CHAPTER ONE

Across the Danakil Depression

Leaving the Ethiopian highlands behind, our convoy headed north towards one of the most unforgiving landscapes on Earth. The paved roads gradually disappeared, replaced by dusty tracks stretching towards a horizon that shimmered beneath the relentless sun. Villages became fewer, the vegetation faded, and civilisation slowly gave way to an immense wilderness of rock, salt and open sky.

Reaching Erta Ale is not as simple as arriving at a viewpoint. It is an expedition that demands patience, planning and endurance. Travelling through the Danakil Depression requires four-wheel-drive vehicles, experienced local guides and, in some areas, military escorts. Every kilometre reminds you that this is a place where nature still dictates the rules.

As the day unfolded, the landscape became increasingly surreal. Endless salt flats reflected the afternoon light, while distant mountains dissolved into waves of heat. There was an extraordinary sense of emptiness—beautiful, intimidating and strangely peaceful all at once.

Occasionally we crossed paths with the Afar people, whose camel caravans have travelled these ancient routes for generations, carrying blocks of salt harvested from the desert floor. Watching them move steadily across the vast white plains, it was impossible not to feel connected to a rhythm of life that has changed little over the centuries.

Read more in Portrait of Humanity – The Afar People.

By late afternoon, the convoy reached the foot of Erta Ale. As darkness slowly settled across the desert, the mountain revealed little of what lay hidden beyond its rim. Somewhere above us, one of the world's few permanent lava lakes glowed silently against the night sky.

The real journey was only just beginning

The further we travelled, the quieter the landscape became, until nothing remained but endless salt plains stretching towards the horizon.

The final approach could only be made on foot.As darkness settled over the desert, our head torches became the only light guiding us across the ancient lava fields. Somewhere ahead, hidden beyond the night, the volcano continued to glow.

CHAPTER TWO

The Living Lava Lake

Nothing prepares you for the first glimpse of Erta Ale.

As we stepped onto the crater rim, the darkness gave way to an intense orange glow rising from deep within the volcano. Far below us, molten lava moved slowly across the surface of the lake, folding over itself in an endless rhythm that had continued long before we arrived and would continue long after we had gone.

For several minutes, nobody spoke.

There was no need.

Standing beside one of the world's few permanent lava lakes is one of those rare experiences that leaves little room for conversation. Every movement of the molten rock reminded us that the ground beneath our feet was not fixed or permanent. It was part of a planet that continues to shape itself, one eruption at a time.

Watching the lava rise, burst and settle again was strangely hypnotic. The brilliant orange glow illuminated the crater walls while the night sky above remained perfectly still, creating a remarkable contrast between constant movement below and complete silence above.

I found myself lowering the camera more than once.

Some moments deserve to be witnessed before they are photographed.

Standing there, I realised that Erta Ale is far more than an active volcano.

It is a reminder that the Earth is still alive.

It is one of those rare places where photographs preserve the memory, but the experience itself remains impossible to recreate.

The closer I looked, the more the landscape resembled a painting—until I remembered that no artist had ever touched it.

CHAPTER THREE

Dallol — Painting with the Earth

Leaving Erta Ale behind, our journey continued across the northern reaches of the Danakil Depression to one of the most surreal landscapes I have ever photographed.

At first glance, Dallol scarcely appears real.

Pools of brilliant green sit beside vivid yellows and deep rust-red formations, while delicate salt crystals trace intricate patterns across the ground. From above, the landscape resembles an abstract painting rather than a place shaped by nature.

Yet every colour has been created by the Earth itself.

Mineral-rich springs rise from deep below the surface, depositing layers of salt, sulphur and other minerals that continually reshape the landscape. No two visits are ever quite the same. The colours shift, new formations emerge and old ones slowly disappear, making Dallol one of the most dynamic landscapes on the planet.

Standing among these remarkable formations, it was easy to forget that this was one of the hottest places on Earth.

Instead, I found myself thinking about colour.

How effortlessly nature creates combinations that no artist would dare invent.

Sometimes the most extraordinary landscapes are not defined by their scale.

They are defined by the details.

CHAPTER FOUR

Where the Earth Still Creates

When I first planned this journey, I expected to remember the volcano.

The glowing lava lake was, after all, the reason I had travelled to one of the most remote corners of Ethiopia.

Yet as the days passed, another memory quietly took its place.

I remembered the silence.

The endless salt plains stretching towards the horizon.

The colours of Dallol that seemed too vivid to belong to the natural world.

The patient camel caravans moving across the desert, following routes that have existed for generations.

I realised that the Danakil Depression is far more than a collection of extraordinary landscapes.

It is a place where the Earth reminds us that it is still unfinished.

Beneath the thin crust on which we build our cities and lives, immense forces continue to shape mountains, create new land and transform familiar landscapes in ways we rarely stop to consider.

Standing beside the lava lake, it was impossible not to feel humbled.

Not because of its power.

But because it quietly reminded me how small our own lives are within the much longer story of the planet.

Travel often changes the way we look at the world.

Occasionally, it changes the way we look at ourselves.

Erta Ale did both.

Long after the photographs were taken and the journey home had begun, I realised I wasn't remembering the volcano alone.

I was remembering a landscape that never truly stands still.

Perhaps that is why places like this remain with us.

They remind us that the Earth is not simply something we live upon.

It is something that is still becoming.