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On June 27th, 2014, in the Republic of Guinea in West Africa, there were 168,620 beehives, and 3,748 recent cases of Ebola (about 500 of which were still alive) –an accelerating and out-of-control epidemic–, and there was me, trying to stuff 2.8 million francs into a refrigerator.
As I drove along, I became disoriented and light headed. It was if some cosmic force had struck, leaving the past and present side by side.
When I bent over in the narrow hotel bathroom to dry my leg, the last thing I expected was the searing pain that lit up my right buttock.
This is not a happy piece about Los Angeles. This is about the city where I spent the five worst months of my life, where every day I sunk a little deeper into depression and alcoholism…
You are not haunted. You are not dead. Sure, gone is the tidal restless of E.B. White’s commuters, the “second” New York, but you’ve grown into your spaces.
African music may not be for everyone, but there is one undeniable fact that can be gleaned from listening to the music: the extraordinary musicianship.
Wanderlust 