Bertolini's restaurant was cheap, but charming: perfect for the creatures who roamed 19th-century London after the sun went down. The gentlemen would trade in exotic pornography and tales of flogging and prostitution. If, by chance, a pious, God-fearing bloke were to accidentally stumble into the Fleet Street backroom on a Tuesday night, the tips of his Victorian moustache would've certainly stood on end.

In exchange for his surrender, the top Colombian drug lord was allowed to build his jail—complete with a disco, jacuzzi, and waterfall. Now 23 years later, it's a home for the elderly. The road begins at the southern edge of town. It slithers its way up into the perfect green mountains surrounding the red brick metropolis of Medellín.

A band of young, tech-savvy Argentines are gearing up for the 2015 Buenos Aires elections armed with a new tool for democracy. In a small room above a funky little shop in San Telmo, a meeting is about to begin. One by one, members of The Net Party filter in. They kiss each other on the cheek and help themselves to beer in plastic cups.

Something’s afoot in Paris, but it has nothing to do with kings or the bourgeoisie. The culprit: specialty beer. From microbrewers to bar owners, meet the people leading the uprising. It’s almost 8 p.m. I am waiting at the Chateau Rouge metro station deep in Paris’s 18th arrondissement for Phillip, an American expat and craft-beer aficionado.

I wanted to write at least 500 words about how difficult it was to track down the Brampton Batman. I wanted to write about having to lurk in dark alleyways. Spending my free nights scanning suburban rooftops for blurred silhouettes of a cape and cowl. Asking locals about sightings much like the awkward, four-eyed journalists from the comic books.

Before Joyce, who died 73 years ago today, found fame and fortune and moved to Paris, he spent over a decade of sin-filled years in Trieste. I explored the town in his footsteps. It’s the morning after. I’m leaning against the antique pastry showcase in Pasticceria Caffè Pirona. I’m still a little shaky from last night’s drinking.

A scattered group of absinthe lovers are beginning to come together in the Paris of South America to make and drink the green fairy. There’s only one problem—it’s largely illegal. Inside an old key-cutting shop on a quiet residential street in the Villa Urquiza neighborhood of Buenos Aires, Nico Fernández and Luis Murillo are intently watching a sixty-five liter copper still.

One bar in the former Yugoslavia has the distinct honor of straddling a disputed border. Enjoy a beer in two different countries…just don’t let the guards catch you crossing the line. It's the day after Christmas in Slovenia, and it's unusually mild for this time of year. The temperature is a balmy nine degrees accompanied by a springtime-like drizzle of rain; perfect weather for driving into the middle of former Yugoslavia for an interview and a few cold beers.

Two entirely different ways of life are crashing into each other in Morocco’s former international city. Sometimes the crash is beautiful. Tangier is about as comfortably polarised as a city can be. The glimmering ville nouvelle is mere steps away from the crumbling ancient medina. Faithful Muslims and bon vivants each going to their respective houses of worship.

The 266th sovereign of The Vatican City State, Jorge Mario Bergogli, better known now as Pope Francis, seems to share more with his predecessors than just a peculiar Popemobile. He comes to the Papacy with a seemingly inherited right to share his opinions, as disparaging as they may be, on the world-wide lesbian and gay community — a right that he alone now seems to possess.

They have no published addresses. Some are for members only, while others require a secret passcode. They are the hottest new trend in Argentinian nightlife—despite their best efforts. "Walter Gropius," I say to the doorman who looks a bit like Mike Ehrmantraut from Breaking Bad. We're standing in a dark, closet-sized antechamber just off a quiet street in Palermo Hollywood, Buenos Aires.

I'm a rum guy. It's one of the paramount reasons I am so in love with Panama — a country long-celebrated for its rums and rum masters alike. Needless to say, I was thrilled when I got my hands on bottle #74 of Panamonte XXV rum from Jim Wasson, Owner of Panamonte Brands; the company responsible for the new luxury spirit.