Stories about Travel
The hotel warned him about how brazen the thieves were in Romania, so he tucked his wallet into his right front pocket, hung his DSLR around his neck, and slipped his backup camera into his left front pocket.
He opened the doors and stepped out into the street. He was immediately greeted by a rush of crisp morning air, and the first rays of sunshine.
In the 1940s, my Abuelito, Francisco Bayot Zaldarriaga, went to New York. He was a journalist representing the Philippines.
My Abuelito was a very Spanish-looking dude who was about 6'2" with blue eyes and owned his own little paper.
In those days, racism was in full force.