2 Months since New Zealand
I am one day away from having been back for two months on the more crowded side of the world, and I am missing New Zealand very much. I met so many generous, hospitable and interesting people, including those among the Mongrel Mob, a group that I spent nearly half of my time in NZ photographing and understanding.
Choosing to leave home and learn about a different culture was the best decision I have ever made and caused me to realise why I want to pursue photography. Looking at old photos now reminds me of good times and striking moments, allowing me to vicariously peer back into what into NZ culture.
I am currently in Portugal painting my uncle’s house that he has recently built. By night I’ve been painting until around 02:00AM listening to NZ artists like Melodownz and Average Rap Band, but by day I have been going to the markets in local areas of the Algarve such as São Brás and Loulé, to capture the spirit of the local people and the lively atmosphere that is so defining of European markets.
In contrast to NZ where my first language is spoken, it is strange being immersed in an environment where the prevalence of a foreign tongue blurs out the audible world into white noise, it allows the mind to focus more on the immediate situation as opposed to listening to what words are being used by others. As one sense is dimmed the other is increased, which quite often results in enthralling photos.
When I arrived, my first shoot began walking around the central municipal hall on market day shooting from the hip (taking pictures without looking through the viewfinder), and quickly snapping scenes or individuals. This technique normally works very well for me in the UK or in NZ, but in Portugal it evoked dismal and awkward reactions. As I kept taking pictures, I felt I wasn’t interacting with my subjects, but rather stealing moments from them.
Hurriedly I entered a small café at the side of the hall. It was filled with old locals drinking espressos and eating Pastel de Natas. Wizened faces looked up expectantly at me as I encroached, while gentle wafts of cigarette smoke flowed steadily from the open door opposite to me, which lead into a courtyard filled with freshly-risen British, German and French tourists. It seemed almost as if it was a place where the men could congregate in reclusion away from the scantily-clad and flip-flopped masses. With disconnected technique, my shutter snapped a couple of times as I silently and walked across the small room. As I made my way out, an elder in the corner disapprovingly shouted “Bom Dia, Senõr!” Which means ‘Good Morning, Sir!’ I was so embarrassed but considered what I was doing by remaining silent with no interaction other than making a clicky-shutter noise at them and running away.
I learned my lesson and stumbled out onto the street, taking with me his exclamation. I tried using it to greet anyone just for fun, and then started asking for pictures. Of course, the response was so much more positive.
I noticed others using the same greeting to acknowledge each other. Whether it was when passing a stranger on the stairs of a bus station, encountering a drunkard in a small, secluded drinking spot, or making eye contact with a random in the midst of a busy street market, the interconnectivity between people is so tangible here.
You can order coffee and get a service, or you can exchange a polite courtesy beforehand and get a coffee with a beautiful smile. It is those one or two second moments that really make a difference in life. They pull us all tighter together.
The superficiality of modern western culture (staring at your phone while walking down the street) blinded me to this gorgeous aspect of Portuguese and wider European culture.
