As a travel writer, I spend a lot of time exploring on my own, which means I’ve become fairly adept at taking my own pictures. With my tripod, remote, and even smart glasses in tow, I’m more than equipped. But not everyone travels this way so whenever I’m in a bustling spot, surrounded by families and couples on holiday, I always offer to take pictures.
Selfies can be great for sure, but they often miss the full scene and group shots usually leave someone out. I hate knowing someone or something got left out. So I always offer, and more often than not, it sparks a connection. A simple, “Want me to get a photo of all of you?” often leads to chats about where people are from, their favourite sights, and travel tips, and many, many effusive thank you’s. These moments are small, but remind me that, at our core, we’re all just people sharing the same world, one snapshot at a time.
Take my recent trip to Cape Breton, for example. I was hiking to Gypsum Mine, hoping to recreate a pose I’d struck in the summer of 2019, this time with the fall colours as my backdrop. On the way up, I found myself behind a family of three out for a Thanksgiving hike. The daughter, who looked to be in her early twenties, held her mom’s arm, and they both leaned into the dad, sharing quiet moments of laughter. It tugged at my heart, making me miss my own daughters. On impulse, I took a few photos of them from behind, unsure if I’d even share them. Even an extroverted extrovert occasionally battles doubt in approaching others. But as luck would have it, the opportunity presented itself while we all waited in line to snap the “money shot”, and I found them in line behind me.
“Please don’t think I’m a stalker,”I turned and said,”but I snapped a few pictures of your family on the way here. Would you like them?” Relief washed over me when they laughed and said, yes, of course. We struck up a conversation, and I learned they had moved from Iran three years ago. They admitted the adjustment was a bit of a culture shock, but now they were proud to call Nova Scotia home. Seeing them take in the beauty of this special place for the first time made me a little envious, wishing I could have that feeling again and it reminded me of how truly wonderful Canada is. After texting them the photos I walked away feeling grateful for that small moment. And no, I’m not sharing them here, I don’t have their consent to do so and didn’t think to ask.
With fall colours peaking, the lookout was crowded, and I soon noticed a young couple taking photos nearby. The man had a professional DSLR around his neck, so I waited patiently for them to finish. (Pro tip: your turn isn’t more important than anyone else’s, so take a moment and be considerate.) When they wrapped up, I offered to take a photo of the two of them. He hesitated a second before handing me his phone and I snapped a shot.
Not wanting to hold anyway up and eager to get to my next spot, I left my tripod in my bag, and asked another tourist nearby if he could snap a picture for me. I showed him how I wanted it framed, and he got it immediately. Afterwards we chatted a bit and I mentioned I was there on assignment with Tourism Nova Scotia but that this trip was also deeply personal for me—my family had settled in this region in 1545. He shared that his family had moved from South Korea two years ago. I cracked, “Well, we all start somewhere. One day, your future great-grandkids will tell stories about when your family first came here.” I thanked him and then I was off to find a lobster roll and my next photo op.
A few days later, Tourism Nova Scotia shared the picture the young man from South Korea had taken of me, and to my surprise, I received a DM from the photographer I’d met at the lookout. It read:
“Hi Candace! I believe my partner and I ran into you at the top of Gypsum Mine Trail this past weekend, and I wanted to send along a photo I snapped while you were holding up peace signs for another picture.”
What? Yes! Of course, I wanted it. The chills I felt when he sent that photo were instant. It was a perfect, unexpected gift from that day. And maybe a little nudge from the universe reminding me to keep offering to take photos, to keep connecting.
And so I did. A few days later, I found myself at Beulach Ban Falls, another one of Cape Breton’s natural treasures. There, I met a woman travelling alone from the U.S. She told me her parents had visited Cape Breton 30 years ago and never stopped raving about it. She decided she had to see for herself, half-expecting it to be heavily commercialized and overdeveloped by now. Standing by the falls, she marvelled, that nothing had changed. The two of us stood in awe, taking in the sound of the water. I offered to take her photo, and she politely declined. I pressed, “You may not come back this way again—don’t regret not getting your picture here.” She finally relented, and I snapped a few photos on her camera. When she offered to return the favour, I help up my tripod and told her I didn’t want to hold her up. I hope that when she looks at those photos, she remembers not me but that moment at the falls and the sense of connection literally following in her parents’ footsteps.
On my last day, I decided I had to get to Peggy’s Cove before the airport. I hadn’t planned on squeezing it in, but it took me 55 years to get this close, I felt the odds were good I may not make it back. Even with GPS though, I still managed to completely overestimate how much time I needed to get to the airport. By the time I parked, I was panicked realizing I had five short minutes to spare before I’d have to race to the airport. I dashed over the rocks, scanning for a decent spot and someone who looked like they could help. Breathless, I found a woman with her family and blurted out, “Hi! I have three minutes to get a picture before I have to leave for the airport. Can you help?” Without missing a beat, she passed her baby to her husband, laughed and said, “I got you.” She took the photo, nailed it on the first shot, and I squealed in delight. We shared a quick hug and a burst of laughter. We didn’t exchange names, but we didn’t need to. That moment, shared between two strangers on the rocks of Peggy’s Cove, has already become one of my favourite memories and photos.
So, offer to take the picture, or ask for one to be taken. It’s about so much more than the photo; it’s about the stories and connections we’re lucky enough to make while taking it. I can’t remember the last time a selfie did that for me.
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