In this new Premier League season, to thine own self be true…

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“Thank you football – this type of emotion, without football, I think is impossible to live.”

So said Tottenham Hotspur manager Mauricio Pochettino on Wednesday May 8, just after Lucas Moura’s instinctive strike in the dying seconds of the semi-final second leg against Ajax Amsterdam had sent the North London side to their first ever Champions League final.

Often pundits and journalists will roll out the old Bill Shankly line of “football is not a matter of life and death – it’s more important than that” and piously ruminate that it is most definitely not.

However, despite Shankly’s comment actually intended more tongue in cheek than it has been taken, there is truth in there. Pochettino came closer to nailing it. Football, like any other passion in life, allows us to feel the full gamut of human emotion like almost nothing else. It is the other side of the coin to which Arthur Schopenhauer opined that life without pain has no meaning – if we do not feel highs nor lows, are we even living?

I’m not ashamed to admit that those three weeks between that night in Amsterdam and the final in Madrid on June 1 was one of the most blissfully happy periods I can recall in my life. Every day I woke up almost leaping out of bed like it was Christmas Day, skipping off to work, smiling at everyone I came across. That was because of football, because of a game where 22 men kick a spherical leather object into a net at each end of a grass field. The only attachment I have to these strangers I support is the clothing, the badge they adorn that I have been associated with since I was a young boy.

So much pure enthusiasm and vibrance we have in our youth ebbs away as we grow up, being beaten down by responsibilities and the urgency to ensure one’s own survival. That is why football is an escape, like any other leisure activity or entertainment. Just like one might be moved to tears at the opera when Radames cradles the dying Aida in his arms singing her last breath, so too a last minute goal can elicit tears from the most testosterone-heavy among us.

ANXIETY

I do find it ridiculous sometimes the effect that football, the tribal act of supporting a team, rather, has on me. My anxiety before a derby genuinely brings about physical reactions, where I cannot eat for nausea. My heartbeat increases every matchday so much so it feels like there is a drummer in my chest. I go lightheaded when it comes to any kind of important Cup match, such as a semi-final or (sadly all too rare) a final.

Don’t even get me started on penalties. Even if it’s not a team I’m supporting, such as Spurs, England, or Barnet, I still get incredibly anxious watching a penalty shootout, so high are the stakes, so unflinching is the dramatic impact of that singular moment of missing or scoring the decisive winner.

This is supposed to be an escape from the stresses and strains of everyday life. It is where we can go to supposedly relax yet it is actually the opposite. It is, apart from the pure sporting enjoyment, to open ourselves up and allow ourselves to be led by our emotions like the creatures we are.

Which is why football is such an oddity these days. Grown men regularly cry, as I did at the Champions League final in Madrid, heaving shoulders and everything on the floor of the Wanda Metropolitano. I cried more than I did after a particularly gruelling heartbreak the previous year which I thought was the lowest I had ever felt. I am not even trying to sound glib or funny, that is admittedly true. Not sure what that says about me or that relationship but there we are.

We celebrate images of players or managers crying, showing how much they care.

Yet, the homophobic abuse continues on the terraces, the racist chants can still be heard, displays of masculine arrogance spill over into physical altercations. Hatred and bile spits out like venom at the majority of matches up and down the country.

But no matter our shirt colours, every man, woman and child deserves to feel the same joy that football can bring. Passion is a word associated with a positive meaning. It can bring out wonderful things in human beings. It can transcend language, borders and race. It can bring strangers together, including a tender moment one man raises a crying man-child to his feet and tenderly hugs him and tells him it will be OK, just show your support for the lads.

Now, more than ever, we need to embrace those passions in life that make us *feel* and encourage them in those around us, because they keep us in check with our humanity.

Enjoy the new season, whoever you support. Sing loud and proud throughout, make friends, see new places, kick every ball, feel every save – oh, and come on you Spurs…

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What I learned… from only tweeting about women’s sport for a year

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As New Year resolutions get underway, it seems a good time to reflect on one of the ones I made for 2018.

I decided that as a way of making my social media experience a more positive one, I would ignore men’s sport on Twitter and only post about women’s sport.

There was no great social justice warrior motive behind it, rather it was part of a greater resolution to embrace positivity in all aspects of life and giving more promotion to women’s sport can never be a bad thing.

Here’s a few things I learned from doing so:

SCARCITY OF NEWS

It actual became a struggle sometimes to find new stories or topics about women’s sport to tweet about. Discussions of what has just happened in men’s sport is never far from our fingertips at almost every second of the day, yet with women’s sport it took a lot more research to find something to post about.

It showed up just how little coverage there is of women’s sport. I often hear the argument ‘well, if the interest isn’t there…’ but that is not a good argument for two reasons. One, it’s not true. Put the stories out there and you will see the interest, otherwise, how will you know? You only have to see the TV viewing figures for the last women’s European Championships in soccer, or the netball final in the Commonwealth Games or the uplift women’s hockey has enjoyed since given a spotlight at the 2012 London Olympics.

Two, for decades men’s sport has enjoyed prominence simply because of the patriarchy and it has benefited from it immensely. In the drive for equality, we have a responsibility to give the same prominence and backing in the media to women’s sport. It’s not patronising, nor pandering, sport is sport – let the people read about it.

LOW ENGAGEMENT

I soon noticed how my notifications tab almost became crusted over with cobwebs and dust. I have a very modest following of a couple of thousand, most of whom are probably sick of my previous Tottenham Hotspur ramblings anyway, but even with using the hashtags for women’s sport or relevant competitions the engagement just was no way near the same.

In areas where women’s sport crossed over with the men’s, say for Wimbledon, or athletics, then there was a bit more discussion. But on many stories and postings there was no interaction at all, or if there was it was the same people.

I noticed how there was, worryingly, a number of echo chambers for certain sports. That looks to be growing outward a bit and hopefully that will lift up the discussions and get people engaging even more.

ABUSE

Disappointingly, the main type of engagement on postings to do with women’s sport was more often dismissive, disparaging abuse or so-called ‘jokes’.

It’s clear that there is still a long way to go until it is normalised in the heads of certain neanderthals that gender does not have any impact on how dramatic or exhilarating sport can be.

STAR INTERACTION

On a more positive note, the one aspect of women’s sport on social media that does have in its favour in terms of engagement is the interaction with many stars of the sport.

The elite of men’s sport are often distant figures, particularly footballers, many of whom have PR controlled accounts and do not spend a lot of time engaging with their followers.

The same cannot be said for many stars in women’s sport, giving their followers much greater insight into their lives and providing access into their world that is refreshing and honest.

This is even the case with people in administrative positions in women’s sport, for example some involved in women’s football at FIFA. The global soccer body is increasingly becoming a secret society on the men’s side, but look across at women’s football and there are great stories and open officials willing to engage and talk about the beautiful game.

EXPERIMENT

This was all a kind of experiment to see what a little (a very, very, very little) change could do to make going on Twitter a more positive experience, as it swirls with toxicity even more these days, it seems.

It was heartening to see in May the ‘What If…’ pledges flooding in after the launch of the campaign by Women in Football, showing that many recognise the ways they can help the fight for equality in a beloved aspect of society.

White Hart Lane Farewell – Mine Eyes Have Seen the Glory…

‘There are places I’ll remember, all my life though some have changed.’


There have been many pieces written about the grand farewell to White Hart Lane, and this is in no way trying to emulate the scope of some of those works which are very moving.

Indeed, I can heartily recommend my older brother’s opus on his recollections of the Lane down the years. He has seen more glory days there than I.

But I just wanted to share a few of my glistening memories of the hallowed ground before it evolves into its new modern behemoth state.

I was lucky, being the son of a sports journalist, to sometimes enjoy matches from right near the dugout as a child in the press box. Back then it seemed comfortably spacious. A recent visit dispelled that myth quite depressingly.

One of my earliest memories from a game was a moment I dearly cherish – and it wasn’t even to do with the action of the match.

Gazza 

As a boy I adored Gazza. Not just for his obvious talent but the character that came with it. His enthusiasm was incredibly infectious as I’m sure all would agree, and the mischievous side of his personality was extremely endearing to a slightly mischievous young boy.

So, I prepared to head to the Lane in fervent anticipation of seeing my hero – unfortunately my brothers had to relay the news that Gazza had recently broken his leg (1991) and so would not be playing.

However, at the game, where I was seated next to the dugout (those were the days), the man on the other side of the glass panel next to me was Gazza himself, and he played up no end, making me laugh with his funny faces and also trying to get me to part with some of my crisps.

The moment in itself was enough to make my day. And looking back it highlights how my time going to the Lane was made by specific players, not necessarily moments or teams.

Understandable, given my Spurs supporting career has taken in the mid-table mediocrity of the 90s, the best of the rest era of the 00s, and now the Champions League part-timers. Of course, every so often punctuated with a scintillating cup run.

‘The game is about glory’ said Spurs’ double winning legend Danny Blanchflower and the team does have this weird ethos about playing with a certain panache.

That made sense watching Jurgen Klinsmann thump one into the back of the net. Or seeing David Ginola bamboozle more than one defender on one of his trademark mazy runs. Or even Steven Carr rampaging forward in the hope he would repeat his wonder-strike against Manchester United (one more like that please, WHL, today against the reds.)

There was the time that Edgar Davids immediately endeared himself to the crowd in his first match against Arsenal by making his first act the upending of Ray Parlour.

Those North London derbies were frequently tense and sometimes scary affairs, and back when I was younger recall my brother hurriedly pushing me through the crowd away from the smashed bottles and projectiles as we departed the Park Lane end, past either set of fans squaring up in rows in front of each other.

Lately these kind of scenes have been sanitised by an increased police presence and a general relaxation among fans for that kind of culture. It still unfortunately occurs, and will do at any stadium.

Fan trouble was never a big part of the WHL experience however, as events on the pitch would frequently be exciting enough for one day.

Rafael van der Vaart crafting another technically beautiful goal, Luka Modric pulling the strings, Gareth Bale doing, well, what Gareth Bale does best – these moments and more are all up there as part of the legend of Spurs glory, even if they did not result in a trophy (well, actually, Bale did win player of the year while at Spurs).

But more recently it’s quite fitting that Spurs’ new direction has led to a greater emphasis on the homegrown talent. Of course there has always been a healthy production of talent to come through at Spurs, mainly in defence. Ledley King still remains one of the finest English defenders of the past twenty years (he’s only got one knee).

But now the talent is all over the pitch. And as football clubs increasingly become a global product or brand, the local connection is more important than ever.

So to have in a brand new shiny stadium, the same Harry Kane who loves a derby goal, almost single-handedly destroyed Chelsea on New Year’s Day 2015 (a particular favourite WHL game) and grew up round the corner is a welcome reminder that although places may change, landscapes evolve and facades become more modern, the spirit remains the same.

‘That time when…’

Thoughts of all those legends who had graced the White Hart Lane turf ran through my head as I myself took to the field in 2012 in a team of journalists cobbled together to play a side of competition winners.

Kitted out in a Spurs away kit, we walked out from the tunnel to the sound of ‘Glory, glory Tottenham Hotspur’ blasting out the stadium speakers – my heart was thumping, my hairs were standing to attention and I think I had the biggest grin on my face that would make the Cheshire cat look miserable.


Playing alongside my elder Spurs supporting brother, it was hard not to be overwhelmed by the occasion.

But, playing up front, I did manage to get myself into a scoring position midway through the second half.

The ball was loose in front of me, the goalkeeper was rushing out, defenders were closing in on me from the side and I stretched just enough to get my right toe to the middle of the ball first.


The next thing I knew, I saw the net bulge and I immediately jumped up in the air screaming “YES!” and set off for the corner flag in celebration. It is a surreal moment wildly celebrating a goal in an empty 38,000 seater stadium. But I didn’t care. I finally had my own moment in the stadium.

It was in fact an equalising goal, but in typical Spursy fashion it turned out to be no more than a consolation in a 3-2 defeat. Still, I forever have that goal and I know it won’t mean much to anyone else and my brother is sick of hearing about it – but it’s a moment every young boy dreams of, and no matter how old we get we never fully let go of those wild fantasies enjoyed as a football loving child.

I may not have witnessed an era of Spurs dominance in my WHL career, but I think Bill Nicholson said it best: “We of Spurs have set our sights very high, so high in fact that even failure will have in it an echo of glory”.

Glory, glory Tottenham Hotspur.

Highlights of 2016 Adventure – Half the World Away

‘What was the best part of your trip?’ – since returning from my ten month trip around the world, I’ve heard this question more than any other.
As once would expect after spending the best part of ten months in 15 different countries from Nepal to Brazil, I’m often left pondering the question for longer than the asker is prepared to sit around and wait for an answer.

The truth is it’s probably easier for me to pick out the worst bits of my trip and accepting that the rest of it was on an equally incredible level.

Getting sick in Myanmar, crashing on a moped in Thailand and having chronic insomnia on a 16 hour night bus in South America stand out as the main low points. The rest of the time, I was in an either an awe-inspired or giddy mood due to the differing surroundings and experiences.

But, if I had to pick out five highlights of the past ten months, here they are in no particular order:


1 – Watching the sunrise over the Himalayas. After trekking for four days in the Annapurna region of the Himalayas in Nepal, my guide and I woke up at 4am to hike up for an hour and a half to a vantage point called Poonhill, where we were able to watch in clear glory the sunrise lighting up the Annapurna mountain range.

It was as if the sun was setting Annapurna Three on fire, and by far and away the most rewarding sunrise I have ever seen.


2 – Trekking to the Tiger’s Nest Monastery in Bhutan. The first time I read about the Paro Taktsang temple I was enthralled by mere pictures of it and upon seeing it with my own eyes, early on a crisp Bhutanese morning I was astounded even more than I thought I would be. It looked surreal, I couldn’t quite believe I was seeing it for real.

Inside, the whole building just reverberated with serenity, even more so when I joined some monks in meditation. I cannot accurately explain why I was drawn so much to this place but I’m happy to let that mystery be between me and the monastery on that cliff edge.


3 – Cycling down ‘The Death Road’ in Bolivia. Also known as the Yungas Road outside of La Paz, this 56km mountainous road infamously sees at least one tourist death a year. Many stories of those who came off one of the sheer and extremely close drops were told to our group as we made our way down the road from more than 15,000 feet up.

Still, while taking care not to cut my trip short, the adrenaline rush of racing down the windy and rocky mountain pass is undoubtedly one of the most thrilling experiences of my life, reminding me at the same time just how human and therefore vulnerable I am. I fell twice, but luckily that was only at the end safely on to some rocks.


4 – Travelling the ruins of Angkor Wat temple complex. Not just the famous building itself but the surrounding area, which is full of secret temples secreted away in the thick Cambodian jungles. Riding on a bike made it easier to get around and had I had more time, I wish to have spent more time simply going off the beaten track even more and dare I say it, living the Tomb Raider experience for real.

The mix of Hindu and Buddhist structures were so ornate and different to what we in the predominantly Christian world know, that every building seemed to be altogether strange yet wondrous work of art in my eyes. Not quite intrepid exploring but made even more fulfilling by the friendly nature of the local Cambodians.


5 – The Inca Trail to Machu Picchu. This for me was one of the key reasons I went to South America. Something I had read about for many years and fantasised of seeing with my own eyes.

Every day as we climbed higher and higher on the trail, the struggle became more arduous but I couldn’t hold back the excitement from visiting the Inca site that is still so shrouded in mystery. We still don’t even know what happened to the Incas that were there. In that way, it helps preserve the aura of the place which just seems to be something from a different planet.

Beautiful architecture, stunning mountainous backdrops and a fascinating technology used by the Incas made the journey a true jewel in my travelling crown.

The Incas worshiped the sun as if it were a god – and watching as the sunrise lit the mountain just behind the famous citadel it’s easy to understand why. The light streaming down draped the landscape as if you were looking at paradise. Suffice to say it exceeded all my expectations, as I walked around grinning inanely like a six-year-old.  


BONUS – Visiting Graceland. On many occasions have I been awe-struck this year, and none more so than when I visited the home of Elvis Presley last month. I was shaking with anticipation while making my way to downtown Memphis and walking through the doors of the home of an icon who has transcended music and pop culture.

For me, it was a personal pilgrimage as Elvis’ music and performances have been a big aspect of my creative and appreciative mind. The house itself is frozen in time, with the rooms exactly as they where when the King lived there, even though Elvis has definitely left the building. I kept having to pinch myself walking around. Glory, glory hallelujah.

A perfect way to close my adventure – for now…

Rio report card…High marks for Paralympics but IOC has questions to answer over the Olympics

After making my way through Uruguay and Argentina, from July to September I reported on the Rio 2016 Olympics and Paralympics. Here is my evaluation of the Games:

RIO DE JANEIRO, September 29, 2016 – To misquote Mark Twain, the rumours of Rio’s Olympic catastrophe have been greatly exaggerated.

As the city resumes ‘normal service’ after hosting the Olympic and Paralympic Games, one can reflect on how the world’s biggest multi-sport event has left its mark.

The Paralympics were undoubtedly a remarkable success. Even with the challenges of late budget restrictions and slow ticket sales, the event turned around and captured the imagination of the spirited locals.

They did not pack out all venues as in London but the Cariocas who did turn out cheered on the Paralympians in the traditional manner Brazilian – deafeningly and melodically.

The Paralympics were also broadcast to many more people around the world, with the IPC not even able to show all the action live to all countries because of various new rights holders.

The Paralympics were a success, and a vindication of striving against adversity.

The Olympics? Not so straightforward.

Transport delays

On the organisational side, for all the scaremongering, the Games played out with no major incidents. Sure, there were a few grumbles here and there about transport delays, the odd stray bullet or two (!) and a green diving pool, but they happened. People competed, won medals, and ensured their place in Olympic history.

Contrary to the buildup to these Games, the body that emerged facing the most questions was the IOC.

After one year in the role of president after succeeding Jacques Rogge in 2013, journalists summarised that Thomas Bach had enjoyed a relatively easy start to his term.

How times change.

The German’s handling of the Russian doping allegation scandal saw him lambasted by the media, for “passing the buck” by allowing Olympic participation to be decided by the international federations and not the IOC.

His decision was in stark contrast to that of Sir Philip Craven, president of the IPC, who sanctioned a blanket ban of all Russian athletes at the Paralympics to absolutely ensure a “clean Games”.

Then, the IOC suffered the FIFA treatment. A hotel arrest of senior executive board member Patrick Hickey threw into the spotlight the shady area surrounding ticket selling at the Games. Brazilian police say the system under investigation was also targeted at Pyeongchang 2018 and Games beyond. No wonder they wanted to question Bach, the head of all things Olympic.

No return

Hence eyebrows were raised when he chose not to return to Brazil for the Paralympic Games. His absence at the opening ceremony was explained away by his attendance at the state funeral of former German President Walter Scheel, of whom Bach was a friend.

No one could begrudge someone attending a funeral but Bach’s office then confirmed he was too busy to attend any Paralympic competition at all. Be that as it may, the inability to show solidarity with the Olympics’ partner event did not look good.

Bach will be back in South America next September for the IOC general session in Lima to choose the 2024 Olympic host from among the remaining three candidates. This past week’s thumbs-down from Rome Mayor Virginia Raggi left Budapest, Los Angeles and Paris to fight it out.

More and more, people are questioning whether the Games are worth the money and investment. Public referendums, such as the one held in Hamburg in 2015, have illustrated widespread concern over whether major disruption and expenditure benefits a city and its residents.

Rio’s struggle to cope with the demands of infrastructure development are well documented. Targets and deadlines were missed and IOC members voiced their frustrations on many occasions.

Political turmoil

But Brazil is a country that, while it was booming at the time of winning the bid in 2009, has seen political and economical turmoil sweep the nation like a tidal wave.

Brazil’s currency falls by the day while unemployment rises. President Dilma Rousseff was impeached even during the break between the Olympics and Paralympics. Michel Temer is officially her successor, much to the dismay of a large majority of the nation who make themselves heard in daily protests. Rio’s Presidente Vargas road is a near-constant scene of political protest still.

So while some may criticise Cariocas for not filling the venues at the Games, and certainly sports bodies angrily sought answers from organisers about empty seats, the bigger picture remains significant. There were more pressing issues on many people’s minds than checking out the action at modern pentathlon.

Sport can be a wonderful escape and distraction but it is not an excuse or catalyst for social change which so many profess.

Talk of legacy has dominated sports bids over the past two decades and it is an important aspect but do not forget it is also a tactic to win votes.

Currently the two front-runners for 2024, Los Angeles and Paris, base their appeal on having most of the venues and infrastructure in place. For it is too early to judge if London’s Olympic village project is a success. Beijing’s is not looking hopeful.

Rio survived scrutiny by the rest of the world and can now return to focusing all its attention inwardly on its own citizens.

But it is the IOC which also needs to take a good hard look at itself.

Bolivian Salt Flats in PICTURES: South America’s Hidden Jewel

Travelling across the salt flats in Bolivia, the first impression one gets is that it is a cold and desolate place. 
Indeed that is true, but on further exploration it offers so much more than the initial impression gives. 

The horizon stretches ever beyond the 4×4’s reach, despite the miles and miles we covered. 

In many instances the fun is had making amusing perspective pictures on the salt flats. 


But it was on the second day of my journey when I felt that the vast expanse revealed its secrets. 

From the shimmering lagoons, festooned with flamingos, to the multicoloured rocks rising up imperiously, the Salar de Uyuni showed more shades than a Jackson Pollock painting.

Indeed, one part of the desert is named after Salvador Dali as its landscapes resemble the surrealists’ artwork. 

Unfortunately my visit coincided with a snowstorm so the Dali desert looked more like Van Gogh’s “Landscape in the snow”. 

But the pictures I took on a basic automatic setting still came out with some naturally wonderful shots – and they still don’t come close to doing justice to the real thing.

Here I felt was the true heart of Bolivia. All this beauty, misunderstood, hiding in plain sight. This country and this part in particular really is South America’s hidden jewel. 

Here are a few of my favourite pictures from my visit: 



Machu Picchu: Escaping Back in Time on the Inca Trail

For centuries, a gem left over from the South American Inca Empire lay hidden from the world in Peru.

The 15th century city of Machu Picchu lay in the Andean mountains just sitting there in perfect harmony with mother earth – or Pacha Mama as it is referred to in Peru – until 1911 when US professor Hiram Bingham discovered it by accident.

Now, the Inca city is one of the top destinations in the world for tourists and intrepid explorers who take on the Inca trail hike.

For me, it was the jewel in the crown of a self-appointed sabbatical from the normal working life back home in Europe.

To me, the mystery surrounding it absolutely added to its appeal. Not much is known of Machu Picchu. It is presumed by some historians that it was a city for the Inca emperor Pachacuti. 

But then it is not known why it was suddenly abandoned. Spanish colonialization is given as a reason, but the invading forces destroyed much of what they saw as native heresy. Yet much of Machu Picchu is startlingly well preserved.


Usually, such enigmatic questions would confound and infuriate my naturally curious mind. Here though it was not the case. For the mystery compliments the mysticism of this other-worldly site.

When I used to day dream of escaping from my seat in front of a computer, it was usually an image of Machu Picchu that sprang to mind. Something so far removed from what we regard as western civilization held an immeasurable appeal.

So it continued to be every step of the way on the four day hike to the site, starting from near Aguas Calientes.

The inclines were steep, no more so than on day two on the passage up to Dead Woman’s Pass. Such was my determination that my resistance to having a break on the first hour and a half of the day’s expedition came back to haunt me when my thighs started to spasm on the final incline.

I made it to the top though, an elevation of 4,200m above sea level, with two other members of my group in a time of 2 hours and 8 minutes. We were told the average time to reach the summit from our campsite was around 6 hours.

So it came to pass that it was as much about the journey to Machu Picchu than the site itself. I reveled in the times I found myself alone on the trail, occasionally being overtaken by the ridiculously fast and superhuman-like porters. The escape I had craved was all around me, just the Peruvian mountains as my guide.


Why do we crave escape? Sometimes it is the banality of our working lives, or frustrations at home, or just a desire to feast our eyes on something completely different.

For me, I can’t quite put it down to a single reason. A number of situations came to a head in 2015 where I found myself walking down a street in central London thinking, I need to get away from this for a while.

People have different motivations for travelling and come away with different experiences. The old cliché of ‘finding oneself’ has become a bit of a joke nowadays but it is not without its truth.

When escaping to whatever sanctuary one may find, whether that is in Peru, Asia, or Cornwall or a football match, or a piece of music, it reminds us of who we are, giving us the validation of being a human being.

So much of that is taken away in our daily quest for money and status. For some, that may be who they are and good luck to them. But with that comes stress and anxiety, mental health issues, negative qualities that may in turn hurt people who we hold dear.

The Incas may not have been perfect. But they were so content as a civilization they could live on a small mountain top hundreds of miles away from the nearest city.


The perfect structures dotted in and around around Machu Picchu when I eagerly arrived on the fourth day astounded me, as did the news about how they made use of aquaducts they had constructed and used their high ascent to their agricultural advantage. It’s not that we know more nowadays, we simply have found easier ways of doing things.

Leaving the site I never wanted to take my eyes off it, fearing that once I did it would simply become just a memory in my head. But it is a memory I will treasure for reasons beyond words I could describe on this page.