1. 28 January



    Keeping on going..

    From a kiss, to the dream of a lovely romance, from the georgian family dinners, to a dinner with the nomads in the tibetan plateaus, from the intensity of the iranian nights to the endless rides through the Taklamakan, from the tragedy and the beauty of Afghanistan to the breathtaking Pamir, from the parties in Tashkent to the solitude of endless rides, from the smile of kids in Kurdistan, to the wise look of an old men, looking at the streets, any streets, contemplating, the smell of an old fish further down, the harsh smell of fresh blood from the goat just slaughtered, this tall women passing by, the perfume of the flowers she holds on to, the smell of fresh vegetables along the bazars, the sound of the yak butter seller, calling for clients, the texture of the loukoums in the palm of your hand, your hand in the dry tiny beans, the soft warm stone along the trail, the endless spinning world, complex of simplicity, dramatic of beauty… You sit, you contemplate and are happy.

    Senses with senses.. You just love.

    The time gone, heart and mind happy, i will keep on going, south first, then their will be a way back, because it needs to be, but not yet.

    Happiness sublime of it’s softness, here at every moment, thankful, for what is, what was, and what will be.

    Merci.

     

  2. 27 January


    A home for retreat, were the monk once entered, for years, never comes out. Meditating only.

    A home for retreat, were the monk once entered, for years, never comes out. Meditating only.

     

  3. 26 January


    During the daily monastery rounds in Dege. Praying.

    During the daily monastery rounds in Dege. Praying.

     

  4. 26 January


    The tibetan nomads.. An unfortune meeting, a fellow from here that speaks english, rare thing around.. Excited, having finally a proper conversation, talking for hours.. He is doing business with the nomads in the mountains, so after a great invite, we are on. The dirt track, going hundred kilometers out of town, the landscape is icy, it is minus something.. we are high and it is gorgeous, slowly making our way we pass few towns and a couple of monasteries, as Tachilek tells the faery tales about the valley, stories of Monks from an ancient monastery protected by silk golden coat firing at the chinese army as they come through to invade Tibet, stories of tens of yaks taken by the river not properly frozen they did survived after going down the rapids, only the tea and salt they were carrying got wet.. Stories of a holy mountain covered with great trees, that the chinese army burned down.. Stories and Fary tales, of these valleys, inhabited by men since ancient times, time, here standing still.. A couple hours after, a good half hour hike and we finally arrive at the house, this family use it during the cold months, one hundred yaks, the parents, the older son helping them, and a new tiny homeless baby.. “Tachidele” as Tachilek introduce each others, going inside their little home, we get the usual but surely delicious milk tea, yak butter, and have a joyful moment. Being invited in a family is always a warm feeling of getting back to your own family for a moment. This very special love, that only parents, brother or sister, gives you. And whether it makes you angry or happy, whether it is hard to accept it, you know, that this love will always be, and it is beautiful. In the corner, blankets wrap up a two month old baby, a mother from Nangchen didn’t want it, so the nomad lady took it. Extremely weak without the mothers milk, yak milk trying to replace it, they did not gave the baby a name, hopeful, they said, someday they will go see the lama of the valley and he will decide.. By the window the white mountains gets blue, the knife cutting the dried yak meat, the tea smoking, like a song tales keeps on, the mother preparing diner is smiling, we eat, silence filling the room, tales from their walks to Lhasa, from their life during summer high in the mountains, continuing through the night.. The stove warming up the room calmly, the water boiling, the day ending, and the mind fulfilled by melancholia…  Dreams through the day will simply have to follow through the night.. You can sleep now.

    The tibetan nomads..

    An unfortune meeting, a fellow from here that speaks english, rare thing around.. Excited, having finally a proper conversation, talking for hours.. He is doing business with the nomads in the mountains, so after a great invite, we are on.

    The dirt track, going hundred kilometers out of town, the landscape is icy, it is minus something.. we are high and it is gorgeous, slowly making our way we pass few towns and a couple of monasteries, as Tachilek tells the faery tales about the valley, stories of Monks from an ancient monastery protected by silk golden coat firing at the chinese army as they come through to invade Tibet, stories of tens of yaks taken by the river not properly frozen they did survived after going down the rapids, only the tea and salt they were carrying got wet.. Stories of a holy mountain covered with great trees, that the chinese army burned down.. Stories and Fary tales, of these valleys, inhabited by men since ancient times, time, here standing still..

    A couple hours after, a good half hour hike and we finally arrive at the house, this family use it during the cold months, one hundred yaks, the parents, the older son helping them, and a new tiny homeless baby..

    “Tachidele” as Tachilek introduce each others, going inside their little home, we get the usual but surely delicious milk tea, yak butter, and have a joyful moment. Being invited in a family is always a warm feeling of getting back to your own family for a moment. This very special love, that only parents, brother or sister, gives you. And whether it makes you angry or happy, whether it is hard to accept it, you know, that this love will always be, and it is beautiful.

    In the corner, blankets wrap up a two month old baby, a mother from Nangchen didn’t want it, so the nomad lady took it. Extremely weak without the mothers milk, yak milk trying to replace it, they did not gave the baby a name, hopeful, they said, someday they will go see the lama of the valley and he will decide..

    By the window the white mountains gets blue, the knife cutting the dried yak meat, the tea smoking, like a song tales keeps on, the mother preparing diner is smiling, we eat, silence filling the room, tales from their walks to Lhasa, from their life during summer high in the mountains, continuing through the night..

    The stove warming up the room calmly, the water boiling, the day ending, and the mind fulfilled by melancholia… 

    Dreams through the day will simply have to follow through the night..

    You can sleep now.

     

  5. 24 January


    The endless claps.

    The endless claps.

     

  6. 24 January


    In the blue of the night. They were chanting.

    In the blue of the night. They were chanting.

     

  7. 24 January


    It is the Tibetan Plateaus, after all distances… Through the mountains and the valleys, the landscape radically changed and gave a sense of something dreamt since long.. Nangchen, a small city on the side of the river and between few mountains, monasteries, monks, and Yaks.. A day around in the chilling cold, meeting a couple of people, it is amazing, every single person looking at you, wandering about the foreigner, they touch you sometimes, give you over their baby for a blessing.. For the good luck or the good faith, they are great, everybody smiling, wandering.. In the background the wind blowing the snow from the peaks.. Walking, finally, legs bringing you to the monastery, young monks play around clapping their hands with some sayings. The old monk not to be bothered sits in a room, the atmosphere good, the snowed mountains throughout the window, he just sing.. some encent, it smells good.  The youngest have fun, the usual starring at is not gone. After a good hour, the mountain is ahead.. Slowly making the way up, looking at the view changing, Nangchen getting far, and then discovering this great little monastery, millions of flags, people walking around a couple of rocks praying, the budhist energy, right there. The view magnificent, wandering and meeting the old lady sitting, praying, everyday coming up, praying and then getting back home. For then again the next day coming up and praying.. Again, and again..  Near the edge of the mountain, four monks are sitting in the cold hard wind, looking endlessly in their mind.  Some chills.  The sound of the flag rythming hours.. The claps and the great landscape ahead.. Looking at the happiness.. This is Tibet and it is magnificent.. 

    It is the Tibetan Plateaus, after all distances… Through the mountains and the valleys, the landscape radically changed and gave a sense of something dreamt since long.. Nangchen, a small city on the side of the river and between few mountains, monasteries, monks, and Yaks..

    A day around in the chilling cold, meeting a couple of people, it is amazing, every single person looking at you, wandering about the foreigner, they touch you sometimes, give you over their baby for a blessing.. For the good luck or the good faith, they are great, everybody smiling, wandering.. In the background the wind blowing the snow from the peaks..

    Walking, finally, legs bringing you to the monastery, young monks play around clapping their hands with some sayings. The old monk not to be bothered sits in a room, the atmosphere good, the snowed mountains throughout the window, he just sing.. some encent, it smells good. 

    The youngest have fun, the usual starring at is not gone. After a good hour, the mountain is ahead.. Slowly making the way up, looking at the view changing, Nangchen getting far, and then discovering this great little monastery, millions of flags, people walking around a couple of rocks praying, the budhist energy, right there. The view magnificent, wandering and meeting the old lady sitting, praying, everyday coming up, praying and then getting back home. For then again the next day coming up and praying.. Again, and again.. 

    Near the edge of the mountain, four monks are sitting in the cold hard wind, looking endlessly in their mind. 

    Some chills. 

    The sound of the flag rythming hours.. The claps and the great landscape ahead.. Looking at the happiness..

    This is Tibet and it is magnificent.. 

     

  8. 29 December


    Days of rides in the Taklamakan, through the endless desert, from thoughts to thoughts, step to step, the way makes itself, your mind and your heart telling you. The first flags, on the side of the plateaus, floating in the hard freezing wind, the gates of Tibet are near.. Exciting.

    Days of rides in the Taklamakan, through the endless desert, from thoughts to thoughts, step to step, the way makes itself, your mind and your heart telling you.

    The first flags, on the side of the plateaus, floating in the hard freezing wind, the gates of Tibet are near..

    Exciting.

     

  9. 18 December


    Imagine a land far far away, a land dry and arid, a land of rocks, cliffs, snow and water, the slopes are steep, the valleys deep, the Badakchsan, between Afghanistan and Tajikistan, high land with unique relief, on the the tajik side, the impressive road through, alternate of mud and asphalt for hundreds of kilometers. On the other side, Afghanistan, mud villages, with some trails and left over fields..  Thoughts about the country left few days ago are tumbling through the end of the day going up towards the Pamir range, far away the first high mountains, lightened by the last ray of sun, the snow on top turns magenta, it is gorgeous. Going slow, the hours, passing by, the daylight giving place to moonlight, an almost full moon those days, adding to the mystic atmosphere, with their sharp edge some gigantic cliffs comes out every once in a while, every turn is a surprise, on the other side of the river the villages are silent, only a few light bulb, cultures are left over for the winter, nobody walks around, we reach half of the way, it is midnight, and the great scenery doesn’t stop.  As a last goodbye, these last hours along the border, of a country full of mysteries, violence and beauty.  Endless hours like an hopeful “A bientot”. Great people in their tiny house, early morning, offering tea, the children getting ready for a day were they will celebrate Akbar Khan their religious leader, dressed nicely, in white, with some colored motifs around the neck, a red hat.. The grand mother preparing the food of the valley rough and simple… Tasty bread. The stove warm the room a little, the shoes are drying up, the chaï is finished, the way in yesterday was smooth with cold, hot spring, wolves and army men, here in Murgab, four thousands meters high, somewhere below twenty during the day, all is right. A gorgeous valley and far away the almost eight thousand meters high peak in China along the Karakorum, on the top of a little one, shouting of joy, the moment is too good, the time is too good too, happiness, in the Pamir after all these places, all these cultures, and all these people, this is great… everyday surprises coming, creating more excitement than ever, bringing thoughts together, making them clearer. 6:00 A.M. Waking up by a good thirty below zero, it is fresh, hands are cold, and light is too, the morning is gorgeous, Altynbek a local driver pick me up for the way through the mountain, some old ladies joins us, as we head for Sary-Tash and the last stop before China. The valleys are flat with ranges of mountains on each side, all in snow, we are at 4000m, going over a few passes before the Karakorul lake, frozen, certainly a hard spot to live through the winter, yaks are spread out, eating calmly rests of the summer grass, a few horses too, the people warming up with the first rays of sun, offering us some milk, sugar and yak butter, yummy… a few laugh and we keep on going. The landscape is amazing, and after hours of driving through the snow, we finally get to Kyrgystan… Excited to be almost in China, but the nostalgia, the memories right here, and missed already… Weird circumstances, and an endless hitch-hiking ride throughout the mountains, Kashgar came along. Now, what is ahead got closer, and what is ahead also got further, the time left the travel, with hopes, wishes and dreams, here, more than ever. The time coming, i will just keep walking. Again and again, heading towards.

    Imagine a land far far away, a land dry and arid, a land of rocks, cliffs, snow and water, the slopes are steep, the valleys deep, the Badakchsan, between Afghanistan and Tajikistan, high land with unique relief, on the the tajik side, the impressive road through, alternate of mud and asphalt for hundreds of kilometers. On the other side, Afghanistan, mud villages, with some trails and left over fields.. 

    Thoughts about the country left few days ago are tumbling through the end of the day going up towards the Pamir range, far away the first high mountains, lightened by the last ray of sun, the snow on top turns magenta, it is gorgeous. Going slow, the hours, passing by, the daylight giving place to moonlight, an almost full moon those days, adding to the mystic atmosphere, with their sharp edge some gigantic cliffs comes out every once in a while, every turn is a surprise, on the other side of the river the villages are silent, only a few light bulb, cultures are left over for the winter, nobody walks around, we reach half of the way, it is midnight, and the great scenery doesn’t stop. 

    As a last goodbye, these last hours along the border, of a country full of mysteries, violence and beauty. 

    Endless hours like an hopeful “A bientot”.

    Great people in their tiny house, early morning, offering tea, the children getting ready for a day were they will celebrate Akbar Khan their religious leader, dressed nicely, in white, with some colored motifs around the neck, a red hat.. The grand mother preparing the food of the valley rough and simple… Tasty bread.

    The stove warm the room a little, the shoes are drying up, the chaï is finished, the way in yesterday was smooth with cold, hot spring, wolves and army men, here in Murgab, four thousands meters high, somewhere below twenty during the day, all is right.

    A gorgeous valley and far away the almost eight thousand meters high peak in China along the Karakorum, on the top of a little one, shouting of joy, the moment is too good, the time is too good too, happiness, in the Pamir after all these places, all these cultures, and all these people, this is great… everyday surprises coming, creating more excitement than ever, bringing thoughts together, making them clearer.

    6:00 A.M. Waking up by a good thirty below zero, it is fresh, hands are cold, and light is too, the morning is gorgeous, Altynbek a local driver pick me up for the way through the mountain, some old ladies joins us, as we head for Sary-Tash and the last stop before China. The valleys are flat with ranges of mountains on each side, all in snow, we are at 4000m, going over a few passes before the Karakorul lake, frozen, certainly a hard spot to live through the winter, yaks are spread out, eating calmly rests of the summer grass, a few horses too, the people warming up with the first rays of sun, offering us some milk, sugar and yak butter, yummy… a few laugh and we keep on going. The landscape is amazing, and after hours of driving through the snow, we finally get to Kyrgystan… Excited to be almost in China, but the nostalgia, the memories right here, and missed already…

    Weird circumstances, and an endless hitch-hiking ride throughout the mountains, Kashgar came along.

    Now, what is ahead got closer, and what is ahead also got further, the time left the travel, with hopes, wishes and dreams, here, more than ever. The time coming, i will just keep walking.

    Again and again, heading towards.

     

  10. 18 December


    The gorgeous, frozen, karakul lake in his empty lands.

    The gorgeous, frozen, karakul lake in his empty lands.