Recently by Justin Nobel:

 

Three summers ago, looking for adventure, I left New York City and drove to California for a newspaper job. One evening while jogging, I noticed a glowing rock high on a hill. A few weeks later, I pitched my tent beside it. After work, I’d trudge up my hill in the moonlight and sit for hours under the rock. On some nights, strange howls kept me awake. I wondered if there was a land where people still lived in skins, gathered around fire, and believed in magic and not God. Looking for that land, I quit the paper and traveled to Nunavik, an Inuit territory in Arctic Quebec.

On Canada Day, I landed in Kuujjuaq, a community of 2,000 on the tree line. An icy wind spat cold rain. On the shores of the Koksoak River, families picnicked… More…

The bus thumps across the Bay Bridge, over Treasure Island, past container ships and massive cranes, a yard of cargo boxes, the Horizon and Hapag-Lloyd lines, and under a wren of overpasses. I switch seats because my light is broken, then switch again because the seat cloth is torn. In Oakland, young men wearing baseball caps with flattened brims board. The driver addresses us.

 

“If you have kids, control them. If you have those walkie-talkie phones, try not to use them. It sounds like a police car in here, and that’s not good. If you have beers, don’t drink them…”

My destination is Mexico City, a four-and-a-half-hour plane trip from San Francisco, but a 60-hour journey by bus. I want to see the world’s largest city, but even more appealing is the ride to get there. Buses are… More…