My first taste of reverse culture shock was on the BART from San Francisco International to Mission Ave.  I looked around the subway car and realized couples surrounded me; one was kissing, not so casually. Another sitting so close I couldn’t have squeezed a quarter between them, and one was in deep conversation about babies.

Lonely Planet Book Review: France’s Best Trips
by Oliver Berry, Nicola Williams, and others

“You don’t have to be a beachcomber to like Galveston,” I told my sister recently.  We were talking about our plans for summer vacation. I had said I was visiting Galveston Island. She did not like going to the beach, she had retorted.

“The beach is way too hot for me. Even when I use a sunscreen and take an umbrella, I burn while shooing away the birds,” she said. Her reaction hit a nerve with me. Suddenly, I found myself sounding as if I represented the Galveston Chamber of Commerce.