Once upon a time, cocktail hour was an occasion. A sacred space.
When the work day ended, you visited your favourite bar to put a little distance between the office and home.
This was not excess; it was ritual. A quiet moment of reflection.
Writer, Explorer and Travel Philosopher
Once upon a time, cocktail hour was an occasion. A sacred space.
When the work day ended, you visited your favourite bar to put a little distance between the office and home.
This was not excess; it was ritual. A quiet moment of reflection.
I’ve been in Berlin for the past few weeks, soaking up some art and inspiration in my favourite city. And no visit is complete without soaking up a few of the local spirits, too.
Me and Tomoko were shopping in Prenzlauer Berg early one evening this past Fall. And when the time was right, we walked down a quiet street until I found the blank steel door that I’d been searching for. There was no sign. Just a photo of the Irish playwright Samuel Beckett in a dark window.
One of the most interesting things about living in the Mediterranean is the culture of the aperitif and digestif.
Every country seems to have its own version. And exploring them is part of the fun of the region’s “slow food” culture.
Once upon a time, cocktail hour was an occasion. A sacred space.
When the work day ended, you visited your favourite bar to put a little distance between the office and home.
I received a lot of emails about my previous blog installment on the Pan American Clipper and the golden age of air travel. Many of you would have liked a taste of that bygone age — so I’m going to give you one. A little bit of history, right here in your glass…
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