Traveling from Marrakech over the Atlas Mountains to Merzouga or Zagora to have a desert experience you usually stop in Ouarzazate. A stopover to stretch your legs or have lunch. If you left early in Marrakech you will be in Ouarzazate by noon. As a photographer a bad time. The sun is right above you and there is hardly any shade and therefore no contrast.

What will immediately demand your attention is the Kasba Ait Ben Haddou. This place is known for its magnificent kasbahs, which are built against a hill. These are constructed of clay and together are called the Ksar. The kasbahs are fortified by walls with corner towers with narrow alleys in between, making them a typical example of southern Moroccan architecture. The city was declared a World Heritage Site by UNESCO in 1987. Ait Ben Haddou served many times as the film set of famous blockbusters and the famous series Game of Thrones.

Ait Ben Haddou

Even though the light conditions are not great. The Nikon must be out of the bag. The river valley almost demands a panoramic shot. So I find a nice view point and take a series of photos. I find that I am impressed by what I see. I take the poor lighting conditions for granted. It’s what it is.

The Nikon out of the bag.

After three weeks of traveling through Morocco, at home it’s time to start sorting and judging my work. I don’t know about other photographers but for me the moment of shooting is always charged with the fascination of ‘seeing’. When I feel that same fascination at home behind my Mac then I have made the picture that does right to the moment.

The disappointment comes at home.

When I reviewed my photos of Ait Ben Haddou at home it was clear to me. Good ‘shot’ but no prize. I was terribly disappointed. My photos were OK but I have not been satisfied with OK already for a long time. Like the hunter with his shotgun I had to acknowledge; not every shot is a rabbit.

Good ‘shot’ but no prize.

Yet it didn’t let me go. I had to go back. But not for a transit but as a end destination and to enforce the ideal conditions to make my shots again. There was nothing to do but buy another ticket and fly to Morocco. I must honestly confess, that’s really no punishment.



Ait Ben Haddou – Morocco: A first attempt under poor light conditions

I have to go back.

And there I was. Three months later. I had already found a better camera point and something that looked suspiciously like water was flowing through an essentially dry riverbed. I absolutely wanted to have that water in the picture in this extremely dry setting.

Three months later – Ait Ben Haddou – Morocco: This is how it was on my mind. This is how I wanted to make it.

Three months later

I have a few golden rules. One of these rules, ‘Don’t try to organize, be on time and stay until you are completely satisfied.’ So I was on time. Sunset was expected around 7:30 and I was there at five. Camera tripod set up and the Nikon D5 on it. New pack of Marlboro in my pocket for the usual ‘Time killing smoking’. Slowly, bit by bit I see the light change. At that moment the light plan starts in my head. I take in some reference points. When the sun goes down there …. that is my moment. I do some spot measurements and light up another Marlboro. Just wait, this is going to be all right.

My golden rule for The Golden Hour

In the corner of my eye I see someone approaching. An old lady. She comes closer and closer and I see a beautiful authentic woman. I estimate her closer to ninety than to eighty. If there is a ‘god’ for photographers, then He must have sent me this old woman. She carries a basket and clearly has a destination. I hoped that she would walk ’through’ my image but that turned out differently. Very politely she made a big bow around me.

Preparing Couscous

A special encounter

Whenever I travel, my wife Marion is my silent force. She does the pre production and on location she does what she can to bend the circumstances to our will. She gets things done as a woman that I certainly would not have gotten organized as a man. So also now. Marion decides to walk with her and have a chat. A chat that consists of communication with hands and feet. She speaks no Berber and the woman no French, German or English. The woman appears to be called Fatima and is looking for leafy greens for her donkey. Marion helps her look and weed the donkey’s food.

After a while she returns and she is invited to Moroccan tea at Fatima’s house. I keep waiting for the light. At least two hours pass. Marion comes back with good news. Tomorrow morning at 10 am we get to do a portrait series of Fatima when she is making Couscous the traditional way. Tomorrow morning we have an appointment. An appointment that would be as surprising as it was moving.

Marion my silent force

The next morning we walked at our leisure from the hotel to Fatima’s house. It is a small village so with about ten minutes we are at her door. Without being able to exchange a word we are all warmly welcomed. First we drink tea. Tea with delicious Moroccan cookies. With a pan and a plastic tub Fatima starts the Couscous. Her “kitchen” is a cooking place. A mud hut with an entrance where the morning light seems to swirl over everything like a silk. A light that Rembrandt would have been jealous of. There is only a gas bottle with a burner on it. This is where it’s going to happen.

I take the first shots. Fatima is a natural talent. She has no interest whatsoever in the camera and goes to work on her Couscous. The light is really exceptionally beautiful. Apart from the daylight, one light bulb is burning. The combination of daylight and tungstenlight makes the whole extra idyllic. When the Couscous is ready, her great-grandchildren arrive. They sit on Grandma’s lap and enjoy her Couscous. Filled with a warm feeling it seems like we have known each other for years. We say goodbye but not forever. Every time we are in Morocco we go to Fatima for tea. A special encounter that we carry with us like a little treasure.

When you visit my gallery you can see the whole series.

Everything falls into place

We had already completed an entire journey of some 5,700 km through the Balkans. For weeks the photographer's eye had been spoiled by the most idyllic spots. Breathtaking nature, rocky mountains and without participating in the TV program we regularly drove on 'The most dangerous roads in Europe'. Yet there was one village we still wanted to visit. Lukomir, a village in the Bjelssnica Mountains, is located at an altitude of1495 meters and is the most isolated village in Bosnia-Herzegovina.

The distance is not even that far in kilometers. Yet the difficult road through the mountains makes for quite a travel time. We travel from Mostar to Sarajevo. Just before Sarajevo we take a turn to the right. The excellent two-lane road was exchanged for a narrow and bumpy road. Miles later all that is left of this road is a gravel path. The surroundings become surrealistic because of the clear blue sky with strange 'UFO' shaped clouds. Deep abysses alternate with open plains full of rocks. The sun shines brightly and the surroundings feel like a movie set. We don't meet anyone. We don't see a single house ...just our interpreter and us on a gravel path through the mountains on our way to Lukomir.

Miles later all that is left of this road is a gravel path

The journey to Lukomir is miraculous.

The boulders in the distance seem to move. As we get closer, the rocks protruding from the grass turn out to be sheep. Lukomir, after hours of driving, can't be far now because the inhabitants of Lukomir have lived off their cattle for centuries. The sheep's wool is woven into traditional clothing and countless socks and gloves are knitted from it. We have read about it and are very curious about the people who have lived their lives there undisturbed for some 400 years. A life that seems hardly influenced by the world around them.

In front of us lie huge mountains. Suddenly, a wooden sign tells us we have reached our destination. The houses with their rusted metal roofs blend almost seamlessly into the surroundings. We drive into the village and after 150 meters we can go no further. The view of the mountain peaks across a deep valley makes you feel like you've arrived at the end of the world. We are standing on a huge boulder, the mountains on the other side seem to be covered with a blanket of moss. In the backlight, the mountain ridges seem soft as silk. The view is breathtakingly beautiful. To our left is the old cemetery as a silent witness to the history of Lukomir.

The view is breathtakingly beautiful.

Rocks move?!

The village has about 30 houses built of gray stones. Some houses have been visibly restored. There are no streets but paths that were created by frequent use.
The village seems deserted yet we feel that we have not gone unnoticed. Not that much happens on a weekday in Lukomir! We take our luggage to the house where we are staying. Amela a young woman is our hostess and welcomes us. She takes us to the kitchen where she is preparing our dinner. In Bosnia, a girl cannot marry until she can cook and bake. Amela is married and has baking in her fingers. In the kitchen she continues her work. She kneads and rolls out dough into a wafer-thin pancake more than a meter in diameter. The dough is cut into strips and filled with sheep's cheese. Each strip is rolled up and spiraled onto a large baking sheet. Meanwhile, Amela's father has lit the wood-burning oven outside. The baking tray goes in and a large lid is put on. After 20 minutes we are sitting at the table. We drink tea with honey and Amela presents her sheep cheese dish. It tastes delicious. There seems to be no end to a pebble path and then you are sitting in a house in Lukomir having a good meal.
The obvious hospitality feels like a warm blanket. After dessert we go outside because we want to meet people.

Each strip is rolled up and spiraled onto a large baking sheet

The village has about 30 houses

At a little house further on. A little higher up than the house where we are staying, an older couple is sitting outside on a log. The woman gestures us to sit down, as there are plenty of logs. Thanks to our interpreter, we can start a conversation. The woman, who is long past eighty, goes inside and returns a little later with a tray of coffee.

Coffee in Bosnia means making time for each other. First a sugar cube is placed in the small cups, then a spoonful of coffee grounds and only then is coffee served. Meanwhile, the man continues imperturbably with his woodcarving. While the coffee is being served according to tradition, the man has used a small axe to turn a block of wood into a wooden ladle. The woman picks up her knitting and, while talking, continues to knit a pair of socks.

Life in a mountain village has few luxuries. Electricity has only been available for a few years and that is quite a change. People now have TV. Outside there are antennas on the ground that have to be aimed manually for any reception. In Lukomir everyone provides for their own livelihood. The endearing elderly couple has therefore built a vegetable garden next to their house.

The man and woman radiate simplicity and cordiality. Outside in the sun, their wrinkled faces take on a golden glow. The many layers of clothing they wear make for a colorful whole. Up there, on the top of the mountain, the color of the woman's headscarf blends almost seamlessly into blue sky. Two neighboring women come walking up and also take a seat on one of the logs. Of course they are in the mood for coffee. We are busy talking to each other about everyday things. Our interpreter bridges the language barrier. When we say goodbye, the man promises to make a few more ladles for us tomorrow.

Coffee in Bosnia means making time for each other.

The sun intends to say goodbye to us. For a photographer, the soft grazing light of the setting sun is something magical. This time of day is the moment we have been waiting for all day. We go to the spot in the village that we picked out in advance. Lukomir now lies in the beautiful light of the setting sun.

From our spot on the hill we can see the shepherds with their flocks of sheep approaching from all sides. The wool seems to "roll" down the mountain. The village, with 27 more residents of 80 plus, gains 4.500 sheep and a few cows at that moment. Total concentration to capture the moment. Breathlessly, we watch as everyday life gets ready for darkness. Each shepherd brings his flock to the corral. The fences are being closed. The houses are now surrounded by hundreds of sheep. The color palette of this scene takes on a golden glow as if brushed over this setting by the sun. The shepherds are called inside for a well-deserved meal. Their sheepdogs take over and watch over the flock until dawn. All becomes quiet and only when the last ray of light disappears is the camera packed.

All becomes quiet and only when the last ray of light disappears is the camera packed.

The magic of soft light

After a cold night, we see the people outside working early. The life of every day begins again. The shepherds leave one by one with their flock back into the mountains. The peace and quiet in which everything happens is enviable. An old woman calls out to us "...Kaffa...?" Well, we would like that and in the cottage we drink coffee with her with a cookie. Being able to photograph people in their own environment and listen to their life stories always feels like a great privilege. When we leave a few hours later we have more luggage than on the way out. The promised ladles are ready. We get hand-knitted slippers, gloves and socks. We leave a pair of reading glasses for a woman who can now see her knitting perfectly well again. Our luggage also contains another beautiful experience. We are waved off by wrinkled hands. What will happen to Lukomir when the last female has knitted her last pair of socks?

What will happen to Lukomir when the last female has knitted her last pair of socks?

The peace and tranquility, to be envied.

When you visit my gallery you can see the whole series.

On the program is Thailand. We always have a motto during our travels. "Where the tourist goes left, we go right". So we don't go to the white beaches in the south, nor do we want to drink cocktails in Phuket. Our destination is northern Pai. As a photographer, you look for the images in the capillaries of the, for us still often unknown, society. For this we will take a jungle trek to a Hill Tripe Village on the border with Myanmar in the far north of Thailand.

The flight is always a 'thingy'. For a jungle trip you can not bring all equipment. Critically look in the camera cases and think carefully about what to take and what not to take. You'd rather leave two pairs of pants at home to be able to take one extra lens. We fly from Amsterdam to Bangkok. We stayed the night there and one day later took the train to Chiang Mai.

It is late in the afternoon. We are sitting on a small terrace in front of the station in Bangkok. By now we have bought the train tickets for the longest train journey we have ever made. The ticket cost the equivalent of 17 euros. In the Netherlands you can't make the trip Maastricht - Eindhoven for that. We are very curious about the events that lie ahead.

Slowly but surely more travelers begin to gather. What strikes us immediately is that we are raising the average age of the group of travelers. A cautious estimate tells us that 80% of the group are in their mid-twenties. All the chatter we hear shrinks to a cacophony of the most divergent languages, which in fragments seems to betray the various nationalities. You can never be sure where someone comes from. What we do know for sure is where they are going. Chiang Mai....the terminus of the train we are about to board and on which we will plunge into the next adventure.

13 hours ChooChoo train

13 hours ChooChoo Train

We eat another Pad Thai, a delicious noodle dish with egg and peanuts. After all, you don't know what to expect on the train. The scheduled departure time is 18:10 and we are expected to arrive in Chiang Mai tomorrow morning around 7:00. It does say in the headline this article '13 Hours ChooChoo train' but it ends up being more 'Choo, chug and chuff !!!' What an impressive journey and what a different world.

In the Netherlands I think 7,012 km of track is surrounded by 7,012 km of fencing. "That's for safety, otherwise people will walk on the tracks." It almost makes me laugh when I look out the window of the train. It would take little effort for us to fish laundry off the wire in the passing of the houses. The train really does run right through the neighborhood and right in front of it. After an hour, we gradually exchange the urban landscape for a wider view. We pass one village after another. By the way, the door of the train is open. That gives some cooling. In the end it is just 35 degrees. This temperature is beautifully combined with a humidity that makes you feel like you are swimming in a fishbowl. Especially if you can sit comfortably in the doorway with legs outboard, it is wonderful to feel the wind between your toes. Try to imagine this in my country between Den Bosch and Utrecht?

By the way, the door of the train is open.

 Choo, chug and chuff 

It's starting to get dark and suddenly we smell the aroma of Thai cuisine. When we go to investigate it turns out that the next carriage is a real restaurant. Our amazement reaches a peak when we see the menu. A written polonaise of the most delicious dishes. And 'last but not least' they also served a cool pint. The dining car was a 'star restaurant' on wheels that has not yet been discovered by the Guide Michelin.

Making contact with the fellow travelers goes like clockwork. Everyone is like-minded but also in the same mood. In no time at all we were playing cards with three students from Berlin and a girl from Canada. At the table opposite us sits a couple from Italy talking to a boy from Denmark and they tell about their journey through the Andes. And all this on the train from Bangkok to Chiang Mai. In a word.... amazing!!!

The restoration truck,... a 'Star Restaurant' on wheels

In Chiang Mai we look for a place to sleep. Fit as a fiddle we are waiting for Jim the next morning. He is our guide for the coming days. Our belongings are loaded into the jeep. The road to Pai is an adventure. It is also called "The 762 curves road. We didn't count them. That is, somewhere at 90 we lost count and there may well have been a few more or fewer.

Fortunately, Jim discharged the car very competently over this curvy mountain road. With sailor's legs we got out 2.5 hours later at a spot at the edge of the forest. At the bottom of a narrow mountain path, in a large pool of water, lies an elephant bathing. A young elephant stands by, watching. Our guide thought we would enjoy this. They were not elephants living in complete freedom but they were in their habitat.

A man was busy scrubbing the elephant's back in the water. We were asked if we wanted to help. Then we went ahead and played the tourist. It was impossible to resist touching such an imposing animal. It was very unreal to suddenly stand in the water with rolled-up trouser legs and to scrub an elephant's back with a brush as big as a broom. We are not quite rid of this tourist attraction yet. What we don't know yet is that our elephant is being prepared for a trip through the jungle with us on its neck. Goodness gracious, how high you sit then. Quietly and thoughtfully the elephant begins to walk uphill. The path is barely one meter wide and the elephant is really much wider. It is very exciting but also very enjoyable. After an hour this adventure is over. Jim had arranged it well after all. The elephant was not a tourist attraction but our transfer from civilization to the edge of the jungle.

It was impossible to resist touching such an imposing animal.

Only 762 curves over 128 kilometers

the ready on the way to the Hill Tribe Village. When the trail goes downhill, we really need a stick to lean on. We don't walk, we slither and slide from tree to tree and down steeply. This is really something else than a brisk walk in the woods. Out of breath, exhausted and soaking wet with sweat, we rest a few hours later. Jim doesn't seem tired at all and tells us all about jungle life. Beetles, spiders and other insects go about their business imperturbably. Jim cuts a bite out of the bark of a tree with a machete. We taste the white sap that flows from the tree. This tastes like pure paracetamol, which is true. Jim tells us that when people are in pain somewhere they take some of this liquid as a painkiller. The jungle turns out to be one big pharmacy.


Hey ho, let's go, says Jim. He reassures us. The next part of the trip we don't have to descend steeply anymore. From now on it is only uphill. My goodness, what a trip. Our legs seem to have lost all their strength. Completely worn out, we arrive at a bamboo hut on stilts in the evening. Food is simmering in a kettle on an open fire. Gratefully we accept the meal. We have no idea what we are eating but this 'meal of gallows' tastes better than anything else. After dinner we fall dead asleep on our mat in the hut. Sawing beetles, screaming gibbons and two snoring Limburgers, make the sounds for that night in the jungle in Thailand.

Early the next morning we sit by the fire with a cup of coffee. Fit, but to be honest, with a lot of muscle ache. The stage on day two is shorter and less demanding. We walk along enormous rice fields. The light is exceptionally beautiful. It looks like a silk cloth swirling on the wind over the landscape. We take our time to photograph. In the distance we see some huts. The Hill Tripe Village, we are here! The suffering is rewarded.

An almost inhuman journey through the jungle?

Early the next morning we sit by the fire with a cup of coffee. Fit, but to be honest, with a lot of muscle ache. The walk on day two is shorter and less demanding. We walk along enormous rice fields. The light is exceptionally beautiful. It looks like a silk cloth swirling on the wind over the landscape. We take our time to photograph. In the distance we see some huts. The Hill Tripe Village, we are here! The suffering is rewarded.

A lovely place to rest and sleep

The suffering is rewarded.

People clean vegetables, work in their flower gardens, children run after each other and mothers do laundry. An elderly couple sits contentedly on the sidewalk in front of their house and a sweet old lady sits behind her loom. The beautiful light gives everyday things a special glow. Our appropriate restraint allows us to photograph undisturbed.

Again, we feel privileged to be included in the daily scenes. We take pictures of the friendly old couple sitting contentedly on the sidewalk in front of their house. The woman who is weaving is already half an inch further with the weaving of her beautiful piece of royal blue fabric.

We have really only met beautiful people. The photographer's eye has been terribly spoiled. At this point we know that a wealth of beautiful images will travel home with us. At home in the studio it will take many hours before a picture is approved to show to anyone who wants to enjoy our journey through Thailand.

Funny stories, serious experience, photographic topics, you can find them all on my blog page.

Funny stories, serious experience,
photographic topics,
you can find them all on my blog page.