It all started with a photo: a beautiful photograph of an old wooden altar featuring an angel killing a devil painted in blue tinges. Some of the paint had chipped off and the wood was damaged, and it was clearly a piece from colonial times.
Where could I find this beautiful altar?
Living on an island of reeds, in a house of reeds, sleeping on a bed of reeds, cooking on the fuel of reeds, and fishing from a boat of reeds? How intriguing is that?
Please meet the Uros People of Peru.
There wasn’t just one stone – there were two.
Which one did the tiger jump on when crossing this gorge?
“We live in a wonderful world that is full of beauty, charm, and adventure. There is no end to the adventures we can have if only we seek them with our eyes open”.
~Jawaharial Nehru
It is 2 am and we are about to climb a 3248-meter-high mountain: Jizu Shan.
Also known as: Chicken Foot Mountain.
Two men with furrowed faces under wide sombreros enter the arena. Callused hands leisurely hold the reins of the horses and short ponchos striped in natural colors fall around the cowboys’ shoulders. A gate is opened, a young bull set loose.
Let the game begin!
I follow a winding trail along the slopes, which demands a bit of clambering over slippery rocks. I pick another handful of those juicy blackberries along the path, which constitute my breakfast. At a stream, I strip and lower myself into one of the shallow pools sheltered by rocks.
I sigh deeply, and relax.
Wherever we look we see white. It looks like a world of fresh snow that has not yet been disturbed by footsteps. The silence is intense. When we step out of the Land Cruiser there is nothing except the crunching of salt crystals beneath our shoes.
We are at Salar de Uyuni!
Slow travel is growing!
Wooden crosses, bare wood or painted blue or white, bore the names of the deceased.
Dates of birth and dead were referred to as ‘sunrise’, or ‘dawn’, and ‘sunset’.
“History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived, but if faced with courage, need not be lived again.”
~Maya Angelou
One of our surprises in Guyana has been its earliest colonial history, which happens to be Dutch.
Why did we never learn anything about Guyana in school? (as we are Dutch).
Ahead of me stretched a flat, green savanna. Having spent a couple of days in the dense forest, the view struck me right in the heart.
I like forest; I love open spaces.
Being enveloped by the vastness of my surroundings feels liberating.
“Next time we come here we should stop and walk around for a bit,” I remarked as we traversed Chatillôn sur Seine.
“Why don’t we do it now? Mélanie suggested.
Indeed, why not?
Driving some eight hours straight from the Netherlands to France doesn’t exactly qualify as slow travel, I know. Yet that’s what I did with my friend Mélanie.
And, of course, I have an excuse (two, to be exact).
