“Seeing Fires Where There Aren’t Any:” How a history of cliff-side traumas ignited a new response to vertigo
I, for one, was hanging on for dear life. Every 20 yards or so, the hair-pin-turning, cliff-cut road dipped perilously into patches of sunken pavement, evidence of recurring landslides. To one side, a sheer cliff wall; to the other, air and the freedom to plunge into it. Nary a guardrail...