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Travel Cultures Language

Mexican Dances Step Across Cultures

by Eva Boynton on May 26, 2015

Female Mexican dancers in colorful costumes, showing one of many traditional Mexican dances that go across different cultures that make up Mexico. (Image © Eva Boynton)

Las Chiapanecas (The Women of Chiapas)  whirl in an elegant tornado of color and tradition.
© Eva Boynton

One Stage, Many Colors

When you travel, timing is everything.

In a new city, any turn down a street can bring a surprise—like my walk down calle Miguel Hidalgo in Toluca, Mexico, that led me straight into a festival lit up with color, music, and dance. This was Toluca’s third Festival Cultural, highlighting National Teacher’s Day on May 15.

Cultural Differences of the Fast Food Kind

by Meredith Mullins on May 18, 2015

Desserts in a Paris McDonald's restaurant, showing cultural differences in fast food. (Image © Meredith Mullins)

Sweet Dreams
© Meredith Mullins

McDonald’s: From Le Croque McDo to McSpicy Paneer to Matcha McFlurry

Yummm. Rows of macarons in their inviting soft pastel palette. Rich chocolate cake. Little canelés rising like flour fortresses. Tiramisu. Cheesecake. Cookies. Lemon tarts.

Where are we?

In a sweet dessert dream? In a prominent Paris patisserie? In the restaurant of a Michelin-starred chef?

We could be. But, in fact, we’re at a McCafé, a part of the McDonald’s ambiance in France that brings all the lusciousness of French pastries and desserts to its fast food counter. From croissants to muffins to traditional French pastries, they’re all here for the (fast) taking.

From Colorful Guatemala to Post-Vacation Blues

by Sally Baho on May 11, 2015

Off-centered door in yellow stucco wall, a colorful memory recalled during post-vacation blues.  (Image © Scott Kafer)

The flowers aren’t the only thing that provide color in Antigua, Guatemala,
the houses remind you of a painter’s palette. © Scott Kafer

Finding the Color Wherever You Are

Only yesterday, I had returned from Guatemala, surrounded by people, colors, smells, and noise—music, cars, crowds, conversation. Now here I was back in Pacific Grove, CA, known as “America’s last hometown,” waking to the low hum of my refrigerator. Looking around, my once beloved apartment seemed silent, cold, desolate.

I felt as if someone had pulled the plug on me—where was everyone?  They had gone and left me with the post-vacation blues.

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