
When I was in my 20s, with most everyone telling me to get a real job, I called myself a journalist and set sail for places that interested me, usually for cultural reasons. It’s a small planet, I reasoned, and one can get anywhere from anywhere with one plane ticket and a forged press pass or two. Here are a few of the resulting pieces.
The Misty Future of Rwanda’s Mountain Gorillas
Burmese Opposition Leader Snubs Junta’s Constitution Talks
I Get My Jade at the Source
The General and Me
The Mets Away in Laos
Uzbekistan Airways Flight 207, Somewhere Over the Atlantic Ocean