In 1991, Lisa and I crossed the Atlantic for the first time together. Who knew that this trip would kick off a lifetime of travel for us? We began in scenic and historic London where we caught the usual tourist highlights. We then rented a car and drove north into the quiet charm of the Lake District. After London’s grandeur, here was just water, grass and stone, with green fells rolling gently into more fells, and a stillness that felt older than anything we’d expected. It’s easy to see now why artists keep returning to take advantage of that light. We fell in love with the countryside and stayed at a couple of wonderful B&Bs. We then caught a train to Scotland, spending a few days between Edinburgh and the Highlands before flying south to Spain for the final leg of our trip. Three countries in miniature, each with its own distinct feel and temperature. So much time has passed since this trip that the edges of our memories have softened into general impressions more than a detailed itinerary.

Thirty-five years on, we’ve sadly lost the details, the names of the little towns, the exact order of days. What’s left is now more feeling than photographs: the sense of two people just beginning their travels together, discovering that the world is much larger and more wonderful than either of us expected. These few images are what survived. We’re glad they did.