Travels with my camera 2025 - the best photographs.

This year, I have visited countries in three continents. In this post I will share some of my favourite pictures from these travels with my camera.

In February and March I visited Cambodia for the second time. Phnom Penh has to be one of the best cities in the world for candid street photography while the towns and villages also have many interesting subjects. The visually striking, orange-robed Buddhist monks can be found everywhere, and people are generally open to being photographed. 

I photographed the little monk pictured below, in a monastery in Phnom Penh. As a novice, in addition to his studies, he will have many chores to complete each day. These include helping to prepare and serve food, doing laundry work and keeping the monastery clean. He will also have a little free time before lunch, his second and final meal of the day. This small boy was enjoying that time, playing imaginatively with bricks left over from a building project in the monastery grounds. 

I met Somrat Wah, the woman washing dishes, in one of the many alleys that lead off the Orussey Market in central Phnom Penh. She cooks a variety of dishes at her stall from early in the morning until mid-afternoon every day. Her upright stance, elegant attire and open smile made me want to photograph her. This picture of Somrat is a candid shot, but I was able to speak to her afterwards and to hear her story. You can read it here.

In 2023, I visited a small monastery not far from Siem Reap. It was there that I met Cai, an older monk who told me about his experiences during the Khmer Rouge period and how he survived a bullet wound to the head. I returned to the monastery this year to find that he was no longer living there. I left his picture with one of the senior monks in case he returns or comes to visit. The picture below shows a small boy looking through the window of one of the buildings in the same monastery complex. He seems far away, perhaps thinking about his future, or dreaming of being somewhere else. My friend and wonderful photographer, Kimleng Sang accompanied me to the monastery and to several villages around Siem Reap, just as he did two years ago. His work has received international recognition and can be seen here. He also offers a range of photo tours which are a great way of seeing and experiencing local life.

 

There are no direct flights between London and Cambodia and my connection was in Saigon. I had not been to Vietnam before and decided to delay my journey home and spend a few days there. I was fortunate to link up with French photographer and Saigon resident, Adrien Jean, who led me through early morning markets, city streets and lanes, far away from the main tourist sites. I was able to meet people who had lived through the Vietnam war and who were happy to share their stories. Adrien also encouraged me to try some new approaches, including shooting images reflected in the mirrors of motorcycles, glass display cabinets and the plastic awnings of shops in the flower market. This resulted in one of my favourite pictures of 2025. It shows crisp pink and white orchids in the foreground combined with the slightly blurred reflection of the shop behind and a woman wearing a traditional conical hat. 

Another of my favourite pictures of the year was taken in Saigon. It is a candid shot of a small shop where eggs, garlic, sauces, preserves, pickles and other items essential to Vietnamese cooking are sold. The woman vendor sits with her back to the camera, talking to someone on her phone. Her hair matches the colour of her blouse, the egg wrappers and other goods in the store. But, it was the image on the back of her sleeveless top that first caught my attention. It shows a woman, head turned to one side, but looking at the viewer, almost as if she is looking out for customers while the vendor has her back turned - watching you, watching me. 

I last visited Romania in 2012, when I spent several days in Bucharest, photographing the city’s art deco and modernist architecture. I returned in June this year and spent several days in Maramures, a rural area close to the border with Ukraine. My objective was to photograph a community whose traditional, agricultural way of life is coming to an end. The work is physically hard and pays little and many young people have opted to leave, choosing to work in the cities or to go abroad. I was accompanied by local photographer Vlad Dumitrescu, who acted as guide, interpreter and fixer. Through Vlad, I was able to hear the stories of elderly residents who still have clear memories of life during the communist period and even before and during the Second World War. You can read some of those stories here.  

My favourite picture from my time in Romania, is that of a married couple, Anuta and Patru. They invited us into their home where at first we sat in a room flooded with light and where Anuta spoke about their life together. They then showed us into another room, much colder and darker then the first. The only light came through a single window covered by a net curtain. Anuta sat beside the window and picked up her needlework. Patru, stood close by watching.  Their quiet companionship was touching and the scene reminded me of a Flemish painting. It is my favourite picture of the year. You can read the couple’s story here.

Pachewar is a small Rajasthani town of about 7,000 people. It is also the source of several of my favourite pictures since I began photographing people. On my first visit in 2022, I met and photographed Guni, an older woman of striking appearance. I returned to the town in September this year and was able to give her a large format print. I also revisited a Gadhia Lohar community on the outskirts of the town, to distribute some pictures and reconnect with the artisans I’d met previously. The Gadhia Lohar traditionally work as blacksmiths, but demand for their household products has reduced due to the availability of cheap, mass-produced goods. Some have reinvented themselves as artists working in metal.

Several members of one Lohar family asked to be photographed. They were teasing one of the children -  Anita - because this ten year old girl is the only relative with curly hair. Despite being a little shy at first, she wanted to be photographed too. The resulting portrait is one of my favourites of the year and is included below.

Back in the centre of Pachewar, I noticed a flash of red on the opposite side of the road. It was a scarf worn by a young woman who sat head down, reading. I could not get a clear shot because of the traffic and so I walked to the middle of the road and tried again. At this point the young woman looked up, saw me and looked directly at the camera. She was not afraid of the camera and began to smile and pose a little. I showed her the shots and we exchanged a few words. Her long chunni (scarf) contrasts beautifully with her green clothing and the dull, peeling paint of the backdrop.

Jojawer is another small town in Rajasthan. It has a bazar, several tea-shops and many friendly people, curious about outsiders. There is also a tiny art-deco neighbourhood, established by Jain families, most of whom have now departed for the larger cities. One evening, I passed a group of moustachioed men sitting talking outside a shop, all of them wearing orange turbans. Surprised to see me, they paused their conversation, asked me where I am from, and agreed to be photographed.

Jojawer is an important centre for the Ribari community - herdsmen known for their thick, rope-like red turbans and white garments. In the evenings, I walked a couple of kilometres outside of town to see the Ribari men returning home with their cattle after having been out all day, grazing them. I was invited into some of their compounds, where their wives and daughters were busy preparing the evening meal. One family were working together to administer a herbal “medicine” to their goats to prevent them catching diseases. Kallu Ram, perhaps in his 60s, owns a large piece of land and has about 40 cattle. He is pictured below, looking directly into the camera and holding his staff.

Readers who are familiar with my photography will know that I enjoy taking portraits. This year’s travels provided many opportunities to take close-ups. My best portraits come when I have been able to spend a little time with the subjects, to exchange a few words, to enjoy a snack or drink tea together. On the way to Pushkar, I made a brief stop in a Rajasthani village and met Lal Niwas in a tiny teashop. He comes from the Mali community - gardeners who cultivate vegetables and flowers which they then sell in local markets. While we sat enjoying our tea, a fight broke out between two young men who had some dispute relating to money. As they traded slaps and insults, Lal Niwas turned to me and said: “Welcome to our village.” He is pictured below.

And finally, early in the year, my daughter and I took a short road trip in the South Australian outback. It was very different from my usual travel experiences that focus on interactions with people. Here, I became fascinated by the landscape, the colours of the earth and the very big sky. It made me very aware of just how small we are and how big nature is, as illustrated by the picture below, showing our car and the South Australian sky.

In June 2026, I will return to the Jeannie Avent Gallery in East Dulwich, where several of the photographs in this post will be exhibited. I hope to see you there! In the meantime you can see my work on Instagram or on my website.

Ioana remembers - Maramures stories

“I don’t hear well but my eyesight is good and everything else works,” said Ioana. Not bad for someone born in 1923 and just turned 102. We were talking outside her hilltop house in Maramures, Romania, her home since childhood. She lives alone surrounded by woods and fields full of buttercups, daisies and other wild flowers. Once a month, with the aid of a walking stick, she goes down the hill to visit her grandson. “He's tried to persuade me to move down there, but I like it here,” she said. The grandson visits her at least once a day as does her son for whom she is full of praise. “I have the best son in the world. We drink schnapps together every morning,” she said.

Ioana has clear memories of her childhood including her very short time at school. "I went only once,” she said.  "I learned the Lord’s Prayer in one day so the teacher released me. In those days no-one checked that children went to school. Our families needed us to work.” That one day at school seems to have had a lifelong impact on her. Like many of the villagers, she is deeply religious. Images of various saints are displayed on the walls of her house and she frequently touches the wooden cross that hangs around her neck. Throughout our conversation she gave me blessings for a long and peaceful life, good health and freedom from war or hunger. 

“You pity us but who will pity you?"

She also has darker memories. A century of life in this part of Europe has exposed her to major social and political upheavals as well as personal trauma. I knew that Maramures was once home to many Jews including the Nobel laureate and Holocaust survivor, Elie Wiesel. I asked her if she remembered them. “Yes, there were many Jews here,” she said. “They lived in nice houses beside the road. They bought lambs and sold the meat. They were taken away in carts, first to another village where they were put on trains. We watched them go. They never came back.” The deportation of the Jews of Maramures took place in 1944, when Ioana would have been 20 or 21. She stopped speaking for a moment, summoning another part of the story from her memory. “Someone told me that as they were taken away one of them said: ‘You pity us, but who will pity you?’” and then added, "One man escaped somehow and was later baptised in Sighet (the nearest major town).”

Ioana is not the only villager who remembers the Jews. Calina, aged 96 also spoke about them: “Some of them were shopkeepers. One had a shop selling exercise books, pencils, things for school. I remember there was a bell that rang when you opened the shop door. There were maybe four Jewish children in my class. I remember some of the family names - Appel and Wilder. We spoke, but we were not friends. We all kept to our own.” I asked her if she remembered the deportation and who it was that took the Jews away. “I was 14 when they took them away. There were terrible screams,” she said, “I didn’t see who took them. Maybe it was the police. It was in the Hungarian time. The police wore a feather in their hat then.” 

Maramures had become part of Hungary in 1940 and the deportation took place four years later during the spring and summer when most of the deportees were sent to Auschwitz. Very few returned. Both Calina and Stefan, a resident of a neighbouring village, recalled learning Hungarian in school and could still remember a few simple words of the language. Stefan also recalled that many Jews lived in his village. “They were clever people. Some of them made hats. Others bought rams and charged for mating them,” he said. No Jews live in the village now, the only physical evidence of their long history there being a cemetery. There was once a synagogue, but Calina said: “After they were taken away it was destroyed and the materials used to build a new school.” 

“Such cruel, terrible things happened"

Unprovoked Ioana began to talk about the period immediately after the war. “When the war was over the Russians came. Don’t ask about them. Such cruel, terrible things happened. They came into the house and took things too,” she said. In 1947, the Romanian monarchy was abolished and the People’s Republic declared, consolidating communist power in the country. Ioana spoke about how this affected her village. “The Communists took a census of all the animals. They claimed all the wool - except that from the legs and tails of the sheep - the poorest quality wool. We were allowed to keep that. They were not meant to include rams in the census, but one of the local communists was very spiteful and included them too. There was also a famine after the war. We were always hungry. We would sometimes take bark from the beech tree, boil it and use it as food. They were very bad times,” she said.

We sat in silence for a few minutes and I worried that perhaps talking about the past had upset her or made her tired. I  prepared to leave but she asked me to stay a little longer and began talking about how her family established their home in the village. “When we moved here we started from scratch. We had to bring soil from elsewhere as what was here was not good. We had to make a garden - if you didn’t have one people would judge you,” she said. “We planted many trees. There was no road, only a track. We had poor relations with the neighbours and they wouldn’t allow us to make a road so we had to carry everything on our backs.” 

“Now is the best time to be alive, it’s all good now"

I asked her if she had ever left the village. She laughed and said: “I’ve only been to Cluj (a city about two hours drive away), and like school, I only went for one day.” I pondered over the fact that despite having only spent one day outside her village and one day at school, this woman had lived through, been impacted by, and had memories of, the major events of the twentieth century. As I left, she said: “Now is the best time to be alive, it’s all good now,” before giving me one more blessing, “Good wishes always, peace, health, no pain."  

You might also like I was young but he was very persuasive - Maramures stories.

Suggested reading

Elie Wiesel - Night

Yehuda Koren and Eilat Negev - Giants

“I was young but he was very persuasive” - Maramures stories

Patru ushered us onto the terrace of his traditional wooden house, quickly closing the gate behind us to keep his barking dog at bay. He wore a black hat and a blank, closed expression that he maintained for the duration of our visit. He lives in a small village in Maramures, Romania. I was there with the objective of capturing some of the stories of a culture slowly disappearing, and to photograph those who told them.  

Maramures is a region in northern Romania, close to the border with Ukraine. It has a complicated history and at different times has been under Hungarian and Romanian rule. Today, many of the villages lack young people, most having left for work in the cities or overseas. Almost everyone I met mentioned having a relative in the UK, Germany, Australia or elsewhere. Some had moved temporarily. Others had put down roots, bought property and invested in their education and career, making return unlikely. This rural exodus has a negative effect on communal life, traditions and cultural heritage. Many elderly people are left to fend for themselves and to manage difficult tasks including bringing in the harvest. After discovering the work of photographer Vlad Dumitrescu I was inspired to visit the region. Vlad acted as my guide, interpreter and fixer throughout my time there.

After a few moments on the terrace, Patru showed us into his house, where we met his wife Anuta. Although the morning was comfortably warm, the large, traditional stove was in use and the room was hot and clammy. “It’s for the cucumbers, they need to be kept warm,” said Anuta, pointing to a row of plastic pots on the windowsill. She told us that Patru had suffered a stroke two months earlier and had lost the use of his right arm. “We lost our cow because of this,” she said, “I tried to take over looking after her but she was aggressive, unmilkable, so I decided to sell her. We used to keep many animals, now we only have a dog.”

I admired their wooden house. “It’s one hundred years old,” said Anuta. She sat beside the window, sewing the cotton scarf that is seen hanging on the walls of many Maramures homes. The older village women are skilled at various types of needlework. Although tailoring was mainly a male pursuit in this region, women would embroider decorative elements on to finished garments. They would also spin and weave, skills learned from their mothers, grandmothers and other women. 

The room contained a small table, a few wooden chairs, the stove and a bed covered in thick, colourful blankets. A painting of the Last Supper hung on the wall together with other religious pictures and family photographs, including of the couple in their younger days. I would see similar pictures displayed in every house I visited. “We have been together for 52 years. I married him when I was 16. I was young but he was very persuasive and my father agreed to our marriage,” Anuta said. Patru is 78, his wife ten years younger.

She asked if we’d like to see their other room. It was considerably colder than the first one and the couple use it as a store for various household items including more blankets, a small oven, pickles and preserves for the long Maramures winter. The walls were covered in brightly coloured stencilled patterns. This room was also much darker and to continue her work, Anuta had to sit very close to the window. The white, hand-made net curtain admitted enough light to illuminate her face and hands. Patru stood behind her, watching her work. The scene reminded me of an old Flemish painting. They had already agreed to be photographed and I captured the moment with my camera.

When we left the couple accompanied us outside to say goodbye. Anuta leaned over the terrace. “Come again,” she said. Patru still did not speak, but remained in the shadows, eyes only for her. 

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Wanderlust

I often feel like traveling during February. The cold, dark days of winter’s final month make me long for sunlight, warmth and colour. You might call it wanderlust, which is the title of a new exhibition at the Paxton Centre in Crystal Palace, London. Five artists are participating in this show, including me. Deciding what to exhibit led me to review my travels and photography from last year and to share some of my favourite work in this post.

During 2024, I visited India twice, each time for a month. I also made shorter visits to Istanbul and Budapest, both cities that I have been to before, although not for some years. I spent a lot of time on photography on each my trips and in Budapest and Istanbul, I enjoyed linking up with some great local photographers who helped me get the shots I wanted and to interact with people. In India I saw Hyderabad for the first time and attended the Koovagam festival that I’d read about during lockdown and had wanted to see ever since. I also spent time in Chennai, Mumbai, Punjab, Rajasthan and Delhi catching up with old friends and making new ones.  

Some of the photographs I took on those trips formed part of my October exhibition at the Jeannie Avent Gallery in East Dulwich. It is a great place to exhibit and it was my fourth show there. My 2024 exhibition was entitled “Untold” a reference to the subjects of my work, who are often unseen or overlooked, and to my ongoing writing project on a similar theme. “Untold” included the three portraits and three candid shots featured in this post. All six tell or suggest a story. The subjects of the portrait photographs told me a little about their lives while the candid shots, taken in the moment, leave the viewer to think for themselves about what they are seeing.

I also received my first ever commission last year. I was invited to photograph the cast of Earworm - a play staged at The Divine, a fringe venue in North London. I was a little nervous about the project and there were some environmental challenges about doing the shoot in the basement theatre, not least a revolving disco ball that couldn’t be switched off! Despite this, I was pleased with the results and more importantly, so was the writer and director and the four cast members. It was good to see my work on the production's digital and hard copy publicity.  

Ravi as Karuppanasamy

People who follow my work will know I enjoy portrait photography. Faces can tell stories but if the photographer is willing to take time, the subject is also likely to tell some of those stories. By chance my three favourite portraits from last year all have a spiritual theme. I met Ravi in April during the Koovagam festival. It was an extremely hot day, well over 40 degrees and very crowded. About 200,000 people attend the festival each year, swelling the village population from it’s usual few hundred. Ravi is a farmer who also participates in community theatre. He was putting on theatrical make-up and preparing for a performance when I saw him and asked if I could take his picture. He agreed and explained that he was to play the part of Karuppanasamy, a village deity regarded as the Hindu god of righteousness and who has many devotees in southern India and amongst the Tamils of Sri Lanka. 

Gupta Nath

A few days after meeting Ravi, I met Gupta Nath in the narrow lane of Chennai’s flower market. He is a sadhu, a wandering Hindu ascetic, who has renounced the material world to go in search of enlightenment. He explained: “I walked here from Kashi (also known as Banaras or Varanasi). I have been going from temple to temple trying to find god, but now I know he isn’t in the temples, he is in our hearts.” He wore markings on his forehead that indicate he is a follower of the Hindu god, Shiva, and he carried a staff decorated with a garland, no doubt given to him in the market. Gupta Nath’s comments and photograph attracted much interest in my October show. It is my favourite portrait from last year. 

My third portrait selection is that of a Pandit, taken in Nawalghar, a small town in Rajasthan, India. The word “pandit” comes from the Sanskrit “pandita” meaning "learned man” “wise man” or “teacher”. The markings on his forehead show him to be a follower of the Hindu god Vishnu. He owns a small general store in the centre of the town and was patiently waiting for customers. I was drawn to him due to his contemplative expression.

Contemplative Pandit

My favourite candid shots of last year were also taken in India. In two of them the subject's face is unseen. This adds a further challenge to the viewer, preventing them from considering the expression or mood of those photographed. What is the story of the young woman standing beside the water at the Chennai fish market? Is she waiting for someone to return from the sea - perhaps her father, husband or brother? Or, is she longing to be somewhere else, to escape to a new life or to be reunited with someone who has already left? And why are there so many shoes, seemingly abandoned on the dockside? 

Similarly, in a Hyderabad street scene, what has the laughing girl just been told by the two other young women? Has she just made a joke or has she been told one? Is this a friendly exchange or a confrontation? Is this genuine laughter or bravado? I was drawn to this scene by the preponderance of the colours red and yellow and the interesting signage in the backdrop, but it is the expression of the young woman that is what Henri Cartier-Bresson called the “decisive moment,” freezing in time something that may never happen again.  

On the waterfront

Red and yellow

I captured another decisive moment in Barnala, a town of 120,000 in the Punjab, India. It is a relatively modern city with no tradition of tourism and the only reason I visited was to break my journey between two Bikaner and Amritsar. The plan had been to get up early and drive on, but I couldn’t resist spending an hour walking in the streets before leaving. 

Despite the early hour, the temperature was already in the high thirties with 85% humidity. I encountered a large group of elderly Sikh men, all former electricity workers. They were waiting to travel to Patiala to take part in a protest about their pensions not having been increased despite the rising cost of living. They invited me to drink tea with them before they boarded coaches to go to the demonstration. A little further on I passed several small, open fronted businesses, including car repairers and a tailor who sat in front of a huge electric fan but was still sweating profusely. 

A few steps further and I came to a tea shop where a worker was obscured in clouds of steam that rose from the pots of boiling chai he was preparing. I took several shots as the steam waxed and waned, until finally it cleared to reveal the chaiwalla (tea-seller), wiping his face with a red and white gamcha (worker’s scarf), a religious image on the wall behind him and another figure coming into view. I think it’s my picture of the year. It captures the decisive moment when the steam clears...although the real decisive moment may have been when I chose to delay my departure from Barnala, enabling me to take this shot. Oh, and I will be traveling later this month when I will be returning to south-east Asia to escape the winter and to hear mores tories.

Preparing the chai

All of the photographs featured in this post (and lots more) are included in the Wanderlust exhibition at the Paxton Centre in Crystal Palace.  Four other artists are participating and their work includes painting as well as photography. The exhibition runs until the end of February. The Centre is open Monday to Friday 9-5 and Saturday and Sunday 10-5. It also has a cafe, an impressive programme of events and activities, and some very reasonably priced hot desking space. Come along! 

"I was so happy I couldn't sleep" - Stories from Cambodia

"I was born at the end of the Khmer Rouge period, so I have no memory of it" said Kimleng Sang, acclaimed Cambodian photographer and popular tour guide. He continued, "My parents spoke later on about having to work very hard and not getting enough to eat. We were not allowed to eat fish, chicken or meat, only boiled rice. People would sometimes take papaya or banana roots and make a soup, but it was not permitted to eat the fruit." 

So strictly were these rules enforced by Pol Pot's communist Khmer Rouge regime, that when Kimleng's father secretly caught a chicken in the forest, his older brother didn't know what it was. "My father told him it was a special kind of rat," he said, "because eating a chicken was enough to get you killed if anyone found out." A favourite trick of the Khmer Rouge was to question children who were less likely to realise the implications of their answers and could inadvertently cause whole families to be summarily executed. The family were farmers, and better equipped than many to survive the forced labour, but they lost at least three relatives - a cousin, an uncle and one of Kimleng's grandfathers, all of whom disappeared and have never been found.

"The worst job I ever did"

The Khmer Rouge were driven out in 1979, having managed to kill or cause the deaths of up to two million people in the preceding four years. Over time some semblance of normal life returned, but the family still struggled. Kimleng explained, "Although we owned some paddy fields and grew rice it was not enough for us to live on. When I was 14 I left home for Phnom Penh and took a job as a security guard and gardener for a rich family. They had been living in France, but returned in 1993, when the first elections were held after the departure of the Khmer Rouge." This was one of several jobs he would take, including unblocking toilets, driving and later on, working in a garment factory. He describes the latter as "the worst job I ever did. I worked from six at night until seven in the morning making clothes. I was tired all the time." For these long shifts he received $45 per month, $15 of which was his contribution to a shared rent, leaving very little for food, clothes and other expenses. 

He realised that his lack of education was holding him back. "I saw that city life could be good and that if you were educated you didn't have to work as hard as the people in the village," he said. "I left school when I was 13, and only completed grade five. I couldn't read or write even in Khmer but I had a friend who was a teacher who helped me become literate in my own language and also taught me English."

"I fell in love with photography"

In 1999, Kimleng returned to his village and told the family he didn't want to work as a farmer. Instead, he bought a tuk-tuk, drove local customers and began to meet foreign tourists. One tourist would help change his life. "I met many foreigners, including several who came for photography. I worked as their driver and helped to carry their equipment. In 2005 or 2006, I drove Canadian photographer David Bibbing during his stay in Cambodia. By this stage I was paying close attention to how the photographers worked and David noticed my keen interest. A year later he came back and surprised me with the gift of a simple digital camera. He helped me to use it and I fell in love with photography. When he gave me the camera I was so happy I couldn't sleep."

Kimleng went on to meet more photographers and received advice on lighting, technique and composition. He began combining his love for photography with his transport business and promoted himself as "the tuk-tuk photographer." By 2015, he had become successful enough to employ a driver which meant he could spend more time talking directly to his clients, explaining cultural matters and helping them get the pictures they wanted. "This made my service better and also provided a job for someone else," he said. 

I asked what it is that makes photography so attractive to him. He said "I especially like photographing people and love interacting with them, but I also enjoying taking pictures of nature." I recently spent three days with him, photographing life in villages close to Siem Reap, where he now lives. His affection for the people was obvious. He knew many of the villagers and took time to ask about their lives and families, listening intently to their stories. He also has a lively sense of humour and enjoyed making them laugh. His connection to the people and landscape can clearly be seen in his work which deserves an even wider audience.

Due to his own early experience, Kimleng strongly believes in the importance of education. During the covid lockdown, he started a school for village children to learn English. Unlike other schools in Cambodia, it does not require fees, but to fund resources, the pupils collect plastic items which are then sold for recycling. He explained, "this helps us to buy learning materials and also contributes to a cleaner environment, clearing the village of discarded items". The teachers are volunteers from overseas  and teach the class online. "We are very grateful to our overseas friends who help us. We would like to develop the school further, perhaps with a resident volunteer teacher who would come and stay with us." Anyone interested in helping with the school can contact Kimleng directly through his social media links, listed below. 

You can follow Kimleng on Instagram and find more details about his photography tours on his website.

For more stories from Cambodia see I used to steal small amounts of food just to survive and I felt a burning sensation on my forehead and realised I'd been hit

The photographs featured in this post were provided by, and are used with the permission of Kimleng Sang

"We slowly lose our hearing because of the noise" - Stories from Bangladesh

Much has been written about Chittagong's notorious ship-breaking yards. Their appalling safety record and working conditions have been the subject of numerous documentaries. The owners, not welcoming this kind of exposure, no longer admit visitors. Dhaka's Karaniganj ship-repair yard is less well-known and attracts little media attention. This may be why I was able to enter unchallenged, look around, take photographs and talk to the workers, despite the presence of several managerial staff. No-one seemed perturbed by my being there, and there were no problems with photography. One of the supervisors even asked me to take his portrait.

I noticed the noise from the yard well before I reached the gate. Hundreds of small hammers chip away the rust from the ships' sides, releasing toxic particles into the air and damaging the workers' hearing. Other hazards include chemical fumes and extreme heat. Some of the men wore hard hats but most  worked without protective gear. 

I asked some of the men (I saw only male workers here, unlike at Mirpur)  about the lack of safety equipment and the impact of the work on their health. Ripon, aged 32 and a Dhaka native, said "When I first came here I had a headache every day. I'm used to it now and I don't get them anymore, but we slowly lose our hearing because of the noise". Shahin, a welder, aged 30, said "I have goggles and a mask but I can't wear them. It's too hot and it gets difficult to see". Like several others, he also reported having respiratory problems and headaches. Shahin had dreams of a better life. "I wanted to work in Singapore" he said. "An employment broker asked for $4,000 to find me a job there. I took a course in welding and then borrowed the whole amount to pay him, but he disappeared with the money and now I have a debt. I have a wife and two small children and life is very difficult". 

Many Bangladeshis work overseas and send money back to their family to pay off debts, to improve their living conditions, or to educate their children. Unfortunately stories like Shahin's are not unusual including in the UK. Last year the British Government published a warning about employment scams that target Bangladeshi nationals.

Back in Karaniganj, the ships are drawn up onto the muddy banks of the heavily polluted, and in places, foul-smelling Buriganga river. A few hundred metres from the water, behind the ships, there are small houses where many of the workers and their families live. It is here that new propellers are made. Visitors venturing this far need to tread very carefully as they pass red hot metal and open fires, trying not to breathe in the steam, smoke and sulphurous air, while avoiding areas of soft, sinking ground. None of this seems to trouble the workers or the children, or the goats and dogs that live, play and wander around in this area.

Some of those children are themselves employed here. One 18 year old painter told me he started work in the shipyard when he was 12. He was one of very few wearing some kind of protection - a thin scarf covering his mouth and nose. He removed it and asked me to take his picture. There are reports of children as young as five or six carrying out some of the tasks but I did not see this when I visited.  

Amidst the mud, noise and noxious fumes there are occasional scenes of beauty. I saw a young man climb down from a ship, his movements delicate and precise, like those of a dancer. As he descended he made shadows and shapes on the freshly painted, vivid red ship. He swung and stepped from one narrow wooden platform to another, manoeuvring by the rope used to secure the wood to the ship. Elsewhere groups of three or four men stood on similar structures, removing paint or adding an extra coat. Like their workmates, they make about $5 per day. A little further on, water poured from the rear of one of the ships. A labourer waiting close-by, appeared to be standing under the water - taking a shower fully clothed. But this was a visual trick and no water touched him.

A couple of hours in the shipyard was enough for me. It was hot, my head ached, my eyes were itchy and I'd pulled my scarf up over my nose and mouth to block the dust and fumes. Just before leaving, I was offered a drink at a small tea stall near the exit. I joined a group of workers, taking a break, drinking chai and eating snacks to give themselves a little more energy to complete their shift. They wanted to know my name, where I am from and what I was doing there. I don't speak Bangla but was able to use some of my limited knowledge of Hindi, which surprised and amused those who understood it. Many of them were not from Dhaka but had moved there to find work. Most of them had left school aged 10 or 12. They joked with each other and we spoke about football, films and family before they went back to work and I went back back to my hotel. 

You might also like "There is no work without hard work"  or The Rickshaw Woman of Kamalpur from the Stories of Bangladesh series.

You can see more pictures from my Bangladesh trip here

Follow me on instagram at @adrianyekkes

"There Is No Work Without Hard Work" - Stories From Bangladesh

"In Bangladesh, there is no work without hard work" said Omison, a day labourer at Mirpur, Dhaka. Just a few kilometres from the centre of the city, Mirpur is one of several places in Dhaka where goods are delivered for unloading and onward sale. All day, hundreds of labourers collect 30kg baskets of coal, place them on their heads and then walk up a steep narrow plank before emptying the goods onto a dark, dusty mountain. They repeat this process over and over again. For each load, a foreman hands them a plastic token. The tokens are collected at the end of the day and the workers are paid 3 thaka for each one. That's less than 3 pence. A  cup of street tea in Dhaka costs between 5 and 10 thaka. 

Omison is not sure of her age, but thinks she is about 60. She wore a purple and orange floral print sari, part of which she pulled up to cover her head in the way many Bangladeshi women do when talking to strangers. I asked her how she came to be working as a labourer. She said  "I've been doing this work for many years. I can't remember exactly when I started. It's very hard but I don't want to beg". I asked about her family. She said, "I am originally from Jamalpur. My father was a farm worker and my mother begged in the street. I live alone. I don't have a husband and my son is dead." I pressed a little, still curious about why she is doing this particular type of work. "I didn't go to school" she said. "I am not educated. I tried to get work in a garment factory or in the home of a wealthy lady but they wouldn't take me. What else can I do?"

As I stood and watched, the endless line of workers moved up and down the ramp, their motion regular and unchanging like the workings of a clock and their moving shadows reflected on the side of the barge. They have a short break in the morning and another one for lunch when, for a few thaka, they can buy rice and watery curry from one of the stalls that have sprung up to serve them. The breaks are taken in shifts. The line never stops.

"I have to take painkillers every day after work so that I can sleep"

Most of the workers are men, but there are also several women. Most of them younger than Omison, but at  a different location, I met a woman doing similar work who said she was 66. Male or female, they have similar stories. Most of their parents were day labourers either in rural areas or in the city. The majority had either never been to school or had received only a few years of education. Despite this, they were hopeful for their children and the younger workers I spoke to claimed to be sending their sons and daughters to school. This does not mean that they will complete their education and many Bangladeshi children leave the classroom before they reach their teens,  to start work and to help the family survive.

All of the workers I met told me they suffer from headaches, back pain and problems with their knees and shoulders. Krishna, aged 30 said "I have to take painkillers every day after work so that I can sleep". I asked if they had respiratory problems because of their exposure to the coal dust. All of them said the dust did not affect them. I hope that this is true but as Dhaka has recently been identified as having the  poorest air quality of any city in the world, it may be that they haven't noticed due to their constantly breathing in dust and other pollutants.

Most day labourers cannot afford to be ill. They are only paid for the work they do and there is no sick-pay. I asked how they had managed during Covid. Tinku, aged 48 said "It was a struggle. I have two children to feed. I had to buy food and pay the rent,  so I took a loan from an NGO". He is now making repayments at an interest rate of 15%. Omison had been able to stay at home. "Friends helped me" she said and then added "I didn't have to beg". She mentioned begging three times during our conversation. Financial security is precarious here and many live with the fear of having to ask for money in the streets. 

Dreaming of some other place

Bangladesh is full of surprises. In the midst of this hard labour, two Hijra, members of the country's third gender community, sat on the ground, one arranging the other's hair. They saw me, and start pulling faces and joking. They were quickly joined by two other Hijra who begin to dance, and to pretend to fight, as they staged a "scene" for the camera. They are also employed as labourers which is most unusual. I have met and interviewed several members of this community in India, but have never encountered or heard of Hijra working as labourers.

Beside the food stalls, there was, of all things, an ice-cream kiosk. A small boy, in a long-sleeved shirt and tatty shorts, stood a few feet away from it, slowly eating an ice-cream on stick. His legs and feet were covered in grey dust. I was certain that one, or both of his parents, were unloading coal. He briefly looked at the camera, but not in an excited or curious way like many children do. Rather, he had a detached air, as if he wasn't really there and was dreaming of some other place. He may well have been dreaming of better things, but the cruel truth is that when he reaches his teenage years, he is likely to be doing the same work as his parents.

You might also like The Rickshaw Woman of Kamalapur 

You can see more pictures from my Bangladesh trip here.

Follow me on instagram @adrianyekkes

Street photography, responsible tourism and finding Lahore, an interview with Amna Zuberi

Amna Zuberi is one of Pakistan's leading photographers. I became aware of her work during lockdown in early 2021, whilst traveling vicariously on Instagram. I purchased a copy of her book on Lahore, and on receiving it, was moved to write to her, to say how much it had lifted my mood, made me want to visit the city, and inspired me to pick up my camera after a period of despondency. Just one year later, we spoke on Zoom, Amna enjoying the afternoon sunshine in her Lahore garden, me looking out at a grey February morning in East London. Over the course of an hour we discussed street photography, responsible tourism and her book, "Finding Lahore". 

Amna began by explaining that photography is her second career. She graduated from the National College of Arts in Lahore before working in corporate advertising, design and strategy. After ten years   she wanted a change. She said "I began teaching a graduate course but also had time to start exploring my own country. I picked up a camera and began taking pictures". In 2016 her work came to the attention of a publisher who asked her to contribute to a coffee table book -"Pakistan Heritage Cuisine - A Food Story" - which contains more than one hundred of her photographs. This led to further commissions, including "Drops of the Divine - A Story of Milk in Pakistan" and "A Reel on Karachi". 

"I do not want to look at the city in the way a tourist does"

Amna explained that "Finding Lahore" did not start out as a book "It was a personal journey in which I sought to better understand my birthplace". She had been photographing the streets of old Lahore for a number of years when her publisher threw in the idea of creating a coffee table book from this body of work. The result is both a superb photographic record of the quarter known as the Walled City, and a story in which the photographer expresses her love for the place. 

The project took six years and provoked her to think about her relationship with her home town and how it affects her photography. She said "I do not want to look at the city in the way a tourist does. I realised that I was dissecting Lahore in layers. In each decade, new layers are added - emotional, psychological and physical. I was doing the work to produce a book, but I was dissecting the city for myself, to better understand it". This comes through very clearly in "Finding Lahore" where she captures the Walled City's textures, colours, light and shade. The layers are exposed in the decorative details of an ancient door and the peeling paint in the mosque of Mariyam Zamani. The panoramic views of old Lahore reveal other layers, including physical, sometimes haphazard upward extensions of buildings, and social layers with laundry, day-beds and old chairs as evidence of life lived on the roof tops.

"I've got used to the curiosity and intrigue that comes with a woman walking with a camera around her neck in this part of the world"

There are also human layers to the city. I asked how the people reacted to their inclusion in her book. She said "Their reactions are diverse. I gave prints to some of them. The three gentlemen in the black and white picture taken during the winter were delighted. On the other hand, the young man dramatically flipping a puri was completely nonchalant. Some people want to talk, others do not." She explained about how she took one of my favourite pictures "I noticed a man laying down, asleep and raised my camera. He briefly opened his eyes and then closed them again, untroubled by my presence".

This reminded me of some of my own street photography experiences, and we discussed the moral dilemmas associated with this genre. There is a tension between wanting to capture, authentic, candid, truthful shots and not impinging on the dignity of people in the street. This can include what is sometimes called "the romanticisation of poverty". We agreed that there is nothing romantic about poverty and that photography can bring otherwise unheard stories to the attention of a wider audience. If a story is not told, then there is no possibility of bringing about change or at least increasing awareness. She added "If I ask for permission to take a picture and it's refused, then I accept that and walk away. But this rarely happens and people are almost always willing to be photographed".

I asked about her experience as a woman photographer in Pakistan. She said "I've got used to the curiosity and intrigue that comes with a woman walking with a camera around her neck in this part of the world." She spoke about a recent assignment in ultra-conservative Baluchistan. "Most women there are covered. When I got out of the car to begin shooting, I was so nervous that I was shaking. But no-one caused a problem. Quite the opposite, the market vendors were interested in what I was doing and one of them gave me fruit to eat on my journey home".  

"This is a stunning country. I am amazed at how much one country can have - some of the highest mountains in the world, beautiful beaches and the remains of ancient civilisations"

Amna recently posted some comments on social media, that provoked a lot of discussion about tourism in Pakistan. I asked her what had prompted this. She smiled and said "This is a stunning country. I am amazed at how much one country can have - some of the highest mountains in the world, beautiful beaches and the remains of ancient civilisations. There is huge potential for tourism here, but we need to manage it better, to plan and share information and find ways to limit the negative impacts that it can bring".

Although Covid has meant that there have been very little international travel for the last two years, internal tourism has been possible. Amna reported that six million domestic tourists visited northern Pakistan over the last year. Whilst acknowledging the welcome boost to the local economy, she pointed out that other factors need to be taken into consideration if there are to be lasting benefits, saying "Some places lack the infrastructure to deal with this influx. There are challenges with the quality of roads, having enough hotels or home-stays, places to eat and sanitary facilities. Visitor expectations need to be managed and local people trained in hosting, guiding and catering skills so that their communities can maximise the benefits of tourism". These issues are not peculiar to Pakistan and many countries struggle to balance  economic gains with protecting the environment, and resisting threats to authenticity as visitor numbers increase.

Covid also caused Amna to put some of her photographic activities on hold. As the situation improves, she is beginning to return to these projects. You can  follow her on instagram @amnazuberi

Copies of "Finding Lahore" can be obtained online from Liberty Books or from Amazon.

Thanks to Amna Zuberi for providing all the images used in this post. 

You might also like A City That Has A Bit Of Everywhere But Is Not Like Anywhere or We Want Our Films To Have Soul, To Be Memorable - an interview with Babitha Matthew - award-winning film director.

"A city that has a bit of everywhere but is not like anywhere"

I first met Manjit Singh Hoonjan, owner of Calcutta Photo Tours, in 2017. I booked his early morning Mesmerising Markets tour and for three hours I experienced the crowds, colours, sounds and smells of Kolkata's vegetable and fish markets. He helped me engage with people, gave me the back story to the markets' activities and I came away with some great pictures. Since then I've made a point of repeating the experience whenever I've been in India. We spoke recently on zoom and I took the opportunity to get the full story of Calcutta Photo Tours.

"Her pictures were in colour and attracted more attention than mine"

Manjit started taking pictures at a young age and was given his first camera for his eighth birthday. "It was an Agfa click 4 with a plastic body and took black and white pictures" he said. He was delighted with it but recalls "I went on a school picnic and took several photographs. One of my classmates also had a camera. Her pictures were in colour and attracted more attention than mine". 

He did not have a colour camera until the age of 17 but by that time his work was already attracting  attention. College Street is the centre of the book trade in Kolkata and like many other students Manjit went there to buy textbooks. On one visit he saw a notice bearing the word "Silence" on the street lamp post, close to the exterior wall of a hospital, under a poster for the film "Kab Tak Chup Rahungi" which means "how much longer will we remain quiet". He wanted to photograph the two notices together and to enter The Telegraph newspaper's regular photo competition. His father borrowed a camera from a friend, bought film for it and Manjit took two shots before returning it. He then had to  wait for the friend to use the rest of the film and have it developed. The pictures were chosen for publication and he won a prize of 250 rupees which he used to open his first bank account.

After completing his studies he spent some time working in, and then managing, the family print and graphic design business. In his spare time, he continued with photography and an American friend suggested he start running photo walks in Kolkata. At the time most photo tours tended to concentrate on whole regions and lasted at least a couple of weeks. After a few years of running the walks in his spare time he decided to close the family business and to concentrate on photography. When I asked him about his family's reaction to this he said "at first they were worried and pointed out that tourism, the main source of business for the walks, is seasonal, but when my work started getting a lot of media attention, they became very proud". 

"I am booking this tour and I hope you will be there"

He recalls his first ever client "A Dutch woman sent me a message saying 'I am booking this tour and I hope you will be there'". He too had concerns and remembers thinking "I'm getting up at 5 a.m. will she even be there?". They both turned up and since then his decision to concentrate on photography has brought great success. Trip Advisor lists the tours as one of the most popular things to do in Kolkata and his work has been featured in National Geographic, The Wall Street Journal, The Telegraph,  the Guardian and other high-profile publications. In 2018 his Durga Puja pictures were seen by millions when they were exhibited outdoors on London's South Bank as part of the Thames Festival.

The Hoonjan family have been in West Bengal for three generations and have a strong connection to Kolkata. Despite his Sikh heritage and religion Manjit considers himself to be deeply connected with Bengal. He said "When I started some people queried how a Sikh could really know Kolkata but more recently a Bengali friend said that I am more Bengali than he is". I asked him what inspires his desire to show Kolkata to others. He explained "It is a city that has a bit of everywhere but is not like anywhere". This is reflected in the range of tours he offers. The Culture Kaleidoscope tour reveals the religious diversity of Kolkata and also includes a visit to India's only China Town. European Calcutta concentrates on the colonial legacy of the city and Mesmerising Markets shows the day to day life of some of Kolkata's key workers. All include short breaks for chai and snacks - important elements of any day in India - and the telling of stories related to the tours. 

I asked Manjit about how people respond to the tours. He said "Sometimes they become emotional, particularly people who have not previously left the tourist trail and who are having their first glimpse of real, day to day life in the city. A Chinese family who came on the Cultural Kaleidoscope tour were delighted to be able to speak to locals in their own language. One member of the family said they felt so happy they had goosebumps". My own favourite comment came from a group who had begun their tour of India in Kolkata with Manjit ."They told me I had spoiled their trip because later guides had not been able to equal their time with me". In my case, that first early morning walk in the markets led to Kolkata becoming my favourite Indian city and one of the places I've missed most in the last two years of being unable to travel. 

Please note all photographs in this post were provided by Manjit Singh Hoonjan.

You can follow Calcutta Photo Tours on instagram and on Facebook

For more details of the tours and booking see Calcutta Photo Tours