The Diary

Keeping on going..

Sat, 28 Jan 2012 09:40:00 +0100

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.

A home for retreat, were the monk once entered, for years, never...

Fri, 27 Jan 2012 11:40:00 +0100

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

During the daily monastery rounds in Dege. Praying.

Thu, 26 Jan 2012 12:06:24 +0100

During the daily monastery rounds in Dege. Praying.

The tibetan nomads.. An unfortune meeting, a fellow from here...

Thu, 26 Jan 2012 12:02:02 +0100

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 endless claps.

Tue, 24 Jan 2012 11:48:55 +0100

The endless claps.

In the blue of the night. They were chanting.

Tue, 24 Jan 2012 11:48:13 +0100

In the blue of the night. They were chanting.

It is the Tibetan Plateaus, after all distances… Through the...

Tue, 24 Jan 2012 11:22:37 +0100

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..

Days of rides in the Taklamakan, through the endless desert,...

Thu, 29 Dec 2011 16:03:15 +0100

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.

Imagine a land far far away, a land dry and arid, a land of...

Sun, 18 Dec 2011 17:27:00 +0100

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.

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

Sun, 18 Dec 2011 17:25:56 +0100

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

Through the night, towards the Pamir and Badakchsan.

Sun, 18 Dec 2011 17:23:47 +0100

Through the night, towards the Pamir and Badakchsan.

Here in Dushanbe, the memories are vivid and strong, Thankful...

Fri, 09 Dec 2011 15:06:00 +0100

Here in Dushanbe, the memories are vivid and strong,

Thankful for what the afghani gave, the way they were open, and everything they offered during these weeks, the ride and the first glimpse of the country, the intensity of crossing these lands, the exciting unknown, the fear of the unknown, scattered by gorgeous sceneries, by great people, by war scenes, these man standing on a hill or by the road, often holding their hands in the back, their wife, draped into the impressive and long blue burqua, their children, running around, playing, sceneries likewise passing again and again along the way.

Then arriving to the messy Kabul, the beautiful Kabul, the tensed Kabul, the complex Kabul, Kabul… The thoughts are still hard to catch..

The ride to Panjshir, and the great mountain people, the gorgeous sceneries, the women by the river washing clothes, walking with the children, the men, standing by the edge over looking the valley, the yogurt and the tea shared with the old mens in a dusty room…

The Kabul late in the day, with this soft golden light on the rooftops, the dust surrounding everything, melting them together in this clear brown tone… the little kids riding their bikes… The Kabul terrible, with the bomb strike, later, the great and calming atmosphere of the schicha place, the great people…

Feeling today, humble, and incredibly thankful.

Over and over, these images, now, great memories, a day, each days, leading you step by step through experiences, through the unknown, looking at what was, what will be, and what is… going simply, through life.

در

Kabul, under the glowing light…

Thu, 08 Dec 2011 15:06:00 +0100

Kabul, under the glowing light…

And the attack against the Shia on their celebration day, no...

Wed, 07 Dec 2011 15:02:00 +0100

And the attack against the Shia on their celebration day, no words but the ones of Massoud Hossaini and his article about the pictures he took right after the blast..

One of the great hanging villages.

Wed, 30 Nov 2011 14:28:00 +0100

One of the great hanging villages.

So on we were for the next days, going to the valley of Massoud,...

Tue, 29 Nov 2011 14:28:00 +0100

So on we were for the next days, going to the valley of Massoud, famous for the victories against the red army when they invaded the country in the 90’s, these guys are from a tiny village in the valley, now working in construction they plan to build clinics there.

The entrance of the valley makes you understand how hard the place was to attack, a deep canyon, a road on the side of a cliff, and this for a few kilometers..

Going up slowly, we take a hard turn for a neighboring valley, the road became a trail, passing through each of these tiny villages hanging on the side of the mountains, colored by the land and the mud putted together to build each of the houses, little by little going up, showing their snowy tops, the sceneries one after another are gorgeous, the place is beautiful, the place is fabulous. The women by the river washing their clothes, the children all around them, the men a little further up with their cows, their goats, or on their donkey, some kids are playing football, others work in the fields, the olds chiefs invites us for tea and yogurt, the room is dusty the dust making the light smooth, eight or nine, and after an hour, we were making our way back.

Lights falling down quickly, the blue replacing the yellow, each village lights up, the last men go back home, the temperature reaching zero, nobody talks, the time is right.

We will spend the night in their hometown, a tiny town in the valley, and the next day we were on to another side of Panjshir…

Seven o’clock, we are en route, the valley is higher, more open, villages are a little bigger, and we meet again these amazing scenes along, with the women, the kids, the old mens, there is more snow, we barely talk, contemplatives. A few horses are going downhill also, it is Friday, day of Buskashi, so on the way down we stop by.

Famous game played in the north of the country, the men are on their horses, dressed in their greatest outfit, having their greatest hat, a goat killed a day before is putted on the ground, the goal is to catch it and keep it for a while. It is violent, each of them fighting for victory, hard, all horses excited, going fast, sometime some fall on the ground, the horses wouldn’t walk on them but still… Each catcher earning respect from the valley for a while.

A last stop in another valley, and after these great days we make our way back, looking by the window, us, surrounded by nostalgia, overwhelmed by all these, already great memories, time standing still…

Kabul,

Fri, 25 Nov 2011 14:28:00 +0100

After this first glimpse yesterday, today was a walk around, going blind and getting lost through the neighborhoods of Kabul, trying to see, and learn a little more. The sky filled with dust gives this brownish tone to everything. it is gorgeous, the kids walk around, the youngster working at the simple carpenter around the corner.

Discovering the different sides of the capital, the poor neighborhoods, the residential areas, the center were most of the sensitive buildings are, surrounded by soldiers, their jeeps, some US convoy, moving stuff, standing a couple of meters away, you can hear some “fuck you” by random people walking along.

People clashes, the happiness and relief of the departure of the Taliban as since a long time already left place to anger.

Beings are fascinating, and through the crowd i can’t help myself looking at their beauty, what do they believe in, what will they do in the next minutes, what is their stories, who they are… Kabul is complex, Kabul and the feelings that it gives is hard to explain.

Back at the hotel, meeting two young men, we talk about the country and what has and will happen here. They hope for the best, but it will takes time, probably a few decades. But lets hope by the education and by knowing better, their people will get together, and create what’s next.

Catching up with Jaakko the finish friend met few weeks back in Uzbekistan, the time is a little different, and also great, going through the old city, searching for some goods, the busy, crazy old city, with her smoke, her dirt, her mud, with sellers of all kinds, few helicopters passing by every once in a while, chilling by the schicha place at night, the cute and heartbreaking homeless kid, every night coming to sell his books, Kabul has a lot of poverty, a lots of women in the streets often left alone, or being widow, many orphans, some neighborhood are extremely poor..

An fortunate meeting, by the schicha place one night, Pansjiry, that invites us to see their valley the next day.

En route for Afghanistan… The last days has been filled with...

Tue, 22 Nov 2011 14:28:00 +0100

En route for Afghanistan…

The last days has been filled with great intensity, a mix of stress, of unknown feelings, and a mix of relief, knowing that this relief was every time temporary.. Being here is great, and each moments makes you understand the complexity and also the simplicity of our land. A vast land from the far coast of Europe to the eastern asia..

The day before coming to the border, thinking it could be it, thinking that also it might not be it, and thinking that it could be an amazing experience, being afraid about the unknown like never before, driving my mind a little crazy… But this unknown attracting like an invisible force. You feel the weight and the efforts needed to fight the prejudice that you get from your life, from the society you live in, knowing that afghani are like you, like me, like us, but still the difficulty in the mind, the lack of knowledge, the volatility of the situation there, a war zone.. I hope i never forget those feelings, these emotions that went through the mind during this night…

The night before heading to the border, thinking and thinking, calling the very close friends, her, you realize that what you have is much of a luxury, that you are lucky, and you feel incredibly thankful.

Heading for the border Panji Poyon the next day, was this mix of fear, excitement and stress, but en route. En route for Afghanistan, looking through the cab going fast along these endless green fields, it is the end of autumn, in the mirror the snowed mountains crossed a few days ago, the melancholia. Feeling strong, and feeling vulnerable.

The hotel is simple, dominating the border and the flat grounds of the province of Kunduz. Hopefully to be crossed it the next day, constantly thinking, “Inch Allah’”, hopefully. Dressed up as local, i hope it will help too. The unknown is scary, thoughts are tumbling, some music, some pictures, and the stars up in the sky, reassuring, small we are.. lucky we are…

Waking up, the border was not too long, a few questions, the stamps, a Tadjik head to Kabul too, good news.. he helps me out, and we start heading for Kunduz, the fear slows down, as we go through the plains, a few check points, reassured by the fact that i go almost, in the landscape.

Along the road the old mens, their great stature, in their pashto, their hats, the kids, the shops, it is decades back in time. With the fog surrounding, the scenery is as you could imagine it. After an hour, we finally reach the outskirts of the city, the “dodgy” place as they say.. Just a quick stop, the old Tadjik men deals a car for the capital, and on we are, overwelhmed by all these people, this agitation, nothing like i saw before, India look a like in the mess, thats all. the contrast of coming from the old soviet union is very strong. But this contrast is fabulous. Feeling an intense happiness to be there, and an intense luck, two young men come in, the guys asked something in Dari, understanding that i couldn’t speak their language, they ran out of the car, a little argument after, the other taxi mens reassure them, all was settled, into the unknown we were on for the 300km through Afghanistan.

The landscape is a mix of dry lands scattered with these green cultures, the mess, the poverty, the dirt, the old mens, the young mens, the soldiers, the houses made out of dirt, it is incredibly interesting, thoughts are tumbling. We pass some convoy, german forces, in their gigantic ten tone piece of metal no heads out, leaving nothing behind but weird and angry look on the peoples faces, some IED holes, and some burned toyotas are scattered, we also pass some military operation, with these US soldiers hidden behind these walls, some guys moving fast to another, everything is fine.

You see the news, read articles, look at documentaries, you could imagine the complexity, but still once here, the mess, the ancient culture, the different ethnies, the people marked by decades of war, Afghanistan get more unknown but more and fascinating too. The women in their blue long burka, everywhere along the road, some begging, with their children, those men that lost their legs, or the arm, as the despair, the war here for far too long is a part of the landscape now.

We stop at a little road restaurant, few meat pieces, by hand only, with men only, everybody on the floor, the place is noisy and crowded, the food good, contemplating, the time is good and right…

Heading for the Salang pass, we meet a long US military convoy there, the driver after his american drink picked up at the stop, start a long talk, were i could only pick up, Taliban, Pakistan, America… The others laughed, as the atmosphere get a little more chilled, we passed through Kunduz and Baghlan already the safety should normally be much better..

The driver drops us on the side of a road, having no clue where i am i follow the old men, he brings me to his friends, a family business, on Sarayee Shamali, Harri road, a high four floor hotel. The owners welcome me, and we start to discuss about the country, they tells me all kind of tale from the Jihad, from the life in Samangan mountains, about Massoud, we have simply great time… After going for food with the men downstairs to his restaurant, we take a last chaï.

Feeling thankful, here in the room i could now sleep.

PS : so the rabbits did made it..

Locked on the way from Toshkent to Dushanbe.

Sat, 19 Nov 2011 14:24:00 +0100

Locked on the way from Toshkent to Dushanbe.

The Toshkent interlude, a lot of fun, with the buddies, James,...

Fri, 18 Nov 2011 13:18:00 +0100

The Toshkent interlude, a lot of fun, with the buddies, James, Will, Olga, Stan and co… Great time after few months of travel.

Moonnira, do not worry, i will carry the rabbits to Kabul safely..