travels

Sharp Sardinian

If the nuraghi, sa petza ‘e cuaddu, or white sand calas don’t satiate your thirst for authenticity, find a traditional resòlza maker. The Supramonte villages will direct you, and, if you’re lucky, you’ll find Vico in the hills near Baunei. In a gravel driveway off the main road, surrounded by unassuming junk, you’ll find the entrance…
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On Traveling

The first below-freezing day in Minnesota hit me hard this year. So hard that I went to my garage and started up my bike, threw my bag on, and fantasized that I was going to ride her out west. Unfortunately, it was just too cold and there was not enough time. Fortunately, I already had…
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Mija

Madrid, no te has cambiado pero cuantas veces me vas a dejar? Hasta que me dejas por siempre Te estaba mirando desde lejos por meses y meses te quería conseguir y cuando ya quería renunciar me llamaste a la vez Te conocí durante tan poco tiempo parece conoce una eternidad y un día, tan bruscamente…
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The Five Black Pebbles

Whoa, whoa, whoa, you’re saying that you three were stripped naked, hands tied behind your back, in a cold-ass room full of cockroaches, and instead of trying to figure out how you could escape, you were thinking of how to make this threesome happen? Yeah. Look, Donny’s right. How in the fuck could you have…
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La Gallera | The Cockpit

Though dim, the fluorescent lighting stings my eyes after I enter in from the twilight outside. My camera is already in my hand, aperture and shutter speed set, as I give a smiling nod to the staring faces of the family frying chickens, while I walk towards the back of the building. My intent is…
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Panamania

Only water separates old from new poor from rich Only a bay and its rain Both the paved and the bricked roads smack with success and suppression Blind wise faces stare at the sea ignored taken for granted While finishing touches are applied to the perpetually naïve The old always die too young
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I’ve touched Cuba. I’ve smoked Cuba. Part 3

Nothing is real but the soul. Yes, it has taken me four weeks to write this final piece, and for good reason. Just like my trip, I didn’t want this reflection to end. While la Habana had been constantly confusing and surprising, and my gut was suffering from a tumultuous relationship with food destined to…
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I’ve touched Cuba. I’ve smoked Cuba: Part 2

Land of Ironies. Too bad you can’t export that. I soon noticed that this nation is ironically nothing but an indirect host for the insufferable parasitoid Capitalisthia Materialismus. And man, was I getting ill. Here, a pseudo-socialist, who I learned was actually never much of a communist until he glued his lips to a once…
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I’ve touched Cuba. I’ve smoked Cuba: Part 1

A mindfuck. It’s been exactly two months since I left the island – a perpetually smoldering cigar, surrounded by tepid waters and demagogic winds attempting to stifle it, whose thick tobacco just will not cease to choke its smoker. I think it’s about time I reflect. A month spent in the Caribbean melting pot, mostly…
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en el malecón

Fire burns on the malecón It ain’t from the rum Or the day’s beating sun, No, she has set And has left us all this night To simply forget Fire burns on the malecón It ain’t from the shine of the moon Or the guitarist’s familiar tunes, Still we’re here alone Sheltered from the…
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