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.

Chitwa and Pokhara's emotions

Life is easy. Between the Internet and guidebooks, there is little in this world that is not covered. We can figure out what to do at each location and even what it contains. We prepare the trip to the rhythm of our imagination. But if one day we go to the place we planned, we found that it is much more than that. Beyond what is written, there is a unique world that is ours. The trip goes beyond what we see and becomes what we feel.

Chitwa

It is small and you can do as much as you wish. Between doing nothing or a filled the day, the choice is yours. But everything will revolve around one thing: the jungle. I ended up arriving as a tourist. This meant that everything was included. In this case: a jungle walk, canoeing (which really means going on a cannoe), Elephant Ride, museums (which the greatest interest is the strange things you find there), and a show of traditional dance (whose rhythm is different from what I was used and it).

In all activities, there is no doubt that it was the Jungle walk that caught my emotion. Not that I have encountered dangerous animals ... far from it. On the way the only thing I saw were insects, deer and ... wild chickens. But there is no escaping the vulnerability feeling. You walk in a place with a 3 meters visibility. The only sounds you hear are the wildlife, your footsteps and your breathing. All your instincts are alert. And the simple idea that the track sounds - real or imagined - can be of a bear, a rhino or a tiger, makes your heart race. You know which part of the food chain you are.

And nothing was more real than when I started hearing the sound of dry leaves being trampled. The sound was a growing pace and came towards us. Surrounded by dense vegetation it was impossible to know what it was. Between accelerated heartbeats, I tried to remember what to do for each animal - zigzag or tree for the rhinos, keep still for the bears, look in the eye of the tiger and run like hell for the elephant. Of course, everything goes too fast, and when the animal presents itself, is a relief to see that it is a simple deer.

Pokhara

Pokhara has a lake. A beautiful lake. Has a Peace Pagoda where we can admire the landscape around us. We arrived there on foot or by boat across the lake. It has many restaurants and some shops. It has the main street of tourism - lake side. A wide street with the type of business that fits the tourists and travelers who pass through here. Pokhara has also a peace of mind of a very beautiful landscape.

But my Pokhara has a street. One that leaves the Lake Side. It has asphalt through the holes and is flanked by two ditches that serve to drain the rain. The streets has no sidewalks. But there is shops. It has small grocery stores where the owners wait patiently for customers. Whenever a tourist passes, they greet them with a friendly "Namaste." Ask if they want something. A "something" that goes from a simple bottle of water to laundry. It has barbershops where tourists and locals let the owners do its magic. These, with a sharp blade, turn a bearded face into something presentable. It also has small travel agencies, cyber cafes and inns.

And my street has people, laughter and emotions. Has a family that nurtures people with his sympathy. There are children playing in the street with the little they have - a basketball - and much they possess - joy and imagination. Among them are tourists, neighbors who exchange words with their parents or cows with a zen spirit.

And amid this calm spirit of being I find my Pokhara. Not a tourist one. But one of the emotions it conveys. The quiet of a life where you don't feel the lack of visiting a highlight of any travel guide. A simple way of living. I learn to stop and contemplate the wealth around me. An emotional space where I keep the people laughs, talks and looks...

Le moi errant: And the struggle continues...

She is hurt. And like any wounded animal, she fights back. I feel her infecting all in me. My writing, my good or ill feeling. As I write, there is a war within me. It is an all in contest. There is no doubt or margins for error. She pulls me and I push it back. Around me everything seems to be equal and serene. I'm traveling. Walking across the lake, a bit indifferent to my surroundings.

Inside, a voice says to me: "you see ... you are not normal ... you are not like the others enjoying this place... nobody cares about you ... you're going back to the same ... you cannot enjoy life ... "

But another voice, more mine, replies immediately: "But that's what I'm doing ... I came to set me free ... to get rid of you ... "

The first voice is offended. She reminds me that she was my companion and brought me here. She is right. But I remind her that she led me to my being here. At this time and how I feel. She cowers and does not know how to react. Shuts up and moves inside by the means of fatigue and frustration. Strikes me in my writing.

With great difficulty, my fingers write the words. The voice returns to the charge: "You see ... No longer can you write ... really, you never could... another one of your illusions... you never knew what was real ... what was an illusion created in your mind to run away from the sorrow of your life... "

Now I do not answer her. I have that look of whom waited for this very moment. That was exactly what I wanted from her. That she would start exposing my deepest and greatest fears...

... Check!

Story of a photo: Between the photo and reality

In this picture you see a person, a moment of reflection or the colours of a special festival. To the most experienced you see the shadows, light and framing. Everything is frozen at the sound of a click. There is no before or after, only the image.

In reality there is more than that. There are two paths that crossed each other. Different decisions that made that moment. There is the photographer and the photographed. Several lives, words and emotions.

But still, there is much more than that. There is overcome. Of the barrier of age and moment. The will to be there and live. The smile amidst a serene face. One unique person. There is the past and the future.

For every person who crosses your path there are several worlds. Some exploited, others to be exploited. Time and reality are always different. One is frozen in its own frame - like a picture, a place or a time – the other goes its way.

When I look at this picture I see my privilege to meet special people. I see a timeless beauty. I see the joy of the day, every day, in which we live and overcome ourselves. And I see the smile of someone who walks the path of living.