Luang Nam Tha Trek

I like my consistency. Fifteen days after I discovered that trekking was not for me and here I was, with boots on and a backpack on my shoulders, for another one. Before taking the decision, I bombarded the person in the agency with long list of questions: "It is very difficult?", "How many hours walking?", "What level of difficulty?", "And the landscape? What kind is it? "..He patiently answered all my questions and my soul was appeased. In fact I had no alternative. I chose Luang Nam Tha- a small village in northern Laos just because of the trek, and wanted to make sure that it wasn't a mistake.

Day 1

The first day started in the market. As we were walking through the stands of fruits, insects and other things that we could not identify, our trek-guides bought lunch. Like any good market, at each step, we were filled with smells and sounds that almost touched us physically.

After this moment of pause, we took off in the minivan for the beginning of the trek. A dirt road that cuts through the beautiful mountains. Green and red are the dominant colors. A forest that I have long dreamed of visiting, was in front of me. My age made me grow seeing the films of Vietnam War. Now I had the opportunity to experience that kind of landscape.

After a day's walk, we reached the first village where we slept. Along the way were the images of burnt ground, lunch in the woods and broad view of the forest. When we reached the final destination, we all had a smile of someone who spent a great day.


Village

And the village was hard to conquer. Despite the friendly smiles, we were a few strangers who would spend a night there. On the other hand, the village was an ethnic village that was “alive”. Full of satellite dishes, bikes parked underneath the houses, and modern appliances et al.

But this became a unique experience. This was a real village. Not one where everything is arranged to meet the expectations of tourists. The world has evolved and technology has reached everywhere. Here instead of it transforming the way of life, blended with it. Over a period of time, the shyness faded and disappeared altogether when we shared a magic pot of Lao-Lao on a full moon night.

Day 2

In the morning they informed us: "soon we will begin ..." Those clouds promised rain... and they delivered. We only had enough time to get into the dense jungle. A green that fills all the space. The trek is barely visible, and this is such a time where having a guide is the right choice. "Put the raincoats!" Warns us 5 minutes in advance. But he could do little. The battle was lost since the beginning. Shortly after that, I was a all soaked.

Time for walking and slipping. To fall and rise. The brown earth was all over us, but the water cleaned the dirt. I realize how difficult is the ground in these conditions. A struggle for balance and move a few meters. But every clear space, we saw a landscape that stole our breath. It was a complete experience. It's called rain forest for a good reason. There is something about the rain that makes it even more beautiful.

We crossed a creek to get to a shelter of bamboo. Lost in the woods. Perfect place to recharge your energies and have lunch. Amid drops, we throw our hands up the sticky rice and accompaniments. The bamboo shoot in a spicy sauce is divine.

Meal taken, I realize that part of my waterproof is red. Mmmm ... I think I know what it is and check my arm to be sure. Nothing. Oh .. wait ... the end of my pants are also red. I roll them up and ... a fat leech dwells in my socks. The guide quickly takes it off. I feel raped. It drank my blood and I did not feel anything. Not a bite to say "hey I'm here and I'll feed myself with a bit of you."

With this, begins the second stage of the trek: outrunning the leeches. It's amazing how fast they move and attack you. But the adversities create a spirit of camaraderie and in the end we were survivors of an unequal struggle.

The last part of the trek was done without rain or leeches. We have come to a village by the river. We had a sight that seemed it would end in heaven, such was the beauty of the green that surrounded us. Arriving at the village our feet were asking for freedom. We took off the soaked boots and stepped into our flip flops.

But the rain still had made some damage, and our van was a few hundred meters far. Time to venture into the mud. Something that some flip-flops could not bear. Just as well. They gave me the opportunity to enjoy the taste of this red earth with my feet ...

I like my consistency. It is her that takes me to the next experience. A decision is only a decision if it can be undone. I was glad that 15 days after realizing that trekking was not for me, here I was, with my feet in the mud and happy for the two days I spent walking...

Le moi errant: Goodbye ...

It is the hardest part of the trip. A goodbye steals a little of your soul and leaves a void inside you. Everything around becomes gray. Just the memory glitters.

It was always there. Some almost impossible to say. But while traveling, the rythm is different. In a "normal" life we savor the sweet illusion that there is no goodbye. On the trip it is present from the first moment.

I do not give in, nor do I revolt. These are rules of the game. Not of traveling, but of life. With a ‘hello’ comes a ‘goodbye’ and with this an emptiness. Deep and sharp. One that leaves a scar behind. After that you instantly shrink to the sound of the next "Hello." But you end up forgetting it.

You are aware of the sadness that follows, but you let yourself go. You freefall and feel the hardness of floor, rise up and treasure every moment, smiles and words shared. Abandon material and keep the rest. Keep safe in your heart. They are your most precious treasure, sealed by a single word: Goodbye!

Story of a photo: At the table ...

It is a trait common to mankind. The time of a meal. And if the Nordic stress has stolen a bit of the communion of this occasion, Latins- and rest of the world still enjoy it with the sociability that this implies.

The food is one of the most important links of humanity. Around a table we fulfill rituals, tell stories and enjoy the taste that the human imagination creates. This meal- in the Asian jungle- brought the satisfaction of a day’s walking. Brought more stories. Unknown flavors- like the crumb of bamboo - and other familiars- such as mint. And among Latinos, the conversation turns out to revolve around food. We walk through other flavors, sharing experience.

At the table we travel across continents, dreams and emotions. We find a part of the essence of humanity and make that empty stomach peaceful...

New Routine

A world trip is also about routines. Some small - pack the bag, others that take more time - get a room. The latter always begins with a look that has a touch of awe and another of daze.
I wasn't different when I arrived in Luang Nam Tha. Maybe a little more lost than usual. I had just come to a new country and this was my first stop. Worse, I arrived early. When I alighted the bus, I thought it was a regular stop. A group of tourists aroused my curiosity: "What are they doing here?" I looked around me and found the same word repeating: Namtha... "Is it my stop by any chance? Luang Nam Tha? " I decided to ask. And at the third confirmation, I realized it was it.

The second step of this routine is to see how we arrive at the Hostels area. This was a village too small for a map in my guidebook. And around me there was only ... well, nothing. I had a market, buses and street. No Tuk-Tuks in sight, trying to sell a hotel or something else.

Third step of this routine: leave the station. With no alternative option other than just one street... life was easy. Now I had to choose the direction. On my left, I saw nothing more than an empty street. On my right... voila, the tuktuk and the group of tourists. An easy choice. When I arrived they were in midst of negotiations. They were also going to the city, so we ended up going together. When we were surrounded by hotels and travel agencies, the driver stopped the tuktuk.

Time to take the last step of this routine. Pick up the backpacks and start knocking on the door of the guesthouses, with the following questions:

"Do you have room?"
"How much?"
"Can I see it?"

It follows two alternatives:

"Ok, I'll be back if I do not find something cheaper" that serves both as the initial search and to check the price sensitivity.

Or:

"Discount ... discount? "that is used when you already have a room that interests you.

In my case, I make this last question in a begging tone, rather than demanding. I'm not good at negotiating, so this is the best way out . In addition, this negotiation is different from the Indian one. The refusal is taken as mere refusal, and not as a mean to get into a negotiation.

Finally I got my first room in Luang Nam Tha. A guesthouse that is located slightly off the main street - with an appearance suitable for one day. With the key in hand, I came to an end of this new routine, with the last ‘sigh’ but then again, is it not the way all routines end?

Crossing the border

A new experience. Crossing the border by land... in this case, river. All the borders I crossed before were in an airport. So I was curious this time. Upon arriving at the border post on the Mekong River, I didn't know what to do. But everything was easy. Passport delivered, red tape filled and a stamp on the passport. I was officially out of Thailand. I went down to the river and took a long and slender boat that were waiting for passengers.

At the sound of the engine, We were set off to a new country. It was a strange feeling. The crossing of a no-man's-land filled with water. Whenever I pass a river, I hope to find the same city. In this case too i felt same, only the flag told me that it was another country.

Once I set my foot on the other side, I felt it was different. Something subtle. I walked a little towards the border post. I was greeted with broad smiles and introduced to the red tape needed to enter a country. One question was impossible to answer: "where would you be staying?" It should have been easy, but from the beginning of my travel, it had been a normal thing for me not to have a prior booking. In this case, I didn't even know which city I would be at that night. I asked him if it was a must to fill that part. He said: “it is not important”. With everything sorted, it's time to pay for the visa ...

"What? Not Euros? "
"No Euro ... Dollars " he answers me. I check how much cash I have and it isn't enough. I look around, trying to find a solution. I notice that the exchange office is closed:

"When does it open?"
"2 P.M." he answers ... this means I would have to spend the night there. A delay in the trip that I did not feel like doing
"Other place?" I asked with almost no hope of a solution. I say ‘almost’ because of the optimistic person i am. I had to find solution to the “impossible-to-solve” riddle: "No money, no visa. No visa, no money... "

"Yes ... ATM ... end of the road. "answers me with a friendly smile. "You can go to the ATM ..."

I couldn't believe. With that response, the riddle became an “impossible-to-solve-unless-in-Laos” one. That was my first experience of entering Laos. Without a visa, disoriented and looking for an ATM. A strange feeling of illegality and into a country that seemed different from what I had experienced so far..

A pause for a week

Will be pausing my self for this week. New articles next one :)

Rhythm

Sometimes the journey has a rhythm of its own. And for each the way of sensing the place also changed. The north of Thailand was made at three different tempos. Each of them painted different traits on the northern Thailand.

Andante - Ayuthaya

It was a response to a quasi-challenge. The day I arrived I heard: Ayuthaya is impossible to be done on foot. The Uncle Scrooge in me and my curiosity then led me to give up the idea of renting a bike, and i decided to explore this beautiful temple city by foot. And geography helped me. This tourist town is flat and a natural island in the middle of the river.

And if the ancient and touristic temples are the big attraction, I found that the smile of people and the small details of daily life equally attractive . Instead of fast moving between locations, I saw the contours of the temples turn into flowering trees. These changed into narrow streets, wooden houses and alleys, to be extended into big avenues. Here the features are broad and the rhythm of a main artery. Once again the lines are blurred in another temple degraded by time. I follow these lines to the confusion of a peaceful part of the city across the river.

And I follow my andante rhythm... sometimes almost an adagio when the heat leaves me breathless. But when a salesperson gives me directions to my new destination, my pace quickens a bit. Changes to an allegro, as we try to communicate and I learn a few words of Thai. I say goodbye with a smile, a smile that was a reflection of the one on the face in front of me.

Alone again, again walking. I follow the contours of this city. And after crossing the river those contours transform into gold ... gold from roofs of the temple, gold fromtheandante sunset that hides behind the landscape.

Gravissimo - Chiang Mai

And sometimes the pace is so slow it seems to be on a stand still. This was how I saw the tourist capital of northern Thailand. A small town, consisting of many Wats and a impeccable historic center. Exept the temple atop the hill, everything was done almost on a standstill mode. I walked without haste through the night market and rest of the temples.

I decided to stay here for sometime to do my writing and from the sit out in front of a cafe I saw this city. One of which was at the door of the old town. Here I saw the traffic flow. Tourists going in front of me, and from time to time, locals with the traditional Chinese hat. I remember a beggar who asked me for a cigarette. Tanned from a sun that does not spare anyone, and with a t-shirt and used shorts on, he politely asked for a cigarette,something that I never refuse. And then money, something that I never give. Days followed with the same routine, accompanied by smiles. I carried on with my writing, he carried on with his begging.

Another cafe’s sit out was at the center of the city - halfway between the door and the main Wat- the voices around were more international. I like to observe other foreigners, their way of communicating with their surroundings. Some smile, extremely pleased with their journey, others indifferent and arrogant, , ammending their travel check-list in a dry manner. In the background, the cafe staff follow their routine of taking orders and quick breaks. Spent so much time there that it created a complicity of its own. One small converstion with one of the staff members and it made me feel at home.

Presto - Chiang Rai

Just one night. This was my Chiang Rai. My pace was high. A beautiful sunset upon arrival. The desire to find a place to stay. A quick visit to the night market, full of smells of the foods, sounds of the music of stalls selling DVD's and colors of the crafts sold here. I wanted to catch everything. The sounds, the houses and streets. The faces and the smiles on them. I was there for just a few hours. Not enough to describe a place. But this was a more real and alive city than the others. The following day, while bidding a goodbye to the city, my heart still followed apace so different from what I felt in the previous cities.

Le moi errant: Eat Pray Love... or the change within

A company since the beginning of my trip... And with every "you ought to read" suggestion, my curiosity grew. I admit that my mental censors kick me out of that reccomendation . But every time I heard those four words my curiosity increased and my mental barrier diminished.

When the book smiled at me - in an airport bookshop - I accepted the invitation. As soon as I started reading, I realized why so many suggestions. It was impossible to escape the parallels between what I read and what I lived. And despite many differences, the spirit was the same. I noticed that while reading, I was talking with the author and was suprised with the way I was doing it.

Not with a voice of admiration, but with a voice of companionship. I realized the change that had taken place in me. Elizabeth was a fellow traveler, and we lived in the same world of letters, words and stories. I still see the differences. I'm - at most – a writer-to-be and she is a best-seller author. But I noticed that I had surpassed the barriers of admiration of both worlds.

With this I realize how much we self-limit ourselves with the way we construct the world around us. We are all human beings, made of the same blood and fed with the same emotions. The barriers are self made, not by the world that surrounds us. And when you break this barrier, like any other barrier, you widen your horizon. Sky becomes the only limit, other than thyself.

Story of a Picture: The couch

"Psst ... hey ... You there ... Yes, you! The one walking these streets. Stop for a while there. I know I'm not an attraction, but just stop for a few seconds ... Traveling is not only seeing monuments and walking the spotless and touristic streets... sometimes you have to stop and see the rest...

Hey ... do not look at me like that ... I am not a simple couch that was thrown away... with me lived laughter and dreams. I heard the whisper of adults and gave comfort after a hard day at work. More than anything else I gave happiness to those who sat here...

When I heard the first word of a new sofa I shuddered... even let out a spring ... but I realized that everything in life has an end... and mine isn't that bad. Look around me... the lake view ... Greenary all around me... and the theatre of life on the other side... now, I enjoy my retirement as the elements of nature tear me apart... gradually... until I'm just a memory in your photo"

With a smile...

It is fast to get used to easy life. After the "cultural shock” of returning to a developed country, the worries of buying a train ticket vanished. Calmly, I went to the station in Ayuthaya. A village in an island of a river. The crossing was made by boat. Time to enjoy the wooden houses, and the serenity. The sunset reflected in water and painted everything around it. I smiled at my luck.

Just before reaching the station I'm greeted by the strong smell of food. My stomach opens his mouth and orders me to stop for a sticky rice and mango. With this boss of mine satisfied, I went to the little station in Ayuthaya. The white walls make me remember my country. And the order - and disorder - almost takes me back home. Only my eyes and smell the food - there are stalls everywhere - tell me otherwise. From question to question I reach the ticket office. In less than a minute I already have the ticket.

The next day - and with more 18 kilos on my back - I return to the train station. The letters written on the information board tell me that my train is on time. Of course this was only a matter of hours until “on time” became late. So the train arrives with a Thai punctuality. An hour after the scheduled time I board this metalic animal.

As I enter the hallway I feel a chill ... not of cold but of astonishment. I wasn't used to comfort and cleanliness anymore. It felt like a luxury hotel. Inside the compartment my traveling companions had taken their place. My astonishment became curiousity. Seeing the size of the bed, I didn't understand how I could fit the backpack. In that a pristine white room, it seemed that my backpack had no place. Seeing my inability, one of my colleagues points out the place of the backpacks. After India, I forgot where was the normal place of them: just above the door. Between smiles,II put my heavy companion to rest.

Time to relax and enjoy the trip. In the middle of this comfortable train, the landscape becomes even more beautiful. The journey goes across the mountain and through the typical jungle of this region. I can not help smiling as my eyes are intoxicated from the green trees, my ears filled with the symphony of the rails and my thoughts drift into the world of dreams ...

The streets of Bangkok

"Unique" is the word that I find to describe this city. By itself it means nothing. This is one of those adjectives that attach themselves to many different realities. The problem is that I can not understand very well what makes it unique. It's just a feeling I had while walking through the streets of Bangkok.

The people are the ones that make a place what it is. And the first thing you notice here is beauty. It's amazing how any woman puts a model in check. Typically wear short dresses to highlight the linear shapes of their bodies. Many with an umbrella to cover themselves from sun. And men don't lag behind. With more informal style in appearance, they cultivate the good taste of this city. Here I am like a homeless person.

But it's not only how they dress. It is also the way they walk. Certain of its destination without weights, they transmit a security that the city knows where it's going. And if you look at the sidewalks, it is going to heaven. There are many skyscrapers or mega-malls.

At each end of the metro the same feeling. A cosmopolitan and free city. A site which becomes independent of the country where it is. Here I enjoy a freedom that I already missed. As with everything, here and there we realized that this is not really deep, but the most apparent. After all, Bangkok is also the capital of Asian prostitution and right next to the night market - a set of street stands that sell a little bit of everything - is one of the oldest places of prostitution.

But this is not a city of unique realities. Upon entering the Chinatown Asian confusion finds its space on what seems a huge Chinese store. Here we can lose a lifetime. It took me half an hour to cross it in a straight line. In between, are the faces, almost all Asian, looking for a little bit of everything at the cheapest price.

In the meanwhile we can feast on any of the street food. And how the Thais know how to cook. My favorite is a simple one: a sticky rice with mango and coconut sauce. But not just here. The street food stalls are another iconic image of this city and you find them everywhere. From the most local place to the area of ​​the temples. The latter is the center of all tourism in Bangkok. A clean space touching the river. Any city in the world would be happy to have a space like this. The pagodas tell me I'm in another world, the rules have changed and now it's all about the tourist.

Not strange that here I am approached more often than any other place of Bangkok. The Tuk-Tuk's drivers try to convince me I need to go to some place. But I don't need. To feel the city it is only necessary to walk through its streets ...

Le moi errant: A Lucky Bastard ... or after six months

It has been six months since I left Portugal and I don't know what to feel. I look back and see the common thread that led me to this moment. Inside I'm torn between how much I've changed, and how much is going to change.

The question mark and exclamation continue to guide my life. A child's amazement I insist not to leave. My emotional yo-yo is also continuing, and I don't run away of my sorrows. The void exists, but I understand that it gives us space to fill in something.

The way I feel the trip has changed. Today the world is also my world and it changes everything around me. I don't look for the exotic but for the beauty. Wherever it may be. I try to feel the emotions of where I am. Recognizing that it will be more mine than of the places.

I don't know if I'm more adult or childish. I would say both. I learned to live with this duality. Ever present in me. I am often something and its opposite. Gradually abandoning the prison of being and transform me into what I was.

The journey follows its path. Never know where to go. I depend on what my "inner self" tells me. I hear that voice more clearly, though sometimes still I don't follow at the first word.

And, despite the time travel, I feel that I have not seen, done or learned anything. There is so much around me. So many experiences that go beyond me and make me humble. Today I am more ignorant than before, even of myself. I found that I have a long unknown road ahead of me.

And this is what the trip gave me in these six months. But most of all, I met many fantastic people that luckly crossed my path and that I learned to call friends. Unique and special lives. So special that make me be sure that I am, and perhaps always will be, a Lucky Bastard!

Story of a Picture: A simple photo

This is one of those photos that would be impossible a few months ago. This is because it was taken from a private dock at the end of a street of warehouses. Those that when we are alone in a strange place we don't like to venture.

At the beginning of this journey wouldn't think of putting there my feet. But now, that the streets of the world are also mine, this was just another one and I was curious to know what I would see on the other side of the river. Around me people were following their normal life. Loading goods, pausing for a meal or just relaxing.

In the end of the street is a market. Possibly a morning one because the stalls were already closed. When I cross it, a woman in her 60 years called my attention to something in Thai. We try to understand each other the best we could. After all we could only share a few common words. I realize that is private property and I ask to take a picture. She accesses with a face of rigor. It was the last step I had to overcome after months losing inhibitions and fears. So many to take a simple picture.

Women

A mere chance determined that instead of two X's I had an X and a Y. And because of this detail, doors opened, my life was easier and I walk through this world without the worries of many people. Nobody wants to touch me, spend hours staring at me or invite me to a "quickie". A reality so completely different that would change my trip.

That's what I felt while sweating profusely at two in the morning and chatted with Shyla. I knew her in Bangkok. We were at the door of where we lived - fruit of my addiction to nicotine - and the words flowed endlessly. Ironically, I got to know better a reality that I had physically abandoned: India.

And there - that little couch on the sidewalk of a Thai street – I recalled other places of the trip and my own country. I saw how the reality is still so cruel to women. A world of privileges for those lucky enough to have a Y in the genetic lottery. Another very different for those with X. More struggle, sorrow and disappointment. Even in Europe, the fight is still uneven. In the rest of the world it has just begun.

Traveling is also thinking about the reality that surrounds us. Today I dedicate this post to all women. At that, with a courage that I never needed, travel like me through this world. And to those who fight the hardest one: the struggle of daily life and of their dreams. They fight for a life they are entitled to, making sacrifices that I never even had to consider...

Welcome to Bangkok

Welcome to the organized airport, heat and air conditioning. To the flawless and cold metro. The directions everywhere so you won't get lost. Welcome to the smell of food everywhere.

Welcome to the mini-skirt and freedom. To the sexual and assexual tourism. To androgyny and transsexuality. Welcome to the waiting in the sideways until the pedestrian signal turns green. The wide avenues and skyscrapers. Parks within the city, trash bins and massages.

Welcome to the sympathy and the market. To the gentle negotiation that makes you quit the hard bargaining. Welcome to fashion, stress and the suit-and-tie. To the make-up and diet problems. Welcome to Facebook, tweet, iphone, ipod and others alike.

Welcome to the smile, gentleness and shyness. Welcome to a city that walks with pride to have a strong personality.

Welcome to Bangkok!

Lang Tang Trek

Between a rock and a hard place. An expression that I like, but not to feel it. But here I am. In that awkward position. Trying to find the best words to describe the trekking. I know, by the teachings of Katya, never to criticize a trip in a chronicle. Or rather, it is possible to do it, but it requires a good dose of humor.

There is nothing false in this rule. It's just a way of saying that "if you don't have anything interesting to write, then don't do it." The problem happens when having nothing to complain about - except my own stupidity - I cannot say that the trek itself was phenomenal. But the best is to explain what it was rather than what it wasn't.

In the Himalayas there are several circuits that you can do. By areas, the most popular are: Everest, Annapurna and Langtang. Of the three, my choice fell on the latter. Driven by Isabel Braz valuable tips and adjectives that seduced me, I didn't care much to see which was the best treks for me. For each region you will find many paths you can choose. In my case I ended up doing a little research on the net, to see which route best was more known (← the first of a few errors). The decision fell on the route that starts at Syabru Besi - a village near the end of the road coming from Kathmandu - until Kyanjin Gompa - the last village before we venture to the mountain peaks.

What I expected was a few days of climbing mountains and nature. And I cannot say I didn't have it. For I Had it. But I also had much more than that. This whole trip was more than just trekking. It was a huge challenge, and above all, a life lesson. I had to fight everything. The physical exhaustion, illness (did the whole route with paracetamol because of an infected throat and a fever which stubbornly refused to disappear) and above all against discouragement.

This appeared on the first day. To my surprise the trek wasn't easy. The route followed a himalayan logic that often consists of inclined uphills, to follow the subsequent drops that will lead us again ... yes, you guessed it ... to other sloped uphill. In between, the route follows the river which descends from the mountain. And although beautiful, there are two details that cause much impact: (a) the mountains are steep and close the landscape and (b) we never really move away from the river so we do not have the sensation of altitude.

So our physical fatigue tells us that we are going up, but never reach the notion of the altitude that we are. For someone with management background, it all seems too costly for the beauty that we behold. Oit is worse when you don't have a sporty profile like me. At the end of the first day - which I only reached half of my goal - my whole body was telling me that I was a masochist. Everything hurted and I was really tired. And this was just the first of the days that lay ahead.

And with the tiredness came the disease. At the first chill of fever, I knew what to expect: some long hours with the body shaking violently. I was a human blender. This made me fear I could not continue my journey. The higher I climbed, the further medical care would be. If anything got worse it would mean I had to walk all the way back and with no medications that were being depleted by the hours. If I had a crisis on the way, this could mean that I had to stop wherever I was.

It is easy to imagine that everything in my body told me to come back. Of course, if this had happened - or if the trek was only a few aches and landscapes – you wouldn't be reading these words.

The reality was very different from mere pain, an unmotivated mind or some tired legs. It was the company of a special person named Hannah. The motivation that came from America by the force of Miranda. Or the magical moments like the one where a crow landed on the wings of a flying eagle. Was overcoming our limits and continuing on. The certainty that, however much we go up, we would find one more peak to climb just to get a better view. It was the small details of Himalayan life camouflaged by villages that exist for trekking tourism. It was a small child who stole a piece of my heart and gave me moments of fun and wisdom. It was being in the middle of nowhere, without a single sound of civilization. Having respect for yaks and monkeys that were on the way. It was to go up just to get down again. Follow another path in the way back and seeing what I expected to see from the beginning.

By those paths, stayed another stranger. Something that went up didn't return. Something that was only possible by following this path. With the people I met and the effort that I took. I may not have had the best landscape in the world. Not have risen to the highest peak or choosen the worst way. But now that everything has been surpassed, I wouldn't change it for another route.

I conclude this chronicle in the same position I started. Still between a rock and a hard place. Not knowing whether or not I will recommend what I did. I think it's something I'll never know. Even to myself. I am sure that Iwon't recommend this route to my future self - maybe do the villages route or venture to the west of Nepal – I also know I wouldn't say to my past self not to do it. What I got was too precious to change for a more enjoyable trekk...

Le moi errant: Everything is lost...

It was so easy. A few weeks in Nepal and it seemed that I hadn't learned a thing. Little remained of the confidence gained in India. I felt frustrated, restless and discontented. I felt again a tourist and not a traveler. All I had done had been reduced to ashes. It was then that I realized that was my lesson. I had become too cocky and thereby lowered my guard.

Only after one exhausting week I understand that. I noticed that my anxiety stemmed from this lesson. One I had to learn before moving on. Everything in this life is lost if you do not do anything to hold it. And it happens very fast. Without notice.

In my case, just took two weeks. I was lucky to learn this lesson still on the road. I know how this is likely to happen when I return. A body used to adapt will have no difficulty in doing it when I return.

But now I realize that the struggle is endless. Will always be inside me. And if I give it for granted what I have, is will the moment I lose what I've gain. I had to take a few steps back. But sometimes that is the way that we can move forward...

Story of a photo: Kung Fu Master

The photo is not well taken. But this is the most precious one of Nepal. When I arrived at Lama Hotel I was exhausted. It was the second day of trecking and my body was starting to break into disease.

Time to decide the hotel but first we had to find our backpacks that we ship by porters. Coincidentally, they were in the same hotel as this child. Immediately she greeted us with energy and smiles.

And this was only the beginning. As I had to stay another day - a sudden fever forced me - I ended up finding the perfect companion. After all we shared the same mental age and I was fascinated by her imagination and boundless energy. She played with everything and everyone. Anything was a source of smiles. Among them, shouted a few words that only she could understand, but that made all sense.

All of it was a character taken from a kung fu movie. And in this film she was a master. At first sight, one of those who seem mad by years of isolation. But that surprises us with the wisdom of their madness. Each chunk of time was a lesson. There I learned how you need little to play with. As a smile is stronger and more powerful than any accurate punch. Or how even with nothing, anyone can be so happy and make others as happy.

When I took this picture I was crushed because she had given me so much. I felt like a student, who still has much to learn, to bid farewell to his little crazy master. And inside I shed a tear. One of those that leave a trail in our hearts...

Once again a student...

It's a cliché to say that we are always learning. Even more - and more true - when we refer to travel. But despite the constant learning we are not always students. India has given enough confidence to forget what is being a student of life. Lucky I found in the way Nepal. And I learned great - and sometimes harsh – lessons here.

I realized that I am as ignorant as the day I was born. Or that it isn't the age that gives us something to teach. I could you explain this country, and what I felt, by the fatigue of India. An exhaust of emotions that makes us recollect into the sweetest idleness. But that would be too easy and not very loyal to this unique country. I know I leave Nepal without actually knowing it. Something that can say to any country that I have passed.

Here I recovered old vices. I felt defeated by the situation and came back to the state of mind I had before. And here it is easy. With a massive tourist industry, and few alternatives for those who want to be lazy, I can only feel that this country was a break in my trip. One I needed to relearn how to learn. To look deeper inside me than I thought possible.

Nepal imposes by its softness. By its own gentle character. Teach us, without us imposing anything. And turns us all into its most humble student...

What a Ride...

We arrived from India convinced that we know everything. And with reasons for that. It is one of the most demanding countries. In this case I thought that littlewould suprise me in a bus ride. How I was wrong. Any trip in Nepal, makes a trip in India look something luxurious.

The best of all, was the journey from Kathmandu to Syabru Besi in Lang Tang region. As every trip this begins with the purchase of the ticket. A small wood stall next to a bus is the official ticket office. The bus park is huge and almost seems to be a small city of bus, market and dustiness. With ticket in hand I enter one of those multi-colored bus that constitutes an iconic image of this country. My place is just behind the driver's and his age destroys my maxim that "if the driver does this for a long time and is still alive is because he knows what he is doing." Nothing I worry. After all, I know that I have no choice if I want to go to Syabru Besi.

The adventure begins just outside of Kathmandu, where the serpent we call road starts. You never reach a lot of speed, but our senses say otherwise. A hill that seems to begin under the bus and the bumps of the road is enough to trigger any heartbeat – even the most insensitive one.

Inside, people take their seats, built to the size of Nepali. It is the first country where I feel like a giant and my knees compete for space with the front seat. If there is a lack of place, there is always the roof. Which can carry bags, people and animals.

The soundtrack will vary between Nepali and Indian pop music. Or at least that's what my imagination tells me. My ears cannot distinguish the difference. The body becomes used to the bumps and the rest is food for the senses.

And when I thought that this would be like this until our final destination, a smoke comes from the engine and a driver yells something I do not understand, launching more excitement on the trip. And don't need to understand Nepali to know what to do. If a driver in the midst of smoke, stops the bus and gets out shouting something, I do exactly the same (without the shouting, of course). Like me, everyone does it and quickly the space isn't enough to all get out at the same time. Nothing that a little practice and pushing around woun't help to solve. Within 5 seconds we were all out of the bus, wondering how long it would take for the problem to be solved.

But since some good can come out of something bad, this short break is enough to get some fresh air. We are already high enough to get a sense of the mountain. In between cigarettes, small conversations and confirmation that the problem is not resolved, the time passes quickly. And when a queue starts to form, our bus roars again and we resumed our journey.

Then came the curves and counter curves. By the middle of a stop at the request of a flat tire. This time nothing that took a long time. And while the bus continues I'm amazed by the landscape. Sometimes it seems that we fly. In my mind I keep the image of the ticket collector. He grabs in the open door and just hangs outside. Behind it is impossible to distinguish more than the air and the mountains on the other side of the hill. He looks like a hawk that comes by magic besides this bus. With this, I doze off until I reach my final destination. With the smile of someone who made a difficult but unforgettable journey.