After forever, there was a day of sun in Bergen. I think it happened the day after I caved and bought rain boots. I had the morning off so I decided to set out early and spend as much time outside as I could stand. Walking and taking pictures, that was the plan. I really wanted to take pictures because all my film cameras struggled in the low light of cloudy Bergen and my poorly lit apartment. I hated to use a flash and I’m no good with them anyway.
So out I went with a loaded camera. An Olympus XA2, it’s really fantastic, especially with 100 speed film.
Immediately after stepping out the door, I felt the strong tendrils of sunlight warm me. It was Fall in Norway and I was wearing a jacket, but as I walked in the sun I was tempted to take it off. I was tempted to take everything off and run naked through the streets, proclaiming the glory of the sun. Humans need sunlight and the more skin I bared, the more sun I’d get. I needed to stock up. Who could say when I would see its yellow glory again? The plan was pure logic and surely people would follow suit, but I wasn’t brave enough to try.
Instead, I set about snapping photos of little animals casting long shadows. I photographed the city, the streets in a new light. Everything seemed fresh. Old felt new. Familiar streets looked foreign as the sun shined into the darkest corners and deepened the shadows that remained.
On a bench in the fountain park I sat, jacketless, and read a few chapters in my book, snapping occasional photos of passersby.
It is a real phenomenon in Bergen that when the sun comes out, the population of the city nearly triples.
So out I went with a loaded camera. An Olympus XA2, it’s really fantastic, especially with 100 speed film.
Immediately after stepping out the door, I felt the strong tendrils of sunlight warm me. It was Fall in Norway and I was wearing a jacket, but as I walked in the sun I was tempted to take it off. I was tempted to take everything off and run naked through the streets, proclaiming the glory of the sun. Humans need sunlight and the more skin I bared, the more sun I’d get. I needed to stock up. Who could say when I would see its yellow glory again? The plan was pure logic and surely people would follow suit, but I wasn’t brave enough to try.
Instead, I set about snapping photos of little animals casting long shadows. I photographed the city, the streets in a new light. Everything seemed fresh. Old felt new. Familiar streets looked foreign as the sun shined into the darkest corners and deepened the shadows that remained.
On a bench in the fountain park I sat, jacketless, and read a few chapters in my book, snapping occasional photos of passersby.
It is a real phenomenon in Bergen that when the sun comes out, the population of the city nearly triples.
