Echoes of Red

Late August, on my way to Veneto, I stopped for a single night in Riomaggiore — one of those Cinque Terre villages that seem to hang between sea and sky.

It was raining when I arrived. The streets were slick, the colours subdued, the air filled with the smell of salt and stone.

And yet, everywhere, there was red.

The façade of a house overlooking the harbour, the lifebuoys along the rail, the shoes of a passer-by hurrying through the drizzle — all small fragments of warmth breaking through the grey.

I didn’t see the connection at first; it revealed itself later, while editing, when the echoes of red began to resonate across the frame.

I like to think this is what travel photography — or perhaps any kind of photography — is about: noticing first with your heart, and only afterwards with your mind.

Moments that felt ordinary at the time turn out to hold quiet harmonies you didn’t know you had captured.

Riomaggiore was only a brief stop on the way east, but this single frame stayed with me.

Maybe that’s how journeys work: you plan for landscapes, and end up remembering colours.

Photo: Echoes of Red — Riomaggiore, Italy (August 2025)

Camera: Nikon Z7 II

Lens: VR 24-85mm f/3.5-4.5G