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. As I write this, a constant hum drifts up to my fourth floor vigil from the busy Rua Mayor below. I’ve been to Salamanca many…
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. I grew up attending a French immersion school on the very English speaking prairies of western Canada. Every subject, except English, was given in French by first language…
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. A few years ago, shortly before the outbreak of the neverending civil war, I found myself in northern Syria tracing the footsteps of the sixth…
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. I write this from a cold damp grey dormitory city on the outskirts of Cologne, Germany. My wife, being as persuasive as wives tend to…
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. It’s that time of year again. The time when coworkers loudly spill out of restaurants at all hours and then pour themselves into nightclubs only…
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. One of the things I liked most about living in an ex-Soviet republic like Azerbaijan was the public art. It seemed that every square had…
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. I grew up in my brother’s clothes, literally. I’m the youngest of two and inherited everything that survived his slips, spills and falls. One thing…
Around these parts the border is porous and exactly where Portuguese villages become Spanish is lost among the cork tree forests (and in today’s Europe so is the point). Sometimes the little white houses are fringed with blue sometimes yellow but walk through the immense walls and past the Visigothic church and into a bar and the confusion ends.…
The bullet holes you see in the sculptures at El Torno are real and recent. It has been more than 70 years since the guns of the civil war officially fell silent and more than 30 since Spain’s brutal dictator died peacefully in his sleep. Even after so many years, tensions here lie close to the…
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. I was sitting in a bar in the Calle Moret having a midday caña (little beer) when I heard the news. One of the older…