I was with a friend on a bus from Arequipa to Cusco, Peru, when our dozing coachman ground to a halt in the chill of night between blackened mountains, blithely telling us to either walk the rest on f
Valencia is a self-operating gypsy folk band - the players come and go, but the instruments keep on playing!
Fut-fut-fut-fut-fut-fut go the pigeon’s wings slapping the walls of its tiny concrete airshaft by my window. I sit up in my mattress and rub my eyes,
I am falling, hurtling through the stratosphere above Manhattan, terrified of being impaled to the antenna of some merciless skyscraper.