The salt-laced air of Brittany still clings to me, a familiar, comforting scent that always marks the end of a visit. Another departure, another incredible time spent in my homeland. It’s a strange sensation, this passage of time. For me, it feels like I just left a few years ago, a blink of an eye. Yet, the calendar tells a different story: twenty-two years have unfolded, filled with countless adventures and experiences since I last truly settled here.
This time, however, the farewell feels a little heavier. Leaving behind my family and dear friends is always a wrench, a bittersweet ache in my chest. It’s a feeling I’ve grown accustomed to, but it never truly gets easier. The goodbyes linger, the hugs are a little longer, and the promises to return feel more earnest.
But I know the familiar rhythm of the road. Once I’m back on my journey, once the miles stretch out before me, the ache will begin to fade. It’s the nature of the adventurer, I suppose – to carry the love of home in your heart while embracing the call of the unknown.
And the unknown is beckoning again. New adventures are on the horizon, just around the bend, waiting to be discovered. I can hardly wait to dive into them, to gather new tales and experiences. Soon, I’ll be ready to share them all with you!
Yes! Another incredible adventure has just wrapped up, and this one took me back to the breathtaking island of Madeira.
It’s been about a year and a half since my first exploratory trip there. Back then, I managed to tick off the major highlights, but destiny, it seemed, had other plans. My camera decided to give up the ghost on the second day, and the weather was… well, let’s just say it was decidedly uncooperative. So, I left with a sense of accomplishment after three weeks, but also with a quiet promise to myself: I had to return.
The Return and a New Vision
This time, things felt different from the start. Some wonderful clients, who had joined me on a Patagonia trip earlier this year, were incredibly excited about exploring Madeira. They weren’t necessarily photographers, but they craved the kind of immersive experiences we’d shared in Patagonia – the extended hikes, the breakfasts enjoyed right on the trail, and those magical sunset aperitifs. Their enthusiasm sparked an idea.
I decided to tweak the original photo tour itinerary. What was planned as an 8-day trip transformed into a more leisurely 15-day exploration. This extension would give us ample time to travel at a relaxed pace and truly soak in the essence of the island. It involved a good deal of research, as some of the hikes were new territory for me, but honestly, that’s always an exciting part of the mission.
Embracing the Journey
To maximize our freedom and flexibility, we rented a car. Those drives, with good music playing and the windows down, became an integral part of the adventure. It allowed us to arrive at our destinations before the crowds, to chase the best light, and to truly follow the sun. And speaking of light – in September, the light in Madeira was absolutely phenomenal!
The hikes themselves were nothing short of incredible. The diversity was astounding, from coastal walks to trails high up at 2000 meters, and through lush, verdant jungles. Madeira truly offers endless opportunities for exploration. Despite the weather not being perfect every single day, we managed to capture all the key spots in their most beautiful moments. The light, oh, the light!
Overall, this trip was an unforgettable experience, a testament to the magic of Madeira and the joy of sharing its wonders with others.
What an overwhelming rush of emotions—I had finally returned to São Luís do Maranhão, the city where I spent two of the most intense years of my life. Every cobblestone, every melody, every familiar face carried memories that hit me like a tidal wave.
Walking those streets again was like stepping into a time capsule. I traced the same paths I once hiked daily, back when I sold crepes in the bustling city center. The air hummed with reggae rhythms drifting from open windows, and the taste of a fresh Guaraná Traditional brought back a flood of nostalgia. But nothing compared to the vibrant pulse of Bumba Meu Boi, its colors and energy so alive it felt like the city itself was breathing.
Then there was Carla—an old friend from Tambor da Crioula—who swept me back into the heart of it all. She took me under her wing, and together, we surrendered to Carnival for eight straight days. We danced until dawn at the Bumba Meu Boi de Maracanã, losing ourselves in the songs of life and the electric buzz of the crowd. Those sunrises, painted in sweat and laughter, are moments I’ll carry with me forever.
Now, as I sit here, the question lingers: Should I come back every year, even if just for a few months? This place isn’t just a city—it’s a piece of me. And leaving again feels like tearing away a part of my soul.
After seventeen long years, I finally stepped back onto Brazilian soil. My stomach had been in knots the whole flight—would they slap me with a $300 fine for leaving the country as an undocumented immigrant all those years ago? But when I reached customs, the officer barely glanced at my passport before waving me through. Just another gringo arriving for the first time. I nearly laughed out loud with relief. My wallet, already stretched thin from travel expenses, silently thanked the universe.
A Warm Welcome
The moment I stepped outside the airport, Brazil wrapped me in its familiar embrace. The air hummed with laughter, chatter, and the easy rhythm of life. Brazilians moved with a warmth and ease I’d almost forgotten—no rushed shoulders, no tense glances. Even in Foz do Iguaçu, a city teeming with tourists, the vibe was unmistakably Brazilian. Bossa nova melodies drifted from mall speakers, softening the edges of the day. It was like slipping into a favorite old song, one that still knew all the right notes.
Surprises in the South
I hadn’t expected the south to feel so… modern. The architecture, the streets, even the way people dressed—it all carried a faint European elegance, a stark contrast to the rawer, wilder north I remembered. It was a Brazil I hadn’t fully known before, one that balanced tradition with a quiet sophistication.
The Price of Comfort
But the real gift? The prices. After months in Argentina, where a simple meal cost a small fortune and fresh produce felt like a luxury reserved for the wealthy, Brazil was a revelation. Here, I could sit at a café and order a proper meal without wincing at the bill. No more surviving on sad, greasy sandwiches. For the first time in ages, I bit into a ripe mango from a street vendor and grinned. This was the Latin America I’d missed—alive, vibrant, and mercifully kind to my wallet.
It was supposed to be a seamless journey—Mendoza to Buenos Aires, then onward to Puerto Iguazú, all in one day. I’d packed my trusty trekking backpack with everything I needed for the trip, including my prized Canon RF 100-400mm lens, snug in its protective case with a €300 filter shielding the glass. I didn’t think twice about checking it in. After all, I’d done this before. But this time, luck wasn’t on my side.
The Discovery
When I unzipped my backpack in Puerto Iguazú, the pockets were gaping open. My stomach dropped. The lens was gone. Just like that. No forced entry, no obvious signs of tampering—just an empty space where my gear should’ve been. The estimated loss? Around $1,600. Not exactly pocket change.
The Paper Trail
Panic set in. Did I have the original invoice? Of course not—because why would I? After scrambling through old emails, I managed to dig up a duplicate PDF. Not ideal, but better than nothing. Then came the sinking realization: my N26 Business Standard card had no purchase protection, and I hadn’t bothered with travel insurance. The airline’s liability? A joke. Flybondi’s response was a polite shrug—they wanted a police report I hadn’t filed and cited their “fragile/badly packed” disclaimer, which, conveniently, didn’t cover theft. I knew chasing them for compensation would be a waste of time.
The Hunt
So, I switched gears. I called lost-and-found desks at every airport—MDZ, AEP, IGR—reciting my bag tags like a mantra. I set up alerts on Mercado Libre, hoping the thief would be dumb enough to list it. I registered the serial number on Lenstag and StolenCameraFinder, then reached out to Canon service centers in Chile and Argentina to flag it as stolen. A long shot, but worth trying.
Lessons Learned
Next time? No expensive gear in checked luggage. Ever. I’ll zip-tie my bag shut, drop an AirTag inside, and maybe even spring for proper insurance. Or at least use a credit card that actually covers theft. Hindsight’s a bitter teacher, but at least I won’t make the same mistake twice.
For now, though, all I can do is wait—and hope someone, somewhere, slips up.
My love affair with Colombia ignited unexpectedly back in 2005. Crossing the border from Panama during a three-year South American adventure, I met a Colombian family on the boat – a rare encounter for foreigners at the time. Their incredible warmth led to an invitation to Medellín for Christmas. I knew little about the city then, but that spontaneous “yes” changed everything.
They welcomed me not just into their home, but into the heart of their community, sharing vibrant neighborhood traditions like ‘La Natilla,’ festive family dinners, and explorations of Medellín. Their generosity was astounding, especially when my bank card failed, leaving me with minimal cash – they insisted on covering everything for nearly a month! I left profoundly touched by the Colombian spirit and made a promise to myself: I had to return. Colombia, alongside Cuba and Brazil, had already captured my heart as a place I could truly call home.
Seven years of working back in Europe were fueled by that promise. When the opportunity arose for a Travel Agency Director role in Santa Marta, a nudge from an old friend who’d fallen in love with nearby Minca sealed the deal. Trusting his experience, I packed my bags.
While my initial landing near Santa Marta wasn’t love at first sight, the very next day changed my perspective forever. A motorbike ride took me up into the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, to Mundo Nuevo. I was utterly awe-struck by the raw beauty and palpable energy of the lush jungle, home to the Kogi, Wiwa, Arhuaco, and Kankuamo indigenous communities. Discovering the magic of the Sierra Nevada confirmed I was exactly where I needed to be. It remains one of my most cherished places on Earth.
My year managing the agency was just the start. Driven by curiosity, I spent every weekend exploring. Guides, eager to showcase their regions, invited me along. This intense period of discovery built an invaluable foundation. My role evolved – I spearheaded tour production, managed system migrations, and, crucially, began leading tours across the country myself. This hands-on experience allowed me to forge connections nationwide and gain intimate knowledge of diverse regions.
I quickly became the go-to expert for the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, particularly for tours involving the Koguis. I immersed myself in their culture, studied their worldview, and even learned some of their language. This deep connection provides unparalleled insider access for my photography tours today. Later, managing the agency’s digital presence and website further broadened my skills. Finally, in 2019, driven by years of accumulated experience and a passion for sharing Colombia’s soul, I took the leap to launch my own photography tours. Drawing on that first life-changing encounter, years of professional immersion, relentless exploration, and specialized knowledge – especially within the Sierra Nevada – I now craft unique journeys designed to reveal the authentic heart of this incredible country through the lens.
My Panamanian adventures began in late 2004, exploring the stunning, less-touristed islands of Bocas Del Toro – a paradise of red frogs, dolphins, and pristine beaches. Later, venturing south along the coast towards the formidable Darien Gap, I faced a classic traveler’s dilemma: take an expensive tourist sailboat from Colon to Cartagena, or find my own way through the remote Kuna Yala archipelago. I chose adventure. Reaching the very end of the road, I learned that indigenous Kuna boats occasionally arrived to collect supplies. Patience was key. After three days of waiting, the call finally came: “Hey Tristan, the Kunas are leaving!” I quickly negotiated passage.
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Following a tip, I arrived on a tiny, electricity-free Kuna island, introducing myself as an anthropology student seeking a local contact I’d heard about. Luckily, I found him, and he graciously offered me space in his simple bamboo home. Initial curiosity from the islanders slowly warmed, especially after an impromptu didgeridoo performance. Intrigued by the sound, my host immediately grabbed the instrument, painted it with traditional markings, and suddenly, I was the nightly entertainment, welcomed into homes for demonstrations in the pre-electricity quiet.
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Serendipity struck again when a large supply boat arrived, tasked with replenishing goods across the archipelago. Seeing my chance, I spoke with the captain. For a modest $10 a day (meals included!), I secured passage – an incredible opportunity to witness authentic Kuna life as we visited island after tiny island, the lush Darien jungle a constant backdrop. I befriended the boat’s accountant, a respected Kuna man who took me under his wing, introducing me to local leaders and sharing insights during our stops.
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Reaching the final Kuna island, my accountant friend invited me to stay at his home, adorned with fascinating traditional statues – treating me like a son. But the journey wasn’t over. From seemingly nowhere, a tiny plane landed on a nearby strip, depositing a confident Colombian man claiming diplomatic ties and needing passage across the border. Seeing me, he instantly proposed we share the cost of hiring a cayuco – a small, traditional boat – for a clandestine night crossing. With no other options apparent, I agreed.
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We set off at 3 am into the choppy, dark sea. Navigating only by moonlight was unnerving. As dawn approached and we neared the coast, harsh spotlights suddenly pinned us – the Colombian military, understandably wary of unexpected night arrivals. After a tense explanation (mine simply being a first-time entry), I was told to wait for the consul. He arrived hours later, surprisingly welcoming, even offering a shower. My first steps into Colombia were tinged with the apprehension fueled by headlines and movies. Little did I know, I was on the cusp of discovering a reality far richer, warmer, and more welcoming than I could have ever imagined.
