Category: Travels
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Postcard From Condado Beach
There are times in life when a person has a particular need. Nothing else is enough. Only that one singular need. If I were lost, ten miles from Badwater, in the center of Death Valley, that need would be water. For me, in the bleak months of Winter ’15, that need is simply warmth. Warmth.…
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Between Patience and Fortitude
Despite what my weather app informed me about this afternoon–that the temperature was heading toward the low 40’s, I’m still having the feeling that my wool jacket (more of a pea coat) is merely for show. The cold wind slices through me like a Triscut dips through Roasted Red Pepper and Garlic Hummus. I’m chilled…
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Going Down The River On A Winter Day
Aboard the Amtrak, Train #238. Bound for Penn Station, NYC I can’t sleep in this cramped seat. It’s 4A, the window with a view of the Hudson River. But there is no view. It’s white enough for sunglasses. I see West Point across the water, barely. I snap a photo with my iPad mini. It…
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The Pink Flamingos of the Pacific Northwest
I asked my daughter, Erin, about her opinion of pink flamingos. “They have their place,” she answered, without taking more than five seconds to think it over. That place was in a front yard, several blocks from her home in Orting, WA. My wife and I were walking back from a brief shopping trip to…
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Park Avenue on a Rainy Day
I am standing in the rain at the intersection of the Mythical Avenue and Ordinary Life Street in New York City. If there’s a map at your side, look for where E. 92nd Street crosses Park Avenue. That’s where I am standing, safely protected from the speeding traffic, on the landscaped Mall that separates the…
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Coney Island With Princess Pat and Eddie
I was on the stage of the Sideshow at Coney Island and I was standing on the thighs of a woman who was lying on a bed of real nails. Her name was Princess Pat. I’ll get back to her. I’m in New York City. We came for a few doctor appointments. It was Tuesday…
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At The Hound Tor
This is the place of legends. Arthur Conan Doyle saw these rocks and promptly went home to write The Hound of the Baskervilles. Our walk was five miles, beginning in the car park on the north side of Hound Tor. We were to end our day climbing up and over and between the rock outcrops,…
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The Child and the Sea
Children are attracted to the sea. Perhaps it’s the thundering waves, or the endless ways that sand can be used. The waves are constant, soothing and steady, like a lullaby. The castles that can be built in the sand can be as humble or regal as the wildest imagination. Perhaps, the attraction is in the…
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Passports 15: Good-bye England [I Want You]
We sat in an Irish Pub, O’Neills, in the west end of London. It is my last night in England. I can see Bushmills Irish Whiskey etched into the glass of the large window. The letters are backwards. Two singers–one on an acoustic and the other on an electric guitar. They are playing a Beatles tune…
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Passports 14: The Sad Life & Lonely Death of Kitty Gray
The Tors and heathland of Dartmoor is a landscape that breeds legends. Legends, myths, mysteries and ghosts. The guidebooks tell you not to go out onto the moors when the weather is foul. When the fog descends, as it often does, and when the misty rain falls on the gorse, and on the matted shag…
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