United Kingdom
Photograph by John Davidson "Tacos," Luiz, my taxi driver, declares when I ask him what to eat. "Oh, you've gotta have breakfast tacos in Austin," he exclaims. I tell him it'll be my first time - both in the city and trying tacos for breakfast - and he cackles with excitement.
Now there's just a narrow walkway between me and the church. Faith must be what propels people at this stage too. On one side, centuries-old sandstone worn smooth by passing hands; on the other, a sheer drop to the valley below. Tewe walks ahead unaided, unfazed.
"There!" he yelps. My eyes dart, but the water is still. "Quick, there," he screeches, and again my eyes follow his. In the distance, a fish shoots out of the water. The crescent of the splash is reflected in the smile that ignites Qutub's face, his cheeks soaring up to meet his ears.
Marcus is pointing to the horizon, talking passionately about the bounty of the seas surrounding us. His pontification is becoming more enthusiastic as the light falls in curtains through the clouds, and I nod in agreement, unable to reply with a mouth full of prawns.
Little changes on the Faroe Islands. This far-flung, self-governing archipelago, part of the Kingdom of Denmark, rises out of the Atlantic between Scotland, Norway and Iceland, and prides itself on maintaining traditions. Just 18 small islands make up this nation; 18 lumps of volcanic rock cloaked in emerald green where rugged coastlines and soaring cliffs enclose hidden lakes, precipitous mountains and tight-knit communities.
The Atacama Desert stretches across Chile in a staggering diversity of discrete landscapes - the fabled craggy contours of the Andes; simmering volcanoes; vast salt flats; and verdant oases. While it can be a challenging place to call home, it is a playground of adventure for intrepid visitors
‘Eco-friendly’, ‘sustainable’ and ‘responsible’ are no longer just buzzwords — they’re ideas that have been embraced by travel companies. Today, leaving (next to) no trace is easier than you think
Per points out our route on a curled scrap of a map, so worn it seems likely to disintegrate in his hands. "This may be the last time we use this," he concedes. It's no problem, though. Per and his brother Lars know these waters.
Greg turns off the studio light and my skin prickles as we're bathed in darkness. The speaker crackles and Elvis's butter-smooth voice rings out, breaking the silence, asking: "Are you lonesome tonight?" We listen to the whole song in the velvety blackness, just as Elvis recorded it.
East to Heydalur As my 4WD tears around another bend on the road from Ísafjörður Airport, the next fjord unfurls before me. Moss-cloaked, flat-topped peaks slide down into the vast expanse of water, their slopes framing the view.
Ohrid has often been dubbed 'the Jerusalem of the Balkans'. Like the Holy City itself, it's known its fair share of religious turmoil, yet today the UNESCO-listed Old Town is a vision of calm. Delicate minarets peek out behind rooftops while tumbledown churches hide in every nook.
I'm standing in a forest of scooters at the edge of a level crossing. The roar of their revving is deafening and the exhaust fumes are leaving me light-headed. Suddenly, one impatient biker darts across the track and snakes through the opposing crowd.
"I wouldn't if I were you," says Moshe, my guide. "We don't eat them off the tree like that." I'd picked a plump indigo olive off a low-slung branch and am poised to pop it in my mouth. "I mean, it won't hurt you but it will be bitter," he adds.
Here I am, standing metres beneath the portside city of Acre. Above me, tourists saunter along the stone streets, deliberating the seafront eateries. Down here in the dark subterranean passage, I'm seeing the city that existed before all of that - the city that dates back to 1104.
"Comes carne, senorita?" he growls at me, looking peeved at my request in broken Spanish for him to bring me his favourite dishes instead of blindly ordering for myself. "Si, si, I eat meat," I affirm to the stout and suited waiter. He slams the kitchen door behind him.
National Portrait Gallery, London. Until January 5. The journey of the new portrait artist of our time. It must be strange to be a successful portrait artist whose face is plastered all over the media as much as those of his subjects.