Dispatches | Page 15

Spring, New York: Pt. 1

April 18, 2016 Dispatches

This is the first part of a two-part Dispatch. The second part is available here.

“Beginnings are always delightful; the threshold is the place to pause.

My luggage trips over the pavement and the brownstone bella vista is dappled by trees I will soon learn are called Callery Pears, the ones that smell of semen, vulgar but pleasing, high on the listicle of “Disgusting Smelling New York Trees, Ranked,” a sign that I have finally arrived in Brooklyn in proper spring, the jizzy crush of it.

Karakoram Post

March 30, 2016 Dispatches

By KANYA KANCHANA

Delhi, Dharmshala, McLeod Ganj, Dharmkot. New friends and newer friends over masala chai. Deodar forest in rain. Mist rising. Monkeys on a cold tin roof, scorpions in the corridor, beetles inside clothes, slugs the size and shape of fallen leaves. Clean, spare, sharply elegant—Vipassana. Silence. Thank you for all the blessings, they came in handy.

Nighthawks Down Under

March 2, 2016 Dispatches

By WESLEY STRATON

On our first date he took me to a bar disguised as an apartment. Down a narrow alley (they call them laneways there), up a step, through a door marked “1A.” The room was small and nearly empty, all dark wood and white walls. A fire did its quiet work in one corner, its light gleaming on the unlabeled bottles that lined the shelves. He knew everyone, and the beautiful, tattooed bartenders spoke to me like family.

Rabbit’s Foot

February 19, 2016 Dispatches

By SAGE CRUSER

My dad’s black mutt slunk up to the front porch, looking slowly back and forth and crouching down low to the ground. I knew that body language: she was unsure of how a gift she had for us would be received. Her mouth was full of something. “Spit it out, girl,” I commanded. She gently separated her jaws and rolled a small brown ball of fur off her tongue. It was a wild baby rabbit, so small that at first I thought it was a mouse. But then I saw its ears and pink nose, and, as any nine-year-old girl would, I jumped and let out a squeak. Then I composed myself by taking a deep breath and patted my dog on the head. “Good girl, Macy. I’ve got it from here.”

Up North

January 20, 2016 Dispatches

By CHRIS KELSEY

We booked three nights but stayed four. We traveled in-state to save money but spent just as much as we might have on flights to the West Coast. It was November. Going against all reason at our latitude, we headed north.

What We Found in Them Thar Hills

December 16, 2015 Dispatches

By MARIA TERRONE

Driving on the Peak to Peak Highway through Colorado’s Rockies with my husband, Bill, and his mountain-climbing friend, Bob, I glimpsed in the valley beyond a cluster of low buildings painted blue, pink, and green. It looked as if a 19th century frontier mining town had been transformed by a happy band of pot-smoking hippies who had journeyed cross-country from Woodstock. The incongruity was so pronounced, I wondered if the air at 8200 feet had thinned my brain cells, causing hallucinations.

Rowing to Dubai

December 3, 2015 Dispatches

By GEOFF KRONIK

Every morning I sat on the terrace and waited for him. Night would fade to gray dawn, the sun’s first rays struck the kilometer-high spire of Burj Khalifa,and then the sculler would appear. No other craft plied Dubai Creek at that hour, no working dhows or party cruises. River belonged to sculler and sculler to his boat, and I would sit with my coffee and envy him.

Getting Bombed

November 24, 2015 Dispatches

By PETER E. MURPHY

To get to St. Govan’s Head on the southwest coast of Wales I must drive through the Ministry of Defense firing range at Castlemartin where space-age tanks launch high explosive shells across the sky. They’ve been blowing things up here since 1939. There’s a website that will tell me when the road is closed for target practice, but I’d have to drive miles in another direction to the McDonald’s in Haverfordwest to hook up to the free wifi. Instead, I stop at an inn along the way where I order a lemonade, which is carbonated and tastes like Sprite. They tell me today’s bombing begins after sunset. Welsh Pubs are usually reliable sources of information.

Rigor Celsius and Intaglio

November 11, 2015 Dispatches

By SUSAN COMNINOS

RIGOR CELSIUS

in Central New York

I’m allotted winter, allowed

Nothing that wasn’t before. Still, I am

Leading a Blind Man to the Liquor Store

October 7, 2015 Dispatches

By J. J. ANSELMI

I heard him yelling as I ate breakfast.

“Help! Won’t anyone come out and help me?” I looked out the window and saw a tall man with feathered blonde hair and large sunglasses standing on the sidewalk across the street. He reached out, trying to find something, anything, to guide him.

All posts tagged: Dispatches

Spring, New York: Pt. 1

Karakoram Post

Nighthawks Down Under

Rabbit’s Foot

Up North

What We Found in Them Thar Hills

Rowing to Dubai

Getting Bombed

Rigor Celsius and Intaglio

Leading a Blind Man to the Liquor Store

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