The fisherman didn't speak any English, and I don't speak a word of Maltese, but he handed me a chunk of bread torn from...
#offthebeatenpath
Public diaries and notes tagged with this tag.
The clay cup is still warm when the old woman hands it to me, her fingers stained purple from crushing cardamom. Steam c...
The fishing nets were still dripping when I arrived at the harbor, just as dawn cracked the horizon into shades of amber...
The bus lurched around another hairpin turn, and through the dusty window, I caught my first glimpse of the valley below...
The bus lurched to a stop somewhere between Cusco and the Sacred Valley, and the driver muttered something in rapid Span...
The scent of rain-soaked earth and cardamom tea greeted me as I ducked into the tiny café tucked behind the crumbling st...