After a long climb, I reached the jade lake on the rocky mountain. I was amazed to see a lake as calm as a mirror, reflecting the clear sky and the sharp, towering rocky peaks around.

The pale sunlight penetrated through the clouds, making the water surface shine a magical emerald green, shimmering like a precious stone in the vast nature. There was no ripple, no sound, just me and the quiet lake as if reflecting on my own soul to suddenly realize that sometimes in the hustle and bustle of life, I let my mind drift away like a turbulent lake rippled by worries, wavering with expectations and pressures.

I realized that the stillness of the lake is not emptiness, but healing. Like a mirror, it reminds us that peace does not come from the outside world, but from the way we face ourselves.

Notre Dame Cathedral, once the sacred heart of France, stunned by the shimmering stained

glass windows in the evening light. Rays of sunlight shone through the kaleidoscope, creating

a magical, heartbreaking scene. Colors blended together, sacred images appeared amid the

brilliant light – but why did that scene evoke a strange feeling of emptiness

After weeks of traveling, feeling a bit exhausted ,we decided to spend the Christmas holiday with a friend’s family at a vineyard in Mâcon. This is small town in the Bourgogne-Franche-Comté region, nestled along the Saône River, is not only known for a beautiful landscapes but also as one of France’s key wine-producing areas. Mâcon is famous for its endless vineyards, mild climate, and long winemaking tradition—especially its Chardonnay white wines and reds made from Gamay and Pinot Noir. Just the thought of visiting the vineyard and learning more about wine excited me.

It was snow last night. The next morning, we took the dogs for a walk through the vineyards. The snow covered the bare vines, creating a surreal sight. Nature's transformation is truly magical—at the end of autumn, as temperatures drop, the vines shed their leaves and enter dormancy. The sap slows down, and metabolic activity almost ceases. On the outside, the twisted branches seem frozen in time, but within, life quietly pulses, waiting for the moment of rebirth.

The bark rough and deep roots protect the vines from the harsh cold, protecting them against frost. This dormancy phase allows the plant to conserve energy, recover from the past season, and prepare for the bloom of spring. As the weather warms, the breath of spring seeps into every crevice, awakening the hidden buds beneath the rough bark. The sap begins to flow again, sending nutrients upward, coaxing the tiny buds to unfurl. Little green specks emerge on the once-barren branches, signaling the start of a new growth cycle.

Then, under the gentle March sunlight, young leaves gradually stretch out, and tender buds open. The vines, after their long winter sleep, enter a new phase of life, once again producing lush grape clusters for the next harvest.

This transition from winter to spring reminds me of a fundamental Buddhist truth: Suffering is an inevitable part of life, but it is through overcoming suffering that we attain true enlightenment and happiness. It also echoes the concept of impermanence - nothing remains unchanged. The vines' cyclical adaptation to harsh weather is a lesson for us: not to cling too tightly to anything but to live in harmony with nature and be present in the moment. Understanding this truth helps us embrace change, find peace amidst loss, and cherish the fleeting beauty of life.

P/S: This sketch captures a serene winter scene—snow blanketing the bare vines, with the soft hues of a violet-pink sunset in the background. A fallen leaf I picked up, glistening with tiny ice crystals, feels like a delicate imprint of the season's quiet beauty.

Summers in Europe feel truly different. For those accustomed to life in Vietnam or other countries near the equator, it might be surprising to see the sun setting as late as 9 or even 10 PM! Not only that, but the sunset stretches for hours, allowing me to watch the sky slowly shift from a fiery orange to a soft pinkish-purple before night finally takes over. It feels as if time moves slower, giving me the chance to fully immerse myself in nature’s magic.

As I wandered along the Gorges du Tarn, I couldn’t help but be amazed by the beauty of the ancient villages, built centuries ago and clinging to the cliffs. On one side, these houses rest against the rugged mountains, while on the other, they face the Tarn River, whose emerald-green waters glisten like a giant mirror. Perched precariously on towering limestone cliffs, some reaching heights of 500 meters, these villages create a breathtaking and majestic natural landscape.

However, amidst this beauty lies a quiet sorrow. Many of these villages are now almost abandoned, with only a handful of residents remaining. Life here is harsh, with narrow, treacherous paths and poor accessibility, making farming and trade nearly impossible. Some villages lack even the most basic infrastructure—no electricity, no running water—leaving them disconnected from the modern world.

Over the years, nature has slowly reclaimed these forgotten places. Trees and vegetation have overtaken the old stone houses, and moss-covered walls now stand as silent reminders of a past rich with history—one that lingers only in the memories of those who once called these

A medieval village in the Gorges du Tarn.

 Bức ký họa này ghi lại một góc nhỏ của ngôi làng Trung cổ Sainte-Enimie, nép mình giữa thung lũng Gorges du Tarn hùng vĩ. Mình đến đây vào mùa đông, khi cả ngôi làng như chìm vào giấc ngủ, vắng lặng đến lạ. Không một bóng người qua lại, chỉ có những con phố đá cổ kính, những bức tường rêu phong và làn sương mờ ảo bao trùm. Không gian tĩnh lặng ấy mang đến một vẻ đẹp thơ mộng đầy hoài niệm, như thể thời gian cũng lặng lẽ ngừng trôi.

Mỗi chuyến đi, mỗi khoảnh khắc đều là một mảnh ghép quý giá trong hành trình sống. Dù vui hay buồn, hạnh phúc hay khổ đau, tất cả đều trở thành những bài học và nguồn cảm hứng để mình kể lại câu chuyện của thế giới theo cách riêng.

Geneva— a city of contrasts. I was captivated by its modern elegance, yet overwhelmed by the staggering cost of living. Every corner whispered sophistication, yet one moment stood out beyond all else.

Amidst the rush of impeccably dressed crowds, I saw a woman in tattered clothes, her skin exposed to the biting 3°C cold. She walked silently, lost in the city’s rhythm, a stark reminder of the divide between wealth and hardship—even in a place that seemed so perfect. It made me pause and reflect.

Then, nostalgia crept in. I longed for the warmth of Vietnamese New Year’s Eve—the scent of burning incense, the sound of laughter, the sight of family gathered around a festive meal. That sacred, familiar transition from old to new, a feeling no place can replace.

Travel is always like this. It opens my world, introduces me to new people, and teaches lessons only experience can bring. But it also leaves me with deep emotions, thoughts I can’t always put into words. Geneva reminded me to cherish simplicity, to value the small yet profound things that make home, our home

A Centuries-Old Wooden House with Local Pastries and Vin Chaud

On freezing winter days in France, even a simple walk becomes an endurance challenge for me. The icy wind sweeps through, making me hunch my shoulders, while the bitter cold numbs my fingertips. Before I even realize it, my nose has turned bright red—just like Santa Claus’s! At times like this, all I long for is to curl up by the fireplace, cradling a cup of hot tea, letting the warmth seep from the inside out.

After wandering around the village for about an hour, we were suddenly drawn in by an irresistible sweet aroma lingering in the air. It was the scent of freshly baked pastries, blending with the wisps of smoke drifting from timeworn chimneys. That inviting fragrance led us to a charming, old wooden house, its ivy-covered gate swaying gently in the wind, each green leaf shimmering like tiny stars.

“Bonjour!”

A cheerful greeting rang out just as a wave of warmth rushed past the open door. Stepping inside felt like entering a fairytale—centuries-old decorations adorned the cozy interior, each piece telling its own story. Settling into a small, quaint table, we took in the beauty of this place under the soft glow of golden light.

That afternoon, we treated ourselves to a slice of tarte sucre—a traditional sugar pie from the region—and a cup of vin chaud—mulled wine infused with fruits and aromatic spices. The warm drink carried delicate notes of cinnamon, star anise, and citrus, blending with the deep warmth of the wine. Just one sip was enough to melt away the cold, sending a comforting heat radiating from within.

In this tiny yet exquisitely detailed space, I realized that the most authentic way to experience France isn’t found in bustling, tourist-filled places like Paris, but rather in these peaceful moments—where life moves at a slower pace, and people radiate warmth in the simplest ways. Here, there is no rush, no crowds—just time flowing gently, like a soft melody in the heart of winter.

A quick sketch of this cozy little house, with a slice of tarte sucre and a cup of vin chaud.