I hopped on the bus in the morning with no idea where we were going. We were in Wales before I even realized we were leaving England. The signs in Wales were written in both Welsh and English, Welsh being a very strange, hard to pronounce language with really, really long words and names. At one of the universities the photography professors took a look at each person's portfolio thus far and declared that I must be schizophrenic, my pictures were all so different. Very funny. We set out to meet David Hern, a very famous photographer, at his house in the countryside. We passed all sorts of old castle-type buildings and run down barns, which were just gorgeous to see. I had expected Mr. Hern to be pompous and stuck up, since he had required that we buy his biography before visiting and also made us come to see him, but he was absolutely wonderful. He was very soft-spoken and gentle, and his cottage was perfectly English and fun. The walls were orange and yellow! He reminded me of an old grandpa who could sit and tell you stories for hours without ever running out of things to say. We all had our books autographed after he told us briefly about his work, then patiently sat and answered the many questions we had for him. After the end of our interview, we piled back in the bus and made our way to Bath.
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