When I first became interested in photography several years ago, I was focused exclusively on landscapes. I then saw photography as a hobby that could push me to reconnect with nature and discover the beauty of places that were unknown to me, but I didn't care to photograph people. Thus years have passed and as I went on my travels I met people whose way of life, faces or background inspired me. But I didn’t

A few years ago, I had to cancel my trip in Ladakh for family reasons, just after arriving in Leh. Since then, I kept somewhere in my mind the idea of coming back to “the land of the high passes” and learn more about the people that inhabit this unwelcoming landscape. Ladakh being quite vast, I had to decide which place I would dedicate my trekking month to. After discussing about it with Zanskari friends,

It has been pouring with rain since the early morning in the little town of Bimthang, in the Manaslu Conservation Area, where I’m writing these notes. Monsoon has been looming over us for a while, transforming the summits I wanted to photograph into cloud magnets. Eventually, the dreaded bringer of rain has arrived, just one day after we crossed Larke pass, probably one of the most fulfilling day on this trek. Looking through the window of

My pants are still too large. The few days spent in Kathmandu were clearly not enough to catch up on fat, but if I want to get a chance to photograph Buddha’s birthday’s celebration in a remote Buddhist village of the Tsum valley, I have to go now. From the town of Soti Khola, three long days of walk in the heat of the jungle will lead us to Chumling, the first village of the

Getting out of the five layers of woollen blankets, ultimate shields against the frozen nights, does involve an extra effort. As I walk out of the teepee I can see the morning fog crystallising into tiny diamonds that sparkle in the air. As they see me, reindeers stand up straight and stare at me with black and globulous eyes expressing both suspicion and curiosity. My stay with the Tsaatans starts here at the pace of

I didn’t really have time to rest during the few days I spent in Khatgal. Sitting in the car between one of the wrestlers I met yesterday and the frozen carcass of his horse, we drive towards Mörön at the pace of an overloaded car. There, he will sell his meat and I will take a minibus and reach the winter camp of a group of Tsaatans, the Mongolian reindeer herders. Let’s go to the

To say goodbye after such good times under the yurt is a difficult moment. I embrace them and wish the best to their family, and it is with a lump in my throat that I get on Honda's motorbike – no intentional pun here! – towards Khatgal. Tomorrow starts the Ice Festival during which I may have the chance to experience, among other celebrations, an event which the descendants of the Khan are fond of: