I'm beginning to lose track of how many guest posts I've featured on JIT, but it's a great thing! The blog is also becoming more photography-oriented, which is fine by me too. Today's post comes from Kim Akrigg, who's written about the interesting and somewhat atypical story of how she became a photographer. Kim comes from my hometown of Vancouver, so be good to her! =)

When I was younger I liked to draw, so my mother put me into art classes. I painted, sketched, and sculpted my way through my earlier years (as well as danced, played the piano, took swimming lessons, horseback rode, skied, and participated in an assortment of other activities but that’s another story). My mom thought I should like photography, but I decided I didn’t think it was a real ‘art’ since all you were doing was pressing a button. She tried and tried to get me into it, buying me an old film camera and disposables, but I didn’t really think much of it.

Then around 12th grade, I started taking photos with a little point and shoot, which led to my first DSLR. I then discovered a blog of Rosie Hardy’s back before I even knew Flickr existed. I was so amazed that someone could take such beautiful photos, and it made me want to be able to do the same. I found an ad in the local paper for a photography class, and signed up. I was hooked, and started carrying my camera everywhere I went, experimenting with self-portraits, but never really wanting to show them to anyone I knew since I was afraid of what they would say.

Finally I started posting some of the photos to Facebook, and getting good responses back. I was getting pretty tired of taking photos of myself but I was too nervous to ask anyone else to model for me. Around then a photographer who had been shooting a lot of my friends asked me to model for him, and he introduced me to Model Mayhem. From there I started shooting some friends, beginning to use make up artists, and my work started to look more how it does now.

It’s a little surreal to me sometimes how something I initially thought I had no interest in has become the only thing I want to do, and it’s even more strange that I’m able to make a career out of it. I can’t really imagine myself wanting to do anything else, it’s the perfect job for me. It’s the right mix of something that’s different with every shoot, creative, and always challenges me a bit and keeps me on my toes. It’s led me to meet such interesting, wonderful people, and to see the beauty that most people don’t notice in the world.

I’ve been to some breathtaking natural attractions of the world, including the Grand Canyon and Niagara Falls. Today, I add a new addition to that list – Giant’s Causeway.

Comprised of some 40,000 interlocking hexagonal columns, Giant's Causeway is the result of an ancient volcanic eruption. When the lava met the ocean, Giant's Causeway was born. The tallest column is 12 metres high. Legend has it that the Irish giant Finn McCool built the causeway to walk to Scotland to fight his Scottish rival Benandonner. One version of the legend goes that when McCool went to scotland and saw the much bigger Benandonner, he returned to Ireland and asked his wife to disguise him as a baby. So when Benandonner later came to Ireland looking to fight McCool, he was so frightened by the large size of the "baby" that he didn't dare meeting the even bigger father - Finn. Benandonner quickly fled home, and ripped up the Causeway as he went to prevent Giant McCool from following him.

Whether you buy the legend or prefer the historical explanation, if you ever visit Northern Ireland, a visit to Giant's Causeway is a must.On the way there, be sure to stop at a few fishing villages, old castles, and viewpoints to take in the beautiful Irish coast.

Giant's Causeway from the top

A simple city by day and lively one by night, Belfast is one of the last few stops on my Europe trip. By now, I’ve realized that the typical tourist sightings no longer do it for me. In search of authenticity and local flavor, I’ve been meeting, chatting, and attempting living with locals. Although Belfast doesn’t have the polished attractions that pull in the same number of tourists that Dublin or Edinburgh does, I found its mixture of Titanic history, religious conflict, and Northern Irish culture very interesting. I spent a whole morning learning about the clashes between the Catholic and Protestant communities, an entire afternoon visiting the docks that gave birth to the famous and tragic Titanic, a beautiful sunset on the Belfast lough overlooking the coast, and a fun night enjoying live music in one of the city’s historical pubs.

For a small city, Belfast sure has a lot to offer.

St. George's MarketThe original drawing room in H&W

If I had just one day in Edinburgh, I'd spend it walking the Royal Mile. I would start at the Castle, spend a few hours seeing the crowning jewels and the Destiny Stone, then make my way down to the Whisky Experience. I would walk in and out of every alley way; in Scotland, they call those narrow passages "closes". I would visit all the tiny museums along the way and learn about the history of Edinburgh. I would pick up a souvenir or two at the colorful shops that line the street. I would finish the day at Holyrood Palace - the official residence of the Queen during her stay in Scotland.

Most  guidebooks divide Edinburgh in two: Old Town and New Town. Separated by  Edinburgh's main shopping road - Princess Street, the opposing sides of the street give off different impressions of the city. While New Town has much more contemporary buildings, I much prefer the rustic feel of the Old Town. Walking down the Royal Mile in Old Town is like journeying back in time. I love the medieval feel of the architecture and the haunted stories weaved into the city's history.

If I had just one day in Edinburgh, I'd spend it walking.

In order to write today's blog post, I've had to channel my inner Jane Austin. Although my writing pales in comparison to Austin's eloquence and style, this is my best portrayal of the simple but vast English countryside which I currently call home.

The story begins in early January when I arrive, by coach, (read bus, not horse-drawn carriage) after a two hour drive through South English, at a 15^th century castle. The red brick castle, 20 minutes outside of Herstmonceux village in Hailsham, East Sussex, would serve as my temporary home for the next few months. Surrounding it are endless pastures for sheep grazing, and forests with foot paths and horse-riding trails. 5 miles south, past fields of downs (which is Old English speech for hills of rolling grassland), is the English Channel. On cold winter nights, the wind seems to carry the quiet strength of the sea all the way to the village.

In the mornings, I make my way down the paved path between the forests, fondly counting all the resemblance between this scene from my life and the famous Jane Austin novel. As I walk past the sheep, lazily working their way through the grass, I like to pretend I’m going to meet a dashing gentleman to run away with.

So, I’ll be Elizabeth. You, Mr. Darcy.

Although I live in London, I spend a fair bit of time traveling to other parts of Europe. Whenever I return from a trip, I call the local taxi driver, M, to pick me up at the train station. During every taxi ride, I always ask M how the weather was while I was gone. "Miserable" he always response without fail, adding "Darling, it's England."

I laugh at this. Partly because this 50 year old man insists on calling me darling, but also because the stereotype about English weather rings true. It's a pity that the entire United Kingdom, from Whales to Scotland, seems to be on permanent overcast, with 80% chance of rain.

But, that was before I found Eastbourne - a small town on the coast of the English Channel. There, the water helps to regulate the temperature; the town's small claim to fame is being the warmest part of England. It might be raining in London, but Eastbourne will always have sunshine.

On an afternoon that drizzled nonstop in London, I followed the sun to Eastbourne. I was in south England but it might as well have been Southern France. The weather was so nice that I didn't even want to leave. Of course, by the time I left, drizzling had turned into pouring in London. But at least next taxi ride I can respond to M, "But sweetheart, you must not know about Eastbourne."