It was May, and it was hot. We spent the day walking through the Ahansal canyon, wading in and out of the river, with the water cold against the heat. It’s the third time I visit this region, but the first aqua hike. I do, and I loved it!
What I remember most are the oleander trees along the banks. Their pink flowers against the blue of the river was a combination I couldn’t stop looking at. Then there were the stones in yellow ochre and brown, warm against all that blue. I didn’t think “landscape.” I thought “colors.”
Somewhere along the path I started talking with a young woman who worked as a nurse, staying by the side of people at the end of their lives and easing their last days. We talked about life and death while we walked and I kept asking myself what I was meant to learn from it.
Almost every hike gives me one of these conversations: someone I talk to about something deep, and never see again. She was one of them. Our paths never crossed again, but the conversation walked home with me.
After the hike, we sat down with paper and my art supplies, and I shared everything I had. There was no lesson and no plan, just a simple invitation: paint something from today, or fill a page of your travel journal. Whoever didn’t feel like painting didn’t have to.
I painted two pieces. One was the mountain and the landmarks. The other was only color: blue, yellow ochre and pink, with no subject at all. That one felt closest to what I had actually felt.
We drank warm tea, laughed, and showed each other what we’d made. A friend painted a page and wrote a poem to go with it, which was the loveliest thing of the afternoon.
I think this is where my workshops really began: a place, a few colors, and people willing to share them.
Carrying places home ⚓️
This hike was organized by Houria Travel and events
