocked. I had this urge to visit every camera store I could find, and this is the ultimate neighborhood for that. The bright side of not being rich is that I didn’t buy anything, I just appreciated all those cameras and lenses through the shop windows.

In 2012, the Yakitori Alley - Omoide Yokochō, was a true gem in the city. It was probably what fascinated me most about Tokyo. Naturally, I wanted to go back, even after reading recent articles about what it has become. Yep, it’s not 100% the same, but not all is lost. Given the right time and conditions, it can still be fascinating, even if it lacks that aura of discovery it had all those years ago. On the other hand, I found Golden Gai a bit more disappointing, clearly suffering from an overflow of tourism, judging by all the English messages plastered on the bar windows.

Nonetheless, what I missed most from my first trip was the original Tsukiji Market. It had that feel of a real, bustling, ancient market, even by mid-morning when tourists were allowed to enter. I still remember the people, the narrow alleys, the turret trucks, and the lifeless tuna heads displayed on the wet floor.

What I didn’t know back then, but which felt like a small exercise in time travel, was the Asakusa Underground Street. Many shops were closed at the time, but that nostalgic feeling was still very much alive. This is the fluidity I love so much about Tokyo, where so many different worlds can coexist in the exact same area. I smiled when this exact spot showed up in Wim Wenders’ movie Perfect Days. I guess someone else felt that spark here, too.

Speaking of Tokyo’s dystopian reality, where else would you find a hidden mosque tucked away in an alley inside a nightlife district? Unfortunately, it closed for good at the end of September 2025 because the lease couldn’t be renewed, but I’m sure that same quirkiness still exists somewhere else, if you look deep enough.

Another pleasant surprise was Ameya-Yokochō in Ueno, which has a distinct Southeast Asian vibe. Everything has a street-life energy: open-air shops and restaurants, plastic stools spilling onto the pavement, and pictures of dishes pinned to the exterior walls. Train stations are without a doubt hubs of lively action, and I had several more on my list to explore, saved for the next trip, I guess.

I find it hard to believe the obsession surrounding pachinko parlors. Maruhan, in Shinjuku had cues of dozens of people of all ages at 9 am. I was drinking my matcha, looking over the square, wondering about their motivations, their ambitions, their lives. Gachapon was another “wow” factor, with their rows upon rows of tiny machines where you insert coins to get a random collectible toy. It’s like Kinder Surprise of my childhood, just without the chocolate.

Being a massive fan of bookstores, let me leave you with a recommendation for the most beautiful one I’ve ever visited : Tsutaya Books Daikanyama. Beyond its incredible design and cozy cafe, it houses the most astonishing photography book collection I’ve ever seen anywhere.

The city starts late and ends late. Cafes open by 10 am, and shops closer to 11 am. Yet, at 10 pm, trains and metro are still packed. Connecting the entry points of the larger stations are underground malls, where playful music loops constantly, mostly in the morning. After listening to it for so long, I couldn’t resist recording it, so here it is, ready to get stuck in your head, too.

Tokyo, mata kimasu!

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This Kyoto visit starts on a high note with a visit to Tsutaya Books. An old €450 edition of Robert Frank’s The Americans lies behind a glass display. Regrettably, I didn’t buy Eiji Ohashi’s winter edition of Roadside Lights, thinking I would easily find it in Tokyo during the final leg of the trip. You can probably guess what happened next: nothing, zero, void.

Though unplanned, we happened to arrive on the final day of the Gion Matsuri, the country’s biggest festival, which dates back to 869. This is the second time I’ve attended a festival in Japan. While matsuri aren’t among my main interests, it was an event worth experiencing since we were already there. For a deep dive into Japanese festivals, look no further than the work of my friend João Maia.

The anticipation built as crowds gathered around Yasaka Jinja, our first stop. Sign of the times: pseudo-influencers pulling ridiculous poses for their cameras. The worst was a Westerner with an open yukata, exposing his bare chest to the Shinto kami. Eventually, we caught the main procession along Shijo-dori Avenue.

Unlike Shinto shrines, Buddhist temples tend to follow strict opening hours. This is always a challenge for someone like me, who needs eight hours of sleep and isn’t fond of the summer heat. A sacrifice was made in the name of Buddhism; we endured the midday sun to reach Kennin-ji. Once there, we took refuge in the shade of the Seirai-in sub-temple to enjoy the peace of its Zen garden. To be honest, peace is exactly what we found, except for a few minutes spent watching two young women perform photographic acrobatics in their kimonos. The world needs more Zen gardens, that is all I have to say.

At the time of writing, Gemini tells me that Fushimi Inari Taisha is the most visited shrine in Kyoto. I’m not looking for precise data, just satisfying a casual curiosity, so I’ll take its word for it. It is still incredible that even in such a popular landmark, most people disappear as the temperature drops and daylight fades. I never imagined having the torii gates and paths entirely to ourselves in 2025, but I can attest that it happened. It was a poignant return to a place I look at every single day on the wall of my home office.

Kiyomizu-dera, on the other hand, was as crowded as it gets. It was incredibly difficult to find a composition that satisfied my photographic eye.

Still, I found Nakagyo-ku’s orderly streets engaging to roam. There are plenty of new, trendy shops now, but a few old gems remain. It’s funny—back in 2012, I fell in love with Kyoto. After this trip, I can safely say it is far from a place I would enjoy living in. It has become too chaotic. And it’s not just the size of the crowds; it’s how some people misbehave, acting as if they are having a wild party in their own backyard, completely oblivious to local culture and customs. Beautiful areas of Gion are now off-limits to tourists, and strict photography restrictions apply. Based on what I witnessed, I’m not surprised. Traditions and local communities need preservation, and unfortunately, this was the only solution authorities found to curb bad behaviour. It’s becoming a worldwide trend. Rant over.

Japanese train stations are truly something else. Bento box ready for the Shinkansen ride, with just enough time left to watch and appreciate the coordinated rituals of the station staff directing trains and passengers alike.

Tokyo, here we go!

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Evening falls. As we step out of the airport terminal to catch the train to downtown Osaka, the air is thick. Did I miss this humidity? It’s heavy and uncomfortable, yet the sensation triggers a physical nostalgia, pulling back memories of past journeys. I confirm our luggage is safe via an AirTag, activate the eSim for full connectivity, and tap some yen into my digital Icoca card. So much has changed since my first trip to Japan in 2012 with my friend João Maia, but my traveler’s excitement remains untouched.

This two-week journey with my girlfriend in the summer of 2025 began with three full days in Osaka. I often say Japan is more than just a geographical island; it is an outlier in its culture and traditions, a place defined by mystery, ritual, and an unparalleled communal respect. The streets feel safe at any hour, yet your senses are constantly pulled in different directions: a tiny temple tucked into a busy neighborhood, cosplayers hawking tickets to places you’d rather not go, or a hidden mosque marked by a single green sign in a dark alley.

For me, one of the highlights of any trip is the local food, and I must confess: of all the places I’ve traveled, Japan is the pinnacle. Whether you spend 10 € or 100 €, the meal is guaranteed to be delicious and meticulously crafted. Osaka is no exception. Its Edo-period reputation as the “Nation’s Kitchen” (tenka no daidokoro), once the rice-trading hub of Japan, is a testament to this deep-rooted culinary focus. While I didn’t strictly follow the kuidaore philosophy (eating until you drop), I did adopt a “less is more” approach, sampling as many different dishes as possible.

As always, walking was my preferred method of discovery. It’s slow, deliberate, and gives me time to truly see. Photography is nothing without seeing, and it’s nothing without light. I have a long-standing fascination with photographing cities after dark, and Osaka doesn’t disappoint when the sun goes to sleep. The markets are equally captivating; Kuromon is a fantastic place to wander and eat after exploring the otaku shops further south, where adult and children’s stores sit side-by-side in a strange, surreal blend.

My hotel was a 10-minute walk north of Dotonbori, meaning I passed through the district every night. It was chaotic, yet finding quiet pockets wasn’t difficult. Visually, it’s stunning, dominated by massive LED screens and those iconic, giant 3D mechanical signs (though I could have done without the canal boats blasting party music). While Shinsekai is often bathed in a nostalgic light, it didn’t quite live up to my expectations; however, Tennoji Park offered a refreshing, authentic glimpse into Osaka’s daily life. Conversely, the east side of Osaka Station felt truly nostalgic, even gloomy, in an unexpected way.

As is always the case, time was my scarcest resource. Three days could have easily been thirteen, and I still would have wanted more. My next two stops in this trip weren’t new to me, but they will be featured in future articles.

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“(…) Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Krishna, Krishna, Hare, Hare (…)”. In contrast to the warm afternoons, the air is chilly now. The warm yellow star still hasn’t arrived on the horizon. The fog is so dense that the hearing comes before sight. The Krishna mantra slowly arrives and, with it, the barefoot devotees taking on the early morning Parikrama. These Vaishnava Hindu pilgrims may come from all over the world to walk the 15 km journey around the sacred city of Vrindavan.

Always a subject that has captivated my interest, faith and devotion have occupied the minds of humans probably since we, as a species, started to gain consciousness. In some ways, it has been a way to explain natural phenomena that couldn’t be understood with the knowledge at the time. Eventually, over the millennia, faith was sustained by acts of devotion. Groups that had the same beliefs gathered and formed religions. Religions evolved to guide and present a path to the faithful. Ultimately, people search for comfort in their faith, a meaning to their actions and a safe passage to whatever comes next, if anything.

Development psychologist Deborah Kelemen coined the term promiscuous teleology as the habit of humans seeing a purpose everywhere. How many times have we heard “things happen for a reason”? She argues that this search for a purpose is not a product of culture or religion, but rather a cognitive default built into the human brain, which makes faith feel natural and intuitive, regardless of background.

Cognitive anthropologist Pascal Boyer states that religious beliefs are formed because the way our brains are cognitively wired, making it difficult not build these beliefs. Social exposure and cultural influences then lead people in the direction of a certain faith. He gives the example that the child of a Zen Buddhist will not become an evangelical Christian or a Zulu warrior without the relevant cultural experience.

Different cultures experience faith in different ways. It can be something hidden, almost unconscious, or it can manifest itself with deep emotion. Some look for help, some for forgiveness, others search for an explanation or a comforting hug. In the Bible, faith is described as “the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen” - Hebrews 11:1. In Islam, faith without devotion is incomplete and devotion without faith is hypocrisy. If faith were a tinder, devotion would be the flame. Devotion is faith made visible and tangible.

The melodic call to prayer - the Adhan, echoing through the minarets of the Marrakech Medina, the golden Buddha statues and stupas of Myanmar, the impressive masterpieces that are Rome’s churches, the quiet and peaceful Shinto shrines and Torii gates, the often chaotic and colourful Hindu temples, the dark catholic Easter processions. They all have deeply shaped the devotees that continue to practice their faith according to their beliefs. They too have certainly shaped who I am.

In the TV series The X-Files, agent Fox Mulder had an iconic UFO poster in his office - “I WANT TO BELIEVE”. He needn’t have worried. Science tells us our species was born to do precisely that.”

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There are few moments to be lived more enthusiastically than photographing a wild animal. Making eye contact with an individual is certainly one of them and, if it is a species that many people thought at the end of the last century would be impossible to see today, it becomes even more special.

Endemic to the Iberian Peninsula, the iberian lynx - lynx pardinus - is characterised by a short “beard”, long black ear tufts and dark spots over a short brown greyish fur. Males tend to be heavier and larger than females, reaching up to 15 Kg and slightly more than 1 meter in length. Preferring Mediterranean scrublands, these artisans of camouflage have the European Rabbit as their favourite prey.

From 2024 population census, the Iberian lynx population is distributed with around 15% in Portugal, in the Guadiana Valley region, and the remaining 85% in southern Spain. One of the best places to maximize the chances of seeing and photographing this remarkable predator is Sierra de Andújar Natural Park. As counterintuitive as it may sound, around 70% of the natural park is private property, largely dedicated to game hunting. This activity represents the main economic support of the region and ultimately contributes to the safe environment the lynx finds in this territory, enabling it to thrive. The relatively low human pressure is also reflected in the diversity of other species that call Sierra de Andújar home.

Several LIFE conservation projects helped raise a dwindling population of about 100 individuals at the end of 2002 to around 2400 in 2024. Habitat loss, scarcity of European rabbits due to disease, and non-natural causes of death were the main reasons behind the species’ near extinction. Science played a fundamental role in bringing these felines back to the IUCN list of vulnerable species. Breeding centers were established in both countries and reintroduction areas were defined. A true borderless effort of collaborative effort brought this emblematic species back from the brink.

From my experience, seeing and photographing a wild iberian lynx is quite possible in Sierra de Andújar, especially at dawn or dusk when they are most active. To maximize the odds, spending some time in a hide or hiring a local ecotourism company is certainly worthwhile. There are, however, a couple of good locations withing the natural park where parking spots allow visitors to observe from a safe distance, and a good pair of binoculars can help track these animals. It can become extremely crowded in December and January, when the mating season reaches its peak. Other impressive neighbouring species that can be appreciated include deer, with their powerful rutting calls at the start of autumn, birds of prey and river otters.

Those yellowish eyes certainly leave a mark. Intense and profound, they are a constant reminder of how important conservation efforts are for the future of all species, including our own.

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After finding a good deal on a telephoto lens for wildlife photography in 2024, I started planning an autumn trip to test it. In previous years, my autumn nature trips had taken me to northern Portugal and northern Spain. This time, I wanted a change of scenery. There are so many interesting spots across the Iberian Peninsula to explore and build photo projects around.

Not long before, in mid-2023, I had finished reading a book by Spanish biologist Alfonso Polvorinos, titled La Ruta 5. The book recounts his experiences seeing what he calls the “Big Five” of the Iberian Peninsula, a nod to the well-known African safari Big Five.

Having already had the chance to see wild bears and tracks of Iberian wolves, I decided it was a good time to try to spot and photograph the Iberian lynx. It wasn’t easy to prepare for spending twelve straight hours inside a small metal box with just a couple of chairs. How would I manage food, clothes, and toilet breaks? How would I keep my short attention span focused on a small patch of terrain in front of the hide’s glass window? Would I be bored to death, or completely thrilled by everything I was going to see?

I woke up early that day. I was supposed to enter the hide while it was still dark and leave at dusk. The drive from my hotel to Peñalajo Farm, in the southern part of Castilla-La Mancha, was quick. Three layers of clothing and gloves were a good bet for the early morning cold, while a single T-shirt was enough by midday. The suggested “toilet” solution, a plastic bottle, worked fine. For food, I had gone to a local supermarket the day before, bought some bread and cheese, used my Swiss knife to cut them open, and made a sandwich on top of the closet shelf in my hotel room. I also brought some cereal bars, a common staple on my nature trips.

It was hard to predict, but that day turned out to be one of the most rewarding I’ve ever spent in nature. I saw the lynx twice, briefly, in the morning and afternoon, slowly emerging from the brush to my right and disappearing into the brush in front of me. However, the small water-filled pond kept me busy throughout the day. Magpies, wood pigeons, warblers, and the lynx’s favorite prey, European rabbits, all stopped by for a visit.

This was my first experience in a hide, and my first sighting of an Iberian lynx. The following days were spent elsewhere, with more lynxes and more hides, but that will be part of a future article.

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Definitely one of my favourite cities, Venice is on the bucket list of many thousands of photographers worldwide. I was inspired to write this article by the wonderful conversation Juliette and Søren had about Venice in her Lens 2 Lens section.

The Additional f-Stop

Lens 2 Lens: For Venice

Søren: When photographers go to famous locations, they are often faced with the crippling thought that it has all been done before… How do you make something that is more about you and what you see, and a little less about postcards? Venice is one of those places. Juliette, how did you approach Venice when you visited for the first time…

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a year ago · 44 likes · 64 comments · Juliette and søren k. harbel

The debate was about Venice, but it could just as well be applied to many cities or neighborhoods worldwide. Photographing a place that has been captured millions of times is always a challenge. It’s a challenge I love, especially if that place means something to me, if I feel a personal connection. That’s when we often go beyond the ordinary and put ourselves into the images we take or make.

The only time I went to Venice to photograph was for three full days in December 2017. I wasn’t prepared for how cold it was at that time. The rain was present for quite a while, adding to the overall winter mood. However, the small bursts of sunlight were also a blessing I couldn’t miss.

As with any place I go, my aim is to build a body of work that not only conveys a sense of location but also offers perspectives I haven’t seen much before.

Venice feels very much like a tree, with old and small branches connecting to a main trunk. By exploring those branches, narrow, often dead-end streets, at different times of the day, it’s not that hard to bring home images that differ from those we often see on social media or photography platforms.

We’ve all heard in the news, for quite some time now, about Venice’s struggles: the rising waters, the risk of history being lost forever, mass tourism, gentrification. As photographers, we have the responsibility to record the present that won’t be around anymore in the future. We also have the responsibility of showing what is real at a certain moment in time and contributing to the debate about our community’s future. And by doing so with our own perspective, we add an extra touch to the global story.

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I won’t write much more here since the interesting part is over the Lens 2 Lens article below :

Read the Conversation

As a final note, here’s an example of project I’ve been working on for years on my closest park : Sintra - Cascais Natural Park, mentioned in our conversation.

First it’s an image from 2015 :

Due to many circumstances I never got back to this place until end of 2025. I had some stuff I wanted to improve. Nowadays, the landscape is not exactly the same as a landslide slightly changed. Here’s one of the most recent images from that place :

Hope you enjoy our discussion and let us know your opinion and you deal with this process.

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First walk out in Hanoi, after the 5 pm lunch, and the sun is already gone, or what was left of it. Following the motorbike noise, like a river flowing through a canyon, we drift towards the lake. An impressive red light ahead: the Ngoc Son Temple bridge shines with its mirrored reflection on Hoan Kiem Lake. Close by, the music is loud and the ladies are moving in a blend of senior dance and Tai Chi. On this trip, the capital was last but, as they say, not least.

There’s definitely a touch of modernity and some kind of appeal to the wealthy. The French Quarter and the almost empty Trang Tien Plaza are good examples of that. On the opposite side, the Temple of Literature offers impressive artefacts and a rich history.

The old quarter has or had its charm. There are still some interesting streets where life goes by. At night though, there’s a big contrast between the often quiet and lonely streets and the most lively ones with loud music and dozens of touts. From foot massage, bun-cha or booze, sometimes it’s almost tempting and, easier, to walk in the middle of the road avoiding bikes. To be honest, walking in the road is pretty common as the sidewalk is for top priority, motorbikes or the frequent fake North Face bag.

Funny fact, Hanoi was the place in Vietnam where I took the fewest photos. Of all the days, the morning stroll by Dong Xuan Market was clearly a favourite. Yep, I love markets, can’t help it, always a go-to anywhere I travel. This one transports you a bit in time, as most business is done right on the street, often on the floor. No prepared food here, just raw ingredients ready to go to someone’s home, and belly. And speaking of bellies, Hanoi gave me a banh mi redemption. We were a bit traumatised by the one we had in HCMC, but this one was yummy.

The lake, always the lake. Ho Tay doesn’t have the same appeal as the smaller and cosier Hoan Kiem. The latter is a magnet for people of all ages : kids and elders, couples in love, and crazy runners in this heat and humidity. Maybe it’s their sweat that helps feed the lake. I hope not, as the fish some catch wouldn’t taste that good.

Our last morning was spent at Hoa Lo Prison, the famous “Hanoi Hilton.” There’s no doubt the narrative has been enhanced by the regime, highlighting the torture and execution of several Vietnamese Communist Party members in this place. It’s hard to forget the harsh legacy that colonialism and war left on Vietnam and its people. For me, the best part was hearing an American guy commenting, something along this line, to someone else : “I think we all should see this to avoid repeating the same mistakes.”

Closing the original Robin Williams words, goooooood evening Vietnam! See you next time.

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After many considerations, we decided to add Hoi An to our itinerary. It looked kind of peaceful, as small towns usually are, and quite beautiful judging from online images. The flight there from Ho Chi Minh City was kind of stressful and extremely quick, as a guy sitting in front of us almost died. Luckily, he survived—we saw him again in a café one of the following days.

It was hot—very hot. I’m used to Southeast Asia’s summer climate, but a 43ºC thermal sensation at night was a bit tough. Not all was lost, though, as our hotel had a great pool where we spent our afternoons until just before sunset.

The crowds were huge—much more than I expected. At night, on the main streets, it was tricky not to bump into anyone. That said, we had no trouble finding quiet corners away from the crowds and great places to eat. The city really comes alive at night with a lot of color and street food. But, as in many cities, one of my favorite places was the local market. I just love to wander around, look at the daily produce, and compare it to what I know from home.

We also took a short trip to the Marble Mountains and were shocked by the massive urban development along the coast—huge hotels and buildings right on the beach. I’m not sure if I’ll return to Hoi An someday, as there’s so much more to explore, and this picturesque city didn’t really click with me.

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We arrived at the hotel in the late afternoon and went out for a bowl of pho to fuel up for the next three days of roaming the city. One of the things I love to do — whenever possible — is observe and photograph from my hotel room window. Luckily, this place also had a rooftop, and I absolutely loved the cyberpunk vibe that floated over the HCMC cityscape.

I really enjoy that contrast between modern and traditional, and HCMC didn’t disappoint. On top of that, the food was excellent. Street food is one of my favorite subjects to photograph... and to devour. I didn’t enjoy the banh mi I tried here, but redemption came in Hanoi. Still, from my experience, this seems to be the most iconic street food in Vietnam.

As is typical in Southeast Asia, noise is a constant companion. Bui Vien Street is a great example of nightlife chaos: eardrum-busting “music,” lasers, dancers in short outfits, and all kinds of substances floating around.

Then there’s the traffic — a lot of traffic. It’s mostly dominated by two-wheelers, and traffic rules feel more like suggestions. Crossing the street can be terrifying at first, but with time and practice, you kind of get the hang of it. One unexpected moment was a group of men “singing” karaoke in September 23rd Park. Let’s just say... your ears might need some training.

On our last day, we visited Cho Lon, home to the largest Chinatown in the world. The vibe there is totally different. The shops have a stronger focus on Chinese culture, and temples are everywhere — especially ones devoted to Mazuism and Chinese-Buddhism.

Ho Chi Minh City was a great way to kick off the trip, and honestly, I don’t get why it’s so underrated. Then again, maybe that’s because I enjoy a slow travel style, and photography really helps me soak in the details.

Next stop was Hoi An — spoiler alert: it was my least favorite of the three cities we visited, except for one small detail.

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In 1975, psychologist Mihály Csíkszentmihályi introduced the concept in his book Beyond Boredom and Anxiety. He developed the theory while trying to understand a phenomenon some artists described — an experience of being so immersed in their work that it felt like they were flowing, as if carried effortlessly by a current. So deep was their engagement that they sometimes lost track of time, even forgetting to eat, drink, or sleep.

n my personal experience, I never actively sought this state — it simply happened. The key ingredients, as far as I can tell, are solitude, a deep connection with the environment, and pure enjoyment of the moment, free from external distractions. Attention becomes effortless (which is rare for me), exhaustion fades, and engagement reaches its peak. In the end, there's a profound sense of accomplishment and pleasure — an experience that feels truly meaningful. The memories of these moments also tend to be more vivid.

For me, flow has only occurred in nature. Being around people is too distracting for me to reach this heightened state of awareness. Whether this feeling is conveyed through my images, I cannot say — it likely depends on each viewer's own experiences.

Here are a few examples of images where I experienced flow and the story being them.

On my second trip to Iceland in 2013, I spent two weeks driving the full circle. One of my goals was to skip the often-overlooked places in the south and spend more time exploring the east and north. In June, Iceland doesn’t really have 'night,' so I would have dinner around 9 PM and then drive around looking for interesting places until I was too tired to continue — usually around 3 AM.

One evening, I spotted some beautifully lit houses in the distance. I drove off the main road and parked. After photographing what had caught my eye, I decided to walk a bit further to see what else I could find. That’s when I stumbled upon this scene.

I spent about an hour and a half there, nearly freezing despite my gloves. The water was incredibly still, birds were singing and occasionally bathing, and the sun slowly descended on the horizon. Every once in a while, I clicked the shutter, pausing to take in the beauty of the moment.

In 2015, I took my first trip to the Azores archipelago. One of the three islands I visited was Pico. Back then, I didn’t have the technology I do now, so a 1:50,000 map of the islands was my only guide.

As anyone who has visited Pico knows, catching a clear view in the misty highlands is a matter of luck. One afternoon, while searching for a lagoon, I noticed a golden light on the horizon. I rushed toward it and was met with this breathtaking scene—an incredible fiery glow and a brief break in the mist, revealing the contours of the hills.

I’ve been lucky enough to visit Asturias several times. During an autumn trip in 2021, I was driving near the Monasterio de Hermo forest when I caught a glimpse of the light breaking through in my car’s rearview mirror.

Finding a place to park on a narrow road where two cars can barely pass was a challenge, but luckily, I spotted one not far ahead. I grabbed my camera from the passenger seat and ran down the road to a bend where I had a clear view of the valley. The light kept shifting as time passed, making the moment even more magical. It was a beautiful experience.

For years, a couple of friends and I have joked about photography hides. But in October 2024, I finally took the plunge — spending 11 hours locked inside a half-buried metal box with mirrored glass at ground level.

I had no idea what to expect or if I’d find the experience unbearably dull. But I absolutely loved it. Time flew by, and I can’t wait to go back. Watching the first birds arrive before sunrise, the constant action throughout the day, focusing on all the sounds, and even a few unforgettable moments — like spotting the Iberian Lynx.

But that’s a story for another time. For now, let’s enjoy a magpie.

Have you ever felt flow before?

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Reflection – the return of light from a surface – allows camera sensors or film to capture images, as they record the photons that reach them. Yet, reflection can extend beyond the visual, symbolizing ideas, emotions, or self-representation. It offers photographers a subtle way to insert themselves into their work—a hidden self-portrait.

Reflections often add complexity, layering information and inviting viewers to explore an image more deeply. Although they can complicate composition, they can also infuse photographs with narrative, mystery, or surrealism. When used thoughtfully, reflections become a tool to break clichés and evoke originality.

Intriguing images arise from blending layers within a single frame—for instance, photographing through a window under specific lighting conditions. This technique merges worlds and blurs boundaries, adding depth and context. Such images, where realities overlap, often carry more visual interest than straightforward reflections.

All of these ideas can enhance a portfolio—but, as with everything in life, they should be used in moderation.

In the end, aren’t photographs also reflections of reality?

References : Here are some photographers known for mastering reflections in their work :

https://www.fabien-ecochard.com/

https://www.gustavominas.com/

https://www.samferris.com.au/

https://www.saulleiterfoundation.org/

https://www.sixstreetunder.com/

https://www.vivianmaier.com/

These artists showcase how reflections can transcend the technical and become powerful visual storytelling tools. Feel free to suggest your own references in the comments.

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Although I’ve received several distinctions in different contests over the years, this was the first time I won a first prize. This recognition is especially meaningful to me — not only because the festival holds a special place in my heart, having given a couple of presentations there in the past, but also because two members of the jury, António Sá and Luís Quinta, are photographers from whom I’ve learned so much over the years.

I’d like to share the story of how the image was created. I arrived at Gerês National Park on the evening of November 26, 2023. That year, I decided to visit later in the season to capture a different perspective on the transition between autumn and winter. My plan was to spend four days in the park, revisiting favorite spots and exploring new ones.

The week was defined by one word: rain. Rain, rain, and more rain. No surprises there, as it’s typical for the region at this time of year. I spent several hours in my car, reading and munching on some rather miserable snacks, waiting for the weather to offer me an opportunity. Luckily, it didn’t take long. On the very first morning, I found myself parking at Leonte.

It was my first nature photography trip with my new camera and lens, and I was eager to finally put them to use in nature. The morning was peaceful, and I had the place all to myself — just the way I like it when photographing nature. I set an ambitious goal for the day: to climb up to Pé de Cabril. After walking for a while, I came across a beautiful stream with nearly still water. The only movement was the occasional drop falling from wet tree branches. I experimented with various perspectives, and in editing back home, this one emerged as my favorite.

My journey continued for about two more hours, but impenetrable vegetation and heavier rain eventually forced me to turn back to the car. Later in the afternoon, when the weather eased slightly, I headed further north — but that’s a story for another time =)

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Besides the presentations, one of the highlights for me was a round table moderated by Ricardo Salvo, where three photographers (César Llanesa, Gonçalo Pacheco, and I) and an illustrator (Luísa Nunes) discussed what perfection meant, whether it could be applied to our work, and if we aimed for it.

The discussion was quite interesting, and the audience also contributed with pertinent questions. Each of us had a different personal vision, but it was an enriching experience to listen to everyone’s perspective. Before the event and continuing to this day, I occasionally revisit my thoughts on what perfection means, both in a literal sense and in relation to photography.

The definition of perfection can be likened to that of void or vacuum. Just as a void describes the absence of matter-something completely empty-perfection denotes the absence of flaws or defects. It’s an absolute concept, representing the optimal state.

Can actual perfection be attained? The original Latin roots of the word-“per-“ and “facere”mean to finish a job or task. Over time, the term evolved to signify the attainment of an ideal state. With my background in physics, I have always associated perfection with the mathematics that define our world. Nothing is pure; everything is an approximation. You may be reading this text quietly in a chair, but the chair is moving and vibrating at the level of its electrons, atoms, and molecules. The fact that we can’t see these movements leads us to believe that the chair is perfectly still, but it isn’t. In physics, ideal models provide good approximations of observed behaviors, yet they do not exist in the real world. Ultimately, physics aims for an idealized mathematical framework, which, in turn, enhances our understanding of complex systems.

Contrary to science, art is subjective. While one can strive for technical mastery, aesthetic harmony, emotional resonance, and originality, art remains personal and contextual. What may be close to perfection for one viewer can be meaningless for another. The concept of perfection in art is definitely fluid.

Some artists embrace imperfection as a vital part of creative expression, while others become frustrated by aiming too high. As with everything in life, balance is key. For me, in photography, if I can spend weeks, months, or even years contemplating an image, then it’s good enough. If the image resonates with someone else in the same way, then it’s amazing-perfect in its own right.

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I’ve visited Castilla y León three times so far: in 2010, 2012, and 2022. My first impression was profound, as on a photo trip I was taken to Las Médulas and the amazing old village of Peñalba de Santiago. The second trip, partly covered in snow, was to Sanabria, home to the largest glacial lake in the Iberian Peninsula, formed during the last Ice Age.

Indigenous to the mountainous areas of Sanabria, one can find the Sanabresa cattle breed, adapted to the harsh climate and rugged terrain of this region. They command a great deal of respect. While exploring a meadow, I encountered two impressive individuals standing in the snowfall. Due to the decline of traditional farming practices, however, the breed is now facing the same uncertain fate.

After several trips to Asturias, I felt it was time to spend more time in Castilla y León, instead of just crossing through it from south to north and back. There were a few places on my list: a return to Peñalba de Santiago and Valle del Silencio, an introduction to Ancares, and a day in one of the most impressive beech woods in the region.

Hayedo de Busmayor is a beech forest that truly comes alive in autumn, with vibrant colors and picturesque cascades. The scenery varies throughout the route, from immersive forested paths to large open spaces. The streams enhance the atmosphere, and though I didn’t see any animals, these woods are home to many. In addition, it's incredibly peaceful at this time of year. Throughout the day, I saw only four people, and for me, that quietness is essential in nature photography.

My last day was spent in Valle del Silencio and Peñalba de Santiago. The village has changed—the elders are mostly gone, several houses are abandoned, while others remain pristine. Despite these changes, mobile network access is still scarce in the area. I wish I had more time for treks in Valle del Silencio, but then again, I always need an excuse to go back, right?

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A city of many names and no less cultures : Byzantium with the Greeks, Augusta Antonina with the Romans, Constantinople with the Ottomans, and Istanbul in modern times with the Republic of Turkey. These influences can be seen in the names of hotels and shops, in the food, and in the landmarks.

Turkey as been on my list for a long time. I learned a good deal about its eastern history after visiting Armenia. I know they’re not best friends, but there is so much common ground in that region. Besides the food - one of my main reasons for traveling - I had other cultural and artistic references, such as the Armenian-Turkish photographer Ara Güler; American photographer Alex Webb and his amazing book “Istanbul: City of a Hundred Names”; and 2006 Nobel Prize in Literature laureate Orhan Pamuk. I also knew several photographers who had visited the region and spoke highly of it. Then there is this cosmopolitanism that I haven’t encountered anywhere else, always accompanied by a strong sense of national pride.

I visited Istanbul in 2019 over a period of 6 days, dividing my time between the two sides of the Golden Horn. At the time, I was reading Orhan Pamuk’s “Istanbul : Memories and the City”. He describes the concept of hüzün as a feeling of melancholy, nostalgia, and spiritual longing that pervades the city, stemming from its grand past as the capital of empires and its more modest, sometimes crumbling present. It is a bittersweet recognition of the passage of time and the layers of history that are visible everywhere in Istanbul. I felt deeply connected to this, reminding me of my childhood partly spent in Lisbon’s old neighborhoods. The similarities were undeniable and I want to return to this subject in a later post.

I feel I can take Istanbul as a small country. In my personal vision, from what I’ve visited, the city is split into 4 distinct blocks : the are south of the Golden Horn, which felt more conservative; the area north of it, which seemed more westernized; the Balat area, which resembled the old neighborhoods of Lisbon with a touch of modernity; and the Asian side across the Bosphorus, where the regional restaurant Çiya Sofrası of chef Musa Dağdeviren can be found (he was featured in an episode of Netflix’s Chef’s Table, if you are wondering).

There is much more to this ancient city than what a mere 6 days can reveal. It’s certainly a place to return to, hopefully many times in the future.

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A moment can be understood as a point in time or an instant. On a technical level, for photographers, it can be perceived as the period of time the camera sensor or film is captures photons to record a certain event. On a compositional level , often associated with a good image, it can be understood as the harmony between light and the elements in the frame in a way that the scene is not repeatable.

In the language of photography many are familiar with the concept of The Decisive Moment immortalized by French photographer Henri Cartier-Bresson in 1952. The French edition of the book, released in the same year, is entitled Images à la Sauvette. The meaning is not exactly the same since the French original title refers to a certain agility, intuition, spontaneity in capturing an image, in the sense that Henri tried to capture his photographs without the subjects being aware of his presence.

The moment can nevertheless be applied to a wide range of photography subjects besides street photography. Food photographers may want to capture that drizzle of honey over a pancake; wildlife photographers may want to capture the instant a bird takes flight; landscape photographers may want to photograph that ray of light on a specific tree; sports photographers may want to get that photo of a ball leaving a football player’s head into the net, and so on.

How many times have you stood in front of a beautiful lit scene waiting for the right person or the right action to happen? How many times have you waited patiently for an animal you know inhabits the spot in front of you and it never shows up? How many times have you waited for the clouds to open to illuminate a beautiful scene, and when that happens, the spot of light is already meters off your envisioned image? 

The moment can be a dilema or a virtue to some photographers. Some have the patience to wait in a corner until something interesting happens or a certain gesture is made. Others get too bored and keep on going if the scene has potential but something else is not working at that specific time. I’m more related to the second type. Do I feel frustrated by not photographing what I thought could be a very good image? Not really, I tend to go with the flow, accept what the world has to offer. The number of times I was rewarded by unexpected moments totally balanced that. No doubt that I may then be at home looking at the images and finding things that could have been better, but that’s all part of the experience.

Sometimes there are moments that never happen. Nothing goes to plan, or the vision is not working on that day. Photograph with your mind, even if it’s sitting down in your car with pouring rain outside, reading a book and eating cereal bars. Yes, I did that and have incredible vivid memories of it, because I was consciously aware of the moment and accepted that.

Often it’s the moment that makes a good photograph great, but it’s also a life experience; it’s living the moment.

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Howdy, welcome on board! Together we’ll embark on an adventure in the realms of photography, travel, art, philosophy, inspiration, creativity, and maybe something more…

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This isn't my first photo blog, but it's been a few years since I last wrote something related. I've realized that to give meaning to some of my thoughts, the best way is to write them down, organize them, and share them with other souls who might be interested in what I have to say.

I have a long list of topics I want to dive into, but I guess we'll both discover more about them along the way. When I travel, I like to have some kind of itinerary, to know a bit about the destination, but to leave plenty of open doors for whatever may come my way. The same will happen here: I know some destinations I want to explore, but I’m sure the journey will be filled with adventures and meaningful experiences.

Come along, and I hope you enjoy the ride!

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