The most patriotic Fourth of July I’ve ever spent took place more than 8,000 miles from home.
As to be expected, I woke up on Independence Day drunk and on the verge of a hangover, wearily sauntering over to the Mercator (supermarket, turn up) only to stumble upon a naked drunk man sunbathing on a plastic chair outside his horse stable—the epitome of celebrating freedom.
Coffee and candy sustained me that afternoon as I took in the sights of the city on a photowalk with many other patriotic DSLR camera lovers, snapping this shot of what it means to be a woman in the United States.
Watching the sun just start to shine on the city felt like a glimmer of energy from the country I’d left beamed straight to our cab full of Americans. There’s something comforting in knowing you can sardonically celebrate the United States’ founding so far from its shores and yet feel as if you’re pounding beers in a state park. All that was missing were fireworks.