A bumpy highway winds through the eastern countryside in Colombia, spiraling up lush green hills and cutting across smooth yellow fields. Somewhere along this road from Bogotá to the Venezuelan border, sits a small village called Berlín. Most of Berlín’s thousand residents survive on growing and selling green onions. Given enough wind, the pungent aroma floods all corners of the village. Hours from any city of considerable size, Berlín maintains tradition through distance. For some folks, their entire existence lies in the blip along Highway 66.

Matt: “Yo, do you have a nice suit?”
Me: “Yeah, hand-tailored in Vietnam.”
Matt: “That’ll do. You’re going to the Robin Hood Ball tonight. It’s like the prom of Wall Street where New York’s wealthiest get together for a fancy dinner and give millions to charity. We want to know what it looks like given the current economic climate.”
Me: “Cool. I’m there.”

It was a fascinating experience, running with my camera between tables of folks that could buy and sell me. Many of whom are partially responsible for the financial collapse. Then watching those same folks sing along to Fergie performing “My Humps.” All and all they raised $73 million (half of which came from George Soros) to fight poverty in New York City. Can’t fuck with that.