It's soon in the small pier of Te Anau Downs, little life troubles the place. A boat tied to the wooden wharf waits for the group of the day who goes to begin the Milford Sound track. Only 40 people daily start and we must book between 2 and 6 months before to be in the group. Fortunately my brother Christophe thought about it. 
After half an hour on the lake, we get off the boat at Glade Wharf. A mere wooden pontoon. Each one of us dip his shoes into a chlorine liquid in order not to soil the earth of the park. The main threat is called Didymo, an out-of-control seaweed that invades lakes and rivers bed and stifle every kind of life. A picture in front of the entrance sign and we start this first day of trekking, a one-hour-and-a-half short stage. We slowly slide in this gree heaven. Swingbridge, walk in forest, river and stagnant waters. There's a good smell of undergowth's humus, a heavy moss carpets branches and trunks. No more things needed to open our hikers' appetite.
We arrive at the first hut, the Clinton Hut, where we make the group's acquaintance. A heterogeneous and international group.
Waiting impatiently for tomorrow.
7h, the dorm wakes up. We pull on a pair of trousers, we buckle up the backpack to start again, to go and get lost in the emerald maze. The omnipresent moss clings to the rocks and to the earth, hangs from the upper branches of the scrubs. A green corridor breaks through the lush forest as a triumphant welcome to a small colony of lucky people. On the river banks, knotty vegetation-incrusted trunks draw a multicoloured jigsaw. The most beautiful city, monuments of the human genius, will never scratch the eternal beauty of the nature. Rotorua was a world of sulphur, arsenic and volcanic activity, Milford Sound Track is a world of harmony, greenery, land of expression for the nature which dresses up for our flying visit. Within this chromatic kaleidoscope, we are only a few free electrons revolving around the twists and turns of a place where fauna and flora live in symbiosis.
Second relaxing night at the Mintaro Hut.
3rd day - we leave the corridor drilled through the impenetrable undergrowth to reach the top of a hill. The green carpet suddenly falls down to a desolate scenery, a rocky wave sprinkled with snowy patches. A dark and shiny patchwork streaked by a zigzag path. The effort is rewarded at the Mackinnon Pass. An emerald valley is behind us and another one reveals itself downstream. The mountain parrots, the Keas are there. They savour the strips of our backpacks and learn how to open them in order to nose around, looking for food. The cold lashes and dashes us up to start the descent. Flat and slippery stones, gleamed by a thin layer of spring water, strew the course. As for the first valley, the transition is brutal and the moss-wrapped knotty branches draw a triumphant entrance. We walk along a stream which chose the waterfall as means of expression. A leitmotiv that fascinates us. In our heads, musical notes resonate and and drive us intoxicated. The "water" element establishes itself in this section and blossoms into the powerful Sutherland waterfall that gushes down from the 580-meter-overhead cliff. A bath of sprays. A shower of visual and ringing feelings.
A last hour of walking to reach the Dumpling Hut. Last night on this magical path a poetess of the early century described as the finest trek in the world. And the qualifier never became tarnished.
Last day of trekking after a short night. The bodies are tired for some of us. And the walls of the dorm trembled due to the snores of the most agitated sleepers.
Backpack on the shoulders, our eyes keep on analysing the colours, our nostrils examine the olfactory surroundings and our ears make the vigilance pay attention to the slightest branch creaking. Each new step gets us nearer to the Sandfly Point. Bye-bye pristine waterfalls, twisted shrubs, silky mosses and smooth path.
Because there are terrestrial heavens which can only be visited on foot. Because there are still chunks of lands where the trees grow up without fearing the axe. Some droplets, a few chips of wood, a little bit of moss and Mother Earth will make you a fabulous garden.
In the beginning of the afternoon, we hop on a boat that moves us away from the path to lead us to the Milford Sound village. The wharves come out into a large hall like a Parisian train station. We meet again the flocks of tourists who come here to enjoy the ladscapes of the Milford Sound. We follow them and sit down on board in one of the big boats which lean against the quays. The cruise makes us discover the mouth of the fjord. A myriad of narrow waterfalls flow down the cliffs. Immense jagged-outlined cliffs. On the banks, we look for the crested penguins, a kind of rastafarian penguins with yellow and long eyebrows which gesticulate on the rocks after a fishing session into the waters of the fjord.
This cruise finishes an unforgetable time of our New Zealand adventure. A heap of photos, a mixture of feelings, a set of bewildering landscapes and such a few words to describe them...
Keyword - traveling invitation -
Thursday 15 November 2007
Emerald paradise on the Milford Sound track
By dorian on Thursday 15 November 2007, 02:16 - RTW-New Zealand
Monday 15 October 2007
Sunrise feelings over the Taj Mahal
By dorian on Monday 15 October 2007, 23:31 - RTW-India
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.
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.
Wednesday 12 September 2007
Panorama on the Annapurnas
By dorian on Wednesday 12 September 2007, 18:47 - RTW-Nepal
A short stop in Kathmandu to get the Indian visa before leaving to Pokhara and the protected area of the Annapurnas. The most mythical treks are called the Annapurnas circuit in 17 days or the Annapurnas sanctuary in 12 days. But I don't have enough time to step on of these trips and a travel agency in Kathmandu offers me a 6-day trek, "the Annapurnas panorama". I make Gyan Gurung's acquaintance who comes with me for these 6 days. A about-50-year smiling small Nepali.
The next day in the morning, departure to Pokhara, a 7-hour bus journey. En route, we drop a few tourists off at Dumre ; from there, they'll go to Besi Sahar and start the Annapurnas circuit. At Pokhara, the hostels string along the lake. Relaxing atmosphere far from the hubbub of Kathmandu. A panoramic photo hanging at the wall of the guesthouse reception leaves me wondering. With a clear weather, the lake reflects the 7000 and 8000-metre giants of the area but I must satisfy myself with the wall picture.
I wander around in the tourist street of Pokhara before getting my permit for the protected area of the Annapurnas. A simple pass to get in the park. I devour a dish of spaghetti before falling asleep, the soul sprinkled with eternal snow. Tomorrow, it's the D-day.
Day 1 : Naya Pul => Hile
A local minivan drops us off at Naya Pul, 1h30 from Pokhara. We put our bags onto our shoulders and we disappear into the alleyways maze of the village. First monkey bridge to cross the river and record to the park authorities. You must register your journey, your name and the numbers of the days inside the park.
A path fades into the distance. I'm happy to rub my shoes ontot the muddy trails of this gorgeous Nepali nature. We walk along the river. The monsoon rains wreak havoc. The path is sometimes impassible and we must cross the turbulent waters of the river to carry on pacing on the other bank. This first stage is short and we arrive at the village of Hile. A pile of corrugated sheet metal on multicoloured wooden frame with various signs : restaurant, guesthouse, delicious food, hot shower. The monsoon is synonymous with low season, and I'm the only one in this gathering of guesthouses. And for 1 euro a night, it would be a pity to cart the tent around. The laid-back atmosphere lets me realize the pleasure to be here. To look at the terraced fields of the opposite hill disappearing while the twilight goes down.
Day 2 : Hile => Ghorapani
Steps and steps again. An exhausting ascent which pulls me out liters of sweat. Difference of height : 1200m. More or less high, wood or stone, stairs became a leitmotiv. The head raises to peer what happens next but it's often with a low and shifty look it draws on its energy to order the legs to lift and go forward. Big drops stream down on my face and crash on the stone steps. The eyes forget the surrounding scenery and all the energy runs into the quadriceps. The suffering reads on the other madmen's face who came to the hard nature of the Annapurnas searching a bit of relaxation and cool air. Ghorapani. An incomparable satisfaction overwhelms me when I take off my shoes and hang my socks that keep the fruits of the effort among its stitches. In front of me, the mountains are not there. Where are the Annapurnas and the Dhaulagiri ? Behind the thick curtain of clouds. The comfort of a chair and a meal of pasta fully satisfy me.
Day 3 : Ghorapani => Tadapani
The alarm-clock rings. The dial displays 5h. I bend my head through the window and nothing sparkles in the sky. We cancel the morning ascent to Poon Hill, promontory to contemplate the sunrise over the snow-capped massif. At a more decent time to get up, azure-hued windows break through the greyish wall. The majestic Dhaulagiri and Annapurna I loom. I give a withering look at the ridges and spurs of the Annapurna I and start thinking of Maurice Herzog and Louis Lachenal who 50 years ago became the first alpinists succeeding in the ascent of a 8000-meter-plus peak. The desire of reading the story of this adventure devours me. A small library in Ghorapani luckily has a copy relating the saga of the French expedition : "Annapurna, first 8000m". The precious book at the bottom of my rucksack, we venture on a new section of stairs.
3000m high, a disused refreshment stand mingles with the sadness of the weather. Our wait will change no way. We get in a forest of rhododendrons. Twisting bodies which vivid-shaded flowers extend when the spring comes. River and waterfalls, majestic trees among a coulis of downy clouds, corniche stroll. The menu is mouth-watering. And for this trek I thought walking into the snow, onto a sterilized ground, onto uneven stones. Nothing of these, a green and twirling nature. A crystal-clear water that fills the ears when the eyes are busy to check where the feet land. Overdose of colours. The path plays with the water. Timber logs straddle the river and we leap from a bank to another.
Arrival at Tadapani, my eyes finally rest coming and going on the first lines of the adventure of Maurice Herzog. The sacred moutain of the Machhapuchhare breaks through the horizon. Silence... A band of admirers have just stood up. The snows of the Annapurna south twinkle. Still silence... The orangeay shade get thicker up to fade into the darkness of the nascent night. The pages of the book come and go endlessly.
Day 4 : Tadapani => Landruk
The trunks of the rhododendrons start again their waltz. A young Nepali takes off the numerous leeches hanged at his bloodstained feet. Luckier, I would only have 2. A little bit further, a buffalo shows us the ability of these horrible beings to drink blood. The diameter of these awful beasties has swollen from one millimeter to more than one centimeter. As for the eyes, they don't make a mistale. The spectacle is more aerial. Jungle and mountains. Lovely oxymore.
Day 5 : Landruk => Pothana
Short day. A simple stroll. The jungle fades into the distance and the rice fields loom. I finish the Himalayan saga of Maurice Herzog and Louis Lachenal who a certain 3rd of june 1950 opened the run to the conquest of the 8000-meter-plus peaks.
Day 6 : Pothana => Phedi => Pokhara
We reach the village of Dhampus and embark on a long walk down toward Phedi. The spectacle of the Annapurnas close. I live my last moments with my guide Gyan Gurung I'm attached to. But on the way back to Pokhara, sitting in this tottering coach, I fall asleep. And I am firmly convinced these mythical paths on the spurs of the Himalaya will see again my Vibram soles and Gyan Gurung will join in...
End of the Nepali adventures...
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