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Displaying items by tag: Jennifer Anthony

The elves freeze as the shuttle chugs past their invisible homes in the volcanic rock on either side of the two-lane road. I squint hard. I may have spotted one. Or, it may have been a trick of the shadows - not an elf at all but a dwarf, gnome, troll, or skrimsli. I am not in Middle Earth, but what inspired it: Iceland. The land of sagas and Vikings. It is an astonishing landscape of volcanoes, geysers, waterfalls, and fjords. J.R.R. Tolkien hired Icelandic nannies to tell his children tales in a language unchanged for hundreds of years. I am here on a covert mission to be similarly inspired, and to find an elf or two.

Published in individual
Wednesday, 19 September 2007

Mexico: The Pied Pipers of Guanajuato

Night falls over Guanajuato muting its vibrant stucco homes and coaxing a soft, warm wind through the narrow streets. Rooftop dogs begin the twilight bark-and-howl, catching up on the day’s gossip. Church bells ring out, and the sudden twinkle of yellow streetlights illuminates the town nestled into the valley below me.

Published in individual

On a warm Sunday afternoon in October, Lily the pig lies flat on her side, eyes closed, snaggletooth poking out from a wide, peaceful grin. The enormous fans trained on the bevy of sows combat the heat and ruffle their short, wiry hair. Lily grumbles just a little when the pig leaning on her back shifts position, but soon settles down again, snorting into the hay. Lost in daydreams, she doesn’t so much as twitch when I reach out to tickle her wrinkly pink neck.

Published in involved
Tuesday, 06 February 2007

Moto, Madame?

The taxi pulls away from the crowd of cars and pedestrians at Noi Bai International Airport, wiggles and worms its way through the congestion, and zips toward the road that leads to Ha Noi. I roll down the window and the humid July air, tempered by a light rain, shoves its way inside. On the main road, we are joined by a fleet of mopeds, or ‘motos,’ as they are called in Viet Nam. They appear suddenly on all sides of us, unrestricted, it seems, by the concept of lanes.

Published in inept

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