Writing archive
New writing lives on Substack — essays, notes, and the conversations I’m having now. This page is the Vagabondess Blog Archive: articles published August 2012 through March 2024.
Self-Service Restaurant “Mediterraneo.” Grandi Navi Veloci ferry from Tangier to Barcelona. I look up from my breakfast—a somewhat sad assortment of boxed orange juice, cold croissant and drinkable cappuccino—and observe the other diners. Of this last group, few are doing anything (checking phones, or even reading).
Ourika Valley, near Marrakech, Morocco “Very good price. Better than free.” We’re standing outside the van on the road to Ourika Valley, a verdant, majority-Berber region about two hours from Marrakech, popular with tourists for its many waterfalls.
From the poetry and fiction archive: Ah, The Life Of A Vagabond (Poetry) — language for the places ordinary prose won’t go.
View of Taghazout from one of my favorite cafes. We watch the waves crash against the cliffs beneath our table, the spray catching the sunlight over and over again.
First impressions aren’t everything, but they are something. After nine days in the small town of Taghazout, Morocco, I’d like to offer a (first) glimpse into my experience.When people greet, they touch their their heart after shaking hands.
Me: “I’m thinking of going to Morocco.” Everyone: “Awesome! Just don’t go alone.” As you may have guessed, I didn’t listen to everyone, and here I am: in Morocco, very much solo, and so far quite pleased about it.
Sorrento Coast, Italy (Mom, you’ll want to skip this one.) The headlights of oncoming cars are a blur as we race down the center line of the autostrada (highway) from Sorrento to Napoli.
Climbing hundreds of stairs for a good view, as per usual.Thursday, 1 September, Napoli, ItalyThe weather was a bit mercurial, and we took shelter from a sudden downpour in a nearby cafe.
La Notte della Taranta—or, Where I was on Saturday — an essay from Toby’s on-site writing archive, written before new work moved to Substack.
You and the other passengers file off the aircraft. You step outside into a country where you know no one. Your nose catches new smells and catalogues them as memories—later, this will be a remembered place.
Ancient Practice in the Modern Landscape Sixteen kilometers of open road. The trees are thick on either side, and I’m grateful for the shade they provide. The road tilts up, then drops down again.
Did You Find What You Were Looking For? (Camino Reflections, Part 10000) — an essay from Toby’s on-site writing archive, written before new work moved to Substack.
Pilgrimage Museum, Santiago de Compostela, Galicia, SpainI placed the noise canceling headphones over my ears, and an ancient melody flowed straight to my soul.It was my foodsteps—hundreds, thousands of them—plucked from a harp. It was the daily rhythm of walking made song.
When I set out for the San Sebastian (my starting point for the Camino del Norte) at the start of June, I decided not to take my camera with me.Too heavy. Too unnecessary.
Loading more essays…
You’ve reached the end of the archive. Continue on Substack →