Finding new places, returning to old favorites, and always wondering what’s around the next corner.

“Where are we going next?”

It’s a question I get asked a lot.

Most of my workshops are planned a year or two ahead, so what people are really asking is, “What are you thinking about next?”

The answer is: I’m always thinking about what’s next.

But there’s another question that comes up in my head all the time:

How many times can we go back?

The truth is, I really like going back.

There’s something about returning to a place I already know. I know the roads. I know where the light falls. I know where to eat, who to call, and sometimes even what time the locals are likely to show up. And as a photographer, I like the repetition. The first visit is often about figuring things out. The second time, you start seeing differently. You notice things you missed. You can be more intentional.

I think that’s part of why places like Iceland, Bali, France and the wild horses are so addicting to me. I can go back year after year and still feel like there’s something new to see, photograph or experience.

And then there’s the people.

When you return to a place, you’re not just returning to a landscape. You’re returning to relationships that started the first time you were there.

In Bali, some of the people who started as guides and drivers have become friends. In the Navajo Nation, the woman who owns the little motel where we stay is the mother of a neighbor we consider family. She sits down with us at breakfast or dinner, remembers everyone from the last trip and inevitably has a suggestion for where we should photograph next.

In the Camargue, the couple who run our little motel cook dinner for us and take care of the group. And, of course, there’s Rolling Stone, their French bulldog, who has become something of a celebrity on the trip.

Those relationships actually start on the first trip. But there’s something special about walking through the door the next time and being greeted by someone who remembers you. You pick up the conversation where you left off. You hear what’s happened since the last time you were there.

It’s not just returning to a place I love. I’m returning to people I want to see again.

And that familiarity can be valuable for the people traveling with me, too. When I return to a place, I bring all of that experience with me—the places I’ve discovered, the people I’ve met, the things I’ve learned and all the little details that make a trip work.

My participants know I’ve been there before. I know the place and the people.

And I’ve got their back.

But there’s a problem with all of this.

My participants are intrepid explorers. They want to see somewhere new.

So as much as I’d happily return to the same places year after year, I have to keep looking for what comes next.

Last year’s trip to France was a perfect example. It was, in a word, lightning in a bottle. It wasn’t my first trip to France, but it was my first photo adventure there—and everything just seemed to click.

So, naturally, we’re going back.

This year we’ll return to the Camargue for another shot at the white horses, black bulls and pink flamingos, along with the landscapes, villages and French culture that made the first trip so much fun.

Part of me wants to go back simply because I love the place.

But the photographer in me is also curious.

What did we miss? What will look different? What will I see this time that I didn’t see the first time?

That’s the fun of returning.

And when I’m looking for somewhere completely new, I try to bring that same approach. Sometimes an idea starts with a photograph. Sometimes it’s a place I’ve wanted to visit for years. Sometimes someone tells me about an experience and it gets stuck in my head.

Then the research begins.

I’m much more comfortable out on the road figuring things out than sitting at a computer designing trips. Since I don’t work in an office with a bunch of people in cubicles, I tend to bounce a lot of these ideas off Lisa—and my dog Norman.

Lisa is helpful.

Norman, not so much.

He mostly seems annoyed that I’m thinking about leaving again. He knows the bags are coming out before I’ve even told him.

Lisa once gave me some of the best advice I’ve received about putting these trips together:

“Design the trips the way I would want to travel.”

That stuck with me.

I know what I like as a traveler, as a photographer and as someone who is going to spend a week with a group of people. I’ve also learned that the things I enjoy are often the things other people enjoy, too.

Sometimes I throw out an idea and immediately hear, “I’m in. When are we going?”

Easy.

Other times I make the calls, do the research, work out the logistics and finally put the idea out there…

Crickets. 😂

I don’t take it personally. “That sounds amazing” and “I’m booking it” are two very different things.

But every once in a while, one of those ideas finds its people.

So, without turning this into a list of announcements, here are a few things bouncing around in my head:

Culture and Arangutans in Indonesia. Tulips and windmills in Amsterdam. A traditional cattle procession in the Tyrol region of Austria.

Some are ideas. Some are conversations. Some may eventually become actual trips.

That’s really what this is about.

I’m always looking.

Looking for the next photograph. The next experience. The next place where I can say, “You have to see this.”

And sometimes that means going back.

Sometimes it means finding somewhere completely new.

Photo provided

Either way, I want the people who travel with me to feel like they’re in good hands—and hopefully come home with a few photographs they’re really proud of.

You can check out my workshop page for what’s already on the schedule, and follow along on social media. Sometimes the next idea starts with something I’m photographing long before it becomes a workshop.

And if there’s a place you think I should be thinking about, tell me. I want to hear it.

If you’re part of a camera club, I’d also love to come present to your group—or design a workshop specifically for your members.

Norman probably doesn’t care.

Lisa thinks I might be onto something.

And I’m still looking.