The world is taking on sharp outlines. The yellow-and-blue beach huts are a cute backdrop for photos, but to me they just look ordinary. Paint is peeling off the planks, the first bits of grass are piercing through the pebbles on the ground, and as the mist clears, that whole beautiful, dreamy, pastel world fades away. Even the blur effect doesn't help anymore. The magic is wearing off, and we are leaving the noikosmos. At the time, I didn't even realize what an exceptional encounter – place and time – it actually was.

I remember just fragments of our conversations. He mentioned having bought credit on Skype so he could make cheap calls to his wife in the Czech Republic, some ballet dancer.

He pointed out a spot we were passing where a swan had previously gotten tangled up on a fishing hook, and they had to rescue the poor thing.

I, on the other hand, was enthusiastically telling him how I’d managed to score this Lensbaby lens for a great price. It had a cracked plastic focusing ring, but it wasn't an issue at all when shooting.

He took me to some castle, then up to the cliffs, we popped into a tiny shop with old camera gear, but it was the morning on the beach that hit the hardest. I stayed until the next day. That evening, he was talking about all his favorite photographers, and I told him how much I loved the atmosphere in Edward Hopper's paintings.

Drifting through Noikosmos #11, 2011