There are photographs you plan… and then there are photographs that find you.
This was one of those.
I had just left the World Scotch Tasting Experience in Edinburgh—warm, relaxed, and probably walking just a little slower than usual—and was making my way a few blocks back to the The Balmoral Hotel. It was winter. Cold, quiet, and the kind of night where the city feels like it’s holding its breath.
Edinburgh has a way of doing that. The stone buildings, the narrow streets, the history layered into every corner—it doesn’t feel like a modern city as much as a place you’ve stepped back into. You can almost hear it. Founded in the Middle Ages, shaped by centuries of trade, conflict, and culture, this city has stories built into its walls.
And then I turned the corner and saw this.
A dimly lit street. Wet cobblestones. Snow resting gently on everything. And this little car, sitting quietly under a streetlamp like it had been waiting for me.
Then I noticed the words.
“Clean Me Up.”
Someone had written it in the snow across the back window—not destructive, not angry… just playful. A moment of humor left behind by a stranger who was probably passing through just like I was.
I stopped immediately.
Set the shot.
And took the photo.
What I love most about photography isn’t always the composition or the light—although both mattered here—it’s the fact that this moment only existed once. If I had walked by five minutes earlier or later, maybe the snow hadn’t settled right. Maybe the light was different. Maybe someone wiped it clean.
You could go back the next day, stand in the exact same spot, and this image would be gone forever.
That’s the magic of it.
Travel, for me, has always been about these small, unplanned moments. Not the big landmarks or the obvious shots—but the quiet corners, the overlooked details, the things that make a place feel real.
This was Edinburgh that night. Still. A little mysterious. And unexpectedly funny.
And somehow, that old Citroën 2CV became part of the story.