Writing

Mexican Blood

“We are very busy with our continuous and great work in the conversion of the infidels of whom . . . over a million people have been...

So, I’m going to tell you about my meditation retreat. I know. That sentence is usually the bugle call to sound the beginning of a...

Garibaldi, imposing and snow-capped, sat in the distance across the water, skirted by fluffy grey cloud. Howe Sound stretched from the...

Tuesday 1425: I take out my spending book and write out the price of the metro ticket from Theo’s house to the Berlin bus station. The...

Being a New Zealander is in almost all circumstances a good thing. I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but people like us. No, they...

I’m going to leave Bilbao in a week. I’m sitting at my computer with the door to my balcony open and my washing drying outside and I’m...

By December the real Bilbao weather had arrived and enveloping rain had descended on the days. Each morning I walked in the dark past the...

I arrived back in the heat of Bilbao on a Wednesday afternoon three months ago. I walked from the bus station past the bars and concrete...

After a few nights in lovely, seaside Santander I boarded a plane to London. I spent a night sleeping on a bench at Stanstead’s...

The last time you heard from me I was sitting on a summer’s evening looking out over an Italian port city and wondering how to spend the...