STONE BOTHERING

Marker stones are one of the most common and least clearly understood elements of ancient landscapes. They appear across continents and cultural traditions, yet they are rarely discussed as a distinct category. When they are noticed, they are often misidentified. In many cases, they are dismissed entirely as natural features because their markings are minimal and do not conform to recognizable artistic or linguistic systems. This article examines marker stones as a specific type of human interaction with stone and landscape. It explores their historical use, their functional characteristics, and the reasons they are frequently misinterpreted. The central focus is a stone located within the Dolmen da Oração complex in Brazil, positioned along a trail. This stone bears a diagonal incision and three small circular depressions and has been described locally as carrying a Phoenician inscription. This interpretation does not withstand scrutiny. When examined within its physical, cultural, an...

Hidden in the mountains of northern Colombia is an ancient stone city that remained unknown to the outside world until the late twentieth century. It is commonly called the Lost City, but its original name is Teyuna. That name matters, because it tells us that the place was never truly lost. It was remembered by the people who belong to the mountains. Teyuna sits deep in the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, a mountain range unlike any other in the Americas. It rises abruptly from the Caribbean coast to snow covered peaks in a very short distance. The ecological and cultural isolation of this range allowed a unique civilization to develop here, one that built complex stone cities long before European contact and long before many better known sites elsewhere on the continent. Teyuna is not monumental in the way imperial capitals are. There are no towering walls or grand temples. What makes it extraordinary is how quietly intentional it is. The stones follow the land. The terraces respond to...

Most people visit ancient stone sites expecting to learn something. About history, about archaeology, about who built what and when. Fewer expect their own body to react. Yet again and again, at certain ancient places, people report physical sensations that are difficult to ignore and hard to explain. Tingling in the hands. Sudden dizziness. A feeling of pressure in the head or chest. Disorientation. Fatigue. A sense of heaviness that appears and then lifts once they leave. These reactions are often dismissed. Sometimes by academics, sometimes by visitors themselves. They are written off as imagination, suggestion, heat, altitude, or simple excitement. And sometimes those explanations are probably correct. But the pattern itself is worth paying attention to. Because these sensations are reported across cultures, across continents, and across belief systems. They occur at sites that share certain architectural and environmental characteristics. They are often described in similar langua...

There are places where stone simply rests in the landscape, and there are places where stone organizes the world around it. Ushnus belong to the second kind. They were not built to blend in or to disappear quietly into the terrain. They were built to anchor space, to draw people toward them, and to make power visible through ritual and elevation. To stand before an ushnu is to understand that the Inca did not separate belief from governance, or ceremony from administration. These platforms were not secondary features of a city. They were its heart. They were where authority was performed, where offerings were made to the living earth, and where the empire aligned itself with mountains, sky, and time. Ushnus appear again and again across the Inca world. In capitals and provincial centers, in high plateaus and distant frontiers, the same architectural idea repeats with local variation. This repetition is not accidental. It tells us something essential about how the Inca thought power sho...

There are places on Earth where stone announces itself loudly. Stonehenge does this. Carnac does this. The great temples of Egypt do this. They rise, they perform, they ask to be seen. And then there are places where stone does the opposite. It stays low. It blends into fields. It waits. South Korea belongs firmly to the second category, and because of that, it may hold the greatest concentration of ancient stone monuments on the planet while remaining largely invisible to the global imagination. South Korea has more dolmens than any other country in the world. Not slightly more. Vastly more. Somewhere between 30,000 to 40,000 known dolmens are spread across the peninsula, representing roughly forty percent of all known dolmens on Earth. This alone should make Korea a central chapter in any global story of megalithic cultures. Yet for most people interested in ancient stone, Korea barely exists on the map. There are reasons for this, and they have little to do with importance and every...

There is a moment that happens to many people when they spend enough time around old stones. It might be standing alone among weathered megaliths at dawn. It might be touching a boulder polished smooth by centuries of hands. It might be hiking through a landscape where the rocks feel arranged rather than scattered. At some point a quiet question appears, usually uninvited. Are these stones alive? Are they aware? Are they something more than material? These questions are not new. In fact they may be among the oldest questions humans have ever asked. Across continents and across time, cultures with no contact with one another arrived at remarkably similar conclusions. Stones were not dead matter. They were elders. Ancestors. Spirits. Teachers. Gateways. In some traditions they were gods themselves. Modern thinking tends to treat stone as inert. A background material. Something to build with, extract, classify, own. But for most of human history stones were approached with caution, revere...

People often ask us why we write so much about Peru. It comes up in emails, in comments, sometimes even in passing conversations. Why Peru again. Why another post. Why another photograph of stone walls, another reflection on ancient places, another story from the Sacred Valley or the desert. The short answer is that Peru never stops unfolding. The longer answer is that Peru changed the way we see history, travel, and place itself. We did not go to Peru once and decided to build an entire body of work around it. That would be too simple, too neat. What actually happened is that Peru kept pulling us back, each time revealing something we had not noticed before. A layer beneath the layer. A silence behind the noise. A presence that refused to be reduced to a checklist of famous sites. At some point, returning again and again was no longer enough. We needed to slow down. We needed to live there, even briefly, to begin to understand why this land feels so dense with memory. Peru is not one ...