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  • Wailing in Jerusalem

    The hot white wind whistled quietly in the neat rows of Jerusalem’s labyrinthine cemetery, built right into a mountain. Everything was the color of the desert dust – the three-story rows of tombs, the narrow ledges for candle holders and the small misshapen desert rocks, left by visitors. I would have never found my grandmother’s…


  • Two riders

    I met Samir only three days ago in the dusty Chilean town of San Pedro de Atacama, but somehow he managed to convince me it would be a great idea to explore the surrounding Atacama desert on a motorcycle. I’ve never been on a motorcycle before, but his resume sounded bulletproof – he’s been riding…