It’s deliberate. Everything is planned, I’ve been to Paris several times, and still, there’s something I genuinely look forward to in that first day. It’s the quiet reset. The moment when work mode begins, but gently. I check in, drop the bag, walk the neighbourhood, and let the city set the tempo. Every town has its own pulse, and I want to feel it before I start teaching it.

But the very first shot was taken at the train on my way towards Paris. I couldn´t unsee that boy standing there dreaming. So great to see a kid without a smartphone. When he sat down with his mom, he was reading about the French language. Guess they were Americans. Thank god there are still some nice people, and what a nice kid.

This time I’m staying at Hotel Korner Saint Marcel, right in the Latin Quarter. A good base. Simple tourist hotel. Nice people at the reception. Low cost.

It’s within walking distance of our meeting point at Verse Toujours, a café/bar/restaurant that has become one of my favourite places. It’s one of those spots that feels Paris instantly without trying too hard—friendly, a little quirky, and perfect as a starting line before two long days of walking, looking, and making photographs.

After settling in, I went out for what I always call a research walk.

Not a tourist walk. Not a “let’s-see-the-sights” walk. A working walk. A slow scan of the area with one goal: find the rhythm of the streets, and identify places where good photographs will happen naturally—with or without me. That’s the trick. Strong workshop locations aren’t just beautiful. They are reliable. They offer light, layers, movement, and possibilities at more than one time of day.

The first part is always close to the hotel and the meeting point. I walk the same streets more than once, from different directions. I look for how the light hits a corner, where shadows fall, and which side of the street holds contrast. I note where people naturally slow down: crossings, café fronts, small markets, kiosks, entrances to the métro. Places where life compresses for a second—where composition becomes easier because the city is already arranging itself.

Paris, as always, delivered

A figure in a hat pauses near a column. A street corner with just enough depth to build a frame inside the frame. Reflections in wet pavement where the world turns upside down and suddenly feels like a dream.

People passing an awning-lit café façade, the kind of scene that works in both black & white and colour, depending on what you want to say. Moments that are gone in two seconds—but repeatable if you know where to stand.

From there, I stretched the walk further, aiming for the Seine.

Crossing the river is one of my favourite ways to “reset” Paris. One side of the city becomes a memory, and the other side becomes a new puzzle. Bridges are not only beautiful—they’re practical. They give you lines, layers, distance, and that constant movement of people. And the river itself acts like a giant softbox: it opens the light, it simplifies backgrounds, it gives reflections and negative space. If the weather plays along, you get texture in the sky and tone in the water. If it doesn’t, you get drama. Either way, it works.

I stopped more than once just to watch

That’s another part of the research walk: standing still. The best spots reveal themselves when you don’t rush through them. You learn what repeats. You learn where the pauses happen, where people wait, where someone turns their head, where a bicycle enters the frame like a perfect punctuation mark. You begin to understand the city’s timing.

And that timing matters, because the next two days are not just about “walking Paris.” They’re about teaching how to see—how to build a photograph from ordinary life. So my research walk is also a way of preparing a route that gives everyone something to work with: strong backgrounds, interesting edges, varied light, moments of calm, moments of chaos, and enough variety that every participant can find their own pictures.

What I look for on a research walk (and what we’ll use in the workshop)

• Reliable light: open shade, backlight, hard light and shadow patterns—spots that work even if the weather changes.
• Layering opportunities: foreground elements (trees, poles, reflections, people), midground action, background structure.
• Natural “stages”: café terraces, crossings, entrances, corners—places where movement is predictable.
• Clean frames: areas where the background simplifies, so the subject doesn’t fight the scene.
• Multiple angles: one location that can give five different compositions, depending on where you stand.
• Timing cues: where people slow down, stop, hesitate, meet, wait, look—those micro-moments that become photographs.

By the time I returned toward the Latin Quarter, I had what I needed: a mental map of strong spots, a sense of pace, and a handful of scenes that confirmed what I already knew—Paris is still Paris. Always charming, always layered, always ready to give you something if you’re willing to walk for it.

I’ll be back—as Arnold says—in October.

But first, in just two weeks, it’s Berlin. Don’t skip Berlin, because that’s a town with a lot of possibilities for street photography. A reason why I come back regularly.

There are still a few places open for both workshops, so if you want to experience the cities the way photographers do—slowly, intentionally, and with purpose—then now is the time to book.

Find more information at: www.mortenalbek.com