My inner photojournalist

It all started with a submarine. The inscription read, "My first photograph. Submarine. Plymouth docks." I discovered it while flipping through a school autobiography project dating back some 20-odd years, buried among pictures of particularly hirsute family members and many yards of trouser fabric.

In reality, what the picture captured was more like half a submarine -- and not the pretty half either. I managed to get a whole ship in the next shot, along with the backs of several heads. This early, slightly avant-garde foray into travel photography may have offered little to those interested in the naval exhibits of Plymouth Docks, but aficionados of '70s hairstyles were in luck.

The wilderness years

Tragically, my early photographic promise was left to wither for some time. I passed into the "in-front-of" years, when my family subscribed to the philosophy that any scenic view was greatly enhanced by sticking a couple of children in the foreground. This evolved into a rather sophisticated "friends-doing-stupid-stuff" period, when shots of classic landmarks invariably featured my grinning acquaintances holding things in a suggestive manner. Man, was I cultured.

It wasn't until I visited the United Arab Emirates in my early twenties that my perspective began to change. I wasn't a well-traveled youth; a couple of family beach holidays were the sum total of my international sojourns. This was my first trip to somewhere so distinctly foreign.

For the first time, I set about creating a record of a place I might never see again and would struggle to describe upon my return. I took shots of Arabic script nailed to broken signs and captured views from across Dubai's creek of ramshackle wooden dhows lined up in front of skyscrapers, all to portray the contrasts between wealth and tradition that struck me so forcefully. Of course, everyone back home preferred the photo of my brother-in-law sticking his tongue out, but I knew where I was going.

The gradual shift from holiday snapper to travel photographer continued (in my own head, at least) with a trip to Poland in the early '90s. There is nothing like journeying into the unknown to bring out the pretentious adventurer in a man. Warsaw, Krakow, and their surroundings provided ample opportunities to document the country's emergence from years of austerity.

My pictures from that trip reflect an eclectic experience; an appreciation of Renaissance courtyards found in the Jagellonian University and the Wawel is evident, along with obsessive photographic studies of Polish pinball, Zywiec beer, and Eastern European soccer stadia.

Together, these pictures formed a rich description of a distinctly personal travel experience. They also demonstrated the limitations of a cheap camera and a clueless approach to composition, but at least the subject matter was improving.

The obsessive amateur

I started posting travel journals on IgoUgo (at http://www.igougo.com), a travel community, some 2.5 years ago. I wanted to illustrate what I'd written with images that were emblematic, yet original.

I began to look more closely at the pictures in travel supplements and magazines (Global and Wanderlust were two of my favorites) and read how-to books like Richard I'Anson's excellent Travel Photography, A Guide to Taking Better Pictures). I even invested in a Nikon Coolpix Digital camera (since upgraded to a rather special Panasonic DMC-FZ5).

The very fact that I was putting these pictures on display and that they had a purpose -- to illustrate my journal and create a sense of place -- encouraged a keener eye and more frequent experimentation. Of course, this meant pulling out the camera anywhere and everywhere, not just shooting scenery but also filling the frame with close-ups of architectural details and street life.

Luckily, my wife has the patience of a saint, although I am accumulating an ever-growing number of pictures in a folder marked "Wife and Buggy Disappearing into the Distance."

My wife and I share a passion for France, Provence in particular, where villages seem to have grown right out of the hills. I love walking the twisting lanes and exploring the colorful markets. The ancient streets and squares are a photographer's dream -- their distinctive monochrome lends the scenes a timeless quality. Close-ups of market produce -- glistening olives, mounds of herbs -- arouse the senses and demand to be photographed.

I can't walk past a tatty, care-worn cafe with a faded sign and peeling shutters without trying to capture a new angle -- a new, more personal take on a popular image. Of course, I don't necessarily have to stop for a pastis at every single one, but it's all part of the experience.

My inner photojournalist

My family and I have long been joined on our travels by my inner photojournalist, and now my IgoUgo friends have joined the party as well. I don't regard them as demanding companions, but my wife may beg to differ. Restaurants can be particularly testing. A digital camera and small notebook have begun appearing at the table to document the ambience, surliness of service, and my wife's choice of food ("It's nice, okay? Can I finish it now?").

This level of civility is not always maintained until dessert, and certainly not if the camera comes out too often. Prepping to photograph the food invariably initiates a sharp exit to the bathroom for my easily embarrassed wife, but even she can't deny the improved service a well-directed lens and a little note taking can bring.

There's a danger in getting a little obsessive, I guess. I haven't yet written to a Spanish town council and demanded to know the purpose of the television mast on top of their 15th-century castle, but I suspect it's only a matter of time. I do show mild irritation when my trip coincides with what appears to be the annual "Cover Every Building with Scaffolding" festival, but I'll just have to check my calendar more carefully.

And I do feel I've maintained a sense of perspective; my marriage has survived an unfortunate film-meets-nail-varnish incident that my wife and I agreed not to speak of again. And, since becoming a father, I've even once again discovered the merits of the "in-front-of" school of photography.

I'm still far from competent; though I know my aperture from my shutter speed and appreciate the merits of a mini-tripod, Ansel Adams would hardly feel threatened by the odd atmospheric vista I capture on film. There's a lot more to learn, but I'm proud enough to decorate the walls of my home with the better shots, and my IgoUgo pictures have even drawn a compliment or two from fellow travelers.

And the best part? I think I could show the submarine's better side now.

Jason Broekhuizen has written about his travels on IgoUgo.com since 2003. When not photographing or recounting his latest adventure, he spends his days as a usability consultant for a UK software company and takes French classes to improve his boulangerie communication skills. He lives in Nottingham, UK, with his wife and one-year-old son.