
Newsletter
California without the Teslas (kinda)...
A postcard from Cape Town.
Newsletter
A postcard from Cape Town.
Newsletter
A very different kind of cocktail hour in Kyiv.
On channelling one's inner feline (and stuffing your face)
When winter has come.
Clambering onto rocket launchers, and the rusting wings of Sukhoi fighter jets. Scrambling through dimly lit tunnels. Jumping on the heavy metal lid of a missile silo. Pressing *the* button in the control room a dozen storeys below ground — yes, the one that, until it was decommissioned, would’ve launched
Greetings from LAX. I have just been checked in for my flight to Europe — a feat that required furnishing: * my CDC vaccination card * proof of a just-done antigen test (nose-tickling, eye-watering [and not just cos it costs $80], but most importantly, negative) * two passenger location forms (for Switzerland and the
Newsletter
The tables have turned.
On a recent road trip — the first in a long, long time — we drove the stretch between O’Brien and Happy Camp where the Slater Fire tore through last autumn. Charred desolation unfolded all the way to the horizon, offering a grim harbinger of what lies in store for the
This spring, I planned to be far from the madding crowds, drinking in the ocean-wide skies and rippling red canyons of the Southwest. But then, a summons to Philadelphia for an immigration interview instantly scuppered those meticulously Google Mapped plans — and I found myself flying eastwards instead. We spent a
Self-care when you're all at sea.
Three hours of driving to stock up on provisions is not without its consolations. Wending one’s way up the Shoreline Highway, there’s the constant companionship of the stormy, sparkling ocean, and plenty of time for podcast listening (most recently, OPB’s captivating Timber Wars — about the battles to
Following the untimely demise of our solitary basil plant (RIP Pesto), it dawned on me I was now the only millennial on the planet who didn’t own a houseplant — a fact made all the more unconscionable given my deep-rooted tree-hugging tendencies. And so, in a fit of patriotic fervour