São Miguel: Fog, Fire, and Tea
São Miguel arrived after Pico, which meant arriving after something — after the volcanic desolation of Faial's ash fields, after Jeff's quiet reckoning with his…
Buenos Aires: La Vida Es Buena
Buenos Aires doesn't ease you in. It absorbs you, neighborhood by neighborhood, until one morning you realize you've stopped looking at a map. We arrived…
The Asado: What the Fire Requires
In Argentina, an asado is not a barbecue. It is a social event that happens to involve fire. The name comes from the Spanish verb asar —…
Asado in the Tigre Delta
Before we left for Argentina, I had said it out loud: I wish I knew someone so we could experience a real asado. The universe,…
La Nit de Sant Joan: Fire, Catalan Pride, and a Sleepless Night in Girona
From the shallow Juliet balcony of our apartment in old Girona, rhythmic drums rose from the plaza below. Then horns. A crowd assembled. We had…
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The Italian Bar: How a Country Drinks Coffee
In Italy, the morning doesn't begin with coffee. It begins at the bar. The dapper barista steamed the milk with precision, poured the creamy froth…
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What the Romans Eat for Pizza
He wore a collared SS Lazio shirt tucked beneath his round belly, a sweatband on his wrist, and three pairs of glasses stacked on his…
The Roman Pastas: Four Dishes, One City, No Substitutes
There are four pasta dishes that belong specifically to Rome, and to nowhere else in Italy. Each one tells you exactly where you are. Their…
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Geneva in One Evening
The train out of Barcelona had been canceled. That single fact rerouted an entire day — and turned Geneva, always planned as an overnight transit stop, into something we had to earn. What one evening in a city of precision and quiet elegance offers, possibly more than you'd expect.
Valencia Doesn’t Announce Itself. It Reveals Itself.
We arrived at night, exhausted after a long day of travel. The metro from the airport let us out at Colón, where we surfaced into…
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