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It’s really the Bosphorus that’s the true founder of Istanbul. As a strait, it controls the main crossing point between Asia and Europe. It’s where Jason took his Argonauts and it’s where Darius’s army crossed on a bridge of boats for, like Oxford, Bosphorus means the “shallowest point where an ox can cross.”

The Bosphorus also acts as the passageway between the “Propontis” (Sea of Marmara) and the “Euxinos” (Black Sea). Big oil tankers and small boats mesmerically share the shipping lanes: some chugging along, others seemingly serene.

I boarded a boat from my “iskelesi” (historic passenger ferryboat pier) at Besiktas that took me to Emirgan, Kucuksu to Beylerbeyi and back again. I passed the real and the fantastic in equal measure with loveless dilapidation beside stunning palaces symbolising both the city’s modern economic struggles and her glorious bygone eras. More… “Strait to Istanbul”

Adam Jacot de Boinod worked on the first series of the television panel game QI. After leaving he began to investigate other languages, examining 280 dictionaries and 140 websites. This led to the creation of his first book of three in 2005, The Meaning of Tingo, featuring words that have no equivalent in the English language.

He is now a regular international travel writer and luxury hotel reviewer, having written for the Daily Mail, the Mail on Sunday, The Daily Telegraph, and numerous travel print and website publications.

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In his fictional account of Sir John Franklin’s Arctic exploits, the German novelist Sten Nadolny saddles his hero with a condition that explains his successes and subsequent death in the ice. Franklin’s staid, systematic approach, instead of being a handicap, in The Discovery of Slowness, sets him apart from the Industrial Revolution’s hurried masses and perfectly qualifies him for expedition planning. While that twist serves as literary conceit and civilization critique, it points to a vital truth: a deliberate pace can be beneficial where new worlds beckon and adversity rushes in. More… “The Art of Traveling Slowly”

Michael Engelhard is the author of American Wild: Explorations from the Grand Canyon to the Arctic Ocean and of Ice Bear: The Cultural History of an Arctic Icon. He frequently writes about history, adventures, culture, and cartography. Having worked as a wilderness guide in Alaska he now lives in Arizona.

 

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“The guidebook says there’re two road trips we could do, The Golden Circle or The Ring Road. The Golden Circle covers most of the big tourist spots like the Blue Lagoon, but that route only covers the south-west. I want to drive the Ring Road, which circles the whole country. I want to see all of Iceland.”

I paused. More… “There and Back Again”

T.K. Mills is a writer who lives in Bushwick, Brooklyn. He runs the art column for OpenLetr, and is a regular contributor to the street art magazine, Sold Mag. T.K. has also been published in The Vignette ReviewGlobal Street ArtLiterate Sunday, and The American Dissident, among others. His story, “Nicotine Traces”, was selected for the Summer ’16 anthology of Catalogue. To read more by T.K. Mills, check out his portfolio, visit tkmills.com.

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My favorite activity in Sunday School was when our teacher would hand out construction paper and crayons and ask us to illustrate scenes from the Bible. My little sister and I spent hours trading paper colors and trying our hands at depicting famous moments: Moses and the burning bush, Noah and his animals, Mary Magdalene in an empty tomb, and Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. Moses always had a big nose, hairy eyebrows, and a thorny wreath around his head — I still do not know where we got this idea — and Adam and Eve looked a lot like our Ken and Barbie dolls, with shapely bodies that in no way resembled actual human bodies. Every time we colored scenes like these from the Bible, my sister and I bonded over that construction paper, inventing and imagining our own ways into the stories we heard every Sunday while our mom sang in the choir and our dad sat in the audience down the hall in the sanctuary. And after every Sunday school, we proudly pinned our masterpieces to the refrigerator, where they’d sit, lopsided under the magnet, until the next week, when we could pin up a new one.

This was how I learned the stories of the Bible. It was also how I came to understand the land of Israel. For most of my life, this tiny sliver in the Middle East has always been a menagerie of scenes rendered with crayon onto brightly colored construction paper. I preferred this world of crayon and paper, where I could take an ancient story and make it my own, one that usually featured female characters with big blue eyes, straight-up eyelashes, and bow-shaped lips. I was pretty shy, the girl always buried in her coloring books, and I loved being the creator of my characters’ destinies. Sometimes, after Sunday school let out, I’d imagine a different reality for the women, Eve on a horse, riding out of Eden, her hair flowing in the wind; Mary Magdalene as a mermaid princess reigning over the Dead Sea. In this world of ideas, I could make the women independent, adventurous; I could do whatever I wanted with them. More… “When in Jerusalem”

Kristin Winet is a writing professor at Rollins College and an award-winning travel writer. Her work, which is primarily journalistic, has recently appeared in publications like The Smart SetAtlas Obscura, and Roads and Kingdomsand syndicated on i09, Kotakuand JezebelShe is also a contributor and editor for Panorama: Journal of Intelligent Travela literary travel magazine, and is at work on her first book, a memoir about what really happens on press trips. Say hello at @kristinwinet.

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I wound up hiking Mt. Brandon by accident. But it is an accident in the same way a traveler stumbles on ruins he didn’t know he was looking for. On Ireland’s Dingle Peninsula, they say you don’t get lost, you discover. And wherever you go, someone has been there before, walking.

So it was with me. While meandering along Slea Head Drive, stopping to take in the coastal views and ruins, I passed the sign for Mt. Brandon. It was late afternoon, still lots of daylight left. No need to return to Dingle just yet. So I turned around and followed the sign to the foot of the mountain.

All day I saw it looming over the peninsula, snow on its flanks, peak in the clouds, a presence. At the trailhead, the gentle slope looked enticing. I could start walking up the trail right now, I thought, the way people have done for hundreds of years.

I came to Dingle because of a book I read many years ago. Honey from Stone: A Naturalist’s Search for God, by Chet Raymo. In eight essays, named for the canonical hours, the author tries to reconcile the many evidences of historical faith on the peninsula with the findings of modern science. He looks deep into geological time on the Dingle coastline, ponders early Christian and pre-Christian ruins, tells the tales of the land, and goes stargazing. Through it all, he walks and walks, and these meditative hikes stayed with me. More… “Climbing Brandon”

Daniel Hudon, originally from Canada, is an adjunct lecturer in math, astronomy, and physics. He is the author of two books of nonfiction: a humorous intro to the universe, called The Bluffer’s Guide to the Cosmos and a lyrical prose compendium designed to raise awareness about the biodiversity crisis, called Brief Eulogies for Lost Animals: An Extinction ReaderHe likes to go hiking and kayaking and to dance the Argentine tango. He can be found online at danielhudon.com @daniel_hudon, and in Boston, MA.

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Returning to the States after two years in Poland – during which I had married, taught English, and witnessed the rise of Solidarity and the imposition of martial law – I suggested to my wife that we live in Philadelphia.

I had always liked the city, not least because I owed my existence to it. Somewhere in its folds in 1941, my father, a student at Penn Law School, met my mother, a nurse at the Children’s Hospital. As parents, upriver in New Jersey, they introduced my brothers and me to the zoo, the Franklin Institute, Connie Mack Stadium, Elfreth’s Alley. Years later, as a student at Villanova, I took the Paoli Local in to watch Big Five basketball at the Palestra and, one memorable evening, strippers at the Trocadero Theater. In my junior year I bought my first pair of round tortoiseshell glasses – the same style I wear today – at Limeburner Opticians on Chestnut Street. More… “Out of Philadelphia”

Thomas Swick is the author of three books, the most recent being The Joys of Travel: And Stories That Illuminate Them. His work has appeared in numerous national magazines and literary quarterlies, and in six editions of The Best American Travel Writing.

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This is the last piece we worked on with D.B. Jones who died on the morning of October 29th. Jones was a great advocate for our publication, was always wonderful to go back and forth with about edits, and he had a wonderful way of simplifying everything to the root. We will miss him greatly.

Sometime in the year 2000, I think, I came across a news story reporting that explorers had found the source of the Amazon, the world’s largest river. The group making the discovery was an international, 22-person expedition sponsored by three of our most potent supporters of scientific research: the Smithsonian Institution, the National Geographic Society, and the Defense Department. With the aid of satellite mapping technology, laptop computers, and the Defense Department’s global-positioning satellite system, the explorers located “the point of flowing water the farthest distance from the mouth” as a tiny stream high on a slope of an 18,363-foot mountain in Peru called Nevado Mismi.

Having grown up with a love of exploring and a fascination with maps, I could relate to this story and imagine what an adventure it must have been. Half a century earlier, when we were 11, my friend Owen and I went on an analogous venture one August day and made a structurally similar discovery: the source of Shrine Park Creek, just outside of Leavenworth, Kansas. The creek arose west of town, winding eastward through Shrine Park before entering the city limits. In town it meandered through an industrial area, then inched past a row of tarpaper shacks and oozed through the city dump before emptying into the Missouri River. More… “The Source”

D.B. Jones is a retired Drexel professor of film and the author of three books on Canadian documentary film.

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About ten miles outside of Montana, Bulgaria, I noticed the first hitchhiker. She was young and beautiful on the bank of the highway looking wistfully down the road. She wore a light gray tank top, unveiling her shoulders to the sun and a pair of skin-tight jeans fashionably clawed to shreds. She carried nothing but a black clutch. She wasn’t trying to flag down a ride, but she did peer into each passing car, almost as an afterthought.

From within the car, my biological sister, Sarah, and I exchanged confused glances. Here, between small towns in Bulgaria, the two of us were on a journey to explore the birthplace of our adopted brother, Rudy. Rudy had first joined our family in the US over 20 years earlier at the age of three. More… “Rudy’s Roots”

Rachel Bass is a researcher focused on the global impact investing industry. Outside of her 9 to 5, Rachel enjoys both literary and culinary arts. She currently lives in Washington, DC.
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There is nothing that pleases me more, nature-wise, than walking through a forest and coming to find sand displaced from a beach underfoot.

You smell the brine, you feel the wind going through your hair, the same wind that brought the sand there. The faint crash — a thudding diffusion — of the surf follows in your ears, and you know that if you proceed through the next copse, you’ll be at the edge of one thing and the start of something else.

I do not make my living from it. I don’t own a boat. I know no one who does, but the ocean has played a central role in my life. Little, really, has informed my life more. The music of the Beatles, probably. My quest with what I try to do as a writer. A handful of intense emotional experiences that I suspect might even be viewable upon my soul, with the right equipment, much like an EKG reveals an earlier heart attack. More… “Wishing Oceans”

Colin Fleming’s fiction appears in Harper’s, Commentary, Virginia Quarterly Review, AGNI, and Boulevard, with other work running in The Atlantic, Salon, Rolling Stone, The New York Times, and JazzTimes. He is a regular guest on NPR’s Weekend Edition and Downtown with Rich Kimball, in addition to various radio programs and podcasts. His last book was The Anglerfish Comedy Troupe: Stories from the Abyss, and he has two books forthcoming in 2018: Buried on the Beaches: Cape Stories for Hooked Hearts and Driftwood Souls, and a volume examining the 1951 movie Scrooge as a horror film for the ages. Find him on the web at colinfleminglit.com.

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Voices of Istanbul
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Can you recognize Istanbul with your eyes closed? The ezan, the call for prayer, is particularly dramatic when you are awake early in the morning and the background noise of the city is at a low ebb. At times like these, the muezzin and his recorded song dominate the acoustic landscape. Soon the seagulls chime in. They make you realize how close the Bosphorus is — hardly more than a quarter of a mile away. Why do the gulls start up their awful screeching so early on summer mornings, and why do they settle down later on? Are they motivated by mysterious air currents, changes in temperature, or just competition with their fellow birds? More… “Voices of Istanbul”

Bernd Brunner writes books and essays. His most recent book is Birdmania: A Particular Passion for Birds. His writing has appeared in Lapham’s Quarterly, The Paris Review Daily, AEON, TLS, Wall Street Journal Speakeasy, Cabinet, Huffington Post, and Best American Travel Writing. Follow him on twitter at @BrunnerBernd.

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