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A story of how a peak moment for me as a parent was marred by an act of domestic terror committed by a neo-Nazi and white supremacist.
A writer arrives at the definition of home through her journeys around Nigeria.
That’s where we come in, we’re watching through the writer, seeing them as freaks because that’s how they’re portrayed.
We grew up in a society where we learned that to be openly gay was to most likely get us picked on and beat up, if not killed outright.
“For all its many drawbacks, America has been good to me.” A Brit contemplates life abroad.
He had warned us. This wouldn’t be your travel agent’s Mexico, no rent-a-moped-and-go-out-for-margaritas vacation.
Somewhere between the excitement of taking a chance on something and the real world practice of taking a chance on something, the disdain hangs in the balance.
Knitting a woolen pullover for a tank…yes, it was a political statement, an anti-war statement. It made the tank look ridiculous.
A committed wanderer is forced to contemplate the notion of “home.”
You’ll see us around town. Staring intently into screens, passably dressed, tipping fairly well to counter-balance our loitering.
Reality TV shows and flipping burgers in New York.
Photographer Kris Hariharan’s beautiful images of the largest peaceful human gathering on earth, the religious ritual of immersion in the Ganges.
In her column Slow Travel Stories, Claire Harris witnesses the police using tear gas on demonstrators in Taksim Square, Istanbul.