Europe
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The Return When we got off the train the air was warm, more like spring than November. The station looked the same as I remembered it; unlike everything else in Florence, it is spare and modern. The light was a sheer golden curtain, making even the cement pillars that lined the platforms into gleaming sculptural shapes. Read more >> |
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A Rare Blend James and Marcus howled with laughter. Ann and Jack, heads crushed together, pored over photos. Nick gestured wildly, indicating precisely what it is about Bordeaux that spills into his soul. Balash, international party boy/philosopher, snatched and drained half-empty glasses. Read more >> |
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World Is Crazier and More of It Than We Think First I must learn the art of waiting. It is what we seem to do here in this Neapolitan town. We walk, and we wait. We congregate, and we wait. There is always someone missing whose presence is essential, some preordained time that has not yet arrived, some inexplicable sequence of events that must unfold. Read more >> |
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Sailing to Hades by W. Ruth Kozak The boat cuts a silent swathe through the jade colored water of the narrow river. I imagine crocodiles lurking in the shallows. And surely those tangled boughs that dip into the murky surface shelter coiled serpents ready to strike. Read more >> |
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The Indelible Danièle by Kimberley Lovato When I first approached the 700-year-old farmhouse of Danièle Mazet-Delpeuch, I wasn’t sure I’d come to the right place. The address she gave me when I first called to set up an interview was simply… Read more >> |
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This Ain’t Venice Beach by Jan Burak Schwert English was rarely spoken in Cinque Terre, but when I needed help, a handsome traveler spoke my language… Read more >> |
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Lost and Found in Prague by Jan Burak Schwert Ron and I had just arrived in Prague and needed a room for the night. We parked our car and walked for more than an hour, looking for a vacancy… Read more >> |
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Finding Franz by Jan Burak Schwert A man walked in and my jaw hit the floor. I’d never seen the man before. It was my husband… Read more >> |
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A Roman Holiday by Rachel Ward On Christmas Eve I sat on steps outside the Roman Coliseum. I opened my new yet already worn Italy guidebook to study a vague map… Read more >> |
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Semana Santa: A Sacred and Secular Celebration by Jan Burak Schwert “Thrump, thrump” beat the drums, followed by trumpets blaring. A parade, I thought. But where was it coming from? Read more >> |
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The Colors of Anogeia by Angela D. Stancar Anógeia, on the Greek island of Crete, is a town shrouded in the color black. It is a widows’ town, haunted by the absence of men. Near the end of a week vacationing on the island with my husband and both sets of parents, we had met a British expatriate who recommended Anógeia… Read more >> |
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Out of Our Comfort Zone by Jan Burak Schwert “I am proud to announce the visa requirement for the United States has been lifted. Welcome to Ukraine!” declared President Viktor Yushchenko on the official Ukrainian website….. Read more >> |
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Memento Mori (Winner of the Spiritual Category in the Intrepid Travel Contest) by Charlotte Chester I hand my two coins to the man at the gates and step gingerly through. After descending the spiral staircase, I continue along a gritty tunnel, which darkens and narrows as it twists deeper under the earth. Read more >> |
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Riding the 341 (Winner of the Family Fun Category in the Intrepid Travel Contest) by Mara Gorman There was a time when I used travel as a way to experiment with glamour. When I went to Paris, or New York, or London, I sipped 10-dollar glasses of chardonnay in industrial-chic cafés and bought swanky little purses that held only a lipstick and a credit card. Read more >> |
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Check, Please (Winner of the Food & Drink Category in the Intrepid Travel Contest) by Kay Vail-Hayden My friend and I were a couple of weeks into a European trip, and our clothing had achieved a level of stiffness that made us look like we were always standing at attention. Read more >> |
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The Tiny Red Kettle by Jan Burak Schwert “Sarajevo is ready for tourists,” read the article in the London Times. Pictures of red roofs and snow-capped mountains leapt off the page. Bosnia had emerged from the 1990’s war and rebuilt its infrastructure, but tourists had yet to discover the country. It was time to visit. Read more >> |
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Shopping for Dirndls by Jill Paris “Jilly, look at this one,” my friend Simone says, stroking the fabric of a pale, pink dress. We’ve just entered a weird little Viennese storefront and I’m having a Laura Ashley flashback circa 1973. Read more >> |
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The Gift Only a Stranger Can Give by Joel Carillet He was about 6’4” and said he was from Kuwait, though later an official at the U.S. consulate would tell me he was likely from North Africa. Wherever he was from, it’s funny how life surprises you sometimes, leaving you to wonder how easily things would have been different had you turned left instead of right… Read more >> |
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Bonfires of Valborg by Lola Akinmade Rain poured out of dark overcast clouds in an ironic twist. Monochrome umbrellas dotted the landscape with an occasional red or striped one breaking up the sparse but steady flow of people towards Skansen. The streets seemed barren. Read more >> |
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Parisian Neighborhoods by Rita Borges Paris owes both its development and much of its visual appeal to the Seine River, which weaves through its heart. Each bank of the Seine has its own personality; the Rive Droite (Right Bank), with its spacious boulevards and formal buildings, generally has a more sober and genteel feeling than the more carefree and bohemian Rive Gauche (Left Bank) to the south. Read more >> |
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Walk Like a Parisian by Rita Borges There is nothing better than exploring the city on your own. As the old song say, Paris is at its best in springtime, even if it is sometimes a little wet. In winter Paris, has all sorts of cultural events going on, while in summer the weather is warm and lazy, sometimes sizzling. Read more >> |
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Catacombs of Paris by Susan R. Norton Some come to Paris for the The Louvre, The Eiffel Tower, some for the food and wine, but this time I came, strictly for the BONES, those belonging to the more than 6 million French men and woman who were deposited in the caves and tunnels of the Catacombs, twisting some 300 kilometers or 40% under the streets of Paris. Read more >> |
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Tears from Turkey by Stephanie Elizondo Griest I once prided myself for having tear ducts of steel. I was the only kid on my block who could watch “Bambi” without bawling; “Beaches” made me snicker. Graduation. Weddings. Break-ups. Disappointments. I endured it all with neither a sigh nor a whimper. Until, that is, I went to Turkey. Read more >> |
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