Tsagaan Sar or not, daily life continues at the rhythm of winter and even if every single day begins and ends up the same way, it does not mean that they do not come with their lot of surprises. Here is what life in a yurt looks like. The piercing screams of Batchimeg and Barougon, the youngest kids, wake me up and end in the first cries of the day. Luckily for my ears holidays are

A 17 hours trip in a badly heated bus which windows are covered by frost, followed by an hour and a half in a taxi and another half an hour of a freezing motorbike ride. That is the only way to join my hosting family in the middle of the steppe. But I will spare you the details since a significant event happened a few days following my arrival: Tsagaan Sar, the Lunar New Year,

A few days after leaving to Mongolia, my girlfriend and me decided to have a weekend together in Ardeche, a beautiful region of France. As we walk down one of the main streets of the little town of Aubenas, a singular vehicle calls us out. A parabole, stickers everywhere and a lot of antennas standing on its roof… Of course! This is probably the car of the Aubenas-Lapland expedition we spent a day with in Lofoten

8:30AM. Sky is still black. For the third time, the piercing sound of my alarm clock rings out trying to awake me from lethargy. I dread the moment to come. Leaving this warm cocoon made of three layers is the daily torture required to live in this centenary lighthouse, a thermal shock of about forty degrees centigrade propelling me in icy clothes to a well deserved breakfast, cuddled by the smooth warmth of the wood

Once upon a time, off the coast of Vesterålen, floated a Little Island. On the top of this island stood a lighthouse. A long time ago, people used to live on the island and there they built a village. But in time the People of the Island left their houses and fled to the continent. Ruins of their settlement became the only clue of their presence. Yet, one person remained on the Little Island. People

As well as most of Kathmandu inhabitants, Sujan likes to speak about his native village, Mallaj, "among the hills, over the city, between rivers, fields and mountains". So when he proposes me to visit his family I have no other choice but to accept. At this time, I am far from imagining what I will experience there … After many hours on the hazardous roads and bridges that lead us to Beni, the closest city, we