Ronald Ventura Mounts a Collateral Show at the 61st Venice Art Biennale
At the 61st Venice Art Biennale, Ronald Ventura’s “LUNA” collapses the distance between two tidal cities — Venice and his native Malabon. Notes from the opening, and a friendship that goes back to 4 a.m. in the ’90s.
The Tokyo Listening Bar Where Nobody Speaks
One turntable, four hundred records, and a rule that the music comes first. An evening at a jazz kissa in Shibuya.
A Sunday Market Lunch in Oaxaca
Smoke, masa, and a grandmother’s comal — the best meal of the trip cost about three dollars and took four hours.
Crate-Digging in the Back Rooms of Berlin
Past the obvious shops and down a flight of stairs, where the good records hide and the owner remembers everything.
A Week of Doing Nothing in Naxos
No itinerary, no sights, no plan beyond lunch — the most restorative holiday I’ve taken in years.
Learning to Make Pasta from a Nonna in Bologna
Flour on every surface, a rolling pin older than me, and the slow truth that good tortellini cannot be rushed.
Forty-Eight Hours in Kyoto Without a Map
Two days of getting deliberately lost — temple bells, a tea master who refused to hurry, and the quiet north of the city.
In Praise of the Slow Morning
On coffee made by hand, the small discipline of not reaching for the phone, and why the first hour sets the whole day.
The Night Train to the Scottish Highlands
A berth the size of a cupboard, a dram in the lounge car, and waking to mist over Rannoch Moor.
More stories
A First Look Inside Maison Verde, Lisbon’s Newest Retreat
An invitation to the opening of a quiet new hideaway above the Alfama — and a weekend spent finding out whether the calm is real.
Forty-Eight Hours in Kyoto Without a Map
Two days of getting deliberately lost — temple bells, a tea master who refused to hurry, and the quiet north of the city.
The Night Train to the Scottish Highlands
A berth the size of a cupboard, a dram in the lounge car, and waking to mist over Rannoch Moor.
A Sunday Market Lunch in Oaxaca
Smoke, masa, and a grandmother’s comal — the best meal of the trip cost about three dollars and took four hours.
A Week of Doing Nothing in Naxos
No itinerary, no sights, no plan beyond lunch — the most restorative holiday I’ve taken in years.
The Tokyo Listening Bar Where Nobody Speaks
One turntable, four hundred records, and a rule that the music comes first. An evening at a jazz kissa in Shibuya.
The Tiny Ramen Counter Worth the Queue
Nine seats, one broth, a queue around the block — and a bowl that quietly ruined every other for me.
In Praise of the Slow Morning
On coffee made by hand, the small discipline of not reaching for the phone, and why the first hour sets the whole day.
Crate-Digging in the Back Rooms of Berlin
Past the obvious shops and down a flight of stairs, where the good records hide and the owner remembers everything.
A letter from the road.
An occasional note when there is something worth sending.