Once thought of as the domain of cultural elitists, opera has garnered a more universal audience, perhaps because of the accessible Metropolitan Opera’s Live in HD annual broadcasts, featuring a series of ten outstanding productions, simulcast to movie theaters on Saturday afternoons — truly live from the stage of the Gotham’s Met.

For some inexplicable reason, when I shared with friends and family that I was going on an exclusive press trip to Locarno, Switzerland to cover the film festival and the region in general, none of them had heard of this utterly charming Italian-speaking resort located on the northern shore of Lake Maggiore, nestled at the foot of the Alps.

Everyone has heard of Colonial Williamsburg with its dozens of buildings from the late-17th to mid-19th centuries. But it's not real, folks! Although few people have heard of New Castle, Delaware, it has almost as many buildings from that same era and real people live there. Okay, they're not dressed up like Revolutionaries, but the history there is even more...well, historic. It’s a genuine Colonial town but without the colonists.

I had just put my head down on the pillow. The day had been a fun – but it was also long and taxing, and a good night’s sleep was in order. Suddenly, the blaring sound of a bulldozer burst into the room. I bolted out of bed. I looked at my watch – it was 1 A.M. I charged over to the hotel window and pulled open the curtain. Across a small creek, there was a man outside who was really operating a bulldozer. His family must love this, I thought.

During my second trip to Hamburg (a city, I should parenthetically add, that has captured my heart), I had occasion to drive with a friend into the countryside, skirting decorated, half-timbered homes with elaborate thatched roofs in charming neighborhoods. A highlight of this road trip was our drive through Altes Land, the largest fruit-producing region in Northern Europe.

California is sometimes called the Granola State, the land of fruits, nuts, and flakes. I am from California, native-born. I guess I could just stop this chapter right now and you would understand why strange things gravitate to me.

Standing in the Lima airport, a knot was forming in my stomach — a feeling many of us associate closely with airports, the anxiousness of a hard goodbye or a long overdue hello. My Parents Were Coming to Perú. We’d been planning the trip for months, and I could already picture the forthcoming collision of worlds and cultures.

French filmmaker Jean-Pierre Melville (1917-73) is hard to pigeonhole. He operated outside established channels (eventually running his own studio) yet he employed movie stars. An inspiration to the New Wavers who liberated French cinema, he remained a consciously classical technician. Abroad he’s best remembered for a trilogy of gangster dramas — Le doulos (1962), Le deuxième souffle (1966) and Le samouraï (1967).

Bluesmen have been lacing up their walking shoes and relocating to Europe for generations. The list is extensive; Memphis Slim made his home in Paris the latter part of his life, and Champion Jack DuPree lived in Switzerland, Denmark, Sweden, England and Germany. Harp player Hook Herrera still lives in Scandanavia and the late Frank Frost once said he loved being in Italy.

I can’t remember how old I was. Maybe ten. It was a happy moment. His name was Pecky, my first and only parakeet. I played with him every day and loved that bird. But the day that will live in infamy was about to be played out. Like a giant locomotive rumbling into the station, the inevitable was approaching.

During my first trip to Hamburg last year, I was so smitten with the astonishing Elbphilharmonie that I knew I had to return to this Hanseatic city and the celebrated concert hall for another opportunity to imbibe the heady grandeur of this splendid monument to music… and to do more of the things in Hamburg that I had not had time to do during my first visit.

I’ve seen many castles and fortresses on my travels, but none stick in my head like the fortified Old Town of Dubrovnik, Croatia. If I didn’t actually walk upon its marble streets and touch its historic stone wall for myself, I’d swear it was a modern recreation of another time. 

In the 1955 film Daddy Long Legs, the actress Leslie Caron, playing a teenage waif in an orphanage, is plucked out of her drab milieu and introduced to a posh life, where she can have just about anything. What she asks for is an "'amburger with chocolate sauce," homing in on the most tasteful delicacy she can imagine.

From the balcony of the Hotel Castillo Vista del Angel high on the eastern flanks of Quito, the sky above seems sprinkled with a dew of diamond stars, while below thousands of flickering city lights like radiating fireflies create a fascinating glow. A keen, piercing wind skims across the dramatic volcanic-edged cityscape intensifying the remarkable sensations created by the majestic vista.

First there’s the fact of two million birds. Yes, two million. An equally astounding number is that the lake where they hang out is over one million years old. Then there are those names: Wilson’s phalaropes and red necked phalaropes, Warbling Vireos and Sage Thrashers. Implausibly, they’re the colorful appellations of just a few of the birds that inhabit Mono Lake.

You can’t call it “Bland Rapids” anymore. Every fall, the most attended free public art event in the world turns Grand Rapids, Mich., — once the butt of jokes for its sleepy status as Michigan’s second city — into a hip, cutting-edge community that celebrates creativity.

I am thinking of a filthy, disgusting creature that wasn’t invited into your home and just won’t go away. No, this is not a lawyer joke nor am I thinking about your uncle. Because of the types of places, I have gone, particularly third world destinations, war torn countries and disaster sites, I have come to expect cockroaches to be one of my traveling companions or at least my welcoming party. But at least let me begin with some good news.

Padre Pro's last request was to be allowed to kneel and pray. When the firing squad shots failed to kill him, a soldier shot him at point-blank range. Pro had been falsely accused in the bombing attempt of former Mexican President Álvaro Obregón, and had become a wanted man. Betrayed to the authorities, he was sentenced to death without the benefit of any legal process.