We set off—from a fishing village that was called simply Å—in a powerful rubber boat. The skipper was Stig Einarsen: he had hands the size of dinner plates and the stance of an ox. There was a lumpy following sea, and we bumped uncomfortably southward, the cliffs rising ever higher on our right, flocks of seabirds swooping down to see who was bent on such madness.
« Older Is Thailand Falling Apart?... | In the loosely related fields ... Newer »
This thread has been archived and is closed to new comments
Buy a Shirt