I just read a great column by Rolf Potts about the appeal and comfort of familiar fast-food franchises in foreign climes.
That rather tepid piece of alliteration is the best you’ll get out of me today, so you might as well read the column. An excerpt:
I’ll readily admit here that, within certain hipster circles of indie travel, announcing that you patronize McDonald’s is kind of like confessing that you wet your bed, eat your boogers, or have unprotected sex with lepers.
The column reminded me of a visit to a McDonald’s in San Jose, Costa Rica nearly 20 years ago. My daughter, then 4 years old, was outraged because there were no Happy Meals. I was delighted because the coffee cost 18 cents a cup.