Don McCullin

By Samantha Weinberg

BEACH PELION, GREECE
This is below the house we go to each summer. There are rarely many people, just the odd yacht blocking the view, which annoys me. Our son Max learnt to swim here when he was three. I sit in the sun and eat wonderful fruit. I don’t take pictures; I’m very relaxed about family photos, which is shameful. All my life I’ve avoided Greece and Italy – the confrontations in the world meant that I never went there – and they’ve turned out to be the places I love best.

JOURNEY IRIAN JAYA (NOW WEST PAPUA)
That was a journey to the most primitive place on Earth. I went with Mark Shand and Harry Fane. We arrived in Agats, where Nelson Rockefeller’s son disappeared – either drowned or cannibalised. We were in dugout canoes, and when our engines packed up, we were never more afraid in our lives. We had one policeman with us who shot a caiman and the boys with us smoked it and ate it. I didn’t. I got a fistful of amazing pictures from the trip. I was fascinated by the people. The men all wear things called kotekas, penis gourds. I tried to get an explanation; they said it was vanity.