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Saturday 6 December 2008

the natural ponds of Semuc Champey


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the route of a trip is often based on the fortunes of the encounters. That's the way I sit down in a minibus which drives on a winding road towards Semuc Champey. We penetrate into the heart of the valley to end up at a greenery-wrapped campground where smiling, cumbia-fans Guatemalan young people welcome us. The rustic bedrooms lodge in the wooden huts scattered in the campsite. We need to walk a little bit further to enter in the Semuc Champey park. A river follows the outline of the valley bottom when it suddenly disappears over 300m for a brief underground pass before gushing out downstream. But, instead of a horde of trees and bushes spreading over the surface, a trickle of water diverts from the river to form a set of natural ponds. A lookout gives a bird's eye view over the clear- and stagnant-watered pools. The effort to reach this viewpoint quickly fades as we walk down. I slip on my boardshort and go to jump into one of the basins. Our guide planed an aquatic course with a descending of a rope ladder, the discovery of the grotto where the water of the river gushes out of the earth then a jump from the top of the rock. A local way to marvel at a fantastic place and to release a little amount of adrenalin in the same time.

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At the end of the afternoon, the Las Marias grotto offers me the extraordinary experience of moving in a dark cavity, only lit by a mere candle. Sometimes walking, sometimes swimming, the community reaches the depths of the gallery. A swimming not really academic since we can only use one hand, the other one holding out the burning candle. Like a procession or a band of explorers-wannabes, the group trudges in a single file with these simple flames as a guide. Our sense of sight clings to this orangy and flickering glow which dimly lights the walls. The one of hearing captures the hollow sound reflecting each one of our moves. Two magical hours for this sort of caving of an ancient time. Unforgettable!
And to finish this day of adventure, we hop on inner tubes of trucks to let the current of the river carry us for half an hour.

Wednesday 29 October 2008

pedestrian pleasure on the Kalalau trail


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I live the scramble of Honolulu to go to Lihue, main town of the Kauai island the local people and travel agencies generally nickname the garden Isle. As soon as I get out the airport I hold my thumb up to request a helping person to stop. I cover 50 miles by hitchhiking to reach the Kee beach at the north. Impossible to go further by car, the asphalt ribbon fades at the foot of the Na Pali cliffs; the next sides and coves, it's with the strength of the calves we have to explore them. The last host, who kindly takes me at the back of his pick-up, gives pieces of advice about the trek while I fasten my backpack.
It's late in the afternoon and I won't go further than the first campsite, the Hanakapiai beach, a little bit more than one hour from the beginning of the path. The low-key and soothing place would make the camping of the south of France green with envy. I lay down my tent near the river and near the beach at the same time. A luxury I savour sitting on a rock, the eyes drown into the ocean. A wonderful sunset intertwined with oceanic rumbles and invigorating sliding of freshwater. The name of this beach comes from a upstream waterfall. A narrow path drives me to this water stream, a private show I intensely enjoy.

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I hastily take down my tent. I put again my bag onto the back and step on the red-earth track which snakes towards the heights. The Hanakapiai beach looms downhill and the cliffs, built into the volcanic rock, weave the theater of my next hours of walking. A demanding hike where the stretches of flat ground don't exist to leave a clear way to exhausting ascents and staggering and slippery descents. Clung to this wild nature, my steps carefully go ahead on the ledge of the cliff while a jaw of foam roars at its feet. More I move forward and more the coves and promontories seem to follow on endlessly.
A strip of sand shyly stands in the distance, that's Kalalau beach, final point of the trek. But, as I trudge over the last crimson-clay mound, I can't go further. I put down my backpack; the beauty of the volcanic ridges draped on the cliff gives me the sensation of flying. A torrent of colours kissed by the setting sun. a green cover tops the black rock which overlooks the surroundings. The red earth which supports my steps dies down a pebble beach, wet by an azure-blue water dotted with milky-dressed rollers. The carpet of ochre sand at the end of the path waits for me. The tiredness vanished into the air while I start again my walk on this blessed soil. I undo my shoes and finish the last meters gliding bare-feet on this damp sand.

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For three days, I live in this shangri-la with only a dozen of lucky people. An evening, the urge to sleep inside the cave is too tempting and I abandon my tent for a night to be even closer to the nature. In the morning I peer the beach, the tent disappeared! The incredibly powerful nocturnal waves overstepped the dune and swept my canvas shelter away, it finally finished its trip at the font of the cliff. Getting the tent out of the sand, rinsing it out and making it dry occupy my morning. My feet dig furrows into the ground to find the pegs. Damages are minor with a waterlogged travel guide and MP3 player out of order. These incidents don't make the happiness to be here weaken. But each moment of joy as intense and overwhelming it is collapses into a more or less painful and appaling end. In the morning of the fourth day, I restack my stuffs and start again. 6 hour of a demanding walk when I unfold the scenario in the opposite direction. As I hike out the path, I see others trekkers who enjoyed the same emotions among the Na Pali cliffs. We chat, forgetting the time. The dusk comes faster than I had imagined and homeless for the night, I settle under a table in a public park. A star-free night but spangled with colourful sequences of the marvelous Kalalau trail.

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Monday 15 October 2007

Sunrise feelings over the Taj Mahal

The awakening of the Taj Mahal belongs to those who get up early. We get through a gigantic entrance and the first glimmers of the dawn unveil the outline of the mausoleum. A long shimmering pond stretches out up to the white tomb.
Fascinating collection of stones and marble blocks that hypnotizes me a little bit more for each new step.
Crazy construction of a mad king, mad in love with his wife.
Symbol of the absolute love and the dementia which can upset the heart of an inconsolable man.
The rectangular gardens and pools contrast to the undulating lines of the domes. Overdose of harmony in this perfectly symmetrical complex where the death tarnished a endless love in no way.
The History is cruel and a tragic fate will wait for the builder of the white mausoleum. Dethroned king, Shah Jahan will be imprisonned. In his cell, a tiny window as only mate. A mere window through where he could contemplate the building of his life dedicated to his defunct wife.
A lot of human buildings impress due to their gigantic proportions, their sizes challenging the physics laws but very few make shake the heart and vibrate the very inside. The Taj Mahal belongs to that world. We can walk around several times and nothing will soothe the inner fire and the swirl of sensations that swamp you. I sit down to gather my emotions. The mausoleum bewitches its residents with a kind aura, erodes the sharpest spirits and awakens the gentlest hearts.
I tread a last time around the white mausoleum, bewildered by these same feelings which submerged me a few hours before, as from the first seconds I got in the enclosure of the Taj Mahal. I leave with the illusion of living a dream. A dream in which I stepped on a marble-paving path. A dream in which I stopped leaning with my back on a wall, sheltered by an alcove. On the wall of a palace smooth as the silk.

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With these angelic radiant-white pictures, our Indian trip ends. We simply picked at a few crumbs of this country full with culture and life. Completely dishonest the one who, in one month, boasts of visiting India. This short interlude opened a gap in our spirits, a crack we'll have to fill in coming again. To discover other facets, other landscapes and other people of the Indian subcontinent. And above all to enjoy new adventures that only India can bring.

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