culture
Get the authentic cultural experience on your next foreign jaunt. Wander like a local; here, there, and everywhere.
My Adventure in Afghanistan
As the twentieth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks approaches along with the international military withdrawal, I recall a special moment I had there: attending Catholic Mass. However, before I share my story about the church, I must highlight that my culinary experience in Afghanistan was quite different from what I had in Iraq. Afghan food is remarkably similar to the food I had been exposed to during my adventures in India.
By Chad Pillai5 years ago in Wander
My Adventure in Iraq
As a native New Yorker born in Brooklyn, pizza has always been a part of my life. What could be better than a hot slice of thin-crust pizza with melted cheese that you folded and ate? The best part of the days that I lived in the New York City and Yonkers area was getting a slice of pizza for a dollar. As a kid, it was a thrill to have a roll of quarters and ride your bike to the local pizzeria and spend $2.50 for two slices and a soda, and the rest of the quarters used for video games.
By Chad Pillai5 years ago in Wander
Name Origins of Bronx Landmarks and Neighborhoods
Photo by Metropolitan Transportation Authority of the State of New York Arthur Avenue The origin of Arthur Avenue begins with the arrival of Pierre Abraham Lorillard to the area. P. Lorillard & Co initially operated in lower Manhattan in 1760 and manufactured a tobacco snuff product. Soon after, the family bought a large tract of land along the Bronx River and named their estate Belle Monte. In 1870, the property passed to Catherine Lorillard Wolfe, and she divided the holding into a number of streets and avenues. The main thoroughfare was designated Arthur Avenue because the great granddaughter was a big admirer of President Chester A. Arthur.
By Rich Monetti5 years ago in Wander
Tortillas, Gateway to Marriage
The Mexican state of Oaxaca deserves its own book dedicated solely to its food, mostly consisting of the different names you can give to variations of tortilla, queso, and salsa. Quesadillas. Empanadas. Tlayudas. Hurraches. Entomatadas. Enchiladas. Chilaquiles. And of course, the taco. I knew them as the cheesy one; the Mexican pasty; the Mexican pizza; the pile of tortillas one; the small open top ones; the tomatoe-y ones; the spicy ones; the soggy breakfast ones (a personal favourite); and the ones that are nothing like the TexMex tacos sold in the UK.
By Alison Victoria Shepherd5 years ago in Wander
Canada, Eh? (Travel from Home #12)
This month, my travel from home trip was to the great white north: Canada. A friend sent me a Canada photography book for my birthday for my fake travels, which I actually read a week or so earlier than the rest of the trip. It’s been many years since I last visited Canada, but the book brought my previous trips to mind. I look forward to another visit to Canada some day when the borders are back open and it’s safe for all. It took me a long time and lots of research to figure out what to enjoy for my fake trip, but I’m happy with the choices I ultimately made.
By Kate McDevitt5 years ago in Wander
Language Labors
I was 21 years old and off for an unforgettable experience, a mission trip for my church across the world to the tiny country of Lithuania. I spent two months prior to traveling there learning and practicing the beautiful language. I was told that Lithuanian is one of the hardest languages to learn. I am not sure if that is accurate, but I know from experience it was difficult. I thought I was doing pretty well though, that is until I left the airport. The first time I tried to speak to a Lithuanian it was clear I had miles and miles to go. There is nothing quite like being surrounded by people you can’t understand and who can’t understand you.
By Viltinga Rasytoja5 years ago in Wander
A Quest for Oceanic Nomadhood
In the next 4 years, I hope you will find us living on a catamaran, sailing around the world. For our family, boating, and water in general, is a central focus of our lives. My husband is the navigator, mechanic and engineer. I am the scientist and web writer, the teacher and the curator of wonder for my 9- and 7-year-old boys. While we have big dreams, we are still saving for a boat and building a content product that we can create that narrates our journey by way of our biggest passions.
By Penny Fuller5 years ago in Wander
Electric experiences
There it is - the night I have been waiting for. I am driving through the brightly lit highway into my future, highway that belongs to the city that I lived in my entire twenty-one years. I am well travelled- (who wouldn't be, living in Europe), but I had never before decided to leave everything familiar behind to enter the great American unknown. All I know about what to expect- is what had seen in the movies and what little I had picked up from a handful Americans I had gotten acquainted with in the last ten years. It isn't much- they all are proud to announce: "The US is huuuge!" or "I'm from Georgia" as if being from Georgia should impress me. Yet, I play my part and tickle their ego by widening my eyes and knowingly nodding in return: "Oooh Georgia? Yes-yes, I heard it is beautiful!". I smile back at the memory, hopeful that now, I am going to the country where my authentic self will be celebrated. Where you can't impress anyone by being "THE AMERICAN" and where everyone is equal. "Goodbye, corruption! Adios, to the never-smiling Slavic faces!" And as if to remind me what terrible life I am leaving behind, a whiff of sewage treatment plant waves goodbye back to me. The August night fell quickly on the city today. I still can make out the silhouettes of skyscrapers on the right bank of Kyiv and a cluster of well lit Orthodox churches on the left. I will miss taking tour groups through my city, pointing at the golden domes of Churches to wonder-eyed Americans and telling them the sacred tales of one of the oldest domains of Christianity. "The domes are golden, because it is believed that when God looks down on Earth, the domes shall reflect the sunlight and catch God's eye, thus letting Him know which country to send His blessings to". And I receive amazed "Oohs" and "Aahs" in return. Or this one: "This particular dome is blue with golden stars can you guess why?" and while my American tour group is coming up with witty answers, I withdraw to my swarming thoughts, among which my mother's advice lingers: "Americans are easy- they love being entertained- like children". I smile; She is one of the greatest entrepreneurs I have met in my life. Suddenly, I am violently jerked from my musings by a suffocating urge to throw up. My father pulls the car over and I tumble out on the grassy curbside. My mom follows me out of the car, supporting my arm. Hot tears are rolling down my cheeks, my stomach, though empty, heaves, as if my whole body is trying to purge itself of memories of my old life. I am mortified: There, fourteen hours and nine thousand kilometers away my new life is eagerly awaiting me: My future husband is buying a new car for our small future family. My future father-in-law is pacing nervously, in anticipation of his new daughter. I fall on my knees and look at my mom and for a brief, comforting moment I am a child again. I am five years old, and I am small. She is looming above me, smiling tenderly and tells me that all is well and she is near. And agonizing wave of adulthood covers me. Two searing streams pour out of my puffy eyes carrying my memories and my emotions. All the words I have said to her, all the things I have done, and she is still here, near me, supporting my arm as I'm throwing up my fears. How can she love me so much and how can I dare to leave her behind? "What date is your ticket for?" I ask mom. "I'll be there soon after you- in December" "It's a half year! what will I do without you?"
By Salomé Saffiri5 years ago in Wander
Global Citizen or Hometown Misfit?
When I was nine years old my father was headhunted to save a suffering advertising agency in Buenos Aires, Argentina. I had just entered the fourth grade, yet within six weeks our entire house was packed in boxes and his company flew us, first-class, on the long journey to South America to begin our new lives.
By Shannon O'Flaherty5 years ago in Wander
