Istanbul. October, 2010

Who likes to walk through foreign cities at night? I do, I do! And Istanbul may be the best city in which to do that. Here along the pedestrian-only (allegedly; there is a small tram that rides up and down the one-mile street; oh, and delivery trucks, too, and some other cars) Istiklal Caddesi, people are always on the move, 24 hours a day. But I think the best time to stroll here is between 9-11pm. There’s always a palpable sense of something exciting about to happen. In a good way.

Rabat, Morocco. November, 2013

Our wonderful lunch in Morocco’s capital on that nation’s Independence Day. (So enthralled were we by this dish that I only remembered to take the photo after we’d eaten half of it.) As Paula Wolfert, the authority on Moroccan cuisine, says in her definitive The Food of Morocco: “Chicken with lemon and olives is one of the great combinations in Moroccan cookery, the dish that most often seduces foreigners and turns them into devotees of Moroccan tagines.” Sold!

Istanbul. October, 2011

How many markets are there in Istanbul? I lost count. And not just those offering produce or fish or spices. The book market is wonderful. And this is the restaurant supply and kitchen equipment market. Walk through the back of the Spice Market and make a right. Then just keep going.

Rabat, Morocco. November, 2013

Because Islamic art avoids the representational (no human figures, no animals, maybe some stylized flowers but hardly ever), it dazzles with wild and complicated geometrical patterns like this tilework in the old medina of Morocco’s capital city. Just one of dozens of such walls we passed during our brief visit on Moroccan Independence Day.

Pinar del Río, Cuba. February, 2012

My friends Ginny and Alan, whom we met on our trip to Cuba last year, recently emailed to say they’re returning to the Pearl of the Antilles to attend a medical conference or something. If I were the jealous type, I might be jealous. Instead, I’m thrilled for them. Kind of. I wonder if they’ll see this boy sitting quietly on his front porch, strumming his guitar, in his rainforest community in the western part of the island.

Rabat, Morocco. November, 2013

A bread seller in the old medina of Morocco’s capital city, just arrived on a delivery scooter with reinforcements he’s adding to his pushcart. Of course, we bought one. Most people bought half a dozen. Paula Wolfert, in her magnificent The Food of Morocco, says, “North African bread is sacred and is treated with respect. If you see a piece lying on the ground, you pick it up and kiss it and put it someplace where it will not be stepped on.”

Cambridge, MA. September, 2013

I couldn’t help myself. I was at a party thrown by my friend Michael Bronski upon the publication of his (along with friend Michael Amico and Ann Pellegrini) new book, You Can Tell Just by Looking. I spotted this LP by Rusty Warren, a foul-mouthed entertainer who peaked in the 1950s. Michael, who has more LPs than anyone I know and who knows more about entertainers from the ‘50s than anyone I know, told me that Warren reportedly was a lesbian who’d been in a long-time relationship with Elaine Noble (an activist/politician that every Boston-area resident of a certain age remembers.) You learn something new every day. (Thank you, Jim Farley, for the photo.)