I have a friend who measures outings in red-tailed hawks. “It was a five-hawk drive,” she’ll exclaim after visiting a bucolic setting. That’s an easy image to conjure: fierce hawks perched high on ...

In 1971, I stopped to photograph in a Mayan village in Campeche, a place so small that 40 years later it still doesn’t appear on most maps. Rows of traditional thatched roof houses lined both sides of ...