Nik Station
From the Steppes€600
We stopped the old Russian jeep, a UAZ. There it was, a petrol station, protected with a lightning rod, sitting all alone in the empty steppe of the Gobi desert.
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We stopped the old Russian jeep, a UAZ. There it was, a petrol station, protected with a lightning rod, sitting all alone in the empty steppe of the Gobi desert.
Near the eastern end of the inhabited Wakhan corridor, where roads dwindle to footpaths, a girl twists the tail of the family cow to hurry it toward their home in the village of Nishtkhowr.
“My name is Om, only Om.” He was young and smiling.
“I left before sunrise. I am walking from my home in Hoshangabad to the temple of Salkanpur, up on that hill. You see, I just got a job, I need to thank the gods! İ will return home tonight.”
I had not realized he was barefoot, wearing a freshly ironed shirt but no shoes.
Fighting his way through a gale, Ooroon Boi looks for water for his horse on his way down to the lower Wakhan valley.
Traffic is crazy, my van is on the side of the road, I record sound: “How many months have you been walking?”
“It’s been 16 months.” It’s reflected in the guy’s beards, they shaved it at the beginning of their walk and didn’t touch it after that.
“How many kilometres a day? “
“We walk about 12km daily”
“Which length of Parikrama (pilgrimage) are you doing?”
“We are doing the auspicious 3 years, 3 months, 3 days. We are Panshamdal, Kunti Bai and Dalba Yar.”
We hug and I leave.
Traffic is crazy, my van is on the side of the road, I record sound: “How many months have you been walking?”
Before heading out towards Passu Glacier. Karakoram, Pakistan.
Pegich kept circling the flames, busy as she was, mending the fire, preparing diner. The wife of Er Ali Boi, she is named after the Wakhi village she was born in, a week walk down the valley. Most Afghan Kyrgyz woman have their blouses decorated with shiny pretty things – trinkets gathered over the years, as well as with old family heirlooms.
Field, Wakhan Corridor, Afghanistan.
Aerial view of the eastern coast of Greenland on the edge of Isortoq village.
It’s 2:30pm in December and we only have three hours of daylight. Iceberg on the edge of Isortoq. East Coast, Greenland.
Experimenting with slow shutter speed while returning from hunting on the edge of Isortoq village. East Coast, Greenland.
After the heat of the plains, what a breeze to enter these coffee plantations near Coorg. An African Tulip tree and its vibrant orange blooms. Kodagu, India.
Highway, Madhya Pradesh, India.
Prahlad San on his way to the ocean—still over 1,000 miles to go.
That light in Wakhi homes, it’s a gift. Large central opening on the roof, no windows, dark backdrop of soot, years of making open fire…and the ladies having a tea break in the middle of winter.
TV, Wakhan Corridor, Afghanistan.
Old venerated tree, adorned with colorful cloth, tied by visitors – a shrine. Wakhan Corridor.
Qorun Glacier, on the ancient trail leading to Shimshal valley, the highest settlement in Pakistan. Karakoram
Tella Bu and her sisters head out early morning to a spring, a short walk away from the Khan’s camp. Of course, it had frozen hard overnight, so they broke the ice with a metal bar. Then they filled the buckets and load them on the family camel, back to camp to make tea.
Portrait of Mujaheed, one of the Khan’s younger sons to get married in summer 2008. Qyzyl Qorum campment, Abdul Rashid Khan’s camp (leader of the Afghan Kyrgyz).
Sheep and goats heading into the wintery pastures. Qyzyl Qorum camp. Afghan Pamir.
Radhika’s home, Uttarakhand, India.
Radhika’s home, Uttarakhand, India.
You couldn’t miss him—such colors! On his throat is written the word “Krishna”. He is a traditional performance artist known as a behurupiya.
“I am Raje Krishna on my way to the temple, that’s who I am!”
Rakaposhi is a gem of a mountain. I always peek at the top, hoping to see someone move up there. Down below in Minapin village, water channels bring glacial waters, turning rubble into an oasis.
Rakaposhi, also known as Dumani (“Mother of Mist”) in North Pakistan, is the 27th highest mountain in the world (7788 m – 25.551 ft). Measured from base to summit, it has an uninterrupted ~6000 meters vertical rise which, in a way, makes it the tallest free standing mountain in the world. It was first climbed by a British-Pakistani team in 1958 – and not many times after that. I remember how stunned I was the first time I saw this giant popping out of the landscape – I didn’t know what mountains were before I saw that.
Rakesh Djagi, with trident on his back and Kamal Giri, his companion. They get small donations, acts of kindness to help them feed their cow named Narmada.
Stones of silence. Looking south from the edge of the Hindu Kush before it turns Karakoram. Over the horizon, our destination, Pakistan. Pamir, Wakhan Corridor, Afghanistan.
It is so tricky in here, always so little light. I rested my camera on a water drum, a temporary tripod. In the back, they were comparing rings, just before the wedding started. Safar Boi’s home.
Radhika’s home, Uttarakhand, India.
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