ARLINGTON — A few years ago I attended a seminar about keeping yourself safe overseas. It was taught by a genuine Bearded Tactical Guy (genus Hombre Sapiens Tacticus Barbus Americanus). I have no doubt he delivered a terrific amount of great information but I only had two major takeaways. First, the next time you are really, really, really hungry up in Nepal — like lost for a week or two in the Himalayas hungry — control yourself and don’t eat undercooked water buffalo when you finally stagger out of the hills. It can make you really, really, really sick. Really, that’s really a lot of reallys but don’t do it. Eat your water buffalo well done. Wait until you’re back at Longhorns to get the rare steak. The second thing was that there is underwear with pockets. In an aside, the instructor mentioned that you could carry some last ditch money, emergency numbers or such items in the pocket of your underpants. I mean, I’m a guy who loves pockets but I’d never even thought of having pockets on my skivvies. So, remember this, scouts: never eat undercooked water buffalo and there’s underwear with the ability to store more stuff than just your stuff.
There were times when our two years in Mumbai seemed an eternity. I knew the time would pass quickly, however, that every day, strange as it was, would crossfade into the next and that sooner, rather than later, we would be headed back to the airport, boarding a flight out, and that everything undone would most likely stay undone.
ARLINGTON — Of all the Leica M lenses out in the world, there is one in particular that does not seem to gets its due. That lens is the 35mm f/2.8 Summaron, a lens made from 1958-1974. Continue reading “LEICA-M SUMMARON 35mm ƒ2.8”
I will begin this review with the conclusion: there is no better all-around camera bag than the Domke F3x. Now continue reading to find out why. Or save yourself the time and just order one. Continue reading “DOMKE F3x”
The phone rings and the front desk says, “Hitesh the tailor is here.”
“Yes, please send him up.”
A few minutes later I open the door. Hitesh Chhabria is standing in the foyer with two bags and a black and red garment cover bearing the logo of his shop, the Immediate Boutique. We shake hands and I invite him in. He takes off his shoes and we talk for a moment about our days and life in Mumbai. Continue reading “I KNOW A GOOD TAILOR IN BOMBAY…”
The days pass while living abroad as they do back home. Some people go through ordinary days in strange ways and I marvel at the strange days I go through in ordinary ways. The exotic and even the frightening quickly become everyday and you feel almost at home until something reminds you of what you left behind. It is almost always a small thing that triggers the nostalgia, the one mysterious bag of Tostitos in a Mumbai grocery store, the sound of Hank Williams playing on a tinny Russian car speaker in the Carpathian Mountains, or the sympathetic Texan voices of the folks at Saddleback Leather Company. Continue reading “THE SADDLEBACK LEATHER CO INDIANA BAG”
You know you’re getting a older when the first thing on your Christmas list is socks. Either that or they’re one heck of a good sock. I think I prefer the latter. Of course I also asked for a Cold Steel 1917 Boarding Cutlass… My wife got me the socks… Continue reading “WIGWAM SOCKS”
RUS RUS, La Miskitia, Honduras—On my first trip to Honduras, more than 12 years ago, we were on another plane full of missionaries and Hondurans returning home. As the jet banked to descend into San Pedro Sula there were thatched huts and fields of palms and a river dark with red silt curving over the flat plain. Some missionary kid a row or two behind me began whistling the theme to Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark and I thought, “This is how it ought to begin.” Continue reading “RUS RUS”
It is the black hours before dawn. The boat pushes out into the slow current. The ghats and towers of the ancient city are outlined with dim electric bulbs and small fires. Their glow creates a half circle of light over the river that fades into the black of the sky and the uninhabited sand-dunes of the other bank. It is quiet and I whisper to myself, “You are floating down the Ganges by the banks of Varanasi. You are here.” Continue reading “VARANASI: IT IS THE BLACK HOURS BEFORE DAWN”