24 July 2007
Upon returning from the sand and dust of Rajasthan, we found ourselves once again at the reception desk of the Imperial Hotel in New Delhi, a dignified, elegant enclave. “Welcome back,” said Anil, true recognition in his voice. He looked at our dusty, treasure-filled bags being carried into the lobby and spotted Pig riding shotgun on the lead bag. “Looks like Pig needs a bath,...
07 June 2007
It might as well be 1920 and I have just finished an excruciatingly exhausting day in the field, in search of great things to present at Primitive. I feel like I am on the Orient Express, which I have just rushed to catch, slumped in my compartment, wearing a wrinkled linen suit, my Pandora, the most reliable sunshield I know, swaying on a hat hook as the train begins to chug along. Loosening m...