A Parisian response to fear
What do you do when terrorists want you to be afraid? To be closed off, fearful of strangers, and angry? To stay locked in your house, suspicious of others, scared of crowds and… Continue reading
What do you do when terrorists want you to be afraid? To be closed off, fearful of strangers, and angry? To stay locked in your house, suspicious of others, scared of crowds and… Continue reading
I don’t mean to be ungrateful. I appreciate it. Every time. I really do. But I guess I’m just… I’m more ambitious than that. I’m not sure when we changed over. Was… Continue reading
The smell of fresh baked bread. Is there anything on earth so glorious as that smell on a Paris morning? It was Friday and the perfectly round fruit-topped tarts were glistening with sugar… Continue reading
Skopje has nothing to do with the Italian verb scopare, which technically means “to sweep,” but just as “to screw” has a bit more oomph than inserting a light bulb, scopare is that… Continue reading
I like to think I can find some version of beauty anywhere. No podunk too dunky to find a po little piece of purty in it. And with some time and a camera,… Continue reading
You can’t come to Skopje and not talk about the monuments. Everyone in the city has an opinion. And I mean that literally, an opinion. The same one. Not a single Macedonian I… Continue reading
I blame the teenager for the first part. He was just so likable. I’d worked all day to stay aware of the tidal pull towards a bad mood, unnecessary and outdated, and here… Continue reading
That’s Athens out there in the haze. Spread outside my room like too much hot peanut butter, chunky with concrete and creamy with Mediterraneanity. In my camera it’s Italy on the rare moments… Continue reading
A guy was selling toilet paper by the roll. Doing a steady business, too. Smoke from grilling tortillas was heavy in the air, even in the thick greasy exhaust of buses barely managing… Continue reading
I noticed it in Nicaragua. After the long cold Northern European winter I was on the road again, no apartment to return to but a ripe teaching job five months down the Latin… Continue reading