The monotonous outline of the waterfront brought no disappointment. Little did he care that the city stretched out there before his eyes was little more than a narrow, unbeautiful blur along the sea coast, that there were none of those towers, steeples or minarets with which our ancient ports beckon out to sea that the traveler is welcome. Even when his boat had passed the Mole, and they drew level with the modern works of the Muelle Darsena, well calculated to excite the interest of a younger engineer, he remained indifferent. He had asked the boatman where the Calle de Lima lay, and his eyes hardly left the part of the city which had been pointed out to him in reply. At the landing stage he threw a hand-full of centavos to his man, and shouldered his way through the press of guides, interpreters, hotel touts and other waterside parasites. Soon he was before the Calle de Lima, a thoroughfare which seemed to be the boundary line between the old city and the new. Above, to the east, was the business section—streets broad or narrow fronted with big, modern buildings that were the homes of English, French, German, Italian and Spanish firms without number. Below, to the west, a network of tortuous rows and alleys, full of color, with colonnades and verandahs encroaching on every available space. Dick plunged into this labyrinth, shouldered by muscular Chinamen carrying huge loads, and by lazy Indians. Here and there was to be seen a sailor leaving or entering one of the many cafés which opened their doors into the cool bustle of the narrow streets. Though it was his first visit to Callao, the young man hardly hesitated in his way. Then he stopped short against a decrepit old wall close to a verandah from which came the sound of a fresh young voice, young but very assured. “Just as you like, señor,” it said in Spanish. “But at that price your fertilizer can only be of an inferior quality.” For a few minutes the argument went on within. Then there was an exchange of courteous farewells and a door was closed. Dick approached the balcony and looked into the room. Seated before an enormous ledger was a young girl, busily engaged in transcribing figures into a little note-book attached by a gold chain to the daintiest of waists. Her face, a strikingly beautiful one, was a little set under its crown of coal-black hair as she bent over her task. It was not the head of a languorous Southern belle—rather the curls of Carmen helmeting a blue-eyed Minerva, a little goddess of reason of today and a thorough business-woman. At last she lifted her head.

From the great popularizer of alternative medicine, here is a collection of essays about his travels to South America in the early 1970s in search of information on altered states of consciousness, drug use in other cultures, and other matters having to do with the complementarity of mind and body. Andrew Weil's experiences during this time laid the foundation for his mission to restore the connection between medicine and nature. In The Marriage of the Sun and Moon, now updated with a new preface by the author, the esteemed Dr. Weil attempts to empower patients to take fuller charge of their destinies.

Essays and the catalog for an exhibition of art celebrating the 500th anniversary of the landing of Columbus.

In the secret heart of London, under the cover of endless darkness, is the Nightside. But enter at your own risk. The party animals who live here may be as inhuman as their appetites... My name is John Taylor. The Nightside is my home, and I’ve got a brand new full-time job there (in addition to my private eye work) as Walker—the Voice of the Authorities. I’m also marrying the love of my life, Suzie Shooter, the Nightside’s most fearsome bounty-hunter. But nothing comes easy here. Not life. Not death. And for certain, not happily-ever-after. Before I can say “I do,” I have one more case to solve as a private eye—and my first assignment as Walker. Both jobs would be a lot easier to accomplish if I weren’t on the run, from friends and enemies alike. And if my bride-to-be weren’t out to collect the bounty on my head...