The streets of Saigon are an unimaginable chaos. Hundreds of scooters weave and turn, whizzing by vendors who wheel fruit and food carts in the middle of traffic. Locals call out to the tourists, “Where you go?” or silently sidle up and whisper, “Marijuana?” Young women hand out flyers for spa, nail and haircare services.… Read More First Days in Saigon: Down the Rabbit Hole
Dear Friends, It’s Saturday afternoon, which means that it’s a flea market day, a beach day, and the day for grilled octopus at the restaurant beside the gas station. In this corner of the world, where the sun washes up in waves on the asphalt, the jacaranda trees have shed their last blossoms, and the dogs… Read More Accept What Is
Words scrawled across the ocean, with the curves and dips of calligraphy, relay a full story: 1) The sound of waves, in no hurry, rolling in, that’s enough; there’s no need for other music 2) the melody of children laughing, as they skirt the waves; women giggling as they splash each other; men, with glee,… Read More Beach Day in Monte Estoril
Saudade is a word in Portuguese and Galician that has no direct translation in English. It describes a deep emotional state of nostalgic or profound melancholic longing for an absent something or someone that one loves. Moreover, it often carries a repressed knowledge that the object of longing might never return. (Wikipedia) Evening rounded the corner and stopped. In the middle of the… Read More Tenho Saudades Tambem
It’s the middle of the night. Thoughts were layering themselves like a lasgana in my head; and soon, I realized that I was still asleep. It was necessary to get up and write the words down, before they overcrowded me. The pen ran out of ink in the middle of the second sentence. What else… Read More What Would Thoreau Think Of Facebook?
In front of Pastelaria Pau de Canela, a boy, in a tie-dye shirt, runs past the pigeons causing them to flutter, surge and fall. They move as one. The boy’s not running to anything or from anything; he’s not racing anyone; he’s not exercising. He’s not fleeing his shadow. He’s running, because he’s healthy, joyous,… Read More Movements of Silence
The streets layer themselves; they collide; they diverge; they wrap around and meet; they hover over each other. They are multi-textured and multi-colored: slate, white, marble, cobbled, asphalt, rose. They know the beginning of tales: Senhora Fernanda is reading a book; Senhor Joao is smoking a cigar; Joana is cuddling her cat; Pedro is smoking a joint… Read More The First Date at Princesa do Castelo (It Happened Like This…)