From Shrines to Savannas: A Photographer's Journey from Nikko to Bangui

Nikko's UNESCO World Heritage shrines and temples demand patience from photographers seeking to capture their essence. I arrived three days before the autumn equinox, when the morning mist creates ethereal conditions around Toshogu Shrine. The key to exceptional shrine photography here isn't just about technical settings—it's about timing and respect.

Rise at 4:30 AM to capture the first light hitting Yomeimon Gate before tour buses arrive. I spent hours with my variable ND filter achieving those silky waterfall shots at Kegon Falls without overexposure in the dappled forest light. The filter's versatility proved invaluable as lighting conditions shifted dramatically throughout the day.

During my week in Nikko, I discovered that local monks are surprisingly receptive to photographers who demonstrate cultural awareness. After presenting my credentials and intentions to the head priest at Rinnoji Temple, I was granted permission to photograph areas typically off-limits—resulting in some of my portfolio's most treasured images.

The journey from Nikko's spiritual tranquility to Bangui's raw wilderness requires intentional transition periods. I dedicated three days in Tokyo to equipment maintenance and cultural decompression before flying to Dubai for a two-night layover.

In Tokyo, I visited Fujiya Camera in Nakano—my secret weapon for emergency gear repairs and hard-to-find accessories. My sensor cleaning kit proved invaluable after Nikko's humidity left subtle spots on my sensor. This comprehensive kit has traveled with me across five continents, and I've yet to find a more reliable cleaning solution for field maintenance.

Dubai offered a crucial photographic palette cleanser. The stark architectural lines and desert light provided a striking contrast to Japan's organic forms and diffused forest illumination. I spent an afternoon at the Dubai Frame, experimenting with architectural compositions that would later inform my approach to the geometric patterns I'd encounter in Central African textiles and structures.

Bangui, the capital of the Central African Republic, demands a complete recalibration of one's photographic approach. The journey from the airport to my accommodations at Le Ledger Plaza Hotel immediately revealed the complex interplay of colonial architecture, vibrant market life, and the omnipresent reminders of political instability.

Photography here requires sensitivity, preparation, and appropriate gear. My anti-theft camera strap proved invaluable—its discreet appearance and quick-release system allowed me to secure my equipment when needed and shoot efficiently when opportunities arose. The reinforced connection points gave me confidence even in crowded market situations.

Rather than attempting to capture everything, I focused on a photographic narrative around Bangui's remarkable resilience. The Ubangi River at sunset became a recurring motif in my portfolio, with fishermen casting nets against the backdrop of one of Africa's great waterways. I spent three evenings developing relationships with a fishing community, sharing images on my camera's LCD before eventually photographing their work with their enthusiastic permission.

The culmination of my journey took me beyond Bangui to Bamingui-Bangoran National Park—a challenging expedition that required extensive preparation and specialized equipment. This remote park, though less frequented than East African safari destinations, offers photographers something increasingly rare: authentic wilderness largely untouched by tourism.

My satellite communicator became my most essential non-photographic tool. In areas with zero cellular coverage, this compact device provided emergency communication capabilities, weather updates, and the ability to share my location with my emergency contacts—critical peace of mind when photographing in such remote regions.

The savanna's harsh lighting conditions tested every technique in my repertoire. I found myself relying heavily on my collapsible reflector during golden hour shoots near water sources, where elephants would gather at dusk. This versatile tool allowed me to fill harsh shadows when photographing wildlife portraits, creating more balanced exposures without looking artificial.

The most profound photographic experiences came through patience. After four consecutive mornings positioned near a specific watering hole, I was rewarded with a scene that still resonates: a family of forest elephants emerging from morning mist, their forms gradually materializing like living sculptures.