My Father's photo

I​n 1975 my father went on a backpacking trip through Europe. During his travels, he kept a journal and took photos that he showed to me when I was young. Most photos were of buildings and monuments- very few of himself. One that stuck with me was a shot of him seated on a sidewalk, eating a sandwich, in Bruges, Belgium.

One day I realized that this photo was taken on my birthday 14 years prior. If only he knew one day he would have a daughter who would grow up to be deeply inspired by this photo. That spark would lead her across the world where she would meet a Belgian man and move there in 2016.

A force in me needed to find this spot. I lived an hour's drive away. I could recreate the photo. Bruges isn't a big city, but how does one find a specific spot with just a single, nondescript house in the back for reference? A small fear inside me wondered if it was even still there.

As any millennial would, I turned to the internet. On Facebook, I found a group of "Ex-pats in Bruges". I posted the photo with my cry for help, "Where was this photo of my father taken?". The members rose to the occasion, and within an hour I had a convincing lead. Google maps street view gave me hope, but I had to see it for myself.

I prepared myself to go. I scrutinized every detail I could see in the old photograph: he's wearing a black leather jacket and blue jeans with boots, he has a satchel next to him, he's sitting cross-legged, he has a round fruit in his right hand and a sandwich in his left. I wanted to immerse myself in his moment.

I had trouble finding the house even with the address. It lead me to the front which looked all wrong. The thing about Flemish architecture is that the houses share walls. I had to take a long loop around to arrive at the back of the house. A familiar railing made my heart race. I glanced up and down at the photo making sure I was right. I had found it.

The house had changed in little ways over the years, but it was undeniably the one my father sat in front of those many years ago. I held my breath as if I were about to step into a time portal. I put my bag down, sat on the curb, crossed my legs, and smiled.

I now had a new perspective I hadn't considered. I was looking at what my father saw from his lunch spot. I heard the gentle lap of water in a small canal behind me, I watched people crossing a bridge to my left, and I admired the trees in front of me full of small, bright green leaves. It is a pity he didn't see them in bloom.

I took out my lunch and posed for the photo. I was grateful I had the choice of multiple retakes as opposed to the one-and-done film my father had. Sitting in that spot, 45 years later, felt surreal.

I had visited so many places across Europe that my father did in 1975. How many other places have I stood where he stood, saw what he saw, without a photo to prove it? This curb may not be a great European monument, but in my mind, it might as well be. My own adventure, and life in Belgium, were all thanks to the click of a camera.