For thousands of years the serrated peaks of Montserrat have been a sacred destination for pilgrims exploring their interior mountains and climbers scaling jagged peaks.
I can’t remember seeing a Buddha’s Hand when we were in Bhutan. Or in Bangkok. Not in Japan either. Nor do I remember noticing any
Before the clock strikes seven, the sounds of goats bleating, auctioneers shouting and buyers haggling fill the air, as they have on Friday mornings in
– “Up to the Monte Piana” Imposing and glorious peaks like gothic cathedrals, a sacred silence a dizzy primordial beauty. The wind whispers with mistery
How can we have been strangers for so long to a pisco sour—now our favourite cocktail? Why didn’t we discover it before we became jubilados,
In the early 1970s Magellan and I bought a print of Emily Carr’s “Haida Totems.” Its presence followed us through a succession of homes, creating
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