As unlikely as a shimmering pearl nestled in a barnacle-encrusted oyster shell, the Guggenheim Museum, designed by architect Frank Gehry, has transformed the once distressed,…
Pinnacles of experience don’t find words easily. But I will try. I must try. Let’s go together. Enter the cave. There are three doors, one…
This week I am facing one of the good, right and hard aspects of travel: an unfamiliar culture is making me face my bias, my…
Galicia, like Portland, is known for its wet weather but the skies are blue and spring is in the air when we arrive in A…
My spouse loves fire. She lights our dinner table with candles (Back in the days when we had a house and a dinner table. And…
Chris is holed up in our hotel room, his laptop open, his left foot elevated above his heart. We have been catering in. The Galician…
Tentale #1: Where do we eat octopus? Galicia. The Galicans are mad for octopus and other Spaniards travel to Spain’s northwest corner just to eat the…
“Nobody goes to bed in Madrid until they have killed the night.” Ernest Hemingway, Death in the Afternoon Travel-weary from an intercontinental ferry across the…
Our feet touch Spanish soil in Algeciras. Dusk is upon us when we debark and the dark is nearly complete by the time we’re out…
In Tangier something happened that had been hanging like a storm, and it broke on the third day there. Doomsday morning was sullen, and it…
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