The عاهل of Luxor
We never saw his eyes, yet he was the self-acclaimed king (eahil/aahl; عاهل) of Luxor, and by the end
The Gift of Travel
Travel is certainly a privilege.
Anyone who espouses the opposite is deluded by their own and not worth listening to.
Death in the Caucasus
We were sitting in the kitchen shooting whiskey while the rigor mortis claimed her body above us.
Tamaz drunkenly stumbled
Puglia: Un Posto Al Sole
Francesca wore more gold than Montezuma.
She'd swagger around her Puglian villa half-naked, drunkenly clutching 100 euro bottles
Rajasthani Afternoons
I met Anuj in an ashram cafeteria in Rishikesh.
He was holding court in an Adidas tracksuit, gathering followers as
AWOL in Armenia
I was speeding through a blizzard in the Armenian highlands with a chain-smoking, one-handed taxi driver blasting Rabiz on his
Haywire in the Hashemite
Mac arrived to a bottle of the sleaziest Jordanian bootleg spirits I'd laid eyes on.
I had spent
The Malaganese Fairy Queen
Years later, I’d awake to a newspaper clipping of Stella being marched off to spend her golden years in
The Wannas Way: Afternoons by the Nile
I read the Koran as the Nubian sun began its 12-hour descent into the mythos of the ancient Egyptian underworld,
Adventures With Mr T.
He wasn’t exactly the guardian angel of my visions.
This little man with a ripped t-shirt, Colgate smile, and