Uncle Chester's World Beach Tour ((exclusive)) -

Let me tell you about Uncle Chester. He’s sixty-three, retired from selling industrial lubricants, and has the kind of enthusiasm for geography that makes you suspect he owns a globe just to spin it aggressively. Last spring, he announced his “World Beach Tour.” No tour buses. No five-star resorts. Just a faded Panama hat, a metal detector that hasn’t found anything but bottle caps since 2009, and a cooler shaped like a watermelon.

“See those?” he yelled over the gale. “Nature’s hexagons. Better than your smartphone grid.” uncle chester's world beach tour

He opened his vials. Black from Iceland. White from Australia. Pink from Bahamas. Green and blue shards from California. He poured them into a single pile in front of him. Let me tell you about Uncle Chester

“Nephew,” he said, slapping a wrinkled map on the kitchen table. “We’re going to see how the world builds its edges.” No five-star resorts