Concrete dust catches in my lungs and burnt air stings my eyes as I try to make out which part of the stairs leading down to the metro is still smouldering. As rubble from once grand buildings shifts under my boots; a small voice within speaks a confusion I’d wanted to ignore. This isn’t what…
Photo by Jens Johnsson
Camping in the Atacama Desert with a group of Chilean hippies was always going to present something of a communication challenge. With my bare-bones Spanish, I had needed help just to translate the invitation. It offered a position volunteering at a weekend gathering of ceremony and traditional medicine called Vive Piuke Mapu, 150…