I was in Turkey when I've met the Traveller. It's been years ago. I couldn't tell how old the Traveller was, maybe forty, maybe fifty, maybe sixty, no way to understand it. Totally bald and tall, really tall, maybe more than one meter ninety; he was tan and you could say he was a Kurdish merchant or a British executive. It depended on the suits he had on and the circumstances.

Later on I came to know that the Travellers was from Parma. But when he was in Turkey he used to say he was Afghan. Well, he spoke fluent Pashto and about ten more languages; and his face could easily make him a salesman from Panshir Valley. Not to say that the Traveller had spent quite a long time in Afghanistan, interviewing mujaheddin in the valleys and living with them. He'd written a book about that.

When I came back from Patagonia I sent him some material which I hoped to see published on magazines. It was at the beginning of the 90ies, and thanks to his support I earned some money publishing pictures and my travel stories.

He read all my story of Patagonia. Carefully, as always. He was the expert, I've always been a funny imitation of a non-tourist. He read it and called me: "Carlo, this article is too long, it's not good. But it'd be a pity to cut it shorter. Listen, why don't you make a book out of it?"

I've been writing that book since then. Actually, lately I've been writing that book together with Emanuela. She's started adding her own thoughts, her own images in words, and now images get captured by both of us…

Note for the reader

Travel notes, by their nature, are old, now. Each story has been written at the time of its development or at its conclusion. Over years, some of our stories have been re-written by human, geographical and social events; places, references, citations and events have changed over time. Remembrances cannot be readjusted.

On the other hand, sometimes they create infinite paths inside us.