I think Paris is getting to me
The Rhine was running high, Florence was florid with wine-flushed cheeks and well-trod streets, and the Alps were calm as only stone can be. Last night 24 of us, from 21 days of… Continue reading
Category Archive: tour guide
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Back in Holland, and gelukkig about it
I had to take a moment when I walked out of Amsterdam Centraal Station. All around me Italians were burbling, Spaniards were lisping, and the Dutch were clearing their throats with the somehow… Continue reading
Time to go
The urinal has a starting line. Maybe it’s my history as a runner, but I immediately wondered what time the qualifying heats would begin, but there’s just the one porcelain arena hanging up… Continue reading
Things like this still happen in Havana
The thing about Cuba is all the streets are so…Cuban. Roaming about, I often feel like large cities belong to the country of Citylandia, removed from the nations that surround them, but Havana?… Continue reading
Who wants to go to Cuba?
That I was sitting in the restaurant, soaked to the seams, was not the surprising part of lunch. That it had begun raining as soon as I had to leave for a social… Continue reading
The Wizard of Oz and I
“When I was a boy, I knew what I wanted to be.” My assumption was beginning when he filled in the answer. “A cowboy!”
Was Mussolini really that bad?
Benito Mussolini helped lead Europe into one of the darkest chapters of its violent history. We already know this. But is there more to the story than that? Finding myself on the shores… Continue reading
Okay fine. I give up. I love Paris too.
There’s something terribly cliche about loving Paris. It’s like loving chocolate, puppies, and The Princess Bride. Of course you love those things. So does everyone else. Not interesting. After reading the 10,000th love… Continue reading
Romanticism, revolution, and Riesling, in Bacharach, Germany
The most interesting thing about the Hotel Kranenturm is not that a very active German railway line passes a few meters from your room, periodically shaking the building with the thunder of gargantuan… Continue reading
On the right bus, in Florence
“The Tuscan Frying Pan” had been in fine frying form all week, but at 8:00 AM the air was the sort of warmthy and goldeny and pillowy that makes so many people write… Continue reading
