Karl Johans gate is the main street of the city of Oslo, Norway. The street was named in honor of King Charles III John, who was also King of Sweden as Charles XIV John. The wider western section was built during the 1840s as an avenue connecting the newly erected Norwegian Royal Palace with the rest of the city. In 1852, it was named Karl Johans gate in honor of the recently deceased king. Oslo, Norway, 2012.

Fishermen on the Golden Horn with the Yeni Cani mosque in the background. Istanbul, Turkey, 2016.

Three million years ago, there slumbered a massive supervolcano in what we now call Northern Tanzania. The mountain stood higher and mightier than nearby Mount Kilimanjaro. Its summit scraped the ceiling of Africa and its slopes were so vast they directed their own weather patterns and water flow. All was well with this sleeping sentinel until one day the mountain woke up. Then it fell down. The volcano erupted with a blast so ferocious that it caved in on itself, an implosion creating a caldera spanning a hundred square miles: 12 miles wide and 2,000 feet deep. What had once claimed the highest peak on the continent was now a mere impression, inverse to its former glory. But the glory returned. Over the course of a few million years this geologic divot filled with life. First, it caught pockets of fresh water. Second, lush vegetation developed, and third—you guessed it—the wild ones arrived. Abundant water and grasses attracted ungulates, large predators, and countless bird species. Because of its enclosed topography, animals would descend into this bowl-shaped place and never leave. This was where the party was. Over time the caldera teemed with sustenance, while also providing grazing lands for human tribes living along its edge. And so began the story of one of our planet’s most beautiful places, an unprecedented coliseum of biodiversity. Welcome to the Ngorongoro Crater. Tanzania, 2019