We have drunk coffee and washed the cups.  Backpack is packed, as always. Wind behind the windows keeps whistling and rain falls hiding mountains beyond in a grey haze. 

Where are we going this time?

My childhood smells like tobacco smoked from a pipe by my grandfather, in a room full of photos. I was sitting in a large velour armchair, wrapped in a blanket, with a globe on my lap. The routine for every Sunday.

On the table there was a glass bowl in which my grandfather was collecting negatives from our road trips across the country, films on which I, 6 years old, documented our every adventure. We would randomly develop one a month, bringing memories to life.

After that, I didn’t take any pictures for a long time. 25years later I made this childhood dream real, becoming wedding photographer in Iceland and traveling now across the world against all odds!


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