One view of the beach at Galveston
At any seashore, the smell of salty air, rhapsodied by poets, is simply exaggerated. Saltwater taffy and coppertone are fleeting smells, attached to memory, more than persistent aromas. This afternoon, at Galveston Beach, the smell of fish is certain, recalling a wharf more than a beach. I hope they are freshly caught, not washing ashore belly-up with oil in their gills. Continue reading
Fields in Sweden
It is impossible to write a list of the top travel songs, but I’ll try anyway. Choosing a list of the best road trip songs is dependent on the season, the destination, and whether you are running away or running toward. And, why stop at ten Continue reading
A calendar of island pictures reminds me how difficult it is to reach paradise.
A palm tree always means paradise (Koh Samui, Thailand)
I love palm trees. And sandy beaches. But sometimes it can be difficult for me to enjoy looking at pictures of islands.
Some destinations, I am happy to view from faraway. Continue reading
Americans don’t know much about Africa. Given a blank map of the continent, I think most of us would be lucky to place more than four countries in their proper locations. We are equally unfamiliar with the auto trade to Western Africa. Europeans would buy used (and these are not “gently used” by any means) Mercedes clunkers and drive them through Spain to Morocco and points southward, with the intent of both car and driver arriving intact at a destination, where the car would be sold for a profit. This is the basis for Jeroen Van Bergeijk’s journey from the Netherlands to Benin, My Mercedes is Not For Sale.
My lack of knowledge about this area describes my fascination with learning more about travel through places unknown, and this journey through cities like Nouakchott, Bamako, and Ouagadougou certainly is eye-opening. This is not a detailed study of the continent, but a unique and fascinating journey into the foreign.
“The fairest way of judging travel books is by their truth and their wit,” according to Paul Theroux. Paul Theroux’s The Pillars of Hercules is the antithesis of what is often wrong with modern travel writing. It can be a glossed over vision of paradise, or a slap-happy look at all these terrible things that happened to the writer. Theroux is one of the great travel writers because he lives up to his own expectations without falling into travel writing cliches.
In The Pillars of Hercules, Theroux travels the Mediterranean. His journey begins Continue reading
Tuesday is laundry day. The weekend clothes are ripening and I’m running out of anything fresh from my. The locals are all back at work. Which means it’s time to load up the bag and brave the laundromat without any waiting. Continue reading
One thing I will never do: buy a farm in rural Spain. One thing I will never, ever do: buy a farm in rural Spain with no running water or electricity. One thing I will never, ever, ever do: buy a farm in rural Spain with no running water or electricity with no access by road. And you need to cross a stream (or river, depending on the season) with no bridge.
My “never do” list is exactly what Chris Stewart does in Driving Over Lemons. Continue reading
Ah! A Year in Provence, the book that launched a whole new genre of travel literature: expat buys house in rural Europe (I call it EBHIRE) and reveals the nuances and minutia of the culture through truly new eyes and shares the difficulties of fixing up a home in a place they probably don’t belong. But the home buying is slippery ground to write upon. It is hard for travel-dreamers to feel pity for someone with enough money to retire to their dream home in the country.
This book is a classic because Peter Mayle succeeds where many after him fail. After his move from England to France’s Lubéron region, he makes day-to-day life seem enchanting, making it easy to picture ourselves sitting at the big stone table out back, certainly with Continue reading
Cinnabon? Ticketing? A tough choice.
I only eat Cinnabon in airports. And, whether I am hungry or not, I always eat Cinnabon in airports. I realize that Cinnabons exist in other places, like mall food courts, but I only eat Cinnabon in airports. I think that Cinnabon is the smell of travel, if not also the taste of travel. If you have walked Continue reading
Waiting for my train to come in, Prague
What is left of train travel
There is a beautiful Phil Collins song which you may not know. I heard it on one of the best trips of my life. It calls to mind the train station in Pisa, the hotel lobby in Brussels, and all the nostalgia of the trips I never took: “So you’re leaving in the morning on the early train…And I saw you walk across the room, for maybe the last time, I don’t know…And when I hear the whistle blow I’ll walk away and you won’t know that I’ll be crying.”
So you’re leaving in the morning Continue reading
