A Bon Vivant’s Dream

You might think of April in Paris, as the song of that name says, adorned with “chestnuts in blossom” and bursting with the “charm of spring.” But the reality is often closer to T.S. Eliot’s lines, “April is the cruelest month,” wrenching “dull roots” from the “dead...

On Parole in Aspen

Aspen had been a rough and tumble town once, roiling with grizzled silver miners digging their way to imagined riches. And some had succeeded. Fifteen thousand people lived there by the 1890s. It had culture, too. An opera house and a grand hotel, both built by a...

Ciela

CIÉLA It was after midnight when he slouched into the hotel on CopacabanaBeach. The long day of meetings in São Paulo had labored on through dinner. He’d vowed to take the half-hour flight to Rio afterwards, whatever the time, just to escape the deadly corporate...

Hemingway’s Ghost

James Sloan Allen “But this is how Paris was in the early days when we were very poor and very happy.” The book flapped shut, and Burton Sharp let it drop over on his stomach as he lay in bed beside his sleeping wife, Sylvia. His head sank back into the pillow. He...