The spirit of manifest destiny has been rebranded into the travelogue.
Out on the road and in the great outdoors my dad and I discovered we were more like each other than we believed.
My heart is set on the Philly cheesesteak—the only one, I’m certain, to be found in India.
The problem, of course, is that the public toilet involves doing the private in public.
As a person who spends a lot of her time reading, writing, and teaching about endangered creatures and environments, I craved something hopeful.
Will the vertigo again become acute? Will the stress of this, or some root cause that spurs it, end my life before it might otherwise end?
It’s Nigeria, after all. Hope is what keeps many alive. In plethora of sufferings and fears, prayers abound.
We pass other boats and, from each one, there is the double-take, a stare. Two boats full of only black people is apparently a rare sight.
We were three single Americans with a whiskey handle. What reception would we wake to if we fall asleep on the wrong sand?
The roadside cross is a jarring balance of the emotional poles, internal and external, surely an action by and for the remaining soul—not the one who has departed.