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| e-Marginalia
Newsletter |
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Issue #19, February 15, 2006 |
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Issue #18, January 15, 2006 |
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Issue #17, December 15, 2005 |
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Issue #16, November 15, 2005 |
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Issue #15, October 21, 2005 |
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Issue #14, September 15, 2005 |
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Issue #13, January 14, 2005 |
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Issue #12, December 14, 2004 |
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Issue #9, September 12, 2004 |
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Issue #8, August 4, 2004 |
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Issue #7, July 7, 2004 |
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Issue #6, June 1, 2004 |
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Issue #5, April 1, 2004 |
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Issue #4, March 1, 2004 |
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Issue #3, February 1, 2004 |
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Issue #2, December 21, 2003 |
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Issue #1, November 21, 2003 |
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e-Marginalia |
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e-Marginalia is the heart and soul of
e-Margaux.com. We are
building a forum for travelers to annotate, expound, reference and
illustrate, to contribute and share the artifacts of their travels.
We believe passionately in "traveling beyond the margins", breaking
out of hum-drum tourist ruts, and probing beyond ersatz postcard
trips. e-Marginalia is fast becoming the proverbial campfire where
adventurous, curious travelers collect to share the artifacts of
their voyages.
| Featured Travel
Stories |
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Speeding
Down the Mekong, by Cindy Nowicki |
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It
seemed like the obvious choice: we could either take the
"speedboat," which took six hours to get down the Mekong
to our destination of Luang Prabang, or the “slowboat,”
which meant two whole days on hard seats in an old
wooden vessel packed to the gills with other travelers.
The roads, we were told, were not an option. Kara and I
had just arrived in the border town of Huay Xai, Laos,
and had missed the last speedboat of the day...
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The Road
to Pakistan, by Vance Ikezoye |
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It
is Tuesday morning, and I am alone with an empty bus. We
both happen to be in Kashgar, an old Silk Road town in
far western China. I had come thousands of miles to
visit a market located here. Not just any market, mind
you – as far as old markets go, the Kashgar Sunday
Market is the Super Bowl. For over a thousand years,
traders from the surrounding countries of Central Asia
have assembled for a frantic day of buying and selling....
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Taking the
Plunge in Thailand, by Carson Christiano |
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It’s 7 AM on a Saturday, I’m busy treading water in a
sea of pleasant dreams, and already I have three missed
calls from the monks I met in Pai last weekend. Clearly
strangers to the manners associated with this
well-established communication technology, my new
friends (Are monks allowed to befriend women, let alone
call them on a cell phone?) seem to be breaking rules
left and right...
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Worshipping
the Eye in Vietnam, by Megan Harrington |
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Our driver has stalled the van, jumping out to ask for
help from a nearby gatekeeper. In ninety degree heat, my
Vietnamese companions and I gaze through the windshield
at a large yellow gate that stands between us and our
destination. We are outside the main compound of Cao
Dai, one of Vietnam's largest indigenous faiths, and we
are stuck...
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Ghosts of
Gloucester, by John Regan |
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Come venture to Gloucester, Massachusetts, and you might
witness ghosts of fishermen past, who have returned from
their nautical graveyard for one last stroll down its
seaworthy streets. For centuries, like thick chowder,
the insular waters of the Atlantic were saturated with
fish; hearsay dictated you could simply reach down and
scoop them out with your hands. Though the fishing
industry has waned over the years, it is still the
heartbeat of Gloucester...
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Love the
Mojave, by Katharine Jose |
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I
turned the car off the Interstate in Eastern California
with a line from Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas running
through my head: “We were twenty miles outside of
Barstow when the acid began to take hold.” We were a bit
more than twenty miles outside of Barstow, I gave up on
acid a long time ago, and although my boyfriend kept
saying the line over and over again, it turns out that’s
not the real quote at all. Still, there’s something
about wheeling through the desert somewhere between the
sticky streets of Los Angeles and the vapid spread of
Las Vegas...
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Moroccan
Insomnia, by Mark Blickley |
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I’m tired and I hate the daylight. This strange sun
reflecting off the white djellabas irritates me. It
lights up a city of men tugging at their genitals,
smiling toothless smiles. It shows dogs and children,
bones pressing against skin, begging for relief. The sun
releases the warm smell of urine and I hate its
familiarity. Sunshine gives clear, ugly faces to the
staccato voices echoing through the narrow, filthy
streets. It is impossible to hide anything under that
sweet, burning Moroccan sun. I feel exposed...
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The Wurst
Case Scenario in Rothenberg, by Lee Hammerschmidt |
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The sausage sat there, fat and quivering on my plate
like a purple, jello-filled condom (Magnum size!). Its
three identical siblings were striking the same pose on
the plates of my traveling companions. The potatoes and
red cabbage that had accompanied them from the kitchen
had long disappeared. Nobody had worked up the nerve to
cut into one of these pulsating, undulating,
zeppelin-like entrees...
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Planet Iceland,
by Elle Kwan |
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Virgin Atlantic said they weren’t scheduling flights to
the moon until 2007, but looking around I half believe
this is an early secret space mission. Coal black fields
of lava lie abandoned, stinking sulphur potholes gurgle,
and a strange green hue haunts the midnight sky. But
Virgin hasn’t made a mistake. This isn’t the moon, this
is Iceland, and it has it all. Extreme, desolate,
untouched, but blessedly free from Martian life. At just
four hours away from London, it’s also just little bit
closer....
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