Chasing rhinos in Chitwan

By Emma. Cliquez ici pour l’article de Damien. Click here for photos of there.

Rolling on the balls of our feet, trying not to make a sound, we crept across a woodland floor strewn with dry leaves. Nobody spoke a word. Senses alert. Our seasoned guide, Boggart led the way, his bamboo lathi held high and ready. I eyed the stick doubtfully and, with his warning to climb a tall tree should a rhino charge ringing like a doomsday proclamation in my ears, I scanned the surrounding smooth, branch-free trunks for a likely candidate. As suspected, there wasn’t a single tree I could ever possibly climb. In a forest of rhinos, elephants and Bengal tigers, I was questioning my sanity.

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Teahouse trekking on the Annapurna Circuit – a bit of a disjointed ramble

By Emma. Cliquez ici pour l’article de Damien. For more photos of there, click here.

A butterfly start; shiny Christmas walking poles eager for dust; a snaking cliff road in a minivan packed with sports-clothes Westerners and 90s pop; goats tethered to rooftops of local buses, ears blowing in the wind; clouds of grit and team-bonding while clinging to a tyre in the back of a jeep; first strides, banana trees and the glow of sunshine warmth; talk of bandits and bar girls; mingled seasons, the soft yellow of hay stacks and vivid green of rice paddies; dustily vivid backpacks and balanced burdens of cut grass and firewood;

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HIMALAYA! Trek autour des Annapurnas

Par Damien. Click here for Emma’s trek. Et pour l’album c’est ici!

L’Himalaya est toujours resté dans ma tête comme étant parmi ce qu’il doit y avoir de plus impressionnant, de plus grandiose sur Terre. Un vieux rêve. Le toit du Monde. Depuis Tintin au Tibet (et un traumatisme de la vision de l’Abominable Homme des Neiges), jusqu’au blockbuster culte “Vertical Limit”, cette chaîne de montagnes a toujours été pour moi mythique, un rêve d’enfant. Et on est sur le point de la découvrir.

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A world away from home in Kathmandu

By Emma. Cliquez ici pour l’article de Damien. Click here for photos of there.

Whisps of tattered prayer flags flutter in the breeze. Bright eyes peer out of ancient, wrinkled faces. Butter lamps flicker and prayer wheels spin. A living goddess is held captive by tradition in a crumbling palace. Hanging copper kettles warm and dapple light. Sadhus beguile. Singing bowls hum and whisper. Kathmandu. I am in love with the name. We fall through time in the city’s ancient streets and never have I felt so far away from home.

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