J'avais huit ans

I had to wait for 50 years before going back in Cambodia. Fifty years that hit hardly this country, through a history of conflicts and suffering.
This way back on the footsteps of my childhood matured for a long time in me. The reason of my slow pace was not fear, but the urge to live for my passion, photography. First, I had planned to go there with my friend Serge Daney but his life decided otherwise. So I flew for Africa, then Russia. Maybe I was unconsciously trying to occult my tragedy, though unforgotten.
Then I wanted to go back for the sake of my mother, whose memory at this time was fading as the years went by. This dive into the past was allowing me to really communicate with her, maybe for the last time.
In December 2003, quasi apneous, I went to the encounter of the child who, years agos, had tasted the the carefree life in the heart of plantation, and I got in touch with the 8 years girl I was, who had been a prisoner of the Viet Minh and the Issarak people.
To her, I dedicate this travel log that discharges my memory.