By Lynn Schnaiberg

Yes, we live in a global village where fishmongers are day-trading and everyone's drinking that same damn bubbly cola in the red-and-white can. But there are still people who are plenty proud of their traditions and willing to share them with intrepid globetrotters. So get inspired. And get moving.

Russia: Throat Singers of Tuva.
Tucked between Mongolia and Siberia, the tiny Russian republic of Tuva is home to the art of throat singing. Honed by shepherds on lonely hillsides, the haunting, otherworldly music involves one singer producing at least two tones simultaneously. Wanna hear it? One Tuvan vocalist who's won a cult following in the West now teaches throat singing at the national arts school in Tuva's capital, Kyzyl. Many Tuvan holiday celebrations include throat singing too, with long-distance horse racing and wrestling to boot.

Botswana: Khoi-San of the Kalahari.
The country's original inhabitants, the San, are credited with creating ancient minimalist rock paintings found in the remote Tsodilo Hills of the Kalahari sands. The thousands of paintings outlined in white or ochre dot hills and cliffs that rise abruptly from the desert flatlands in a spot sacred to the San, some of whom still live as seminomadic hunter-gatherers. Tsodilo is thought to be the only place where the San--who speak languages characterized by clicking sounds--and their ancestors' paintings live side by side.

Louisiana: Cajun Country.
Yes, everybody loves New Orleans. But Cajun music, food, and culture lives on in the small towns around Lafayette, where street signs are in English and French in a nod to the city's roots. (Cajuns came to Louisiana in the 1700s from an area of Canada colonized by French farmers and fishermen.) Chow down on mudbugs (crawfish) or take a swamp cruise in Breaux Bridge. Hit Fred's Lounge in Mamou, where Cajun French is still spoken and Cajun music (replete with fiddle and squeeze box), dancing, and partying gears up around 8 A.M. on Saturdays.

Indonesia: Korowai and Kombai tree dwellers of Irian Jaya.
Not much chance of hitting any golden arches here. Not yet, anyway. The diet of the Korowai and Kombai--and in fact much of their existence, it seems--relies on the sago palm. Sample the local delicacy, beetle larvae, in a sago grub festival, scheduled according to phases of the moon. Upriver from the remote settlement of Senggo, the Korowai and Kombai live in treehouses built (of, what else, sago palm) as high as 150 feet up in the rainforest.

Dominican Republic: Guácara Taína.
To understand the culture of the Dominican, you've got to understand two things: baseball and merengue. Check out the latter at Santo Domingo's Guácara Taína, a shrine to merengue music and dance (not to mention salsa, merenhouse, Latin reggae, Spanish rap, and cumbia). The discotheque-cum-cultural center, which draws musicians from across the Caribbean, is located in a natural cave carved out of coral and rock some 100 feet underground. For the uninitiated, merengue lessons are also available.

Nepal: Pashupatinath and Bodhnath.
For an intense dose of both sides of Nepal's cultural coin, head to the single Kathmandu Valley hill that houses Nepal's most important Hindu temple and one of the world's largest Buddhist stupas. Pashupatinath draws sadhus (wandering ascetic Hindu holy men), snake charmers, and devotees from across India to its site on the banks of the holy Bagmati River, a popular cremation spot. Walk to the other side of the hill to hear chants, observe pujas (prayer ceremonies), and see monks go about their routines in the half-dozen monasteries that surround Bodhnath, a hub of unhindered Tibetan culture.

Scotland: Highlanders.
Kilts? Castles? Bagpipes? Throwing 15-foot-long, 100-plus-pound spruce logs in the Highland Games, whose roots date back more than 900 years? It doesn't get any more Scottish than Braemar, an ancient Highland village (population 410) that hosts the country's best-known ESPN2-style gathering each September. Even if you can't make the Games, though, Braemar is well worth the trip. After all, where else can you buy a custom-made sporran, the fur- or hair-covered leather pouch worn over kilts by smartly dressed, car-key-toting Scots? Run, don't walk, to the shop of Davie Lamont, the country's only "bespoke sporran maker."

Ecuador: The Cofan.
They call themselves the guardians of Ecuador's rainforest, with good reason. This politically active indigenous group has helped protect their homeland from major oil exploration and other modern-day encroachments. Hang out with Cofan shamans who can tell you the uses of every local plant and herb in the dense rainforest around the village of Zabalo, at the junction of the Zabalo and Aguarico Rivers in the Cuyabeno Wildlife Reserve. Or head upriver with a Cofan guide in a traditional dugout canoe to fish, swim, or watch for wildlife.

Thailand: Hill Tribes.
Trek in northwestern Thailand and you're bound to pass through villages of the hill tribes, seminomadic ethnic minorities who have migrated to Thailand from Tibet, Myanmar, China, and Laos over the last few centuries. Each group has a distinct cultural identity, made obvious to visitors via the women's elaborate dress. Make your way to Akha outposts from mid-August to September and you might catch the swing ceremony, linked to ancestor worship and spirit offerings, where villagers construct swings of long poles and vines. And, you guessed it, everybody swings.

Greece: Sponge Divers of Kalymnos.
Thanks to overfishing and the rise of low-priced synthetics, these divers are a dying breed. But some hardy souls still do ply their trade in the Aegean, diving up to 150 feet to collect the sponges, which are then converted from gooey black to pale yellow at the island's Astor Sponge Factory. Local festivals, folk songs, and dances celebrate the divers. Sit back, sip some local retsina at one of the waterside tavernas, and take it all in.

New Mexico: Taos Pueblo.
Particularly in the hush of winter, time seems to stand still. Continuously inhabited for some 700 years, the apartmentlike adobe dwellings remain home to some 150 Pueblo Indians. Women still bake bread in the outdoor clay ovens; tribal members' handcrafted jewelry, pottery, and other artwork is displayed in tiny shops tucked into the adobe. Daily rhythms are interrupted by feast days, Christmas celebrations, and a July pow-wow, all of which incorporate native dances.

Sulawesi: The Toraja.
Who doesn't love a good funeral? Certainly not the Toraja. Around the town of Rantepao, you can tell the status of the deceased by how rockin' the party is: The higher up the social ladder, the more elaborate the celebration. Family members, guests, and those just happening by are hosted in specially built bamboo pavilions and plied with a never-ending supply of food (try pa'piong, pork and veggies stuffed into a slow-cooked bamboo tube) and drink (usually tuak, knock-your-socks-off palm wine). Add buffalo slaughter, carefully choreographed dancing and singing, and the occasional cockfight and you've got one heck of a send-off to the Great Beyond.

Lynn Schnaiberg, a Chicago-based writer, is a regular contributor to iExplore.