Monday, January 20, 2014

Brazil: A Caiman For The Pot



Pulling a small caiman shot for our next meal by the man in the small motorboat along the Padauari River, small tributary of the Rio Negro in Brazil’s Amazon rain forest. I was on a hunt for mysterious pyramids that turned out to be natural hills.
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Traînant un petit caïman tué d’un coup de fusil par l’homme du petit baateau a motuer pour notre prochain repas le long du Padauari, petit affluent du Rio Negro en Amazonie brésilienne. J’étais à la recherche de mystérieuses pyramides qui s’avérèrent n’être autre chose que des collines naturelles.

Sunday, January 19, 2014

Brazil: Life In The Amazon



At sunset in Brazil’s Amazon rain forest, a family wash peeled manioc on the flooded banks of the Padauari River, a Rio Negro tributary.
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En Amazonie, au soleil couchant, une famille lave du manioc pelé sur les rives submergées de la rivière Padauari, affluent du Rio Negro.

Saturday, January 18, 2014

Bolivia: La Paz Street Scene


Outside an  abandoned shoe store in La Paz, Bolivia, an Aymara street vendor is snacking on some of her merchandise, which includes grain and roasted corn and beans. A little girl sleeps on her knees.
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A l’extérieur d’un magasin de chaussures abandonné à La Paz, en Bolivie, une vendeuse de rue Aymara grignote un peu de sa marchandise, qui inclut du grain et du maïs et des haricots grillés. Une petite fille dort sur ses genoux. 

Friday, January 17, 2014

Argentina: Patagonian Sheep Farm


Argentine gaucho watching sheep leave barn where they were sheared to return to pasture in Patagonia’s Valdès Peninsula.
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Gaucho argentin observant des moutons sortir de la grange ou ils ont été tondus pour retourner au pâturage dans la péninsule patagonienne de Valdès.


Thursday, January 16, 2014

Brazil: Family Scene


After a morning at sea near Salvador, Brazil, a fisherman hoses himself in his backyard next to three of his ten children.
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Après une matinée en mer près de Salvador, au Brésil, un pêcheur s’arrose d’un tuyau d’arrosage derrière sa maison. Trois de ses dix enfants s’occupent à leur façon.

Wednesday, January 15, 2014

Indonesia: Polygamous Man And Family Portrait


Moslem man I photographed in 1968 with his three younger wives and some of their smallest children in Indonesia’s Sumba Island.
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Vieux musulman que j’ai photographié en 1968 avec ses trois épouses et quelques-uns de leurs derniers enfants dans l’ile indonésienne de Sumba.



Tuesday, January 14, 2014

Once In A Lifetime Borneo Hailstorm


In 1968, looking out of a Dyak longhouse's window in Indonesia’s central Borneo, I watched kids eagerly picking things falling from the dark sky as if they were candy. They were pieces of ice nearly the size of golf balls. No one among those people had ever known such things.
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En 1968, au centre de Bornéo, en Indonésie,  j’ai observé d’une fenêtre d’une longue maison Dayak, des enfants se jeter sur des choses tombant du ciel comme si elles étaient des bonbons. C’étaient des boules de glace presqu’aussi grosses que des balles de golf. Personne ici n’avait jamais connu tel évènement.  

Monday, January 13, 2014

Brazil’s Yanomami Indians Dressing Up With Paint


In Brazil’s Amazon rain forest, on the way with their clan to another clan’s invitation to a plantain-soup-drinking orgy, this Yanomami woman is making sure her husband looks presentable. Their whole clan has stopped in a clearing to take care of their looks.
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En Amazonie, en  chemin avec son clan à l’invitation d’un autre clan à une beuverie de soupe de plantain, cette femme Yanomami s’assure que son mari sera présentable. Le reste de leur clan s’est également arrêté dans cette clairière pour se faire beaux.



Sunday, January 12, 2014

Canada's Amazing Bay Of Fundy

Canada’s Bay of Fundy along the New Brunswick’s coast, as tourists are leaving it at dusk. The bay of Fundy boasts the world’s highest tides, ranging from 47 to 54 feet. At high tide you would see people kayaking around the rocks.
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A la tombée du jour des touristes abandonnent La baie de Fundy, le long de la côte canadienne du New Brunswick. La baie de Fundy subit les marées les plus hautes du monde—de plus de 14 a plus de 16 mètres.


Thursday, January 9, 2014

Wednesday, January 8, 2014

Argentina's Patagonia: Gaucho Herding Sheep



On a late 1984 afternoon in Argentina’s Patagonia, a gaucho brings sheep back to an estancia’s corral.
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Une fin d’après-midi de 1984 en Patagonie argentine un gaucho ramène un troupeau de moutons au corral d’une estancia.


My horses during my 1984 crossing of Patagonia between the coasts of Argentina and Chile.
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Mes chevaux durant ma traversée, en 1984, de la Patagonie entre les côtes de l’Argentine et du Chili.



Sunday, January 5, 2014

Saturday, January 4, 2014

Wyoming: Cattle Auction


1969 cattle auction in Lander, Wyoming, United States.
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Vente aux enchères de bétail à Lander, en 1969, dans l’état américain du Wyoming.

Wyoming: Shoshone Beauty


Shoshone girl I photographed in 1969 in the Wind River Indian Reservation of Wyoming, United States. It was part of a story I did for Clipper, the Pan American Airlines’ magazine, whose editor asked me to title it  A European Looks At The Wild West.
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Jeune fille Shoshone que j’ai photographié en 1969 dans la réserve indienne de Wind River, au Wyoming, Etats-Unis. Mon passage par cette réserve indienne faisait partie d’un reportage que m’avait commandé Clipper, le magazine de la Pan American Airlines. L’’éditeur m’avait demandé de le titrer  Regard d’un Européen sur l’Ouest Sauvage.



Tuesday, December 31, 2013

Snowing Over Yellowstone National Park


To all, family and friends, I wish you a very happy 2014 year
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A tous, famille et amis, je vous souhaite une très heureuse année 2014
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 A todos, familia y amigos, les deseo un muy feliz año 2014     

        Moose crossing river under snow in America’s Yellowstone National Park
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Elan traversant une rivière sous la neige au parc national de Yellowstone aux Etats-Unis
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         


Monday, December 30, 2013

Madagascar: Betsileo Couple On Their Way To The Fields


South of Ambositra, in Madagascar, I came across this happy Betsileo couple on their way to their fields.
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Au sud d’Ambositra, à Madagascar, j’ai rencontré cet heureux couple de fermiers Betsileo en chemin vers leurs champs.

                                                  

Saturday, December 28, 2013

Friday, December 27, 2013

Bolivian Altiplano: Old Quechua Llama Herder


This 84-year-old Quechua man, his clothes a patchwork of repairs, was running behind some 60 llamas as if he were only half his age when he caught sight of me and stopped to have a better look at me.
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Cet homme Quechua de 84 ans aux vêtements rapiécés  courait derrière une soixantaine de lamas comme s’il n’avait que la moitié de son âge lorsqu’il m’aperçut et s’arrêta pour mieux me dévisager. 

Wednesday, December 25, 2013

Chile: Mapuche Woman In Traditional Costume


Chile near Temuco: Mapuche woman in traditional costume, as used during tribal celebrations.
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Chili près de Temuco. Femme Mapuche en costume traditionnel, en usage durant les réunions tribales.


Friday, December 20, 2013

Sahara: Tuareg Girls Portrait


Tuareg girl of the Niger’s Sahara Desert holding her little restless cousin quiet for a photo. Shot in 1973.
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Petite fille touarègue  du Sahara nigérien maitrisant pour le photographe une petite cousine hyperactive. Photo 1973. 

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

Colombia: Riding Horses Bareback

On Colombia’s páramo, on my way up snow-capped El Cocuy Mountain, my path crossed that of a farmer and his son riding horses bareback on their way down to the small town of El Cocuy.
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Sur le páramo colombien, durant une escalade d’El Cocuy, une montagne à la cime enneigée, mon chemin a croisé ce fermier et son fils qui montaient leurs chevaux sans selles dans leur descente au gros village du même nom que la montagne.


Thursday, December 12, 2013

Niger: Male Beauty Contest Among The Wodaabe nomads


Wodaabe nomads of Niger’s Sahel zone dancing the Yakey, which is at once a male beauty contest between the men of a same clan. Their grimaces are meant to show the whiteness of their teeth and of their eyes' whites.
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Nomades Wodaabe du Sahel nigérien dansant le yakey, qui est à la fois un concours de beauté masculine. Leurs grimaces s’efforcent de montrer aux femmes qui les observent la blancheur de leurs dents et du blanc de leurs yeux.

Tuesday, December 10, 2013

Mali: Sunset Over Timbuktu


   Sunset over a 1969 view of Timbuktu, a big Saharan village of Mali
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   Soleil couchant sur un aspect de la Tombouctou de 1969, un gros village      saharien

Sunday, December 8, 2013

Indonesia: Dayak Dancing Inside A Central Borneo Longhouse


In central Borneo’s rain forest of 1968 Indonesia, those Dyak people were dancing inside their longhouse.
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Au centre de la forêt de Bornéo, dans l’Indonésie de 1968, ces Dayak dansaient dans leur traditionnelle longue maison.

Saturday, December 7, 2013

Friday, December 6, 2013

A Chance Encounter At The Stone Age


In 1968 I visited Indonesia’s  Baliem Valley in Irian Jaya, also known as West Papua. There I found this Dani man sharpening the blade of his stone ax. Other stone tools behind him were waiting to be sharpened as well.
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En 1968, de passage pour la vallée de Baliem en Irian Jaya, également connue comme Papua occidentale, le hasard m’a mené à cet homme Dani en train d’aiguiser la lame de sa hache de pierre. Ses autres outils de pierre derrière lui attendaient leur propre tour.

Wednesday, December 4, 2013

Coming Of Age In The Night Forest


     One Scout summer camp in Belgium’s eastern Ardennes region in 1947, when I was 14, I suffered humiliation that would torment me a whole year. We were camping near Malmédy. Our leaders woke us, over 20 scouts, at midnight to challenge us to walk alone through a long stretch of woods and back. The forest path led to Lake Robertville, near the ruins of Reinhardstein, a 14th-century castle. A German nobleman had built it at a time that Reihardstein was part of Germany, centuries before Belgium came into existence as a country.
     A walk in the woods at midnight towards a medieval castle seemed too spooky to all but one of us. He was my 15-year- old tent mate and first cousin, Jean (John in English), whose virile qualities I grudgingly, though secretly, acknowledged and tried to emulate. At that time, he towered above me, he was a born artist, and his good looks made him very popular among girls. He lived on a Canada street and was known as Don Juan du Canada
     Another factor tinged my relationship with my cousin. My mother’s humble origins were cause for some disdain from our father’s family. She wanted her sons to be as good as, or better than, their cousins, and she found in my competitive nature a born ally. She was mad at me when I was not first of my class, which fortunately I was much of the time. I was an eager pupil, choosing the front bench, eyes and ears open, and an arm always up. Like many Third-World children I would photograph later in my travels, school was exciting entertainment to me, as well as a chance to prove my worth.
    It took cousin Jean an hour round-trip through the woods, and he slept soundly after that, as he well deserved.  But I could not find sleep for the rest of the night because shame would not let me. I tried to console myself with the excuse that I was a year younger than he. But I knew that if that was the honest excuse, I would need to return, at 15, and repeat his feat. To prove to myself that I was no coward, I decided to do him one better: I would spend the night in the castle. Fortunately, I had a full year to build my courage.
     Next summer came, and my Scout troop traveled again to the Ardennes, not far from where we had camped the year before. I let my parents believe that I was leaving with the Scouts, but I would rejoin them only the next day. First I had to keep my vow. I had to know whether I had the makings of an explorer. So that evening I took the train by myself. Alone in my train car, I nearly missed my destination, for the train only stopped for 60 seconds, and in the dark I could not find the sign giving the station’s name. No one else got off. The station and the hamlet before me were deserted, and the forest loomed just beyond a few fenced pastures.
      My eyes quickly adapted to the darkness. I crossed the silent hamlet and squeezed through the fences of the few pastures, the last of which was where we Scouts had camped the year before. Squeezing a little too fast through barbed wires to evade an approaching bull that probably meant no harm, I ripped my shirt, and wondered what Mother would make me pay for it. I stood now at the edge of the forest—at the mouth of the dragon.
    Initially, the stars had lit my way, but none shone through the forest canopy, which looked to me like a frightening trap. I found the path, took a deep breath, and pulled a flashlight and a Scout hatchet out of my backpack.  I would not have felt differently entering a forbidden temple.    
     With heart beating hard and a tight grip on my hatchet, I took cautious steps before quickening my pace. The air was cool and infused with soothing smells. Though I tried to tread lightly, I sometimes stumbled over stones and protruding roots. The sounds of my feet drowned all other sounds. When I stopped to listen, the forest seemed quiet for a few seconds before filling slowly with furtive and snapping noises. I could see nothing beyond the reach of my flashlight and so switched it off.  Then I realized that the faint light from the night sky filtering through the leaves gave me a better idea of my surroundings. It lightened the blackness that the flashlight created all around––the great black regions where bad people might lie in ambush--while the darkness helped make me less visible. Now the forest no longer looked so threatening.
     I moved on, thinking that my cousin Jean at least must have had a couple of leaders secretly watching over him from the shadows. But I was alone, and no one would rush to my help if needed. Even if I did not spend the night in the castle, I was already doing better than he. I told myself this in case I would not find the courage to face my own ultimate challenge. Though the walk seemed to last an eternity, it took me through the woods to the lake in half an hour.  
     Now Lake Robertville spread out in front of me, as mysterious under a cold white mist as the forest and the castle nearby. Indistinct under extra layers of mist up a hill nearby, the castle looked ominous. I lingered at the lake, struck by how different its mood was from the one I had experienced before under a bright sun. I was in no hurry to test myself further. All was amazingly quiet, and I felt calmer. I took another deep breath and forced myself away from the lake toward the castle, still not sure whether I would dare enter it. 
     The breeze caused an unsettling noise––that of the rusted iron grille gate grating on its hinges. I had heard that sound in horror movies. But there was no turning back. Otherwise I would not be able to live with myself, and I would never become an explorer. I forced myself to ridicule my fear. I tried not to think. Nervously, I tightened my grip on the hatchet again and moved inside the castle’s walls. I had been inside the castle with the Scouts during the day, but outside the beam of my flashlight great black shadows lurked all around. Shadows hiding what? I wondered again. Now I could not switch off my flashlight, as I was no longer under a forest canopy but under a high ceiling, and the blackness all around would remain threatening to the end.
     I found the stairway that spiraled up one of the towers and started climbing. Halfway up, on rubber legs, I bumped into the tower’s circular inner wall, dropped the metal flashlight down the stone stairs, and nearly fell down the stairs myself. Now in total darkness, I felt my heart beating all the way to my ears. Cascading down the stone steps, the flashlight’s loud metallic noise echoed around the castle. That noise would wake anyone sleeping there, and I wanted to run back down. But it was as dark below as it was above. And in such darkness I could not run in any direction. I listened for any suspicious noise, heard none, and calmed down again.
     You’re almost there, I told myself, and winning your wager. Getting your humiliation off your chest. Thus heartened, I resumed my climb, feeling my way along the humid and musty curving stone wall like a blind boy, stumbling sometimes. I stopped occasionally to silence the echo of my footsteps and listen for outside movements. But again there was none. The climb in the dark now seemed longer than the forest trail itself.
     A faint light finally appeared above. I had reached the top of the tower, open under the starry sky. I looked down at the dark forest and the misty lake, amazed to be standing atop the castle wall. Blood raced though my veins, and my chest suddenly seemed too small to hold my heart. But this was no longer fear. It was fear conquered. I knew then that my life would never be the same again.
     I spread my sleeping bag on the stone floor but was too elated to sleep. Like that humiliating night the year before, I could not close my eyes.  Not for shame anymore, but for pride. How beautiful the stars were! Never had I seen them so bright. Later in life, as a man dedicated to photographing and describing the lifestyles of indigenous peoples in the wildest corners of the world, I would often lie awake all night under the stars, so bright away from city lights––so humbling in their wonder, that to close my eyes on them felt like sin. Those countless nights under foreign skies, like the starry sky I described at the beginning of this story, would always remind me of that wondrous night atop the castle, when the stars blinked with approval.


Indonesia: Stone-Age Man


In 1968, walking through a Dani hamlet in Irian Jaya, Indonesia’s West Papua, I photographed  this man leaving his hut to split firewood with a stone ax.
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En 1968, traversant un hameau Dani en Irian Jaya, la partie occidentale indonésienne de la Nouvelle Guinée, j’ai photographié cet homme qui sortait de sa hutte, une hache de pierre à l’épaule, pour aller couper du bois à bruler.

Monday, December 2, 2013

Indonesia: Borneo Climbing Dog


This 1968 scene shows a Dyak longhouse in Indonesia’s central Borneo’s rain forest.
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Cette scène de 1968 montre une longue maison Dayak en Indonésie dans la forêt du centre de Bornéo.



Sunday, December 1, 2013

Saturday, November 30, 2013

Indonesia: Bali Funeral Procession


In Denpasar, in Indonesia’s Bali Island, the daughters and son of a deceased woman are being carried in a funeral procession.
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A Denpasar, dans l’île indonésienne de Bali, les filles et le fils d’une femme décédée sont portés en procession funéraire.

Friday, November 29, 2013

Benin: Somba Farmer Portrait


In 1963 I crossed path with this Somba farmer returning from a field near Boukombe in Benin. Covered only with a penis sheath and a goat skin, he carried a hoe, an ax, a basket and a jar of water.
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En 1963 j’ai croisé chemin avec cet homme Somba revenant de travailler au champ près de Boukombe au Bénin. Couvert seulement d’un étui pénien et d’une peau de chèvre, Il portrait une houe, une hache, un panier et une jarre d’eau.