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The Seedlings of Lunacy: India
 
The crowds were a little unnerving, their suspicious glares unsettling. I thought of going back to the hotel but reluctantly changed my mind. I'm a traveler now, I told myself, and this is what travelers do.  
 
Nicholas Mistretta

 

Mario's Last Night: McLeod Ganj, India
 
An older woman sat across from me with floating arms and face in trance, starry eyes and glossy concentration. She was in the grips of something good. I stared at her for an inordinate amount of time. I just couldn't help myself.  
 
Nicholas Mistretta

 

A Day for a Cave in Gernika
 
A dozen of us arrived in Bilbao after an overnight trip by train from Barcelona. The trip seemed like a romantic idea at the time, but when we saw the poor shape that the northern bound trains were in—broken lavatories, one crowded, smoke-filled dining car and sleeping cabins with six people piled on triple bunks, we knew there wasn't much sleep in store for the night.  
 
Jerry Portwood

 

The Rucksack Letters: July 18, Ocala National Forest
 
Truth be told, as I walked down the road, I was looking for the Rainbow Family, that mysterious clan of people who gather in forests to pray and dance and sing. I had heard that they frequented the area, but they were nowhere to be found as I meandered down seeming paths that ended in walls of palmetto.  
 
Joseph Mourning

 

The Rucksack Letters: July 23, Decatur
 
We talked about Kung Fu movies and how often people had asked him, a man of peace, to teach them the martial arts. There is something pure in the laugh of a Buddhist monk. It was almost surreal as he told and laughed at jokes I didn't understand but laughed at anyway.  
 
Joseph Mourning

 

The Rucksack Letters: July 25, Atlanta
 
I asked about the tour of the World of Coca-Cola but decided it a bit pricey to pay six dollars to look at Rockwell reprints and learn about the creation of fizz. The line was long; the queue snaking back and forth must have been five rows deep, with twenty minutes until the next tour.  
 
Joseph Mourning

 

A Day at the Beach with the Beast
 
Then the car started to slide, and I thought, here we go. But we came to a stop a few feet later, so I put it in park, content to be totally motionless. Joanna was about to cry, certain we were going to tumble down to a fiery death. I was having trouble breathing, and my right leg was shaking uncontrollably.  
 
Michael Spice (Travel Editor)