The road to Coroico, with coca leaves in our cheeks we dreamt through the winding Andean trail, whiplash vistas drenched in two histories. Gravelled inclines higher and denser into the clandestine jungle. Canine terra guards and suspect gazes marked our entry. We flew the valley the past strapped on our backs. From those heights we understood, that villages and forests, and farmers and brothers, were one. The sun’s ancient fire giving rise to the subversive.
