Kalogiorgi Maria Photography

From across the water, a breeze licks my sweating brow, stirs the rags of the patched sail, and rouses the crew from their improbable slumbers. With the grace of acrobats, the crew prepare the boat for the rising wind. The sail ripples, fills and drags the canoe into life.

I am in a fishing village that lies at the midpoint of the Vezo’s migratory stretch — between Tulear and Mahajanga. I am here to meet the tribe of sea gypsies. The Vezo’s, which literally means the people who fish or struggle with the sea. The trade lives in coastal villages of southwest Madagascar. These nomadic fishermen have spent the last few centuries navigating the lonely beaches and desert islands of Madagascar’s west coast in outrigger canoes. The outrigger canoe “lakana” has become the iconic image of the Vezo tribe who take them offshore and sometimes even very far from their villages of origin during the dry season. Lakanas are constructed from a single tree trunk with a mast, sail and outrigger. The sails are often made with sacks of rice and they become tents for a stop.

These coastal dwellers sought subsistence in the seas, following shoals of fish hundreds of miles as they migrated through the relatively calm waters between Madagascar and mainland Africa. Over generations, the practices of these nautical nomads developed into an identity. And their mastery of the Western waves allowed them to carve out a living in fish and trade.

Λόφοι ξυρισμένοι από τα μελτέμια και τους βοριάδες. Ίχνος δέντρου μόνο αλμυρίκια σε απόκρυφα ακρογιαλιά να ξαποσταίνεις από τον καυτό ήλιο του μεσημεριού για να γευτείς τα φραγκόσυκα. Χρυσαφένια στάχυα χορεύουν στον άνεμο, κάποιοι παλιοί ανεμόμυλοι δίνουν το γεωγραφικό στίγμα του νησιού, γαϊδουράκια να απολαμβάνουν αμέριμνα τη σκιά τους και περίτεχνες ξερολιθιές να προσπαθούν να υποτάξουν το ανυπότακτο έδαφος αυτής της άγονης γωνιάς του Αιγαίου. Παρατηρητήρια από την εποχή του Καποδίστρια στέκουν εκεί κόντρα στον χρόνο που πέρασε, να φυλάνε τα περάσματα από τους πειρατές. Νερά καταγάλανα, όχι καθαρά αλλά διάφανα, σε καλούν να δροσιστείς, να σβήσεις την κάψα του καλοκαιριού, ν’ ακούσεις το κελάρυσμα της σουσουράδας όσο κανείς τον νεκρό πάνω στο κύμα.

Σχοινούσα, Άγονη Γραμμή.

Το καράβι δένει στο λιμάνι και ήδη ξεκινάς να υποψιάζεσαι τα πλακόστρωτα δρομάκια, με σχέδια από ασβέστη, τα φρεσκοασβεστωμένα σπίτια με μπλε παράθυρα, και μια ησυχία που σε κάνει σχεδόν να ψιθυρίζεις. Μικρά μαγαζάκια πωλούν τα απολύτως απαραίτητα. Δυο — τρία ταβερνάκια και μερικά καφέ.

Οι άνθρωποι εδώ δεν θα σε υποδεχτούν σαν τουρίστα αλλά θα σε αντιμετωπίσουν σαν έναν δικό τους άνθρωπο. Θα σου μιλήσουν για την ιστορία του νησιού και θα σε τρατάρουν ότι βγάζει η κουζίνα τους από αγνά και φρεσκότατα υλικά. Φάβα, ντοματίνια και αλάτι μαζεμένο από τους ίδιους.

Ένα μόνο χωριό. Πολλές μικρές, πανέμορφες παραλίες και άλλα τόσα μονοπάτια που σε πιάνουν από το χέρι για να σε ξεναγήσουν σε ομορφιές απάτητες και ονειρικές. Το οδικό δίκτυο σχεδόν ανύπαρκτο. Ο τόπος σε παίρνει από το χέρι και σε καλεί να τον ανακαλύψεις περπατώντας στα μονοπάτια του, άλλωστε η Σχοινούσα είναι από τα νησιά που σε αναγκάζουν να κατεβάσεις ταχύτητα, πρέπει να τη γνωρίσεις, να τη ζήσεις αργά για να την απολαύσεις.

Κυκλάδες. Χωρίς στολίδια.

The pub means different things to different people. The perfect pub depends on so many variables. For some, the perfect pub is about low ceilings and wood fires, for others it is the dependable jazz band in the corner.

Even with your eyes closed, you would know for sure that you are entering a pub. The smell of beer, ale and cider spilt on the floor and tables from hundreds of glasses, held in hundreds of hands, night after night, will be here forever.

A typical scene is of a bartender — either a pretty girl or a guy giving you a pint glass, with drops of beer inevitably spilling on the counter. You feel that the glass is wet, cold and heavy in your hand. The place is crowded, so as you turn around with your drink, part of it spills on your fingers, your clothes and on the floor. But despite this, pubs have their charm and they are a great part of British culture.

Markets are one of my favorite places to go in order to get a sense of the local culture and people. Walking into the Nizwa market I immediately felt as if I was witnessing life in Oman like a local. I didn’t have any goats to sell and I wasn’t planning on buying one, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t get into the middle of the action.

It’s early in the morning and we arrive at the south side of the souq in Nizwa, one of the oldest and idyllic souks in Oman, and we head directly to the Friday Goat Market, where locals come to trade livestock, particularly goats, cows, and sheeps sold by auction. The market is quite frenetic as the sellers can’t always control their animals, and some try to break away dragging their owners behind them.

It’s a crazy scene with hollering Omanis and out-​of-​control animals and even quiet Omanis either just sitting and observing, or participating full force in the auction. The goats were stood tied to trees bleating loudly, while cows ate grass. In addition, there are the requisite number of tourists trying to find good vantage points to take videos and pictures of this event.

The cattle market is a round space, allowing sellers to lead their animals for sale in a slow circular walk, where buyers sit in the middle and along the edges, shouting out a price as they feel moved to do so. If a deal is reached, the transfer is made immediately – the animal is either led away via a rope, or in the case of a pair small goat kids, scooped up one other each arm.

The goat and cattle market is so atmospheric and authentic that you’ll think you were transported back in time. Turbaned men, woman with face masks, goats pulled around a large circle with men screaming bids. Crowds gathered around cows inspecting teeth, udders, rumps. We left empty handed, but richer from the experience. Nizwa’s Friday Goat Market is one of the most unique markets I’ve been in the world.

Wall painting in Tehran.

Behind the veil of the Islamic revolution, the chador and the religious morality, people are disarmingly polite and authentic, that will really delight to honor you with their pure hospitality. As foreigners you will experience an unprecedented respect, as traveler that is looking to explore the land and the people of Iran.

A group of men playing cards in a park in Isfahan.

At the Friday Mosque in Yazd.

An unexpected smile.

The country of Iran is aimed exclusively to voyagers that know how to appreciate and respect cultural differences and historical heritage of a glorious place, which is balanced between the chador and nuclear energy !

A boy is cycling in the alleys of the bazaar in Shiraz.

Carpets on a trolley.

The Persian Wars, Isfahan, Darius, Xerxes Ferntosi, Persepolis, Omar Khayyam, Shiraz … names, personalities, and situations, all loaded with history and myths that contributes decisively to the decision to travel to the land of Iran.

Every day a red rose is left on tomb of Hafez in Shiraz.

To walk through the gates of Iran you need to ignore the propaganda of the international media that are talking about a forbidden and dangerous place, especially after the Islamic revolution of 1979 and the establishment of a theocracy. It is no coincidence, moreover, that the ancient Persia textbooks has been identified in the consciousness of most of the Islamic fanaticism. It is however an unfortunate parallelism from the reality that the traveler is actually going see during his presence in Iran .

Rest time.

A man while he is counting his money at the bazaar of Shiraz.

Night at the roads of Yazd.

Night at the roads of Yazd.

In the alleys of the old town of Yazd.

In the alleys of the old town of Yazd.

At the bazaar of Isfahan.

Photography Kalogiorgi Maria

Canon 7D

Dare to take a backpack and get lost among the crowd to an unknown destination. Taste the local food and entertain self in a local pub. Trust your instinct and wandering around the streets of the city, observe the world around you, a traveler without observation is like a bird without wings.

Traveling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things – air, sleep, dreams, the sea, the sky – all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it.

All travel has its advantages. If the passenger visits better countries, he may learn to improve his own. And if fortune carries him to worse, he may learn to enjoy it. There are no foreign lands. It is the traveler only who is foreign.

Tourists don’t know where they’ve been, travelers don’t know where they’re going. For every traveller who has any taste of his own, the only useful guidebook will be the one which he himself has written…

Destination Unknown.….…..
Destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things

Photography Kalogiorgi Maria

Photos had been taken with Canon 350D