Somewhere at the crossroads …

one finds the Wanderlust Cafe. A meeting place, a place of respite, a place to have some exotic tea or a stiff drink, eat fruits and simple food, a place to stow your pack in a safe corner, or lay out a few trade goods for sale. Listen to foreign tongues, write or sketch in your journal, argue philosophy, send postcards and file dispatches, or just sit and dream. Send some emails (though we can't guarantee the internet is working, shrug).

There's spies and smugglers and adventurers and artists and all other sorts of low-lifes. Fortunetellers. Bards. Poets. Pilgrims. Gods and goddesses in disguise. One never knows.

Where is it? Along the Silk Road, off the Barbary Coast, on a Greek island somewhere near Delphi or Shangri-La. Hard to find, hard to miss. Under the shade of a centuries-old mango tree. Adorned by long-limbed descendants of Egyptian temple cats. A place to tie up the camels and the horses and dust off your fedora. Swap some stories, or some lies. Hatch a conspiracy. Dance if you wish. Scream if you need to. Love if you dare.

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The Delicious Terror of Setting Out

Galata Bridge

Last minute preparations on the eve of a trip to Turkey. In that special time of aggravation, wondering why I’m not more ready, how can all this stuff take so much room and weight and I’m not even bringing everything I want?

And this reluctance to commit to what I am ACTUALLY bringing. There’s always this tiny yet delicious moment of uncertainty and terror before setting out. It’s part of the journey. And I treasure this moment .

– with love for the journey.

Old Postcard, Galata Bridge, Istanbul, Turkey

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