Portugal

Whipped cream sea foam, brown Sugar sand caked toes, sun Roof frosted golden skin An oceanic cathedral dome, the Sistine of the sea
Anton de Kom Monument Amsterdam

Black Americans Fuge in Amsterdam

Standing in the central square of the Bijlmermeer looking up at the statue of Anton de Kom as people milled around me, walking to and fro, I blended into the background as a young Black man in one of the most diverse areas of the city.
"Rue de Paris, temps de pluie," by Gustave Caillebotte (1877)

Paris in the Nineteenth Century

“On the inclined plane of immorality, France is descending with an ever-accelerated speed, till it seems to have almost reached the lowest point of depravity.” Such is the witness of a faithful Frenchman. On such principles we cease to wonder that Paris is the centre of intrigues, the patroness of vice, the asylum of all infamy.
Duomo di Modena, Milan, Italy

Milano, Italia

A breeze in a nearby museum, the Gallery of Contemporary Art, that had as a centerpiece a Basquiat painting of dirty yellows and reds, with a black anthropocentric figure made of thick lines, an abstraction, a negation of the plump oil-rich bodies of the classic Italian paintings of the main gallery. The only black figure in the building seemed to leap like a jazz fugue note in an orchestra.
Brussels_Directions

Back to Broadcast

I’ve made the trip and am currently sitting in the hotel lobby waiting for everyone to go Chez Leon for our farewell dinner. Over at the bar, a group of Scotsmen slam Guinness on the counter, raving about a run-in with two English men. A literal run-in.
Ephesus Celsus Library

Letter from Ephesus

The Road to Mazar: They said the north was safe and so I went, stepping through the snakes of the Kabul airport, face and body draped in burka blue,
France_Paris_Toulon

France Poems (Paris & Toulon)

The train weighs lightly on the locomotive and moves like a hurried whisper. The landscape, to my surprise, looks a lot like the American Midwest: parched grass, unfettered trees and thread-sized electric cables tied to giant poles. The grazing cows might have looked healthier, but I couldn’t tell.
Beer Prague

The Beer and other Clichés

Illuminated faces by a golden or amber liquid, spume hung to the lips. Tongue clearing the whole thing. Behind the counter, this is an endless and sped-up video of the day, in a paradoxical slow-motion: steins get filled, two different taps, one for the foam, the other one for the golden brown liquid.
Ireland tavern candlestick

Cold Marble on Hot Skin

That was the month of the yellow winds dust storms from china tear gas from guns-- That was the year I learned to cry again to shake as if it were a prayer; Easter Sunday, surrounded by troops the students began to sing: something about freedom
Train Station King's Cross

Daydream Cinema

The camera spotted A man in brown Among the stormy silence of passengers at King’s Cross Kisses, arms and arms In the faint gleam of twilight and dust Brown and gray Flooding Hundreds of heated souls Crammed and crushed with bond of love Into one body
streets-bucharest

Roundabouts in Bucharest

The roundabout was so huge that it made my eyes roll, my head twirl, and then I would twist, a body in need of orientation, before the luggage handle jerked protestingly in my hand. It wriggled on the poorly paved ground, knocking against the slabs here and there like grumpy footsteps.
dublin, ireland, joyce, literary tourism

A Senior and a Slacker Tour: Literary Dublin

The River Liffey cuts through Dublin on its way to the Irish Sea, dividing the town into two distinct halves. “South of the Liffey,” reported our Fodor’s guide, “are graceful squares and fashionable terraces from Dublin’s elegant Georgian heyday.” Trinity College, Temple Bar, Grafton Street—all of the city’s most heralded sights are here.
pompeii-italy

Dearest Water, in Pompeii

I hand over a fistful of coins and he gives some of them back to me. This could be the dearest water in Italy. Meanwhile, Iona has bought a book which shows Pompeii then and now. It’s a great idea.

The Train of 6.52

6.52.6.52.6.52…The luminous white numbers keep blinking. A long, drawn out skull-seizing squeal, foretold by the blinking 6.52, makes a 40ish years old woman suddenly drop her glossy paper to press her fingers on temples: Ostrava-Stodolní, train station.
Posillipo, Naples, Night

Naples by Night

  From the 7th floor towards heaven of our skyscraper hotel, but not visible from our room unfortunately, I am impressed by the sight of a very striking fort-like building. It turns out to be the Castel...

Neapolitan Street Party

  It would have been nice to have seen Naples for the first time from the sea, the way Nelson did in 1798 when he supported the King of Naples, sorted out the French and where an unintended consequence...
The Very Bearable Lightness of Being, Agnes Andre, Czech Republic, East Europe, Clock

The Very Bearable Lightness of Being

Ostrava and its region is a former industrial center, but you know, the city and its inhabitants are really willing to get back on their feet, they are very active in investing dynamism into the rehabilitation the region.

Three Magical Places and a Quartet

Kashmir’s geography has the added charm that one can read the unique history of literally each place in the pages of Kalhaṇa’s Rājataraṅginī that was written in 1150. As in Herodotus’s Histories about Greece,

Paris Unvanquished | Charlie Hebdo

  You can destroy a city of cement-n-bricks But you can never its ruling spirit; A city like Paris can never be vanquished By the guns and mortar, for it has got A Rabelais and Moliere and Sartre in its...