I was hoping to find a story in the Isle of Lewis (Scotland) the last weekend of July. There are still tweed weavers there. And it is a remote area with a long history. It was a risk, though. Fourteen hours journey by trains and buses and ferry from Edinburgh to Inverness, Ullapool, Stornaway, then the Black House village, which is at the northern part of the western isles. One way, which means another 14 hours to get back to Edinburgh. A big risk to lose a whole weekend without finding a story, or even one single good picture. I hesitated, but took the risk any way. And the result is that I spent two days of the weekend on the road to and from Isle of Lewis, one day in Lewis as a tourist rather than a photographer. Sothe pictures are a tourist’s snapshots. My adviser, who often says to his student “Take only the good pictures and leave the rest for the tourists” must have been disappointed.