As I was a stranger in Olondria, I knew nothing of the splendour of its coasts, nor of Bain, the Harbour City, whose lights and colours spill into the ocean like a cataract of roses. I did not know the vastness of the spice markets of Bain, where the merchants are delirious with scents, I had never seen the morning mists adrift above the surface of the green Illoun, of which the poets sing; I had never seen a woman with gems in her hair, nor observed the copper glinting of the domes, nor stood upon the melancholy beaches of the south while the wind brought in the sadness from the sea. Deep within the Fayaleith, the Country of the Wines, the clarity of light can stop the heart: it is the light the local people call 'the breath of angels'...
Sofia SamatarMots clés travelogue
What happens when I click this-- will Facebook know about it?
Michael FilimowiczMots clés literary-fiction experimental short-story-collection travelogue literary-sci-fi
Clearly it's not all that pacific on the Pacific Ocean
Ilya IlfMots clés humor america travelogue 1935
This (San Francisco) is the most beautiful city in America, Probably because it looks nothing like America
Ilya IlfMots clés humor america travelogue 1935
A Spaniard and a Pole worked in the barbershop where we got our hair cut. An Italian shined our shoes. A Croat washed our car. This was America.
Ilya IlfMots clés humor america russian pravda travelogue 1935
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