Why am I building a reed boat on the shores of Lake Titicaca?
It’s a question worth asking before starting construction, isn’t it? Maybe…
Just as I set foot in French Guiana after 22 days aboard my small sailboat, I learn that people have done exactly the same journey I did — Dakar to Kourou — but… by rowing! I’m amazed. How did these athletes row the same route I just struggled to sail?
A few days later, during a canoe training session on the Kourou River, I meet a woman who had completed that race. That encounter plants a seed in my mind. As I set off on a 5000 km bike ride to Ushuaia, I’m already dreaming of what’s next: a rowing expedition.
This first paragraph reveals the kind of projects that move me. I love stories that revolve around simple things, human connection, minimal resources, and maximum creativity. A sailboat is an intense space of human interaction — hundreds of daily decisions around wind, route, and sails. Traveling by bicycle is a direct passport into people’s lives, their homes, their gardens, their intimacy...
Traveling with limited resources is a direct response to planetary boundaries. I've had this urge to explore since childhood, raised on Arte and France 5 documentaries. But how can one admire wild landscapes while contributing to their destruction through one’s own footprint? For me, this constraint has become a creative process — enriching my travels while protecting the places I pass through.
There is no more restrictive environment than life aboard a boat: limited water, gas, space, electricity — even the wind can be stingy, testing the crew with long, motionless days. A boat is a miniature of real life, a reminder of the limits of resources — and of the planet.
So my journey takes shape by following the responses to those constraints. One of the directions I actively explore is Low-Tech — tools designed to meet basic needs with durability, accessibility, repairability, and human-centered design. This path has taken me to Morocco, Senegal, Cape Verde, Brazil, Uruguay, Argentina, Chile, and even Antarctica — seeking artisanal and industrial know-how aligned with these principles. Back to the story: human connections, low-impact travel, constant dialogue with constraints and creativity. This project was bound to happen. What could make more sense than documenting a millennia-old indigenous technique, building a balsa with Aymara communities, and sailing down the Amazon for 4800 km with a crewed reed boat? So far, no question has been strong enough to make me change course. So I document, I build, I explore, and I prepare this slow journey through the Amazon.
The point of view will be that of the crew — each member will have a space to speak on camera and share their journey. Physical effort, mental intensity on the world’s largest river, the human and animal density of the rainforest, the ancestral history of these boats — even encountering Spanish ships in the 16th century — will be the themes of this travel film along the river. More than a sporting challenge, it will be a chemical experience immersing the viewer in the protagonists’ emotions.Meaning without fuel... Now all that’s left is to find a name for the expedition.