Buckets of vodka and breasts like weapons
I was young until I went to Ko Phi Phi. I was young with cups of čai on Turkish wharves, and the same when I danced in Lithuanian discotheques. But faced with buckets… Continue reading
Category Archive: travel
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Campeche nights, snakes and ebola
August afternoons in southern Mexico are punishing, but when the sun goes down off the coast of Campeche, the air takes on an apologetic softness to reward you for surviving the broiler hours.… Continue reading
Gifts in Granada
That last post about Tarifa came from an old journal, a paragraph not relevant enough to include in my book, but I enjoyed giving it a little life somewhere else. Another such moment… Continue reading
Alone together in Tarifa
If Spain were a big, worrisomely lumpy breast, then Tarifa would be the downward-sagging nipple, poking across the Strait of Gibraltar at my goal for the day: Morocco. But Tarifa was also the… Continue reading
Mercurial madness, retrograde riots.
Congratulations, my friends. We survived another one. In that last post, I said something about the sun waiting in line for its macchiato on Mercury. Luckily for all of us, I was just… Continue reading
Informative, sleepy, exciting. And a little bit disgusting.
Those gross little white things that you spit up from the back of your throat from time to time, the squishy stinky ones you hide and forget? Those are called tonsiloliths. If you… Continue reading
Hemoglobin, non-terrorism, and adorable despite a little racism; in Panama City.
I was a happy little red blood cell. Biding my time before entering the veins of Venezuela, I was promenading through the pulse of Panama, crossing arterial roadways to meander beside the lymphatic… Continue reading
Ample? Fat? Or something more creative?
“What about this one? How does it look?” His girlfriend considered for a moment, head tilted to the side and lips pursed just a little. “I like it, the color is good on… Continue reading
A home for Alvaro
“My daughter is a musician,” were Alvaro’s proud words as we shared a taxi into Caracas. He was the program coordinator for the Witness for Peace delegation that I had come to Venezuela… Continue reading
Getting gas in Venezuela
It’s a routine errand, expensive, kinda smelly, and utterly unexciting, for millions (billions?) of people. Filling up the tank. Getting gas. Burning dinosaur bones. (And you were worried this was a chronological consequence… Continue reading
