El Malecón, Centro Habana, Cuba. February, 2012

This beautiful ribbon of seaside esplanade stretches some four-plus miles through the capital along the Atlantic coast, from its eastern beginning in downtown Centro Habana to its western end when it ducks beneath the Almendares River and delivers you into the more genteel Miramar. Begun in 1901 during a period of US military rule of Cuba (following its winning independence from Spain), the Malecón is the favorite hangout for residents and tourists alike, filled with strollers, musicians and artists both day and night...except sometimes like this when the strong winds come in from El Norte and cause the waves to crash over the sea wall, dousing pedestrians, cars, sidewalks and streets with impunity. This wonderful day, el M was unpredictably moody, tempting fishermen to approach, then tricking them with a sudden drenching or two. Surprise! But whether walking its afternoon length, driving along in a nighttime taxi, even just catching a glimpse of it at the end of a busy city street, it's hard not to succumb to its pulse, its welcome.

Las Terrazas, Pinar del Río, Cuba. February, 2012

No, you’re not imagining it. There really is music everywhere you go in Cuba. Every restaurant. Every street corner and park. Even snack bars. We stopped for coffee one morning at an open-air patio within the rainforest model community of Las Terrazas and sure enough, soon there appeared five musicians and two vocalists kicking the energy up several notches. Then, as we ambled through the nearby artists’ studios and residential areas, this young man, practicing the guitar peacefully and solemnly on his front porch. Quiet, lovely, just the right score for our warm and sunny stroll here in the Sierra del Rosario mountains of western Cuba before heading back to the always rhythmic streets of Havana.

La Habana Vieja, Cuba. February, 2012

Old Havana. I was all prepared for the historic sights of this Spanish colonial part of the city, the wrought iron balconies, the riot of colors, the cobbled streets. What I was not prepared for was how wonderful the Cuban people are. And not just here in the touristed part of the capital, but all over the city and in other spots visited throughout the country. The Cubans I met were the kindest and most generous people I’ve ever encountered in all of the countries I’ve visited. This handsome couple and I had a great Spanish conversation (gracias, Diego; gracias, Pimsleur; gracias, Rosetta Stone) filled with lots of laughs. When I asked if a certain T-shirt came in any larger size, he told me the one I had was muy sexy. I suggested that muy sexy might not be the best choice for this gringo viejo. Just one of many such connections made in my all-too-brief visit to this warm, beautiful land. I can’t wait to return.

Galata, Istanbul. June, 2007

One of the frustrating things about visiting the wonderful markets on my travels is that I’m usually without a kitchen in which to prepare the beautiful produce I find. Not so here in Istanbul. I was staying in the Galata Residence, a 19th-century apartment building converted into a budget hotel that offers rooms and suites with small kitchens. Not that anything in this breakfast of mine needed cooking. Three kinds of in-season and perfectly ripe fruit -- the season’s first cherries, famed Turkish apricots and a sour green plum called erik. The thickest and creamiest yogurt. And two kinds of baked goods purchased from a nearby cart after my early morning run -- açme, a yeast-risen, brioche-like donut, and poğaça, a sesame-studded flaky pastry filled with cheese, meat or black olives. Truth be told, there was a third, simit, a crusty, seed-covered “Turkish bagel,” but I ate it before I thought to take this picture. Also not shown, the tea I’d made, thanks to the hotplate in my kitchen.

First Saturday, Tucson. March, 2011

It’s no accident that I feel my soul open up whenever I visit Tucson. The sky. The sun. The warmth (I usually visit during cold New England winters back home.) And the fact that my generous hosts Simon and David are artists, given to creative thinking, provocative conversation. And given to great company with a group of friends similarly inclined. Fortunately a recent visit coincided with Tucson’s First Saturday, a monthy event during which many galleries hold opening receptions for newly installed shows. Like this one at the Conrad Wilde Gallery on 6th Street, its Sixth Annual Encaustic Invitational. Attended both by enthusiastic investors and by participating and interested artists, this and other nearby openings remind me of Tucson itself: easy, comfortable, warm, hospitable, welcoming, enlightening. All this, good art...and refreshments, too.

Tangier. November, 2010

How is booking a cruise like buying a car? Well, once you pay for it, the seller doesn’t want to hear from you again. Until you’re ready to buy another. And should the price of the vacation you’ve already bought go down, they really don’t want to hear from you. (Currently, an October cruise we booked with a nice discount in January was being advertised in August for a lot less, along with incentives like free cabin upgrades and on-board credits.) So perhaps you can benefit from a few things we’ve learned. As with many corporations that deal in sales, cruise companies’ best deals seem to emerge just in time to boost quarterly numbers: end of March, June, September and especially December when important end-of-year figures are tallied. Vacation discounters advise booking only 30-90 days in advance for the best prices. It’s also probably a good idea to be fully happy (like us) that the itinerary and the price are both to your satisfaction. And to avoid checking (unlike us) on what the updated offers may be after you’ve paid. Jay (shown here with our ship in the background) and I are looking forward to our next Windstar cruise, happy that we got a good deal, and only slightly miffed to learn that we could have done a smidgen better had we been earlier or later with our purchase. We’ll just take extra shampoo and moisturizer from the excellent on-board bathroom amenities.

North End, Boston. August, 1981

If you can’t quite figure out what you’re looking at here, don’t fret. The whole scene is a bit unreal even for those of us who were there. The Fisherman’s Feast of the Madonna Del Soccorso di Sciacca Society of Boston is the biggest of the Italian-American festas that turn almost every weekend in this neighborhood into a crowded madhouse of fried sausages, fried dough, strings of colored lights, games of chance, local brass bands, statues of saints paraded down one street and up the next so the devoted can pin cash offerings to attached ribbons. But the Fishermen’s Feast has something the others feasts don’t: the “flight of the angel,” seen here. As the statue of the Madonna finally arrives at the corner of Fleet and North Streets, it pauses, and from a nearby fire escape, lowered by ropes and pulleys, and attended by two earthbound sister seraphim, comes this angelic young lady who shrieks, “Silenzio!” and then addresses the saint with “Ti saluto, o Maria, piena di grazia, etc.” At the end of her short prayer, boisterous crowds rejoice, breathtakingly (literally) thick confetti flies and a small wooden boat suspended above the Madonna opens, releasing doves that had been hidden inside. Completely over the top. Completely Sicilian. And completely wonderful.