In Cuba, they called him Papa. You’d find him fishing for marlins or drinking whiskey or daiquiris in a local watering hole. He’d do the same in Key West.
In East Africa, you’d find him big game hunting, the concluding photograph captured with the legend kneeling above a lion or antelope.
Photo from Toronto History. In France, he’d be writing in a small upstairs room, or sipping coffee and walking along the Seine. In July, he’d travel with friends to Pamplona, Spain, to witness the running of the bulls.
Back in the United States, he’d walk his property in the mountains of Idaho, bird hunting and enjoying the tranquility.
Some would argue that Ernest Hemingway the celebrity was even bigger than Hemingway the writer—an argument levied justly, given the man’s life story. But where did it all start? Surely someone running from continent to continent in search of grand adventure must have a…
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