Ricard published a book of photographs that looked to me like the ultimate travel book. He’d been on retreat in a cabin on top of a mountain in Nepal for the better part of a year, and once or twice a week, he’d stepped outside and taken a picture of what lay beyond his front door. The same view, more or less, but as it changed with clouds or rain, in winter or in spring, and as the moods of the man behind the lens changed.
