Conversations with few words, Part II: weird karma and the old man

When I got back to the dismal ticket office with the long wait, all the seats were taken. I looked at the board: 292. My face was still flush, but not leaking as much and the coughing was under control. I was planning on ignoring the daily limit on those throat lozenges, popping a new…


Conversations with few words, Part I: Spontaneous combustion

I was finally alone. After over a week of amazing travel, incredible people and fantastic, rambling conversations into all hours of the night, I sent my navigationally-challenged friend through the turnstile at Atocha to take a wrong train and I was on my own. Just me, my bags and my increasingly sore throat. I had…


Eating my way through Ireland

My former memories of Ireland are fleeting and stretch back over 15 years to a brief trip to Dublin via ferry to Cork. I remember waking up stiff after sleeping a few hours in a hallway with my rucksack serving as a pillow, and queuing up at the counter for some semblance of breakfast. While…