traveling

Dirt, and Grandpa's Ashtray

Dirt, and Grandpa's Ashtray

You never forget your first sip of coffee. There are no subtle notes of roasted almonds or garden peas. There is only dirt. And grandpa's ashtray. My first taste of coffee happened in an unlikely place. I was a college sophomore, traveling with friends to the small Arab country of Qatar. I had been told that if anyone offered you something to eat or drink, you were supposed to consume it with a smile on your face, no questions asked. It was the polite thing to do. The culturally sensitive thing to do. But when we...