Since the summer days of my Canadian childhood, I have loved to canoe across the dark mirror of northern lakes, paddling with an inside flick of the blade, leaving a trail of twisting whirlpools in my wake.
Shakespeare and Co dedicates itself to a shared, heady and outdated ideal that is scarce in our protective and fearful age.
London has always moved and surprised me, reinventing itself in ways both fresh and familiar. It’s a contrary, complex and creative city, an anarchist of a thousand faces – fickle and unfailing, tender and bleak, ambitious and callous.
Berlin inspired Bowie and stirred him to write about real, important matters.
Good travel books, like travel itself, open the door to new worlds. In the strongest works the author’s vision becomes our own, especially if his or her subject is a distant destination.
To me, it remains incomprehensible that a people who can design the Porsche 911 and sleek, white ice trains, who created the Bauhaus and speak at least three languages at birth, want to own twee Christmas figurines painted in gaudy colours, dress up in Bavarian lederhosen, and eat Haribo gummy bears.
The process of communication with the afterlife – more of an exchange than a conversation – has always fascinated me.
Berlin is all about volatility. Its identity is based not on stability but on change.
I don’t see the value of boringly reporting the cold facts.
To me, Berlin is as much a conceit as a reality. Why? Because the city is forever in the process of becoming, never being, and so lives more powerfully in the imagination.