So, I finally packed my camera bag and headed off for a weekend trip to the French and Swiss borders. It’s been months since I last touched a piece of actual film, but there was something about the rolling hills and that slightly hazy morning mist over the valleys that just felt like it belonged on 35mm. You know that feeling when you see a beautiful view and your brain tells you to slow down? Film forces you to do exactly that.
There’s a pleasure in the limit. Having only 36 frames to capture the Alps, I found myself taking fewer photos but making more of each one. Instead of snapping every single street corner or every passer page, I’m thinking about the light at 10 AM and how it hits the fence posts. You can’t just spray and pray—it’s a different kind of patience required when you’re counting your shots.
The Alchemy of Developing
Of course, I spent most of my morning drinking some mediocre coffee in a tiny café near the border. While waiting for the hike to begin, I was looking at old prints and thinking about how much I love the feeling of anticipation. With film, you don’t get an instant gratification. You wait. You wonder if it turned out. You hope that maybe the light wasn’t too harsh or that a friend didn’t walk into the frame in ans_er_e. The mystery is half the fun.
The fact that I had to be deliberate was honestly refreshing for my sanity. Modern cameras are so convenient, but sometimes you just need the pressure of a physical roll to ground you in the moment. You can’t really replicate that ‘waiting’ feeling with an instant digital preview. Every frame on that roll is like a little vault of memory, and I suspect the truth of those images will only come out when I see them in the studio next week.
Finding the Soul of a Place
The local vibe here was different than what I’d expected. It wasn’t just about the grand monuments, but the smaller things—the way the light hit a rusted iron gate or the speckled stones on a path. These are the little details that film captures so beautifully. It doesn’t try to look perfect; it tries to feel real. And for me, is there anything more evocative of a trip across Europe, perhaps? There’s something deeply nostalgic and slightly imperfect in every grain.
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