I like to see what time does to a photograph. I like to see what time does to a trip made long ago. I like to see what remains of both. Seven years have passed since I visited Kyrgystan. A friend tempted me with some fabulous stories about a German village lost in the mountains, where wild horses run free.

Together with two friends we searched in vain for that village. We wandered around without having a precise purpose, for a whole month. Time seemed suspended, the country seemed almost empty. In general, everything around seemed to happen like in a second hand cowboy movie.