"The ancient ones do know it.
There is no greater cost.
The mountains must be seen,
They're slipping, fading, lost.
Climb up to the highest
Look down upon this land,
And what you'll see is dying.
Please lend your sacred hand."
Walking through thick smog. It sticks to you as you move through the busy city. Take a breath in, deep to your lungs, but it feels no different. The polluted air wanders like a starving vagrant, searching for somewhere to spend the night. It manifests itself in the people here. Coughing, spluttering, they pitch their tents beside the church and look to God for guidance. He cannot see them.
At night the moon stands lonely. Her stars all fallen to the dusty earth. They shine from windows and street lamps. Their cosmic shadows hidden and forgotten.
The ancient city rests in the loving cradle of the mountains. It's mother watching as it looses it's way. She tries to call but you cannot hear her. Turn back now and you would not see her. Impossible through the hazy air and the noise of the concrete.
Enjoy some pictures below from Santiago!