America

My first trip to South America changed everything. Seven weeks between Peru and Bolivia, from Lima to Arequipa, Lake Titicaca to the high deserts of the south. It was impossible to choose between the legacy of the Incas and the silence of the Altiplano — so we did both. From the Death Road to Cusco and the incredible Machu Picchu, the journey was an endless discovery. We kept going north, almost to the Ecuadorian border, to see what lay beyond the world of the jungle and the ancient stones.

 

Central America came next — a place of color, rhythm, and memory. Life, music, and sun are everywhere, and so are the traces of the Maya civilization that once fascinated me as a student. I spent years exploring their world, site after site, between ruins swallowed by the forest and villages that still keep their heritage alive.

 

Then came the Amazon. In 2019, almost on a whim, we decided to follow the river from the Atlantic to the Pacific, using only boats — the slow rhythm of the water as our only schedule. For four weeks, we drifted through the jungle, stopping in small communities, surrounded by the sound of insects and rain, until we finally reached Ecuador.

 

North America was another story. New York had always been a dream — the gateway to the New World, the city of every movie and every beginning. I finally made it there, thanks to a friend who was living there, and took the chance to go further: Boston, the Niagara Falls, and the cold light of a northern winter.

 

From the Andes to Manhattan, from the jungle to the city, the Americas remain a continent of contrasts — where nature and culture meet, and where every road still feels like a new beginning.