On Saturday morning the ceaseless rain wouldn’t call it quits. It wouldn’t even take a break for the lonely hour of noon, so people braving the soaked city streets could enjoy the midday meal. My expectations were not high. But as I strolled down these streets I’ve known all my life, I noticed something unusual about the way people were behaving, something the rain could not explain.

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America’s largest Chinatown seems naked this time around, now that I’ve seen the real Canton and Hong Kong. I’m walking through this San Francisco neighborhood with my Uncle Roy, who once lived in those other two cities, as a boy named Tsi Kaye. (more…)

When I first saw Old Faithful, I was five. Mostly I remember waiting. I knew it was really something because, when the geyser finally erupted, Grandpa said something like, “Hoa! That’s really something!”

Some 30-yada-yada years later I’m driving through Yellowstone National Park to check in on Old Faithful. My journey takes me to the Yellowstone Caldera, the bubbling cauldron at the heart of the park, where I discover waters that hold the secret to eternal youth.

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Wherever I travel, I make a packing list, and make it early — not only because it’s smart, but because it makes me feel like the heroic leader of a National Geographic expedition. I start spreading my stuff out in the basement about a week before a trip. As I survey my soldierly lineup of trekking gear, I feel empowered. Indiana Jones had his hat and whip; I have my headlamp and clothesline. With any luck, I’ll find that I don’t have everything… yet.
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