Anatolian Days and Nights: Rumi and Coke
On a frigid December night in the central Anatolian city of Konya, our friend Bekir paces in the doorway of our hotel, his breath creating arabesques of steam that drift into darkness. In front of the hotel, neon signs on lampposts illuminate white-robed dervishes, hands in mid-twirl. “Oh, my friends,” he says, when Angie and I alight from our taxi. “I was worried something terrible had happened and you wouldn’t make it time for the festival.”
Anatolian Days and Nights: The Steamy Side of Istanbul
Our taxi enters Sultanahmet, Istanbul's oldest quarter, through Catladikapi, the cracked-marbled gate. It rumbles over cobbled streets once traversed by emperors and sultans, and stops in front of our hotel just inside the red-stone Byzantine sea wall.
Body and Soul: Escapes
Brief Eulogies at Roadside Shrines – Arnold’s Roadside Café: Route 80, North Platte
Brief Eulogies at Roadside Shrines: A Celebration of Shrines
“Here’s one of my favorite shrines: the cribbage board my father and I used for forty-five years, at least a thousand games. The perfect space we made together.”
Brief Eulogies at Roadside Shrines: Holy Roller
Brief Eulogies at Roadside Shrines: Security Risk
Brief Eulogies at Roadside Shrines: The Tallest Totem Pole in the World
I’ve been working the lines for ten years, for Canada Power (you know their TV commercial: CaPow!–We light up your life—then the camera zooms in on an Eskimo family in an igloo reading by a hundred watt bulb). A recruiter came around our village on Vancouver Island, looking for a few good natives to run electric towers from Nanaimo over the mountain to Tofino. You know what they say about how we’re not afraid of heights, work at a hundred-sixty feet like we’re on the ground. I’ll tell you something: I’m terrified of heights.
Brief Eulogies at Roadside Shrines: Tlaxcala Red
Isidro Tumax paints the walls of Tlaxcala. He rides to work on a pedal tricycle that appears to be put together backwards: two knee-high spoked balloon tires in front connected by a four-foot axle, the seat over a single tire in the rear. A wire-frame rectangular basket sits over the front tires, filled with the colors he will mix: an eight-liter plastic container– la primaria– the basic ochre red; four liters of la primaria heated until it deoxidizes and assumes a deeper, darker hue, like drying blood; four more liters of earthy brown ochre mined from manganese-tinted clay beds.
Introduction to Brief Eulogies at Roadside Shrines: The Borders That Divide Us Are the Places We Find Each Other
escansos–resting places–the roadside shrines we pass on highways and rural roads, are small monuments that announce the place and moment of a stranger’s demise. They mark an untold and mysterious history of the deceased; and they hold a story of the person left behind who built the shrine, and returns on anniversaries to re-arrange the plastic flowers and apply whitewash. These shrines bind the leaver and the left and hold the stories that brought them together.