A headwind pushes us back as we brave the traffic on 145th Street. Cars whiz by on this hairiest stretch of our 14-mile route, while grit blows up from the shoulder, sandblasting our hands and our eyes. I pedal harder to try to catch Rider Rick, but he’s already a traffic signal ahead in the left lane. [...]
Here’s a simple way to turn a tasty dinner into a love fest. At Chez Bullhog, we have crab cakes at least once a month, made with fresh Dungeness Crab – a local favorite here in the Northwest. We spice them either with a bit of curry or this way, with Cajun spicing. Turning them heart shaped [...]
The tongue of heat that laps at the Maremma’s hardened landscape takes away our breath. We’re only three hundred feet down the trail that leads to the sea and already gasping for water. Not only is the heat scalding our lungs, but the signs warning of malaria mosquito are freaking us out. A long-horned bull [...]
Some years ago while hiking with friends on the eastern slopes of the Cascade Mountains, I came across a band of people wandering through the forest. In their billowy clothes and long hair, they looked a little like wood elves as they meandered off the trail among the trees, occasionally dropping to take something from [...]
The waiter by the pool had the grace to blush as he told us we could expect little nightlife. The next morning we headed west, out onto barren stretches where the road gave way to cart tracks and herds of goats blocked the way. Near the northwestern edge, we sighed at the views across the sparkling Aegean, that stretched until forever. [...]
It’s strange to hear Eros Ramazzotti sing his songs in Spanish. Oh, sure, the quintessential Italian rock star still has that big round voice with its soaring crescendos and the quirky clipped lyrics. But somehow – in the Spanish version – his passion is tempered. Well there you go: I guess not all things Italian translate well.
I dip my paddle and pause in the late morning stillness. A hundred feet away a head emerges, dog-like and sleek, counterpoint to the barely rippled water. Moments later, as if by magic, another head appears. Two sets of dark mud-puddle eyes look at me for a few seconds and then, as quietly and mysteriously [...]
Our green door with its dodgy lock opened onto a path with cobbles worn smooth by bathers going down to the sea. Mornings, we made the hike down to claim our Ligurian beachfront with colored towels and plastic buckets. Later, when the air had cooled, we made our way up the path to join the promenade.