Peru exists in layers. Stone, cloud, and memory. Once glimpsed in the torn pages of an old magazine, the Lost City became a promise: that somewhere between jungle and sky, time folds in on itself. The trail winds through air thin, clouds drift through the ruins like thoughts unfinished. Beyond the mountains, the land unravels, rivers spill toward the Amazon, the desert flares with salt and light, and a vast lake floats above the world, holding entire villages made of reeds and faith. Here, the line between the ancient and the present blurs, and what remains is the quiet certainty that wonder still survives, not in what we find, but in how we look.