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I was looking for cows when I saw my first barn quilt.
I find a patch of green and begin to unpack our picnic basket.
Alabama is not a place where I normally expect to find miracles. Bushes may burn, but angels don’t appear from the flames. Flowers are abundant, but they don’t rain from the sky.
Two rows of young men are standing before me, poised at crisp attention and perspiring heavily.
Some people prepare for trips by researching facts and reserving accommodations. I prepare for them by watching movies. I hope that, in some mystical way, the film will help me better understand the culture of the place I’m about to visit.
One minute I'm outside the American Visionary Art Museum, gazing at a 55-foot-tall whirligig. It spins, it whirls, it catches light and splatters it onto a nearby wall covered with fragments of mirror and tile.
“Russia is a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma,” said Winston Churchill in a 1939 radio broadcast.
I’m standing atop an expanse of ice that’s as thick as the Eiffel Tower is tall.
Historic buildings are a given in Savannah. After all, it’s the oldest city in Georgia. It was the Colonial capital when the area was ruled by Britain, and it was the first capital when the colony became a state.
I’m standing on a mesa 370 feet above the New Mexican desert. The sky is turquoise blue, the winds are blowing, and nearby a few people are making pottery while others are preparing food on outdoor ovens.
I pass on wearing a bindi (red dot) on my forehead, because in many parts of India it has a religious significance, but I do want to don a sari.
It’s one thing to envision yourself as a fictional person who represents a group of anonymous folks, like a soldier or farmer. It’s another to imagine the thoughts of a real man or woman whose story has been well documented.
So tangy with spices and sweet with molasses that they’ve become a traditional holiday treat, so fragile that they’re often called “glass cookies” because they’ll shatter if dropped, Moravian cookies hold a special place in the hearts and stomachs of millions of folks.
I can’t say we weren’t warned. When we told our Norwegian friends we were going to Bergen, they looked at each other and smiled as if wondering whether they should let us in on Bergen’s secret.
Aha! There it is, the Eiffel Tower. Around the corner, the Arc de Triomphe. And right nearby, a row of quaint shops on a cobblestoned street. Voilà, this is Paris, n’est-ce pas?
The day is sunny, the weather a bit chilly but still pleasant. I shade my eyes and look up at a row of four-story brick buildings fronted by a small patch of green grass.
Flash back 60 years. Korea had barely recovered from a half century of domination by the Japanese when it became ground zero for a contest between China and Russia to the north and United Nations forces to the south.
Sometimes we watch sausage being stuffed or ice cream being swirled. Other times we amble through markets, take a food class, or attend a wine festival. One way or another, food nearly always is an important part of our travels.
St. Augustine, Florida, which was founded by Spanish conquistadors in 1565, is festooned with 3 million lights. These represent the candles that brighten Spanish homes during the Christmas season.
A few days before my husband and I leave for a beach vacation on the North Carolina coast, I happen across a news article written by Adam Wagner of the region’s StarNews:
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We are just a click away!