Holidaying in a lens

When I was seven my family went with some friends to Greece and Israel. I remember so much about that holiday.

I remember the heat when the plane stopped to refuel in Nairobi and we were not allowed to get off the plane.  (it was the 1970’s stay with me). I remember distinctly waking up alone in the tour bus in Greece with a bus driver that only spoke Greek and no sight of my family (they had popped out to get dinner)  Sufficeth it to say my therapist also remembers that story. I remember the taste of shish kebabs outside the Parthenon and the smell of Dizzingoff street in Tel Aviv. I recall the jungle gym on the beach in Eilat and I can see our tour guide Vicki as if she was with me now.

Not one photo of that holiday exists as far as I am aware. There certainly weren’t digital images or video recordings. Remember the plane had to stop to refuel? This was a long time ago.

There have been many holidays since, most of them I recall really well (funny thing that I remember my childhood more than my late teens and twenties – says something doesn’t it?) I remember the bikini I was wearing when I developed my fear of the ocean after getting dunked on the shores of Amamzantoti just after my parents divorced (another holiday memory my therapist recalls well.)

I remember trying to fry an egg on the walkway at Umhlanga testing out whether it was really hot enough to boil an egg.

I can see the streets of London, the changing of the guards. I can even summon up the hunger I felt in Paris because I am the fussiest eater alive.

At an instant I can recall the smells of cathedrals in Italy, the size of the peaches in Rome, the sight of the amazing architecture. I can trace the outline of the villa we rented in Tuscany with my eyes closed, conjure the meals we prepared and cringe at the thought of how we “mastered” the traffic.

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So why is it now that on my magical and wonderful tour to the US I am so obsessed with photographing every minute? Is it because of my Little Pencil? My determination to ensure his perfect childhood is documented? (I’m hoping that in time he’ll tell his therapist how ideal his childhood was) or is it just because I’m so amazed at every thing I see through his eyes?

Maybe it’s the pressure of social media and the belief that my Facebook wall needs to show the world what fun I am having?

I have thousands of images of Little Pencil. I’m the type that prints them all out and puts them in an album. I can tell you for sure there’s no reason why. Nobody looks at them. You know how people say no one will want to look at the photos stored on your computer? – well they’re as likely to want to flip through your holiday photos in an album. As likely meaning they will have no desire at all. I can’t even get my husband to look at them meaningfully.

Will this be the holiday that I remember the lens, the click of the camera, the perfect smile?

I hope it’s the perfect smile. Not so much the lens.

And in case you are wondering what I am doing with all the pictures? There are some on my Tumblr and there are about a million that I will make into a coffee table book when I get back and never look at again.