In 2006, when I was finishing up my tenure in Denmark, I had a friend, Adam, who was living in Wales. So another pal from Tennessee, Wes, and I convened in Swansea for a rousing time full of Welsh goodness.
I don’t think the sun peeked out the entire five days we were there. But then again, does it ever? I would almost feel gypped had I arrived in Swansea to pleasant weather.
It actually made San Francisco’s dreadfully foggy days seem desirable.
The wind and rain also were no joke. My jacket was a permanent staple that trip—I wouldn’t doubt I even slept in it at night, as I never could quite warm my soggy bones.
I also saw more sheep than people, so Wales did seem to live up to all its stereotypes.
The three of us rented a car and drove around the countryside for a few days, visiting castles and chasing sheep. I’m not even kidding—there’s this classic video Wes shot floating around somewhere on the Internet of Adam and I casually walking through a field, then quickly changing course and sprinting full-speed at a flock of unsuspecting lambs. It was pretty freakin’ awesome.
The thing about traveling with photographer friends—they’re both professional photojournalists these days—is that you’re always in front of the lens, as opposed to the other way around.
Not that I mind, as I am vain like that, but in looking back at all my pictures from Wales, I notice a good majority are taken by Adam or Wes—or the same shot by both from different angles.
Only, it does seem like I was traveling alone, as photographers never seem to want to be in anybody else’s shots.
Proof I have friends, lest you be worried my year abroad turned me into an introvert.