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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:
In my years of traveling I’ve flown over Nebraska many, many times. I’d look out the window and see neat plots of farmland and the winding ribbon of the Platte River, but not much else.
We are just a click away!