The dawn at the Ta Prohm temple has an ancestral feel that speaks to the soul. I wonder what could have wiped out a civilization like the Khmer. I think back to the wonders of Luxor, the era of the Pharaohs. To these people, capable of marvellous things, yet not enough to leave a mark of continuity through the centuries. I try to explain myself—Ancient Rome has disappeared, the empire vanished, but there remains a sort of continuum in the twists and turns of History. Greece also had its Minotaur, just like Persia, China, and Mongolia, which was also a stop of our SR Explorer project. There’s something, however, that unites all these mythologies: writing. From the papyri, the Qumran scrolls, and the writings carved in stones, when man decided to codify his messages, evolving from cave graffiti to the Cueva de las Manos. So, when we began to think about this new mission, during one of our videocalls with Gianluca Tenti and Terry Garcia, we imagined a thin line that could link, around our narrative, an ideal journey in search of another great lost civilization: the Inca. A civilization about which little is truly known. Because what has reached us today is the result of word of mouth, of legends passed down, of spirits speaking through shamans. Because from Peru, after the era of the conquistadors, what arrived were stories that had been retold. Not that the chronicles written by Felipe Guaman Poma de Ayala aren’t fundamental. His writings, accompanied by drawings with Quechua and Spanish annotations, capture the years around the late 1500s. But the truth is that the Inca didn’t use written words. This makes our journey of discovery unique, through the Sacred Valley, the legendary Machu Picchu, the Conca Valley, and Titicaca, the world's highest lake. A journey in which the altitude hovers around 3,000 meters, rising up to 5,000meters at Palcoyo. Because yes, we are explorers. We always have been, as confirmed by our latest international presentation at the prestigious headquarters of The Explorers Club in New York. We are and continue to be explorers on this mission, relying on what the great tradition of a people capable of building sanctuary cities on the peaks of the Andean chain, with terracing and rope bridges, has preserved of their communication. I remain in awe when observing the “quipu.” It’s the only tool that international scholars and researchers recognise as the alphabet of an empire called Tahuantinsuyu, which in Quechua means “the four parts of the world,” it was so vast, including what are today the territories of southern Colombia, Ecuador, Peru, part of Chile, western Bolivia, and northeastern Argentina. The central state managed agricultural and manufacturing production with mandatory work quotas and an efficient system run by a body of officials. Of course, there was the sovereign, along with his consort and the virgins of the temple. There were techniques for working the land and building walls, a system of “sentries” who covered unimaginable distances in a sort of relay. There was weaving and the working of precious metals. Yet, the Inca lacked an essential tool for the functioning of an empire: writing. Why didn’t they ever develop it? It seems impossible to me. The only form of communication to be passed down was a unique and precise object called the quipu. The quipu (in Quechua khipu, “knot”) was a textile artifact made of knots and strings. Simple, almost like an intertwined necklace, yet capable of containing information that the quipucamayoc (experts of quipu) used to keep track of everything important. When the Spanish arrived in present-day Peru, their chroniclers were impressed by the amount of information these strings could hold. The Jesuit anthropologist and naturalist, José de Acosta, described them as: “Quipus are memories or registers formed by ropes in which different knots and colours correspond to different information. It is incredible what can be achieved with this method; everything that a book can convey in terms of stories, laws, ceremonies, and accounts is communicated with the quipus so precisely as to arouse wonder”. Indeed, wonder. That’s what I feel when I think that these noble and hard working people communicated through fabrics. To create a quipu, a horizontally arranged cord (the main piece) was necessary, to which secondary vertical cords were tied, and to these, in turn, subsidiary strings were attached. The Inca made knots on the secondary and subsidiary cords to insert information. The information was, therefore, knots and coloured threads. They were weaving information! The length of the strings varied, but the main cord 

was always longer so that one of its ends remained free to roll up the quipu and store it when not in use. In some cases, I read, a distinctive element, such as a coloured feather, was added to make identification among similar items easier. Thus, preparing for this mission, I delved into volumes on weaving, in a land of alpaca and vicuña. I learned that the primary materials chosen for creating quipus were cotton and alpaca wool; only in some cases were vegetable fibres used. The strings had different colours within the same quipu, even within the same cord. The colours and the way they were intertwined gave it a polychrome appearance. The knots themselves came indifferent shapes: observing them, you can see they were intertwined and, once their function was fulfilled, they could be rearranged entirely differently. In every quipu, no detail was left to chance. It was a complex system that allowed them to handle administrative, genealogical, historical, and obviously religious data. Many researchers, as I wrote, have tried to decipher its code. In the1980s, someone analyzed a network formed by 206 quipus to understand the meaning of variations between knot shapes, arrangement, colour, length, and intertwining. It was discovered that the numeric quipus had knots organized according to the decimal system. It’s also true that there were “historical” quipus that recorded the main events of the Inca dynasties, but the writing system hidden within them remains unknown to this day. The use and ancestral reference of these strings and their knots is perhaps what struck me the most, along with the discovery of an ancient patchwork fabric: it brings to my mind a creation my father made in the early 90swhen he decided to make hand-sewn ties with such delicacy and precision that they are a pride of Florentine craftsmanship. I won’t venture further into the legends, the astronomical references, or the secret, yet fascinating, keys that might unlock access between millennial cultures. I watch the flight of the condor, continuing to marvel at the beauty of creation, ready to face a new mission.

I remember well my first glimpse of Machu Picchu. Hiking the Inca Trail, winding past the ruins of Winay Wayna and at last standing in the threshold of Intipunku, the Sun Gate, I looked down upon the citadel as an Inca traveler might have long ago. Surrounded by an ancient cloud forest, at times seeming to float above the clouds, it was stunning. As my friend, high altitude archaeologist Johan Reinhard once said “…Machu Picchu seem[s] like something out of a dream, an ancient city materializing out of the clouds… it is one of the few places in the world where reality can surpass one’s imagination.” Over the years as National Geographic’s chief science and exploration officer, I explored Peru’s extraordinary biological diversity and the many archaeological sites left by the ancient Andean cultures that ruled much of South America for thousands years. Their astounding architectural and artistic achievements are without rival. For a time, however, one place would be all consuming for me—Machu Picchu. It began with a call. In early 2000, I was contacted by a prominent Peruvian business leader and founder of the conservation organization Inkaterra, Jose Koechlin, who wanted to discuss Machu Picchu and artifacts that had been removed from the site some ninety years prior by Hiram Bingham the man credited with “rediscovering” Machu Picchu. It was widely assumed that National Geographic was in possession of the artifacts he explained. As far as I knew that was not the case, but I promised to investigate. I did not know it at the time, but I was about to embark upon a decade long journey. In the summer of 1911, Hiram Bingham, a professor of Latin American history at Yale University, set sail from New York for Peru. His objective was to find the fabled lost city of the Inca, Vilcabamba. According to Spanish chroniclers, Vilcabamba was “the town in which the Inca had his court and his armies and his primary temple… [and it was the refuge of] the last survivors of the race of the sun”. Upon arrival in Peru, Bingham and the expedition team made their way to Cusco and it was there Bingham heard rumors of ruins on a ridge above the Urubamba River some five days mule ride from Cusco. On the afternoon of July 24, 1911, guided by an eight-year-old boy who had told Bingham that he knew “where there are Inka houses…”, Bingham and a companion slowly made their way up the steep mountain and came upon the ruins of Machu Picchu. Bingham wrote later “it took my breath away”. Bingham spent a mere five hours at the site before continuing his journey but upon his return to the US, Bingham quickly began planning a return trip to Machu Picchu. He would eventually organize two additional expeditions in 1912 and 1914to Peru. To fund his work, he sought the support of the National Geographic Society which agreed to co-sponsor with Yale the expeditions. For the National Geographic, Bingham’s expedition would constitute the organization’s first archaeological grant. On each of his expeditions Bingham excavated and harvested artifacts from Machu Picchu and the surrounding areas. Bingham, Yale, and National Geographic sought approval from the Peruvian government to export the artifacts to the United States for further scientific study. Peru eventually agreed to allow 74 boxes of artifacts to leave the country but only on the condition they be returned to Peru. Over the years, beginning in 1917, the Peruvian Government requested their return, but Yale delayed and resisted. For decades, the Machu Picchu artifacts would lay hidden from the world in the basement of the Yale Peabody Museum, despite periodic calls from international and Peruvian parties for their return. My team uncovered dozens of documents and correspondence which in clear and unambiguous language declared that the artifacts were the property of the Government of Peru and were only on loan. Our research further confirmed National Geographic did not, nor had it ever, physically possessed the artifacts but rather the entire collection was housed at Yale. Following this review, I worked with my friend Jose Koechlin and government officials to develop a plan for the return of the artifacts. We submitted a proposal to Yale at the end of 2001 under which Peru would be willing to provide Yale with a continuing loan to exhibit part of the Machu Picchu collection so long as Yale recognized Peru’s rightful ownership of the artifacts and the obligation to return them. Yale initially expressed interest but after some preliminary conversations, we were told in no uncertain terms that Yale would not acknowledge title and moreover had no intention of returning the objects. My response 

was equally blunt, we had no intention of dropping the matter. In short order, the issue became a topic of major concern for successive Peruvian government administrations. Demonstrations demanding the return of the artifacts took place in Peru. Finally, the two parties began talks to resolve the dispute but quickly reached an impasse. As the dispute dragged on, demands for their return grew louder in Peru and the objects took on a powerful political symbolism. I continued to work behind the scenes with government officials on Peru’s evolving political and legal strategy. At every opportunity, whether a public event or a media interview, I called for the repatriation of the artifacts. In late 2009, I met with Peru’s then ambassador to the US and suggested a different strategy, one modeled on the successful approach developed by my friend, famed Egyptologist Dr Zahi Hawass that had led to the recovery of Egyptian cultural patrimony. Employing a tactic Zahi had used in the past to great effect, the government of Peru announced in early 2010, its intention to commence a criminal proceeding against Yale and its officials. Yale quickly expressed a newfound interest in settling the matter and in February2011, a formal agreement was signed resolving the dispute and providing for the return of the artifacts. One month later, I joined Peruvian officials as the first of three shipments of artifacts arrived in Peru in time to celebrate the 100th anniversary of Bingham’s arrival at Machu Picchu. After almost 100 years, the artifacts excavated from Machu Picchu had returned home.

Exploration has always been a driving force in the shaping of our understanding of the world and ourselves. Early explorers embraced extremes, pushing their mental and physical limits to uncover new frontiers. Driven by the promise of shorter trade routes, new lands, abundant resources, and a desire to know what lay just over the horizon, these early journeys were marked by hardship and risk as well as moments of profound wonder at the new worlds encountered. Over time, the spirit of discovery increasingly gave way to the desire for conquest, leading to power dynamics that often resulted in the exploitation of both people and the environment. While exploration and conquest facilitated significant cultural exchanges and the expansion of empires, it also came at a high cost to the ecosystems and communities encountered along the way. Today, exploration is undergoing a profound and urgent transformation. The statistics are alarming: we have wiped out 69% of the Earth’s wildlife in the last50 years. If current trends continue, there will be little left to save. And as we grow more aware of environmental crises, we are prompted to reconsider our roles as stewards of the Earth. In our interconnected world, we must prioritize sustainability and stewardship over conquest. As modern explorers we must strive to understand the intricate web of relationships that is our world. This contemporary approach demands that we tread lightly, embracing humility, respect, and a profound sense of care. Modern exploration invites us to delve into not just physical landscapes but also the social and cultural dimensions of our existence. It encourages us to listen to indigenous voices, honor traditional knowledge, and embrace a holistic view of our world. This approach emphasizes collaboration and empathy, as we search for solutions that benefit humanity, wildlife, and the planet. In this digital age, we carry the collective knowledge of the planet in our pockets, enabling us to access crucial information about finite resources at the touch of a button. At the same time, traditional knowledge is rapidly being lost and with it potential solutions to the pressing challenges we face. Photography plays an essential role in this new age of exploration. It serves as a catalyst for understanding and compassion, transcending language barriers, evoking emotions that inspire action, and forging meaningful connections that deepen our awareness of our interconnectedness with one another and the natural world. As I embark on my own journeys today, I do so with a renewed sense of responsibility. I seek to foster a deeper understanding of our shared existence and the delicate ecosystems that sustain us. This perspective redefines what it means to be an explorer, shifting from a mindset of domination to one of humility and stewardship.

Drinking water protection, reducing soil erosion, wildlife habitat preservation, restoration of forests and wetlands, and aiding the traditional textiles of Cusco, all through the conservation program. These are the goals we strive for with the SR Explorer Mission Programs. Thisconscious decision reflects our vision for the future, inspired by Chief Seattle’s words in 1852: “We do not inherit the earth from our ancestors, we borrow it from our children.” Addressing climate change, promoting responsible sustainability, and showcasing the beauty of the world through the lens of renowned photographers have become central to our entrepreneurial journey. As proud ambassadors of genuine Made in Italy craftsmanship, we are committed to passing down local expertise to younger generations. We seek to embody values shared worldwide, knowing that respecting our clients is the only way to ensure our dreams endure. Our journey to Peru and its centuries-old weaving tradition in the Sacred Valley was profoundly inspired by Nilda Callañaupa’s unwavering dedication to preserving a tradition that might otherwise have been lost. Her efforts, which began in the early 1990s, were aimed at securing a future for the native Quechuan people. This work, first highlighted by the National Geographic Society, has since been recognised by leading international NGOs for both its quality and impact. Previously, we have supported conservation programs linked to Giant Tortoises through the Charles Darwin Foundation, the reintroduction of Golden Eagles in the Altai Mountains with the Kazakh Falconry Association, and the rewilding of Asian Elephants with Wild Earth Allies. Now, we have partnered with the Centrode Textiles Tradicionales de Cusco (CTTC).Personally, I find a similar spirit in this mission to the one we undertook in Florence, a city rich in art and craftsmanship, when, fifteen years ago, we worked to preserve Antico Setificio Fiorentino, a manufacturing gem with 18th-century looms and a warp built according to designs by Leonardo da Vinci. I am also pleased to announce a biannual agreement with The Explorers Club, providing grants for two international expeditions dedicated to young explorers. We discussed the details in New York, at the headquarters of this century-old institution, with which we have shared from the outset a passion for exploration—both physical and spiritual. This spirit has driven mankind to the furthest corners of the planet, from the North Pole to the South Pole, from the Mariana Trench to the summit of Mount Everest, and even further, as demonstrated by the lunar landing in 1969.While these initiatives may not seem directly related to our current collections, they are deeply embedded in the DNA of our brand, and we like to imagine them “worn” by our clients across the world.