Istanbul Harbour. Turkey 2004.

Anglers; baits, fishing-rods and bustling. Ships; sirens, rust and smell of grease. Muezins sit in their minarets on the other side of the bay. The singing will begin soon.

The Laundry. Bamako, Mali 2004.

My first day on site. One of the two bridges over Niger river in Bamako. The laundry is on.

The Tanneries of Fes. Morocco, July 2007.

Take a look at the movie about the tanneries made by National Geographic.

Mosque in Kani Kombole. Mali 2004.

I told them that I won't pay for the fuel. The fan stirred hot air above our heads as we were arranging my trek to the Dogon Country in one of many travel agencies in Sevare.
- But the distance is very far and you can't walk.
- It not that far, 5 hours walking. We will walk.

And so we did.

We were lucky, the weather was bearable; clouded sky, no direct sunlight. Ibrahim, my guide, didn't like the walk.
- It's the first and the last time that I am walking this track!
He told me about his plans to buy some land and start a rice plantation.

We descended the cliff and entered Kani Kombole, second village on our way, but the first one set right next to the escarpment.

The Dogon Village. Mali 2004.

Raised in the shade of the cliff. Hidden among lush millet fields. You don't see it yet, but you know it's there. You can hear remote, rhythmical beating. Women are smashing their clubs, working by their wooden grinders. It's hot, but the breeze is there. Millet leaves rustle in the wind. We enter the Dogon village.

Summer's almost gone.

The last day of summer is sunny and dry. (This picture was taken on the rooftop of the Suika Hotel in Chaouen in August 2007)

Under The Bridge. New York City 2006.

Walkin' in NYC. Soaking up the mood.

Mopti Harbour. Mali 2004.

We're crossing the bay in a wooden pirogue, West African fisherman's canoe. Children swim around us in yellow, murky water. It's noon. The light is too bright, everything seems flat and desaturated. Row of metal barrels marks out the path on Niger's waterfront.

The Lion. Bamako, Mali 2004.

Bob Marley, "Could You Be Loved"
"you aint gonna miss your water until your well runs dry
no matter how you treat him, the man will never be satisfied"

In the village. Mali 2004.

Little black bundles made of leather. Inside: herbs, spells written on scraps of paper. Animal parts. With braided string attached or entwined in hair. Protection amulets.

Dada. Sevare, Mali 2004.

We got there with Bouba late in the night, after wild drive from Bamako in a shaky bus. I had known Bouba just for one day and wasn't sure if I can trust the people at first. This feeling eased when his friend's wife served scrambled eggs for supper. Youba was the friend's name. And Dada was his daughter. She used to give me this special look, like she didn't trust me at all. She never spoke to me. She rarely looked at me, only sometimes I would catch her curious gaze. I guess she was observing the strange, white man who visited her home.

Lion's tooth. Bamako Fetish Market, Mali 2004.

At first, I thought that "the fetish market" will be a perfect tourist spot, the place to buy wooden statues or "magical" ingredients. It turned out to be something quite different, as you can see above or in one of the previous posts. I didn't really expect anything, but I asked out of curiosity and also out of spite: "Do you have lion's tooth?".

The man put dried rabbit's head aside and from a little basket he took a plastic bag full of lion's fangs: large and small, and while I was making a decision, the other man started to look through his stuff and finally he grinned at me, obviously taking me for a big lion-fan, and handed me lion's paw, with sharp claws poking out of thick fur.

Flying is cheating! Poll results.

Hello everyone! The poll where I asked you whether flying was cheating has just ended. Thank you very much for voting! Results show that majority of readers (80%) consider flying to be cheating. Remaining 20% disagree.

I personally don't like to fly. It's boring for one thing, but that's not the case. When traveling slower (by car, train, bike, boat or even on foot) there's always time to adjust. There's no shock on arrival. I remember how I felt when I landed in Bamako after flight from Paris. I just couldn't stop imagining world's map with blinking red point somewhere in West Africa. I kept seeing it and thinking: how is this possible?!

This time I want to ask you about proportions between text and images on this site. Do you think there are too little words here? Or would you like to see more pictures? Vote and let me know!

What is your direction? Morocco 2003.

Where're you headed? Whatever your direction, there's always a sign to help you out. Little things, like a song you've heard a long time ago or a smell that reminds you of something. Or a road sign in Morocco, between holy town of Mulay Idriss and ancient Roman ruins of Volubilis.

So where do you want to go next?

Sycamore Tree (Platanus). Breslau, September 2007.

"Sycamore Trees"
Lyrics by David Lynch, music by Angelo Badalamenti

I got idea man
You take me for a walk
Under the sycamore trees
The dark trees that blow baby
In the dark trees that blow

And I'll see you
And you'll see me
And I'll see you in the branches that blow
In the breeze,
I'll see you in the trees
Under the sycamore trees

Sunset over Sahara. Morocco 2003.

It's nothing but sand, some would say. And they'd be perfectly right. But sand can be interesting. Near the village of Merzouga in western Morocco, about 50 km from Algerian border, sand is fine and orange. My feet vanish in dune's slope as I am climbing the hill. From the top I see nothing but sand. That's great.

The Doors. Chefchauen 2003.

Portal to another world. It's land of highlanders and experts in barter. They're fond of smelly and sticky kayf, the green pleasure. It's highly desired by many. Locals know well how to make a good use out of their crops.

In September mornings are quiet and bright. Summer heat eases considerably, the air is fresh; I sweat nonetheless, it's Africa after all. I like mornings in Chauen: they feel like fake awakings. You wake up, but it feels like you're still dreaming.

Vanderbilt Ave and East 24nd Street. New York City 2006.

NYC first timer: always looking up. The City makes all other cities flat. It's truly three dimensional with height being it's main direction. Buildings go up, up, up. And so does first timer's gaze.

New York City Underground. USA 2006.

Smells like every underground in the world: with burnt rubber and hot, dusty air.

Strret Life in Fes. Morocco 2007.

They sit in their stores all they long, brewing dark, sweet green tea with mint. It's Berber whiskey. The streets are narrow, some of them not wider than two meters. Certainly not wide enough for a crowd of people and two donkeys passing by. Balak!, the man screams and pushes through.

Mussels seller. Istanbul 2004.

He skillfully puts metal dish on a wooden support. Than he opens the shell, squeezes half of lemon and sprinkles shells' contents with sour juice. Spicy rice and mussels. Quick snack on Istanbul bridge.