Stories from a static year 2020 was my first full year of writing on Medium And although I told myself with almost every story I published that I was done with the platform, I kept coming back. Until the calendar flipped over and I realized I had a body of work on my hands. Some of these stories are among…

Do you even want to? — It’s Wednesday. The humped back of the middle of another work week. But I’m not working today. Today, I’ll enjoy myself. This summer, I’ve been travelling a lot. Next week, I’ll be going on my longest trip of the year. But it’s not a true vacation, free of work. When…

Two boozy bookish men sail to Marseille — Read Part One here Morning came through the tiny windows of the boat’s cabin, pale and dripping. Ben was already up when I opened eyes that felt like they had been freshly sandpapered into sharp, hard points. He said he had to get under my bed to connect the battery…

It’ll take more than rum to make a sailor out of me — You don’t say no Not to this. When someone offers you a sailing trip to France’s legendary Côte d’Azur, you’d have to be some sort of frothing lunatic to refuse. Or someone afraid of the sea. But it sits there at the edge of town, capricious as a cat, barely breathing in turquoise slumber…

Turning forty on Spain’s Costa Brava — All you’ve loved is all you own - Tom Waits, Take It With Me Cadaqués is quiet. Even now, in the roasting blue summer. Spain’s (or Catalonia’s, please don’t get me started) Costa Brava is no secret. A hundred years ago, Josep Pla was telling me, in Catalan, that this…

Prophecy, drought, and a ghost town beneath the waves — The lake isn’t new Not to me. Not to anyone. Darnius Lake may be in Spain, and not in France where I live. But in the EU, borders are as flimsy as the space between one word and the next. The Roussillon plain I now call home is an astonishingly dry place. And getting…

Stone circles and the mystery of loss — Drop a coin in the box and keep going. That’s how it works in these places. Ancient ruins belong to no one and everyone. Besides, the farmers whose land the ruins occupy are on shaky legal ground charging for access. But they do have to maintain the fences and cut…

Do you know how to tell the difference? — It was just like this And it was nothing like this. You’re warned about the devil. I was, anyway. A half-folkloric, half-real presence that no one ever really told you how seriously you should take. …

Does it matter who makes what moves us? — The world was dangerous then It still is now. But for us cossetted toddlers in the wealthy parts of the planet, the danger is impersonal. Perhaps some maniac will drop a bomb on our heads from the other side of the world. Perhaps our own bad habits will catch up with us and tear apart…