Travel Writing

Dawn at Varanasi

Dawn at Varanasi

The sun slowly emerges through the morning haze and across the Ganges as I trudge along ancient ghats. Thus, a new day begins in timeworn Varanasi, the holiest of cities in India. As I find my way up and down and across endless ghats in near darkness, my other senses are acuter. I am aware of the creaking boatman's oar, the lapping of water against the worn steps, quiet voices murmuring - no, softly repeating mantras. A potpourri of aromas fills my nostrils like a breeze filling stillness. There’s the scent of woodsmoke from the endlessly burning funeral pyres, the ooze of life and death flowing by, and sweat.

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Cayo Hueso and Bollos

Cayo Hueso and Bollos

Key West, dangling like a yo - yo, at the end of a string of islands hanging from the bottom of Florida, is closer to Havana than to Miami. It seems to float on those tropical waters at the junction of the Atlantic Ocean and the Gulf of Mexico. At a crossroads. Control of Cayo Hueso, as it was often referred to, was passed back and forth between the Spanish and British, like fish gone bad. The Americans showed up in 1822 and claimed "The Rock" was theirs. No one complained. Bollos, that delectable black-eyed pea, deep fried fritter. Fresh made and piping hot. Reason enough to come to Key West.

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