15,000 miles of travel in Europe without an itinerary
yielded many stories.
Here are some from a favorite country.
Last February, I sat shivering in a taxi on a cold morning as the driver asked me “a donde quieres ir?” He’d thoughtfully spoken in Spanish, as that was the language I’d used when I slid, gratefully, into the warmth of his backseat. Thirty minutes earlier I’d jumped off the train, tote slung over my shoulder, and marched purposely through the small station in Evora Portugal. In my search for early morning coffee I’d barely noticed the exquisite blue-tile murals or the lone taxi. Failing my quest, I’d returned to the train station, the only constant in my 90 days of travel with no itinerary. Staring out the window, and for the first time in my life, I answered the question all taxi drivers ask stating: “I have absolutely no idea.” He smiled, and replied in perfect English: “I will drop you in front of the Tourist Information Center.”