Port of Call: Riga, Latvia

I recognized those haircuts. I’d seen them in 1987. Complete with tapered stonewashed jeans tucked into high-top sneakers, teenagers and young adults filled all decks. This was, I presumed, going to be their...

Arctic Travel: Racing on Thin Ice

The sound of tiny spikes on wheels crunching through snow was the only sound we heard for miles. The dark umber landscape was caked in fresh, knee deep snow. An obvious glutton for frigid temperatures, I once...