One of the ironies of being someone who always has a camera close is that I have few photos of myself. Rarer still are candid, unposed photos in which I am unaware of the camera, and rarest of all are photos in which I am happy. So it felt like a minor miracle last night when I found this image from 1993. 

I had been taken in by a Tibetan family near a small village, and despite having zero language in common, we were having the conversations that made everyone laugh to the point where our faces hurt (they were trying to match me, but thought it was hysterical I had no yaks). I had taught one of the kids how to use my camera a few days earlier, and he must have picked it up my FM2 and snapped this picture. When people ask why I fell in love with this corner of the world, it was exactly this.   

This are a few of my photos from that same afternoon.