Night Boat To Tangier

Night Boat To Tangier

Benjamin? Charlie says. He want a black-sand beach. He want to be talking bollocks. He want a circle of swaying dreadlocks all ’round him. He want the girls and the dogs hanging on his every word. He want to be staring all soulful into the moonlight. Ranting his...
Arabian Sands

Arabian Sands

They prefer to ride kneeling, especially if they mean to gallop. It is an extraordinary feat of balance, for riding a galloping camel, especially over rough ground, is like sitting on a bucking horse. A Bedu usually carries his rifle slung under his arm and parallel...
Congo Journey

Congo Journey

In her hut in Poto-Poto, the poor quarter of Brazzaville, the feticheuse, smiling at us, knelt on the floor, drew out a handful of cowrie shells from the cloth bag at her waist, and cast them across the raffia mat. Lary Shaffer and I, despite ourselves, leaned forward...
The Goldfinch

The Goldfinch

That night, at Boris’ — lying drunk on my half of the batik-draped mattress — I tried to remember what Pippa had looked like. But the moon was so large and clear through the uncurtained window that it made me think instead of a story my mother had told me, about...
The Old Patagonian Express

The Old Patagonian Express

Travel is a vanishing act, a solitary trip down a pinched line of geography to oblivion. What’s become of Waring Since he gave us all the slip? But a travel book is the opposite, the loner bouncing back bigger than life to tell the story of his experiment with space....