If Hemmingway could see this place now; the whole world really. Gone are the days of sidling up to the polished wooden bar and regaling the Cuban regulars with his stories, fresh made daiquiri in hand.
Raindrops tap dance on the multi-colored jungle canopy encircling my temporary home. They fall, bounce, skip and slide down the leaves, highlighting the brilliant colors of each.
Five. Cross-up the defender, step back and survey the court. Four. Fake left, cut hard right. Three. One quick dribble to blow by the crossing defender.
Two black bags sit perched on a low bench next to my bed for the night. They’ll be my only possessions for the foreseeable future.
Standing on the shores of Southern Morocco, feet in the lolling surf, searching out past the rolling waters, an ancient traveler could never imagine the intrigues that lay just beyond the horizon.
An amalgamation of millennia of empire, war, destruction, knowledge, growth, and mythology. To describe Rome in any justified manner would fill a wood-scented library with untold volumes from floor to lofted ceiling.
Athens, the ancient heart of Greece. Home of democracy and countless contributions to culture, philosophy, and even language itself. Quite possibly, no other city may have more significance to Western history.
Santorini, or Thera as the island is truly named, is one of the most unique and stunning landscapes you’ll ever wander across.
Chania is a port town of antiquity, bearing the scars and marvels from millennia of inhabitants and conquerors. A Turkish mosque stands waterside, flanked by a Venetian fortified wall in various phases of decay.
Búzios is the place you don’t speak of, that hidden oasis that you hope against all inevitability of globalization isn’t discovered by the masses.
Distant ramblings from a thwarted nomad. The world extends and constricts as I endeavor to navigate the erratic borders that a global pandemic has shaken from their slumber.
Positano. An Italian nesting doll of intricately stacked pastel buildings housing centuries of memories and character. A dew drop falls from a cluster of Aglianico wine grapes that lazily climb a wire rigging overhead.
London, a city of infinite treasures, some ill-gotten, that could take endless lifetimes to truly encapsulate. Strip back the veneer, and you’ll find the sedimentary layers of centuries of mixed, stacked, and modified culture.