Highway travel in a foreign country is exhilarating, at times more than the plane ride itself. Travel within travel, as I was lucky enough to have a motorbike for 24 hours in Tai Chung.
As the ember dashes across the boat floor, the ocean whispers its last breathe. Is this really happening?
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“Isn’t it at war?” a family friend asked me upon my explanation that I was off to work in Kosovo for three months. Twenty years have passed since the end of the 1999 war and Ten since Kosovo declared itself Europe’s newest state and yet its name still conjures up associations of war.
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One night in Amsterdam a couple of years ago, tripping on hallucinogenics, it all became very clear. I was to travel to Mexico to see my dear friend Agustin.
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In today’s modern hospitality landscape, there are hotels, and there are airbnbs. And then there are those special places that fall in between categories, where authenticity is a beckon of hope and intention is executed with accuracy.
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I’ve always wanted to go to ODESSA. Something about this name, the way it’s spelled. The city’s Jewish history. I was also curious to see the Black Sea. I like things to be black.
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India is a land of inherent beauty, of chaos, complexity and contradiction, within which lies unparalleled opportunity to explore, connect and engage with humanity and spirituality at points transcending high and low.
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The rush of emotions swelling through my body every time I step foot in New York City is hard to describe. This time around felt no different.
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A surreal parody of itself, Malibu is a porcelain playground for the few and which lends itself to visitors like me for just a moment in time.
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