Where the asphalt ends

[PLACEHOLDER] The road stops being a road a little after the last village. First the asphalt thins, then the gravel, and then there is only a pair of ruts and a view that has not been photographed for the people who will never come here.

We met a shepherd who had not seen another car in nine days. He offered us cheese and asked, very seriously, whether it was still the same year down there.

The shepherd and the cheese

Weather up here does not announce itself. A clear morning can turn into a white room by noon, and the sensible thing is to stop, make tea and wait. Most of the best frames came from waiting.

A note on the road

Gravel, ruts, one river crossing. A link looks like this.

We came down on the fourth day with full cards and empty heads, which is exactly the trade we had gone up for.