Writing in the local paper. Local issues with a global take. I never translate literally and the editor trims at will to make it fit. Here’s my version, then theirs. For some, the holidays are a welcome time of routine. Of doing what you’ve always done and feeling a sense of security in knowing that…
A successful Chinese Buddhist businesswoman who professes her devotion to a 15th century crucifixtion figure gives birth to a Nestorian satori in my first piece blogging for El Pais. Of course, all framed within the slightly morbid context of the celebration here on the decidedly european Iberian peninsula of a man’s death by torture so many years…
The scent of incense, the boom of the drums and the rattle of the snares, pushy yet well dressed crowds, dolled up children trying to be pious, hooded penitents doing the same… It’s Easter once again here in Spain. Click over for a look from my window.
Why does it seem that with every year, winter seems to get longer and longer? No matter how mild the year, as with this past winter here in Extremadura, the dark days of the ‘other’ equinox drag on longer than your 10th grade math teacher droning on about algebra. I even sometimes find myself wishing…
A walk through the Albaycin in Granada A look at the new mosque that has been built A reflection on the concern it’s caused A way around conflict In both English and German in DW-WORLD’s Qantara magazine.
I took a walk awhile ago with my Couchsurfing host, now friend, Oya. We started in the Istanbul of the guidebooks and ended up in the Istanbul of her childhood. A walk that took us from the tank tops of Eminonou to the hiijabs and niquabs in Fatih, with a short detour to see the…
Last night’s Minaret exhibit was not only a chance to share some photos that I’ve taken on my travels but an opportunity to retrieve and relive some dusty memories that had been lying forgotten in my 1.0 memory chip mind. During the evening, a few astute visitors were quick to notice an early Soviet-era statue…
For some it’s Easter egg hunts, for others meditations on torture and resurrection, others still a time to be ‘seen’ showing their penitence in hooded processions…for me it means that the simple fact of walking to my house becomes an ordeal. Crowds clog the tiny arteries of the old town here in Caceres, while supposedly…
My Almohad refuge has been busy of late. Every year around this time the locals take their beloved virgin down from its mountain hideaway to great pagan-like fanfare. Tears are shed, songs are sung and flowers cut…but less wine that one would expect, gotta travel further south for that I suppose. She’s then placed on…