A welcome breeze cools the air as The First Lady, a sightseeing boat operated by the Chicago Architectural Foundation, cruises down the main branch of the Chicago River.

The little girl behind me giggles, a deep, throaty “tee-hee-hee.” The woman next to me catches my eye, and we start laughing too. “Heather, sshh,” says the girl’s mother.

I’m standing on the observation deck atop Sandia Mountain, surrounded by sky that, in days gone by, I’d have said was the color of turquoise. Thus I’d have paid homage to the Native American culture of Albuquerque, some 5,000 feet below me.

I think I’m at a bazaar in India, a market in Mexico, a village in Africa. People in bright traditional garb are weaving baskets, beading necklaces, stitching scarves.

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.

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.

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?

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.