Oh me, oh my. Here we go again

Oh me, oh my. Here we go again. Three hours and ten exhibitions to see and forever capture in my mind. I'm tooled up and ready to go: pen, notepad, flip-flops, and a bottle of water in my bag.

I enter the "Temple of Boulat". Alexandra was there, full of life. The picture I'll never forget is also there; the one of a dead hand sticking out of the ground in the woods of Kosovo, back in 1998 after the Obrijne massacre.

I then gazed at Nina Berman's softly spoken depiction of the weaponization of America life. The show's called Homeland, after the Homeland Security Department. The shame of it!

I moved on to Patrick Robert, who's displaying Tibetan monks, some of them gleefully jumping into swimming pools. Using internet like a non-violent gun...

On to Horst Faas. A must-see for any budding photographer. The horror of Vietnam.

Then Enrico Dagnino's depiction of Kenyan violence. In your face, you see the wide-eyed frenzied machete wielding killers.

I wrapped up my tour with Noël Quidu, and he left me with a smile. He witnessed the victory by the Nepalese Maoist Communist Party.

That's what I love about Visa. It's a stage for all the emotions that makes us human.

Claire Baudéan