You never forget your first. His name was Oliver. He sported a well groomed handle bar moustache. I wanted to twirl it around my fingers. He had an icelandic accent and the kindest smile known to man.  I approached him one morning at breakfast. We talked about raekjuostur (shrimp spread) and graflax. Ours was not a conversation meant for seducing. I was merely talking about fish while I worked up the courage to ask him to take his photo. “Can I take your photo?“, I finally blurted out after he finished describing the traditional sweet mustard dill sauce. I couldn’t resist. His moustache was taunting me, begging to be commemorated. He was shy (they always are) but he said yes and looked away and laughed.

CLICK! 1 stranger down, 99 left to go.

I started participating in the 100 strangers project (number 29 on this list) when I went to Iceland in April (it’s always easier to begin such things abroad, then work your way home). Why I embarked on this project is anyone’s guess because I don’t particularly enjoy portrait photography (in fact, I downright dislike it). I mean, let’s face it, these photos aren’t the best I’ve ever taken. It’s a wonder any of them are in focus as I was barely aware of what I was doing at the time, wanting to simply shoot and run away from the awkward situation. But I think that eventually, I will become more comfortable with it. I was speaking with Jonathan Clark, one of my favorite street photographers in Montreal and I asked him: how do you do it, how do you approach people, how to you make them feel comfortable? He answered, “enthusiasm goes a long way”. Enthusiasm, I can do and I do love me a good story so I suppose that is reason enough for me to push on through.

no 2. The beautiful black man at Café Olimpico in Montreal. Seriously, have you ever seen such a beautiful man? I was sitting there with Leonie, telling her how much I wanted to take his photo but didn’t have the guts to ask. Before I knew it, she had approached him and was asking: “Excuse me sir, my friend over there would very much like to take your photograph, would you mind terribly?”. It felt like high school all over again when your friend tells the guy you like that you like him. Still, I got up and took the shot and asked his name (which I forgot in my frazzled state) and said thank you so much, you have such a great sense of style and I just felt compelled. Insert flustered, shy, blabbering etcetera here.

no 3. Joe Junior’s diner. My last morning with the English boy. We decide that an all american greasy spoon diner is in order for breakfast (given previous night’s alcohol consumption). This is where the locals meet, where the eggs are cooked over “very” easy, the HP sauce is on every table, the coffee is bottomless and the breakfast comes cheap. I ask our waiter if I can take his photo. “Ok. Do you want me to smile?”, he asks. I say, yes. He smiles (that is his smile, for serious). I take the shot and thank him. He pours us another cup of coffee, then brings us the bill. Behind him, at the counter, an old man sits on a stool and eats a muffin with a fork and knife.

no 4. The NYC fire fighter was fairly easy to approach as he was essentially posing in front of the fire station, just waiting for the opportunity.

no 5. The homeless friends with the winking dog. Is it cheating to ask for a photo after giving someone money?  They were traveling through New York. She seemed like a really sweet girl. He was battling addiction. I always wonder how that happens. How you find yourself on the streets. I didn’t inquire but I know that I’ll someday work up the courage to ask the story.

no 6. Marty. At least, I think his name is Marty. He looks like a Marty, doesn’t he? Marty works at the US Post Office (on 4th Ave near East 14th, I believe). Never before have I been greeted by a post office clerk with a such a hearty “Wassup?” (I’m not joking. He said Wassup?) Certainly not one approaching his golden years. And his giant glasses and big white dentures added to the humor of it all. I was so enthralled by everything that he was that I snapped his photo in a hurry and it came out blurry. It’s a crap photo but I will never forget the jubilant post office clerk who’s name I can’t recall. Damn it! I think it’s Marty. He does look like a Marty, doesn’t he?

no 7. Do dogs count? Even if you ask permission from their owners? No eh? Still. Worth it for the doggles alone, yes?

6 strangers down, 94 left to go.