Geography breeds isolation, and isolation invites myth. Xiahe, deep in the Tibetan lands of Gannan, was spared the weight of tragic histories and abandoned ruins.

The bay remains open, and Alexandria remains as warm and welcoming as ever. The beacon on the Mediterranean dims, but it is far from extinguished.

In Luxor, The great river flows on, and life, in all its forms, persists without end.

Aswan never seeks the spotlight; most often, it plays second to nearby Luxor. But on the proud banks of the Nile, its quiet humility has completed it. It is like a jewel, hanging low at the southern tip of the Nile, heavy with the weight of time.

Today, the people of San Sebastián, confronted with grand and insoluble problems, have turned to seek answers in food, art, and the eternal sea. Accustomed to storms and tempests, they still believe that the sun will rise again from behind the mountains.

Cairo, to me, should have been like a middle-aged gentleman—dignified and refined in a tailored suit, having seen the world’s splendors, nostalgic for lost times, yet guarding a quiet grace in his silence.

In Havana, I always can find peace in the Malecón, the long seawall where the golden light of dusk casts the city in an almost cinematic glow, softening its cracks and wear. The ocean, vast and unyielding, offers a momentary escape from the weight of the land behind it.