Young people today cannot understand the emotion we felt when, upon returning from vacation, maybe fifteen days later if you were busy, you finally collected the envelope that contained the photographs of the holidays. And you magically leapt back to the places and moments you left behind.

You took out twenty-four prints if you were in hardship, or thirty-six when you wanted to abound and the destination of the journey deserved. Of course you weren’t wasting the shots to take idiotic selfies or to immortalize the brioche in the bar or the plate of spaghetti in the restaurant. Each frame was a…