There are places like this that you wouldn't even know existed if certain circumstances hadn't brought you there one day or another. Unknown parts of France that nobody has ever heard of, remote places that are slowly being eaten away by time. In this case, it's a little mountain village perched in the Tinée valley; I know about it because my father, before becoming a teacher on the Côte d'Azur, spent his childhood up there and still returns every weekend. To take photos, to work in his studio, to get a little closer to his side of the family that the mountains have taken away from us. When I was a child, I used to go there every weekend too, but as time went by and I grew up, I gradually lost the taste and the desire to go there, and eventually stopped going. I hadn't been back for about ten years. There's not much to do there, not many people either, so when you've gradually settled into a student routine in Nice, surrounded by a constant flow of information, going back to isolate yourself in such a way is more complex than expected. This photography session basically started from an idea like this, "what if I went to take some photos in the little village where I spent part of my own childhood?". As I'm currently surrounded by my cousins at home, I took the opportunity to bring my cousin along on the trip, as she also wanted to go and take some photos. An hour and a quarter straight up the mountainside later, we arrived at La Blache. ***La Blache** is a medieval hamlet perched on a mountainside. It's a place of ancient life, now gradually forgotten by the inhabitants of the Tinée valley. In winter, there are no more than a dozen inhabitants; in summer, there can be as many as sixty. It's a place where, despite everything, my family has held an important place - the Fabres have been here [for over a century](<a href="http://uppix.net/5/1/2/867f5e8a27668d9e8a9c3dcb961e5.jpg" rel="noreferrer nofollow">uppix.net/5/1/2/867f5e8a27668d9e8a9c3dcb961e5.jpg</a>) and the church, for example (like other buildings, no doubt), was built by my great-great-grandfathers. At least I think so, since we know that Fabre is a common name for those who made things. Blacksmiths, carpenters, you name it. Many people had trouble recognizing me. While I was there, I took the opportunity to visit a childhood friend who is now in a band; he's a bass player, his brother is a guitarist. I went over to their place and stayed for an hour and a half, talking a bit about music and seeing where we were at. On the way down from his place, some cows blocked our path, and it took us three hours to get back to the road. Finally. Seen from a photographer's point of view, it's a superb place, and the images I'm presenting are for the most part more intact than you'd expect. The colors of the place, the lighting of that day, mean that the photos as they are, were for the most part just as I wanted them, without touching them. It rained on the way back, though, so I persevered and stopped at the abandoned dam we'd spotted along the way. Of course, it was slippery and I was afraid for my objective in the pouring rain, so I didn't stay long. I'll certainly have to go back in the middle of winter when the snow is everywhere.