Out of the Humidor
From the Print Edition:
Linda Evangelista, Autumn 95
(continued from page 12)
I know your magazine is a huge and rightful factor in the explosive renaissance of cigar smoking, but I often wonder if part of the fun of smoking a big fat cigar is the feeling of giving a big fat finger to the increasingly strident voice of feminism in this overly sensitive and humorless time we are living in.
I doff my cap and raise my glass to you for the brass balls it took to step up to the plate and produce Cigar Aficionado. Only Amadeus comes to mind in the least likely to succeed category--an awesome achievement.
William S. Bishop
La Quinta, California
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My cigar memory goes back to two days in 1972. Mike and I had just graduated from high school in Concord, California. Thanks to Jack Kerouac, we knew that we had to get on the road. We hitchhiked up to my aunt and uncle's house in Bellevue, Washington, and after a day layover, we headed for Canada via Port Angeles and the ferries.
Everything was fresh and new to us: the ferry ride across beautiful Puget Sound, the arrival at Bainbridge Island with the greenest grass and the golden Scotch broom. We hiked along with our packs, catching frequent, short rides from the islanders. A couple of college kids passed us three times; each time, they wouldn't give us a ride, but instead gave us a beer. Walking along, we came upon a roadside stand selling fresh raspberries, and we thought we were in heaven. Finally we made it to Port Angeles and walked on to the ferry just as it finished loading for the trip to Victoria.
I don't remember a lot more about that day except that we ended up at a youth hostel in Victoria. The next day started a lifetime love affair with Victoria. We walked through downtown to the waterfront. The city was remarkably clean and the natives friendly. With graceful old buildings and flowers hanging from lampposts, here was an urban setting as splendid as the country we had just come through.
That afternoon, with instructions from a knowledgeable local, we picked up some Silver Springs beer from the government liquor store and then found a tobacco shop. We bought Cuban cigars that the clerk recommended. I wish I could remember what brand they were, but they were BIG. We took the beer, cigars and some postcards, and climbed into an empty freight car sitting in a siding. We sat, drinking, smoking the mild flavorful cigars and writing our letters home. There is a sort of golden haze around these memories, and I can still taste the cigar and beer. That trip had a lot more ups and downs in store for us, but those two days alone would have made it all worthwhile.
Keep up the good work, and remember: Life's too short for bad cigars.
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