It was a spectacularly pointless walk. I just didn’t realize it at the time.
Here’s how it went down. I’d stopped for the night in Vrnjačka Banja, a small resort town in Serbia. It’s cozy, green, and so perfectly compact that getting lost requires serious, deliberate effort.
Evening had settled in. The rain had just stopped, leaving fresh puddles behind, and I stepped out of my dramatically lit hotel, determined to find something on the streets just as cinematically lit.
I was in a surprisingly good mood. Maybe it was the crisp post-rain air. Or maybe it was the couple of shots of Greek ouzo I’d had earlier — bought at Lidl, naturally. After all, travel is all about cultural immersion, right?
The very first bench on the main street greeted me with a glorious glow.
Click.
Then came raindrops clinging to an information board. Right there, the walk began to develop a certain conceptual arc, even if I couldn’t quite articulate it yet.
Next came the promenade. Paving stones. Trees. Streetlamps. I dropped low for a few shots, turning the whole exercise into what felt like a serious artistic study of urban space. So serious, in fact, that for a fleeting moment I almost believed in its necessity myself.
A little further on, I stumbled upon some illuminated stones. Or was it stones bathed in light? Hard to say now. I shot them anyway, purely so I could sit at home later and wonder what on earth I was thinking.
The grandest subject of the evening turned out to be the Ferris wheel. Capturing it required a stable resting place for the camera. I make a strict rule of never carrying a tripod — it ruins the spirit of improvisation that defines most of my photo walks. So I spent a few minutes scouting the area until I found a random post half-hidden in a bush to balance it on.
Then, on the next street over, I spotted a highly promising puddle next to a brightly lit fence.
I photographed the fence from one angle, the dirt beside it, then the puddle itself and the reflections within.
At a certain point, it hit me: I was paying a suspicious amount of attention to objects that normal people walk past without even breaking stride.
Eventually, I made it to the central square. I was greeted by a glowing sign bearing the town’s name, something vaguely resembling a fountain, and an almost total absence of people. Perhaps the locals and visitors were spending the evening more productively — sitting in bars rather than wandering wet streets with a camera.
Long story short, night was falling, and my mood was sinking into the basement. I headed back to my dramatically lit hotel. No photographic masterpieces had been secured. Fortunately, that divine Greek nectar was still waiting in my room, ready to take on the heavy burden of restoring both my mental equilibrium and artistic ego.
's travels
