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Italy

Into the Arms of Europe

July 22, 2010
Into the Arms of Europe

Heather and stubby pines cover the shores of Royan, where narrow limestone cliff bands drop into the Atlantic and the mouth of the Gironde opens up to greet it. To me, the seagulls above are a sign of nearby ocean, but for Ernest Hemingway, 19 years old aboard the ship the Chicago, they were...
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For Venice, a Fragile Future

June 18, 2010
For Venice, a Fragile Future

A church bell is chiming somewhere here in Murano. I look out my window and catch the light, evening light, casting a perfect mix of sun and shadow on the mocha facades. There’s a conspiracy of beauty that fills all the senses. Italian conversations echo off the walls along the canal, mixing with a...
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Why I’m Stalking Hemingway

November 11, 2009
Why I’m Stalking Hemingway

Why am I in Idaho stalking the ghost of Ernest Hemingway? I’m asking myself the same question. I don’t hunt. I don’t fish. I don’t even bullfight. We’re hardly kindred souls, manly man Hemingway and scrawny man me. I’ve found myself drawn to him, though, through place.
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