I normally shoot black and white film with a prime lens, usually a normal focal length like 50mm or, whenever possible, 40mm. Sometimes, though, I carry a modest 35–70mm zoom that gives me both a moderate wide angle and a short telephoto in a single lens.
I rarely shoot colour, and when I do, part of that work ends up being digital. That was the case during a visit to A Coruña over Easter week, when I wasn’t entirely sure what I would find. In a city with weather as unpredictable as this one, a bright spring afternoon can turn into rain almost instantly, and strong Atlantic winds can make the seafront far less inviting than it looks.
The surprise, however, did not come from the sky but from the ground itself, in the form of a dune. I knew of its existence, but I had never seen it before and did not realise it would still be there, stretching across such a large section of the beach. Every winter, the city builds this temporary barrier to protect the promenade from Atlantic storms, only flattening it again once beach season begins.
More than a protective structure, though, the dune completely changes how Riazor beach is experienced. It creates new perspectives, hides familiar views and forces both locals and visitors to interact differently with a landscape they probably thought they already knew. It also changed the way I approached the walk itself, and these are five of my favourite frames from that afternoon.
From beach level, the temporary dune removes the middle of the landscape entirely. The sea is still there, but from this angle it might as well not exist.
The sea is still there. And once it reappears, the scale of the Atlantic makes everything else — the breakwater, the lone figure, even the city itself — feel suddenly very small.
From this distance, individual stories become almost unreadable. Students enjoying one of the first warm afternoons of the year, couples meeting or parting, people about to create memories and others already looking back on them — all briefly sharing the same strip of sand between the city and the ocean.
Among all these small stories, one stood out to me: a child looking at the sea for what might have been the first time, carefully watched by his parents. Maybe he stepped into the water, maybe he got scared and backed away, or maybe he simply stood there in silent amazement. I sometimes wonder how much these small moments shape the adults we eventually become.
As the sun begins to hint at sunset, people slowly start making their way home. The walk is over, but spring is only just beginning.
Usually, I do not fully judge my photographs until I see them properly on a screen, as prints, or under the enlarger in the darkroom. This time, though, the surprise was a pleasant one. The experience encouraged me to keep looking for places where unusual circumstances temporarily transform the way familiar landscapes are experienced.
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