One of the many joys of traveling is, of course, the opportunity to sample new food. But sometimes what seems new turns out to be familiar, just masquerading under another name. And sometimes I expect to see something familiar, only to be utterly flummoxed by what looks up at me from my plate.

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I have noted before that towns in America seem remarkably bashful about telling you that you have just entered them. Shazza has since pointed out that rivers don’t seem anything like so shy. As she says, there’s no missing the Big Pee Dee River and the Little Pee Dee River.

Read more on Junctions

Where Am I?

The distance between St. Petersburg, Florida and anywhere in New England is — to put the matter in technical terms — a very long way. So there is ample opportunity to get lost. And, while I have already established that Strudel makes a great traveling companion, she does have one major deficiency. She’s no good at giving directions.

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It’s all Shazza’s fault.

I was explaining to her my plan to spend several months of my fall sabbatical traveling in New England. “You should blog about it,” she said. I rejected the idea out of hand. “But you’re always writing,” she insisted.

Read more on Rambling

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