Once upon a time, as a child of exile, I would lay awake at night in my Parisian bed, far away from the country I was born, unable to sleep sometimes for hours. I would let my mind wander, travel in all directions at once, sinking into the bright flashes that would explode behind my eyelids and take me, sometimes fly me like a bird over an ocean of memories and fantasies. I would visit my country inside, carefully building protective walls against the ravages of time and the dark shadows of all the death and destruction I had left behind. I was only seven years old, and I already knew, instinctively the power of the imagination to guide you through the night. This blog will bring together my two years of travelling through Occupy Wall Street and Chile as a draft for a book I will be writing on my experiences of exile, revolution, donald duck and mysticism. Come back and visit.