Community Bulletin Board
- Book Signing Supports Sacred Heart
- Pepe's Pizzeria Comes to the Brass City
- 'Inspiration' Fundraiser Top Sponsors
- Spring Break Family Programs @ The MATT
- Railroad Museum Appoints New Trustee
- 'Ode to Joy' Concert by Waterbury Symphony
- Blues Hall of Famer~Chris Vitarello~at Fundraiser
- Cheryl Bentyne of Manhattan Transfer at Poli Club
- Free 'Live Well' Diabetes Workshops
- Phantom of The Opera 2017 Premier
- Cactus Show at NVCC ~ April 1 & 2
- New Home for 'Quilts that Care'
Column by Don Coppock (July 2011)
When I made the decision to retire in Thailand , that decision was based on the information I had at the time. The dollar had hovered around 40 baht for as long as I’d been coming here, and I foresaw no cataclysmic change in the stock market.
Story by Erika Giannelli
I’m used to the wild hand gestures, 3 course lunches and loud conversation. Growing up with my Italian family in Waterbury was little Italy in itself. I can still smell the meats from the deli down the street, the mayonnaise slathered on crusty Italian bread, the cookies and pastries that lined the aisles. And I remember home, a building we shared with my beautiful great grandmother who cooked steaks and pork chops, escarole and beans. I can smell it today. My entire extended family lived around us, loud and expressive and loving.
A Place Where
The World Began
Story and Photographs By Frances Chamberlain
There is nothing like standing on the cusp of a volcano to make you feel like you’re on top of the world. And there’s probably nothing like the craggy peaks and valleys of volcanic rock to make you think you are actually on the moon. The bizarre thing about Mt. Teide, the highest point in Spain, located on Tenerife in the Canary Islands, is that the landscape definitely resembles the moon, yet it is part of Spain and, at the same time, only about 30 miles from the Sahara Desert.
Photo: Freelance writer Dave Howard hiked 40 miles through the largest tract of rain forest left in Central America to reach the lost city of El Mirador, and interview Dr. Richard Hansen.
Hiking Eighty Miles Through A Guatemalan Jungle To The Lost City Of El Mirador
Story and Photographs By John Murray
Editor’s Note: The following story is an account of a 12 day adventure that transpired in July 2003 when Observer publisher, John Murray, travelled into the jungles of northeast Guatemala with his friend, Dave Howard, who was on assignment for Travel & Leisure Magazine. Murray was invited along to photograph the expedition and fired off 45 rolls of film. Murray damaged his Canon EOS camera during the journey and 60% of the images were unusable, and totally out of focus. After emerging from the jungle, the good film languished inside the photo department at Travel and Leisure for ten months, and was ultimately never used in Howard’s feature story. By the time the images were returned to Murray, and he had gathered notes, tapes and recollections from Dave Howard, nearly a year had elapsed. For the past 18 months the story lay buried beneath a jungle of details inside Murray’s head. Thankfully, and with great joy and relief, the story has been extracted from the thicket of Murray’s brain. We hope you enjoy the adventure.
Story by Shelly Frome
Nine years ago, my wife Susan and I didn't know what crossing the pond meant, didn't realize it stood for flying over the Atlantic to the U.K. We also didn't realize that many Brits during that particular summer viewed us as a quaint species.
Across Thin Ice
Story and Photographs By John Murray
Momentum is a curious and powerful force.
After traveling 48 hours non-stop from Waterbury, Connecticut, to a small Tibetan refugee camp tucked into the southwest corner of India, I felt like I was hanging ten as I surfed a large wave of momentum towards the beach. The 13,000 mile journey had taken me through barrels of bureaucratic red tape, through New York City, Newark Airport, Milan, Italy, Mumbai (formerly known as Bombay) and into Goa, a resort town on the west coast of India. There had been visa headaches, ticketing problems, frantic last second packing, buses, taxis, three flights and finally a six hour drive from Goa along a treacherous mountain road frequented by monkeys, cows, buses, motorcycles, and thousands of Indians carrying water, wood and rocks on top of their heads.
Nobody seemed to know her name, and in an odd way, it didn’t matter. She needed help, and even though the two doctors spoke no Spanish, their actions transcended words and cultural barriers. The little girl was hurt and these gringo doctors – National Guardsmen in camouflage fatigues – were there to help.