Cruising always promised glamour and excitement for me. My grandmother, tired of being married and with an empty nest, ran away, not to join the circus, but to sign on with a cruise line. I have yellowed postcards from her…
I had been in Russia less than 24 hours when I realized that the overused maxim—“It’s not the destination, it’s the journey”—would be particularly applicable to this trip. I was told the first day’s jaunt to the Hermitage was delayed…
Word that computer anti-virus genius John McAfee, of that McAfee, is in hiding in Belize after being accused of running a meth lab there brings to mind the opening line of Bruce Barcott’s The Last Flight of the Scarlet Macaw:…
The Brawny Sherpa, accompanying me on a press trip to Hamburg, was supposed to be on his best behavior. Ever the polite escort, he would be the tourist—and occasionally carry my bags—while I learned about Hamburg’s environmental record as the…
The Youthful Adventurer and I were snorkeling in the Galapagos Islands when we saw the shark. He kept swimming; we kept swimming. It was exciting to see one and good that he was a distance from us and that the…
“How did you choose Belize?” is the question I most commonly hear, especially after I’ve been telling stories about my visit: the howler monkeys, jaguar prints, a jungle survival tour, bats at the window, a scorpion on the door, a…
I drove solo six or so hours to my high school reunion last summer and was surprised when I got there when one of my classmates said, “I would never have made that drive alone.” I remember thinking, Why not?…