I recognized those haircuts. I’d seen them in 1987. Complete with tapered stonewashed jeans tucked into high-top sneakers, teenagers and... Read More
Phil Goldman barely survives a macaque attack and wily Danish tourists in the jungles of Thailand. Read More
“No, no, no! Train, no good” pleaded Souleymane, my faithful friend of two days, referring to the infamously difficult train... Read More
Michelangelo’s house is gone. The façade of one of the last homes he owned is now preserved as the front... Read More
Michelangelo’s Sforza Chapel is just one of the hidden gems in Santa Maria Maggiore © Angela Nickerson Simplicity does not... Read More
Drink the table wine. It is cheap. It may even be produced by the restaurant itself. Many Roman restaurants are... Read More
Pizza-cut-with-scissors and “real” pizza. Pizza-cut-with-scissors — and yes, they do cut it with scissors — is the fast food pizza... Read More
Michelangelo designed the dome and the Lantern for St. Peter’s — at the time the tallest dome ever built over... Read More
Provocative, lavish, bawdy, and elegant, Shanghai is the stuff of legends. It has a reputation that lures travelers of every... Read More
A small boy outfitted in an oversized, threadbare t-shirt grabbed my sleeve. “Nipe, Mama,” he begged. Give me. Street orphans... Read More
Matt B. Simon explores the Western United States by rail in part one of a six-part miniseries on traveling the U.S. via Amtrak. Read More
The Southwest We disembarked Amtrak shortly after midnight into the still-smoldering Tucson air, tired, misanthropic, and in my case, many... Read More
The South I arrived in Austin feeling like an angry bear with a NyQuil hangover and a 20-pound Cheeto on... Read More
Yesterday morning I had three breakfasts. One, a cup of sweet, spiced tea at a restaurant with interwoven branches for... Read More
The Northeast Highway drivers are envious of rail. They’re like prisoners on litter duty watching a freedom parade of drunken,... Read More
The Midwest “You’re going to like this place,” Dr. A said. “I think you could call it a down-home breakfast?”... Read More
Western Endings About 100 miles into Montana I began to miss Julia’s charms: her strange questionings, even stranger opinions, her... Read More
All around us, the forest breathed. Raindrops plonked against leaves. Neon-green moss coated the stones below my feet. For the... Read More
I left the hustle of sunny, downtown Fort Lauderdale, Florida almost two decades – a full twenty years – ago.... Read More
I awake in my hotel bed at the il Lugano surprisingly lucid. Bright eyed and bushy tailed as they say.... Read More