Travels
DESERTS
I’ve walked the Atacama on foot, alone, from the San Pedro de Atacama oasis to the Pacific, over two weeks. Ever since, I’ve kept returning to deserts. For many days, often accompanied by animals, I’ve traversed ergs of the Sahara and Wadi Rum. I’ve marched on my own through Salar de Uyuni in Bolivia and through the Altiplano, pulling a specially designed trailer. I called it Lut – the name of the Iranian desert which I’m going to cross one day.
The desert is clean. Nothing interferes with the journey of the light here. Not much disrupts the line of sight, and things regain their clarity. After many days the body is exhausted, so thoughts gradually fade. The desert quickly strips me of my masks. Here, I discard all my social roles; here, I am man. Then it becomes possible to appreciate the overwhelming nightly spectacle of the desert sky. It was over the Atacama that I first saw it. There was more starlight than there was blackness of outer space.
But everything had begun much earlier, not far from my family home, in the Błędów Desert – the only such in Central Europe, with sand dunes and dust storms. Deserts continue to inspire both my travel writing and my fiction, for instance the novel Bez [Less], with its central theme of infertility.
I’ve walked the Atacama on foot, alone, from the San Pedro de Atacama oasis to the Pacific, over two weeks. Ever since, I’ve kept returning to deserts. For many days, often accompanied by animals, I’ve traversed ergs of the Sahara and Wadi Rum. I’ve marched on my own through Salar de Uyuni in Bolivia and through the Altiplano, pulling a specially designed trailer. I called it Lut – the name of the Iranian desert which I’m going to cross one day.
The desert is clean. Nothing interferes with the journey of the light here. Not much disrupts the line of sight, and things regain their clarity. After many days the body is exhausted, so thoughts gradually fade. The desert quickly strips me of my masks. Here, I discard all my social roles; here, I am man. Then it becomes possible to appreciate the overwhelming nightly spectacle of the desert sky. It was over the Atacama that I first saw it. There was more starlight than there was blackness of outer space.
But everything had begun much earlier, not far from my family home, in the Błędów Desert – the only such in Central Europe, with sand dunes and dust storms. Deserts continue to inspire both my travel writing and my fiction, for instance the novel Bez [Less], with its central theme of infertility.
MOUNTAINS
I’ve been going to the mountains since I was a kid, and in that sense the Polish Tatras were my education. The books I read early in life and my conversations with climbers have taught me great respect for the mountains. I can understand why some tribes worship sacred summits. In 2012 I spent a month climbing in the Myanmar Himalaya, for which I received a “Kolosy” award. In 2013, on foot and on an elephant’s back, I traversed the almost inaccessible Patkai mountain range along the India-Myanmar border. With a group of Bolivian mountaineers I’ve climbed Chaupi Orco in the Apolobamba.
I’ve been going to the mountains since I was a kid, and in that sense the Polish Tatras were my education. The books I read early in life and my conversations with climbers have taught me great respect for the mountains. I can understand why some tribes worship sacred summits. In 2012 I spent a month climbing in the Myanmar Himalaya, for which I received a “Kolosy” award. In 2013, on foot and on an elephant’s back, I traversed the almost inaccessible Patkai mountain range along the India-Myanmar border. With a group of Bolivian mountaineers I’ve climbed Chaupi Orco in the Apolobamba.
I’ve also ventured into the Colombian range of Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, inhabited by the Kogi Indians. I’ve spent nearly three weeks climbing in Siberia – in the Sayan Mountains and Khamar-Daban. I’ve climbed Mount Elbrus and, alone, Mount Damavand (the western route). I’ve accompanied an international team of archaeologists in the Tien Shan mountains in Uzbekistan. I’ve journeyed through little known parts of the Alborz range in Iran. I’ve biked through the Bosnian mountains from Sarajevo to Dubrovnik. I’ve travelled in a pontoon down the Chusovaya river in the Ural Mountains. I also climb rocks not far from my house, in the Kraków-Częstochowa Upland, which is full of limestone outliers.
I’ve also ventured into the Colombian range of Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, inhabited by the Kogi Indians. I’ve spent nearly three weeks climbing in Siberia – in the Sayan Mountains and Khamar-Daban. I’ve climbed Mount Elbrus and, alone, Mount Damavand (the western route). I’ve accompanied an international team of archaeologists in the Tien Shan mountains in Uzbekistan. I’ve journeyed through little known parts of the Alborz range in Iran. I’ve biked through the Bosnian mountains from Sarajevo to Dubrovnik. I’ve travelled in a pontoon down the Chusovaya river in the Ural Mountains. I also climb rocks not far from my house, in the Kraków-Częstochowa Upland, which is full of limestone outliers.
I’m fascinated by mountains because they resist language. A rock, composed of thousands of seemingly repetitive recesses, does not surrender to words. The language of mathematics is more appropriate here, reaching much further than the imagination. A rock fosters rationality and discipline, which are often lacking below. The mountains’ enormous mass always reminds me that something much larger than us exists. The view of such overwhelming matter never ceases to amaze, provoking me to wonder how it could ever come to be.
I’m fascinated by mountains because they resist language. A rock, composed of thousands of seemingly repetitive recesses, does not surrender to words. The language of mathematics is more appropriate here, reaching much further than the imagination. A rock fosters rationality and discipline, which are often lacking below. The mountains’ enormous mass always reminds me that something much larger than us exists. The view of such overwhelming matter never ceases to amaze, provoking me to wonder how it could ever come to be.
FORESTS
In 2008 I co-organized and led a two-month expedition to Gabon, Central Africa. With a group of Baka I traversed the previously unexplored Minkébé forest. This expedition, under the auspices of WWF Gabon, had received a written recommendation of the Royal Geographical Society in London, and subsequently a “Kolosy” feat-of-the-year award as well as National Geographic’s “Traveller” award. During this bold venture we experienced numerous close encounters with wild animals, and a few times we had to flee from a herd of elephants. Descriptions of this journey can be found, for instance, in Dom ojców [The House of Our Fathers] and in “Mukongo”, a reportage piece collected in Południe [The South].
My travel experience includes a journey to Malaysia, where I spent a week in the Taman Negara forest, climbing Mount Tahan. I’ve ventured alone into the Cardamom Mountains in Cambodia, and got lost there with two locals. We spent a night without shelter, which I’ve described in Miedza [The Balk]. I’ve also traversed the Annamite Range in Laos, all the way to Nong Fa lake.
The forest is the primeval house. It teaches what is biological about me; it nurtures the body. It whispers that I shouldn’t overestimate the mind. I traverse it both by day and by night. I live near a large forest, and that’s where I go to pick mushrooms and herbs.
In 2008 I co-organized and led a two-month expedition to Gabon, Central Africa. With a group of Baka I traversed the previously unexplored Minkébé forest. This expedition, under the auspices of WWF Gabon, had received a written recommendation of the Royal Geographical Society in London, and subsequently a “Kolosy” feat-of-the-year award as well as National Geographic’s “Traveller” award. During this bold venture we experienced numerous close encounters with wild animals, and a few times we had to flee from a herd of elephants. Descriptions of this journey can be found, for instance, in Dom ojców [The House of Our Fathers] and in “Mukongo”, a reportage piece collected in Południe [The South].
My travel experience includes a journey to Malaysia, where I spent a week in the Taman Negara forest, climbing Mount Tahan. I’ve ventured alone into the Cardamom Mountains in Cambodia, and got lost there with two locals. We spent a night without shelter, which I’ve described in Miedza [The Balk]. I’ve also traversed the Annamite Range in Laos, all the way to Nong Fa lake.
The forest is the primeval house. It teaches what is biological about me; it nurtures the body. It whispers that I shouldn’t overestimate the mind. I traverse it both by day and by night. I live near a large forest, and that’s where I go to pick mushrooms and herbs.
SKY
One summer in the village of Zubrzyca Górna an elderly man said we’d hike all the way to the top of Babia Góra to watch the sunrise. It took us the whole night to get there. The ridge of Babia Góra looked like a ploughshare dug deep into the sky. It was the night of the Perseids.
One summer in the village of Zubrzyca Górna an elderly man said we’d hike all the way to the top of Babia Góra to watch the sunrise. It took us the whole night to get there. The ridge of Babia Góra looked like a ploughshare dug deep into the sky. It was the night of the Perseids.
Since then, I’ve switched from camping to bivouacking, to have the clear sky above my head. Only then does the mind assimilate, not without resistance, the fact that it is exposed to actual infinity. Somewhere within that vista is a point where the known laws of physics break down. Hours into the observation, the mind finally adjusts to this near-fictional expanse. It perceives the Earth as a solid, perceives the miracle of its suspension.
Since then, I’ve switched from camping to bivouacking, to have the clear sky above my head. Only then does the mind assimilate, not without resistance, the fact that it is exposed to actual infinity. Somewhere within that vista is a point where the known laws of physics break down. Hours into the observation, the mind finally adjusts to this near-fictional expanse. It perceives the Earth as a solid, perceives the miracle of its suspension.
To prehistoric man, the sky was a vital element. Without knowledge of astronomy, Homo sapiens’ migration would have been a comedy of chance. In today’s post-truth era, more and more often I think of the sky as, once again, the only certain point of reference. I’m intrigued by the dystopian vision in which humans lose the ability to differentiate between truth and falsehood. I’m currently working on a film devoted to this subject, as well as art which attempts to visualize outer space.
To prehistoric man, the sky was a vital element. Without knowledge of astronomy, Homo sapiens’ migration would have been a comedy of chance. In today’s post-truth era, more and more often I think of the sky as, once again, the only certain point of reference. I’m intrigued by the dystopian vision in which humans lose the ability to differentiate between truth and falsehood. I’m currently working on a film devoted to this subject, as well as art which attempts to visualize outer space.