This time, I brought the Horizon 202 along with me to Cinque Terre in Italy. I loaded it with Kodak Ektachrome and Ektar 100, hoping to capture not only the sweeping landscapes but also the vibrant colors of the Ligurian coast. We visited Riomaggiore, Portofino, and Monterosso al Mare—places where narrow streets meet dramatic cliffs, and the sea itself feels like part of the architecture.
The Horizon seemed made for this region. Its rotating lens captured the layered geometry of Riomaggiore’s pastel houses stacked against the cliffs, the harbor of Portofino with its curved shoreline, and the expansive beaches of Monterosso, where the horizon stretched endlessly into the Mediterranean. Each frame felt less like a single photograph and more like a memory compressed into film—a way to hold onto the immensity of what I saw.
Ektachrome rendered the blues and greens of the sea with luminous precision, while Ektar 100 brought warmth to the terracotta rooftops and late-afternoon light. The two emulsions gave me complementary perspectives: Ektachrome as clear and crisp as a postcard, Ektar as rich and cinematic as a daydream.
Of course, the Horizon 202 carried its quirks with it to Italy. I lost a couple of frames to uneven exposures, and in Portofino, a light leak crept in and painted the corner of one shot with a pale red haze. But I’ve started to think of these imperfections not as flaws but as the camera’s way of reminding me that no photograph is purely mechanical. The unpredictable mechanics of the Horizon force me to accept what I cannot control, and in doing so, they make me look harder at the world before I press the shutter.
In the end, Cinque Terre through the Horizon 202 felt like a perfect pairing of place and tool: both beautiful, both a little unpredictable, both rewarding when approached with patience. The camera might not always behave, but when it does, the results are worth every gamble of film.