"Fabio!" Vito yelled. He was leaning against one of the sliding doors of the vaporetto, all agitated. But Fabio was slumped in his green plastic bucket seat, his head tilted to the left and teetering with the waves that crashed against the boat's black hull.

We love Milan. It's one of our favorite cities in the world. Our love affair started about two decades ago. But, oh my God, did we hate the city before that. Nothing is less memorable than arriving in Milan on a cold, rainy day. If you arrive by car, as we often do, you'll invariably find yourself navigating the claustrophobic exits...

Raked to the perfection of a zen garden, the gravel parking lot was covered with bamboo reed shades that let just enough sunlight through to make it look like a giant sheet of squared paper. The plants had been watered, and even though autumn was approaching, there wasn't a single dry leaf around. There was no trace of...

It always gets worse before it gets better. Like the other places we arrived in, we drove through the outskirts rapidly. We kept going where we saw tourists flock together. And floored the accelerator when we noticed a hen party cackle and cluck. We drove until the streets became quiet again...

It's in unexpected places like these that journeys end and begin anew—places I never planned to arrive at. On country borders, at highway intersections, or somewhere random and utterly by chance or even mistake. I reached them mostly after dark on quiet roads with empty sidewalks. Shutters were drawn for the night.

The one time I set eyes on Philippe Starck, he was fondling the breasts of his girlfriend.

At least that’s what I think. That she was his girlfriend, I mean. I have no doubt that he was fondling her breasts. I'm not that shortsighted. She wasn't exactly flat-chested either.

"Merde! Vous me faites chier avec vos olympiques." She stood about 20 centimeters away from the policeman with her feet slightly apart in expensive low-heeled pumps. In attack mode. Her face was flushed with anger. Like a topographic map, a taupe mauve contour …

I'm a lousy singer. Can't dance either. I don't connect with music. Once—at a nightclub in Ibiza I'd been dragged into—someone asked me if I was the manager. That's painful. A night on the town with me is as lively as watching cacti grow.

"This comes with two sides," he said. I looked at him sheepishly. I was ordering the beef brisket. From the pit, barbecued for hours until the meat gets so tender that it falls apart. Smoky protein, as soft and delicate as a ripe peach,…

Driving in Florida is as dull as dishwater. To make the ride more interesting, I floor the accelerator of the huge brick-like rental at every traffic light until I reach 35 mph, then abruptly lift off. The car jerks and rocks. I can do this twice before my wife starts to grumble and my dog turns towards me…

I may have missed a few, but the first white marker I noticed before reaching Bartow must have been about 15 inches by 25 inches. It was attached to a black steel rod that was hammered into the ground on the side of the road, not higher than a foot off the mown grass. The sign…