It seems odd that we only show 21 United States here, considering that our Countries post included 33 nations–surely we know our own homeland better than that. But then, these are only the States we’ve visited and photographed together.
The shortest route between heaven and hell is exactly 181km long and less than two hours by car.
One photo for every country we’ve shot together–27 in Europe, 2 in North America, 4 in Asia, and 2 in Africa–in the last 25 or so years.
Was she the craziest woman in history? Either way, she became one of those symbols people twist and turn in an effort to bring meaning to whatever absorbs and excites them. Her actual history is a mass of contradictions, none of it reliable. She was—and still is—whoever and whatever anyone wanted her to be.
If this all reads a bit gushy, the gush is deserved. The Taj might not be the best hotel on the planet, but it certainly feels that way.
How can so many French men and women—statistically speaking, of course—eat all that stinky cheese and goose liver without all the heart attacks of our odor-free, foie-free American ecosystem? The answer has to be… Vin rouge!
The Magyars who overran the Carpathian Basin and settled in Budapest around the first millennium were fast, brutal, clever, smallish raiders on light horses with minimal armor whose use of the latest technology–spurs–allowed them to plunder and outmaneuver enemies as far away as the Iberian peninsula.
The loss of India was in effect the end of the British Empire. And all it took to terminate three centuries of worldwide expansion by one of the greatest military and industrial powers in history was one very smart, determined, and, above all, patient old man in a homespun dhoti.
Funny some of the things you can count as accomplishments. But as a local college student puts it when trying to sell us his guide book, there’s more to travel than just seeing stones.
What happens when fifteen million people all rush out at the same time to go shopping in the same impenetrable warren of urban alleys, bazaars, and arcades? That’s what it feels like in the Fatih District of Istanbul around five o’clock on a holiday eve.
I remember an evening sitting through one of those ghastly, self-righteous arguments about the Vietnam War that seemed to plague any attempt at serious conversation in the 1970s. The wild-eyed beard next to me showed no interest whatsoever and seemed to regard all the hot air as little […]