The fountain pen racket has always fascinated me—a world of ink-stained fingers, whispered secrets about nib flex, and the kind of purist insanity that makes Leica fanatics seem well-adjusted. But not enough, mind you, to throw down my own hard-earned cash and wade into the murky depths of piston fillers and bottled ink rituals. No, sir. I had other obsessions to bankroll.

Then, out of nowhere, a Lamy Safari landed in my lap—a lean, utilitarian bastard of a pen, built like a German war machine but priced for the common man. No pomp, no arcane rituals—just a clean, smooth-writing instrument that takes ink cartridges like a junkie takes a fix.

I’ve been using it for a few weeks now, waiting for the inevitable disaster—the leaks, the blotches, the slow realization that I was in over my head. But nothing. Just an effortless glide across the page, like Hunter S. Thompson on a mescaline bender. No resistance, no hesitation, just pure, unfiltered motion.

If you’ve ever felt the pull of the fountain pen mystique but balked at the price of admission, the Safari is your ticket in. Grab one. Test it. See if you don’t start looking down your nose at ballpoints like the rest of these ink-stained lunatics.

Details here.