On the last Saturday of last August, we got in a fully packed car, at the time parked in Brooklyn, and headed out. North toward Queens, then the Bronx, over the Tappan Zee Bridge to the other side of the Hudson a bit further north. We then settled into I-87, where we’d stay for the next few hours, until turning off onto the small highway toward Lake Placid. We’d done this drive before, many times, at least once a year and often twice. That’s just the frequency necessary to instill a ...
Featured Essay

The Bura: The Wind that Has Its Way with Croatia

I was sitting on the deck of a rather exquisite wooden sailboat called the Tajna Mora. It was early afternoon in the port of a town called Vis, on an island also called Vis, in Croatia, and I was waiting to leave. We’d been scheduled to set off that morning, but as afternoon set in we continued docking, thwarted in our departure by a phenomenon we could not see, or sense at all. While the harbor was calm as could be, out on the open sea a malignant wind was wreaking havoc on the concept of ...
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