Crossing Iceland on foot from North to South for over 400 km in complete autonomy was, for me, a total experience — human even more than physical. Facing icy winds, lava deserts, rain, river crossings, and absolute silence became a way to challenge myself and rediscover my relationship with the world and with myself.

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Despite having less than 3% residual vision, which defines me as legally blind, I chose to undertake this adventure to heighten my senses, explore my innerworld, and reconnect with the essence of presence. Every step, every hardship,every detail — from the howling wind to the abrasive sand — became part of anew language made of emotions, intuition, and perception. ‎

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This journey wasn’t just an act of courage or endurance, but a way to prove that limits are often mental, and that even within disability there is strength, beauty, and authenticity. I didn’t aim to prove anything to anyone but myself: that today’strue exploration isn’t about discovering unknown lands, but about venturingdeep into one’s own interiority. In Iceland, I encountered the primal forces ofnature — but also my vulnerability and my determination. And in the middle of nowhere, I found everything. 

«While the world ends out there,

something begins within me. »

What sparked this journey? Was it a personal challenge, or the pull of something deeper waiting to be discovered?

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I’ve always been rooted in the world of vertical exploration, with a strong passion for climbing.

Most of my journeys have taken me east or west — to the towering peaks of the Himalayas or the rugged Andes of South America, places I’ve returned to time and again.

Iceland, though? That wasn’t part of the plan. It was my partner, Lucia, who pulled me northward. She’s fascinated by those raw, primal landscapes.

‎Only recently did I realize there’s been a hidden thread running through all my travels — volcanoes. I hadn’t seen it clearly before, but it’s been a constant presence, shaping my adventures.
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My very first real high-altitude climb was on Ojos del Salado, the world’s tallest active volcano, rising to 6,893 meters. That experience set the tone for everything that followed.



Why Iceland? What called you to that land of fire, ice, and silence?

For me, Iceland was something almost impossible to grasp. The landscapes I knew were tied to my childhood memories — places I could recognize, scenes that felt familiar. But Iceland? It was completely different. I couldn’t picture it in my mind. The only way to truly understand it was to go there myself, to experience it firsthand.
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Volcanoes represent the Earth’s raw energy, just like ice does. The idea of a place where both forces come together seemed almost unimaginable. That’s what sparked a deep curiosity in me: I wanted to really understand what Iceland is, to explore it on foot, moving across the land horizontally.
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Until then, I had never done long treks. I’d never walked just for the sake of walking — only to reach mountains or climbing walls. So this was a completely new experience in every way.

«Though I am blind, I can still trace the edges of the world.»

What did the path reveal about you? Did you uncover something within that you didn’t know was there?

Iceland was an intense experience. At first, along the coast, everything felt more familiar—almost human. There weren’t any distinct smells. But as soon as we ventured inland, the landscape changed completely.

The wind was everywhere: relentless, sharp, and its sound shifted depending on the direction. Every gust against the tent had its own voice. That whispering wind became the soundtrack of the journey.

But what struck me most was the silence of scent. In that absence, I realized just how essential my sense of smell had become since I lost my sight. It made me understand that, like places, our senses can be explored too.



What does a “limit” represent to you? Is it something to overcome, to accept, or to listen to?

Limits aren’t always obstacles to overcome or goals to conquer; often, they mark new starting points. We tend to blow them out of proportion, turning them into insurmountable barriers. But it’s crucial to face them with clarity and reason.

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Limits exist to be acknowledged, to be confronted, and to be challenged. Sometimes we succeed, sometimes we don’t. Yet, it’s precisely in approaching these boundaries—observing them closely and with awareness—that we grow.

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This process opens a meaningful dialogue with the conditions that shape our lives.



What inner destination has emerged? Is there a new place — real or symbolic — that now lives in your horizon?

I have many projects, but one that took shape after this trip is especially close to my heart: 7 Siete Cumbres. The goal is to cross the Andes from north to south, climbing the highest peak in each country along the way.

The Andes aren’t as technical as the Himalayas, but they demand immense endurance and resilience against unpredictable weather, with sudden shifts caused by the nearby oceans.
It’s not just about reaching the summit — it’s about never stopping halfway.

Iceland, with its slow pace and raw purity, taught me to live fully in the present, to reconnect deeply with nature and with myself.