​One of the most surprising realizations of this year-long solo trip in Europe is how much other people have influenced it.  When I left home, one of my worries was that I wouldn’t meet people and have any friends.  I pictured long, lonely hours wandering around all by myself and wasn’t sure I could take that for a full year.  When we are younger, our friends usually come ready-made through school, sports, clubs, and work, but as established adults, how often do we really make new friends?  I have always been friendly and enjoyed meeting people, but rarely do those encounters move to the next level where we’re likely to call each other up and go to lunch or become real friends.  How would I do that in foreign countries in different languages when the chances of even seeing someone twice are slim?  I wasn’t sure I had those skills. 

​I needn’t have worried. Here’s an example of how I managed to work around those obstacles of language and time.  While waiting for breakfast at an outdoor café my first morning in Split, Croatia, I noticed a man noticing me.  As he stalled near my table pretending to be listening to the accordion and mandolin players on the sidewalk nearby, I took pity on him and gestured for him to share my table the next time he snuck a glance my way. I’m typically not the flirty or forward type, but apparently accordions inspire me more than the earsplitting music found in many places people go to meet people.  However, the fact that we were actually able to hear each other was little help since we quickly realized that neither spoke the other’s language.  He spoke German and Croatian, and I spoke neither.  Resourceful traveler that I am now, though, I had a device right in my pocket to help with our conversation.  In addition to gestures, enthusiastic miming endeavors, and the surplus of words that did overlap our languages, Google Translate filled in the holes.  This worked successfully enough that it even carried us through an actual dinner date the next evening!  

​I am actually quite surprised and proud of how I managed to fill my life abroad with not only new people, but good friends.  It has happened differently in every country, and that breadth of exposure has added to the repertoire of friend-making resources that I will now carry with me forever.  It does take courage, but my enthusiasm seemed to outweigh my risk of vulnerability and cracked open a latent boldness of character that paid off handsomely.

​My one and only acquaintance in Italy when I embarked on this trip got me started in grand style. I had met Veronica five years earlier when she assisted with our apartment rental in Florence when I was there with family.  She had agreed to help me with the same on this trip and hung in there with me through the various hoops the Italian Consulate required in connection with my visa application (which they ultimately denied).  I had offered to take her to dinner to thank her for her help when I arrived in Florence, never expecting that this younger, busy, vibrant Italian woman would then scoop me up into her wide circle of lovely friends and provide me with a rich social life right off the bat. In fact, that first jetlagged night in Italy, she and her friend Elena (who is now my friend, too) led me, blurry-eyed and tipsy, to their favorite spots for typical local foods and wines and to a crazy, interactive art exhibit that had something to do with house plants and a winding tube slide!

​Florence is an incredibly beautiful, historic city, but for me, because of the people I met, it became a picnic and dance party on the shores of a nearby lake; a folk festival in a refurbished tobacco factory; an overnight trip to a family home in a little town way off any sort of beaten track; a night-time nature hike; weaving through back streets on bicycles at 11:30 p.m. to find some friends at a party; a wedding reception at a posh winery; birthday parties; a food faire in a neighboring town; hours spent walking with friends who wanted to practice their English as much as I wanted to practice my Italian; and a potluck going-away party – for me!  I never would have imagined making good enough friends to warrant a sweet party when I left! 

​Ok, so I had Veronica to help me with friends in Italy, but Croatia?  I knew no one in Croatia and had no inkling of how to speak the language.  This time I would be on my own and the odds didn’t seem to be in my favor.  Croatia would be the literal and figurative “winter” of my trip, I thought, imagining all the work I would get done holed up in my quiet apartment.  This vision of solitude vanished in a blast of airplane exhaust when by my first day, I already had two meet-ups planned!  One with a man I met on the plane and the other that I’ve already told you about.  When I told my landlord of this, he laughed and said he would like to be my third because he wanted to invite me to coffee with him and his wife the following day.  I started to think that maybe Croatia wouldn’t be so lonely after all! 

​Saying that I knew nobody in Croatia before arriving was true, but I did have a secret weapon.  I knew of someone.  I had taken a cooking class in Florence and there met a woman who knew of another woman who had been working for a short time in Split. That woman and I didn’t really overlap in Split, but she referred me to a gentle dynamo of a young man who was very well connected, and he pointed me toward a social network, a professional network, and a weekly writers’ group. Attending the writers’ group was how many of these travel posts actually got finished. 

​Before long, I had a healthy web of friends, both locals and expats, who once again enriched my time away from work with conversation, entertainment, and fun.  I also learned something about the way I think of friends.  I think it is normal that people tend to choose friends who are most like themselves.  Here, though, where I knew the relationships were most likely temporary and I was more open to (or perhaps, desperate for) friendships of any kind, I was happy to welcome all kinds of people.  I was chagrined to only learn at this age that all kinds of people make great friends!  My new friends ranged in age from 28 years younger than I to at least 20 years older.  I think I will be less judgmental and selective about friends from here on out.  Broadening your circle of friends expands your range of conversation topics, types of activities, and outlooks and perspectives, all of which make life gloriously entertaining!

​A novel part of this trip has been the joy of traveling alone, making all my own choices and decisions, moving at my own speed, worrying only about my own schedule and interests.  Me, me, me!  I’ve got to admit that’s been a fun change of pace. No need to keep anyone else (often groups of people of widely different ages and interests) engaged, entertained, fed, housed, or happy.  I wouldn’t have traded this luxury for the world!  And yet…

​Delightful as my own company may be, I also have to admit that even sites and experiences that are awe-inspiring in their own right are a little sweeter when you can share them.  Remember that scene in Vacation when Chevy Chase’s character stands at the rim of the Grand Canyon, does a dutiful head bob, like “Yep, there it is!” and then quickly turns away in a rush to get to the next agenda item?  Sometimes it feels like that when there is no one beside you to encourage you to linger and just appreciate the view a little longer, to talk about it later when you’ve sought refuge from the rain in a café, and to fondly recollect it years later when reliving the fun times you’ve spent together. Left to my own devices, I might have traded a walk through a rainy coastal village for a cup of warm tea in my apartment, but I would have missed one of the greatest sunsets of my trip. Someone else’s, “Oooh! Look at this!” has often drawn my attention to beautiful or fascinating things that I would have completely overlooked on my own.  Being invited in for an espresso after a fun, public tourist event turns it into an intimate, personal experience with someone who lives there and can expound on the history of the tradition, even if the espresso is so strong, I can hardly drink it! 

​Social media helped me meet people through Meetup, Facebook, Internations, and a dating app.  When I explained to would-be matches on the dating app that I wasn’t looking for dates as much as companions to enjoy the city with, those interactions were relaxed and easygoing without the usual pressure of evaluating where the connections might lead. Some of the people I met were referred to me by other friends, some I had known only distantly or through correspondence, and some I met in the moment in a café or simply walking around. I also had the pleasure of visits from people already dear to me like my own children and my boyfriend of the past many years.  All of my experiences were enhanced in different ways because of these relationships.

​Traveling with people I knew well put me in the role of a guide, allowing me to show off my knowledge of places I had already visited or to demonstrate my newly honed expertise with navigating around foreign countries.  When my son and I visited my daughter when she was living in Guatemala, I was amazed, impressed, and a little mystified with her ability to get around places with no marked bus stops or published bus schedules, and here, although it was not as challenging as that, I got to be the expert, proud of my skill to weave through metro stations and airports without breaking my rapid stride until reaching the gate or platform, having learned little tricks like seeking out the diagrams that show you exactly where your seat will be on the inbound train. With these folks, I tended to assume my usual position of happiness provider, making sure that the options presented matched what I knew to be the interests, palates, and personalities of my guests.  Conversations were relaxed and familiar, and the experiences somehow more lasting because I knew we would collectively relive them for years to come. Even mundane tasks like doing laundry are more fun when done together, especially when, in one instance, we got to sample a local liquor while waiting for the loads to dry. (Bongo Cat, if you ever read our message on a sticky note in a laundromat in Dubrovnik, we’re still looking for you!)

​With friends I had known in only limited ways before, there was an interesting blend of a shaky shared foundation of things to talk about but also the opportunity to build on that while exploring cities and experiences new to both of us.  Sometimes, this personal and worldly exploration took place over the course of multiple days at a time, with hours spent traveling from one place to another; walking endlessly around cities, museums, galleries, and churches; and sharing meals and lodging arrangements.  The conversations careened wildly from what to have for breakfast to life philosophies and lost loves and pretty much everything in between! 

​The World Wide Web took on a new meaning for me as friends connected me with their friends in other countries; a chance meeting in one country led to an apartment rental in another; someone else’s dating app match was referred as a travel companion for me; and invitations were exchanged for future meet-ups in yet more countries.  One woman even ended up later staying in my house in Colorado briefly while I was still traveling, as she was friends with my year-long tenant!    

​Meeting exploration partners on the fly provided entirely different experiences.  Once, while wandering around taking pictures at a war memorial in Bucharest, I met another traveler also wandering around taking pictures at the same war memorial, and he and I ended up spending the rest of the day wandering around taking pictures together all over the city before finishing with a late-night dinner and then meeting up again for more of the same the next morning before he left for home in Germany.  Striking up a conversation at a restaurant in Malaga, Spain, with a couple who coincidentally also hailed from Colorado resulted in another day of sightseeing together and then meeting up again for a day in another city the following week. 

​Locals have added yet another priceless element to this journey.  Interspersing sightseeing with silly language exchanges with children of families I met from Croatia, Romania and Denmark (granted, that last one wasn’t a “local” family); sharing meals with people who can pronounce and interpret items on the menus; receiving parting gifts and hugs from people I can only hope to see again; and getting personal guided tours of hometowns, historic sites, hiking trails, and fish markets have turned destinations on a map to engagements of the heart. The ways that some people have welcomed me into their homes and their lives, even knowing I was leaving soon, has been incredibly special to me.

​Finally, a tribute to you. Many of you reading this have never set foot outside of your own country, and some of you I have never even met, but your enthusiasm and feedback for these travel posts has not only been warmly appreciated, but has been the motivation for me to relive these memories by sharing them with you.  By the way, my website won’t let me answer replies on that site, but emails to chris@fromonelittleidea.com always get a response!  My trip has come to an end, but I have so many more stories to tell!  I hope you’ll continue to read along with me through either future posts, if I do them, or in the book I hope to write if I can find someone willing to publish it.  

I like my own company!  I’m actually quite enamored with truly living on my own for the first time in my adult life, and this has been a personally life-changing trip in so many ways, but it has been the collective experiences with other people that have enriched these memories and moments beyond anything I could have created on my own. I wish I could acknowledge every single one of the people who has shared this journey, but it is a very extensive list and this post is already much too long (Thanks for reading all the way through!). My gratitude is deep and heartfelt.

​I’m a tour snob. I would make an exception for my tour guide friend Veronica in Florence because I know she is amazing at what she does, but I tend to shy away from tours because what comes to mind when I think of an organized tour is about 40 slow-moving people clogging up hallways and entrances, standing around waiting for the stragglers to catch up, and not quite being able to hear the guide well. When I’m on my own, I can pick and choose what written information I want to stop and read and have the freedom to breeze right past anything that doesn’t immediately catch my attention, self-catering my personal tour to my own individual speed and interests. Electronic audio guides are okay because they allow me to soak in additional background information at my own pace and skip the parts I start to get bored with. Plus, tours are expensive. I’m visiting a lot of places on this trip, and if I paid for a tour in each one of them, I don’t think I would have made it past the first two months.
 
I may have just been converted, though. Getting around in Romania can be a little challenging sometimes, and when I looked into seeing a couple of castles near the town of Brașov, the logistics of doing them on my own were just not worth my time. I found a website called “Romanian Friend” and somewhat resignedly, booked a full-day tour through Active Travel to see Peleș (pronounced “PELish”) Castle, Bran Castle (of Dracula fame), and Râșnov (pronounced “Rooshnov”) Fortress. I met our guide, Charlie, and the four other guests at the main square in town at 8:30 in the morning, and we set off. 

​Charlie explained that we would be traveling back in history throughout the day, starting with the most modern of the three locations, Peleș Castle in Sinaia. Sinaia itself was a location that had come recommended but probably would have been a full-day excursion on my own. This little ski town is tucked right up against the gorgeous and dramatic Bucegi Mountains, and skiing and hiking draw visitors year round. The monastery from which it gets its name is in turn named after the Biblical Mount Sinai. King Carol I of Romania built Peleș Castle as his summer home here in the late 1800s to escape the heat of the city, and it is a beautiful palace in a completely fairy-tale location.

​Peleș is really more of a royal residential palace than a castle (which are usually built with defense fortifications), but because of the castle-like turrets and stations for the king’s military who accompanied him even on vacation, it has earned the reference “castle”. Plus, Peleș Palace would be a tongue-twisting mockery of such an elegant place.

​This was the only place I’ve visited where guests are required to wear little paper booties over their shoes to protect the floors and carpets, the first indication that this place was going to be a lavish affair. And, indeed it was. No cauldrons of boiling oil ever poured from the ramparts here. Every room of the castle shows off the very highest attention to detail, from intricate wood-inlay pictures and doors, to hand-blown glasswork imported from Murano, Italy, to a mirror hung high on the wall to show off the painting on the ceiling. There is the refinery of not only a music room, but two music rooms, where it is easy to picture the aristocracy gathering to socialize and show off the latest fashions while enjoying a sherry and an intimate concert. The upper floor had myriad rooms decorated in the finest German, Moorish, Italian, and Turkish themes. The weapons, although reminders of their brutal and actual histories, are artfully displayed on the walls and in decorative cases and include some purely ornamental ones, like a curved sword with a green-painted sharkskin scabbard. Cordoban leather wallpaper, produced from actual sheepskin or goatskin, and secret doors hidden in armoires and cabinetry were just some of the surprises that Charlie highlighted for us.

​Charlie, by the way, had already earned his five-star review. He was knowledgeable, entertaining, and spoke English very well. He was also sensitive to the needs of his guests, promising to take things easy on all the twists and turns of the mountain roads to stave off motion sickness and then frequently checking in to see how everyone was doing, but not in that cheesy, “Thumbs up if you're having fun!!” way.
 
A drive through the mountains to visit this stunning castle in such an idyllic little town would have been a great day on its own, but we were only about a quarter of the way through our day. Our next stop was Bran Castle.

​I was already a little tired of the Dracula hype in various tourist sites in Transylvania, and I expected it to be in full force here, as this is the castle that mostly closely matches Bram Stoker’s description of the home of Dracula in his 1897 novel that sparked the vampire mythology that is perhaps more popular now than ever before. The other connection with the character here is that Transylvania was the home of Vlad the Impaler, whose father was part of an order of rulers in which he was known as The Dragon, or Dracul, and Vlad, as his son, was therefore called Son of the Dragon, or Dracula. As one might expect from someone whose claim to fame is impaling, Vlad had a particularly bloody history, but from all accounts, he refrained from drinking the stuff.

​Bran Castle sits high on a dramatic rocky hill, giving it an imposing and mysterious appearance, like it just shot straight up from this piece of rock when the earth’s plates were shifting and crashing up against each other. It wasn’t actually built until around the 1300s, however, and despite its medieval appearance outside, the inside was renovated by Romania’s beloved Queen Marie in the 1900s. Queen Marie was born into the British royal family as Queen Victoria’s granddaughter, and married into the Romanian monarchy. She and her daughter Princess Irina both have fascinating histories, but those will have to be another story.

​Queen Marie’s renovations included plastering over all the walls inside the drafty castle to give it a warmer, brighter ambiance than a typical ancient dwelling, and hand painting many of the doors and furniture in the flowered, colorful style typical of the region. Her focus was on family, children, and warmth. I was intrigued to learn about a little cabinet built into the wall next to the wood stove where the gentle, constant heat of the stove would produce yogurt from the “starter” milk in the pitcher inside. 

​One fun, albeit somewhat macabre, story I learned here was how back in medieval times, with illnesses and medicine being what they were, people were often mistaken for dead and promptly buried. Think of Billy Crystal’s character in The Princess Bride declaring Westley “only mostly dead”. Apparently, this happened often enough, as evidenced by scratch marks inside coffins (I don’t know why they were inspecting the insides of coffins after they were buried in the first place), that they began tying a string to the “deceased” person’s finger and running it above ground to a little bell. If the person awoke, their movement would ring the bell to be rescued, and thereby “saved by the bell”!
 
Our lunch stop was in a little Swiss-looking chalet with stunning views of both Bran Castle and the Carpathian Mountains. Charlie was a well-known and welcome visitor here, just like he was everywhere we went, and the owner and chef made sure we were pleased with our local, traditional, and hearty meals. I had a creamy chicken and mushroom stew with polenta, and it was delicious!

​But wait! There’s more! On our way back, we stopped in Râșnov to visit the fortress on the hill above town. This place was definitely built with a defensive purpose. If any enemies made it past Bran Castle, which I don’t think they ever did, every villager had a designated safe space, like a bunker, within the fortress walls. The only entrances were easy to defend and trap would-be invaders. The interior was more like a little village than a castle, with an open courtyard surrounded by small, simple living spaces. There was a tower that functioned like a giant refrigerator, cooled by blocks of ice and only opened occasionally for villagers to store emergency rations of lard and bacon, with deposits tallied in a log so families could withdraw and replace their stores as needed. This fortress had suffered the most damage of the three sites of the day, but still offered a vivid glimpse of life and purpose within its walls.

We opted to avoid “rush hour” traffic through the villages by getting in one last pass through the mountains toward home, stopping twice for worthy photo opportunities. We all traded contact information and the promise to share pictures and possibly meet up again in Bucharest later in the week. Having avoided every single one of the things I hate about organized tours, and gaining so much more than I had expected, this tour was worth all 83 of the dollars that it cost me. Charlie, being the sincere professional that he is, even refused half of the tip I offered at the end of it! 

I know I’ve made this whole trip look like complete bliss, but I wonder if you’re thinking about how publicly displayed lives, on Facebook for example, tend to be only a glorified rendition of their daily reality and that, surely, there have been at least some moments of disaster.  I have had a number of people ask me, “What challenges have you faced?”, “What hasn’t gone smoothly?”, “What has been hard?”  So, for those who revel in the obstacles, this is for you!  [Side note:  this post doesn’t lend itself well to pictures, so some of the pictures here are just random sights from various places on this trip.] 

​It is true that even when things are running like clockwork, there is “work” in that word.  The work has sometimes been a challenge.  Not so much the actual work that I do for a living, but the work of figuring out what I’m doing next.  For example, all along, I had been planning on being in Edinburgh, Scotland, for my final quarter of this trip.  I booked my flights when the prices were reasonable, never expecting that I wouldn’t be able to find anywhere affordable to live for three months.  That hadn’t happened anywhere I had been to that point.  Besides being expensive, Edinburgh also has the additional challenge of apartment leasing agencies being the preferred method of renting, although Airbnb does still exist, and apartment leasing agencies are reticent to lease for fewer than 4-6 months, especially before the students leave for the summer.  When I reluctantly decided that my budget wouldn’t allow for a stay in Scotland, I was forced to consider other options.
 
As I’ve mentioned several times before, the European non-Schengen options are limited, and while considering where to go next, I had to do a bit of soul searching about just what my goals were.  Why was it important to be in Europe?  Why not Canada or Mexico or any number of other countries that wouldn’t be too expensive to travel to?  Why not somewhere I’ve never considered before, like Sri Lanka?  Did it really have to be a well-known, comfortable tourist destination, or would places more unfamiliar be an even grander adventure?  What was I afraid of with that option?  Why was a full year important to me?  Should I just go home rather than traveling to places I don’t care about for the sake of traveling for a year?  Well, my home is rented for a year, so that helped with that last one. 

​I asked my City-a-Month friends (acityamonth.com) where they would recommend, and one of the most enthusiastic suggestions was Romania. Romania? Hmm. Keeping an open mind, I started in on the research, and decided that Romania sounded quite promising.  That meant re-booking flights (and incurring expensive change fees) and beginning the lodging search all over again.

​Meanwhile, back in Scotland, I got an email from a leasing agency letting me know that a more affordable option had popped up, although it meant staying a bit away from the city center and living in an apartment with two 20-something young men.  My own 20-something son, having experience with that scenario, assured me that I would not want to live there!  However, another fairly reasonable Edinburgh apartment came up and I jumped at it, deciding to split my time between Romania and Scotland, and I booked additional flights.  Within an hour, the agency came back and told me that there had been a mistake and that second apartment was no longer available. 
 
When the third, and best, option for only one month in Scotland became available, I confirmed it, and rebooked those flights (more change fees for each of the two airlines involved in that travel).  Just when I thought things had finally fallen together fairly well, I got an email saying that my month-long apartment in Romania had fallen through.  Back to the drawing board!  For anyone who has ever tried to make travel arrangements involving flights and lodging, you must be able to imagine that this all took HOURS of time and frustration, with the domino effect in full force, as each leg of the planning depended on the others.  So, my time in glorious cities and exotic places is not only spent enjoying leisurely coffees on seaside promenades and visiting world-class museums.  A good chunk of it is sitting at my computer.

​Sometimes the challenges come from not speaking the language fluently and from everything, so many things, being so different.  Those difficulties are certainly part of the fun, but sometimes you just need a break and having to engage your brain to figure out even the simplest tasks like how to flush a toilet can be just one challenge too many!  One day, after not understanding the ordering system at a particular deli, and the staff being standoffish if not downright rude, I left there wondering why I had chosen to bring these sorts of challenges into my life.  I know how everything works at home.  It is safe, comfortable, and easy.  I don’t even have to think!  Why was I subjecting myself to such brain damage here, and for a full year?  Happily, that line of thinking only lasted a few minutes and gave me pause to consider all the incredible opportunities I’d experienced on this trip to that point, and to realize that I didn’t choose to create chaos in my orderly way of thinking. I chose to create opportunity and adventure, and I had found that several times over.  If some of the side effects of that decision teach me  how to address new challenges and develop flexibility, ingenuity, and patience, wasn’t that a positive thing?  I thought so!  A few extra brain synapses could never be bad!  I continued home from that experience with the satisfaction of having accomplished my goal of obtaining a delicious lunch despite the universe’s best efforts to thwart me!  I won!  

​What about losing touch with my friends and family back home?  While I do miss being in the same room with them, I have kept in better touch with some of them while here than I normally did at home.  With the wonder of technology, I can text, call, email, and Skype with all of them!  Facebook also helps us keep in touch.  Some of those folks have visited me on my travels here, and what amazing experiences we got to share!  Even going out for coffee is a delightfully different experience to share abroad, but visiting islands, fortresses, famous cathedrals, and food markets takes it all to a whole new level.

​Shoes!  How did my strictly European heritage result in feet too big for European countries to accommodate?  Honestly!  You should see the politely incredulous looks I get when I ask for my size.

​Old buildings can be charming, but they can preset their own unique problems, like being woken up to four uniformed, French-speaking police officers ringing my apartment buzzer to warn me of the dangers of parts of the roof next door falling down.  Pounding and drilling during renovations while I was trying to work and problems with three (THREE!) different hot water heaters have managed to interrupt my idyllic daily flow.
 
Fleas or bed bugs.  I’m not sure what they were, but they found me in Bucharest, and I spent most of the next several days obsessively cleaning everything! 

​Most of this could have happened anywhere.  People get bed bugs even from expensive hotels in nice, American cities.  And, when my hot water heater goes out at home, it is a much more expensive problem for me to deal with; here, it is someone else’s problem and only a minor inconvenience for me.  Travel planning?  Just the flip side of travel and getting to see intriguing and interesting places.  Shoes?  Well, it’s also hard to find many size 11s at home, but honestly, that has been the biggest, most ongoing problem for me here!  Knowing what I know now, I’ll pack differently for the next trip. But really? That’s as bad as it gets?  At least I get to intersperse those minor “catastrophes” and difficulties with castles, fun conversations in multiple languages, scrumptious new foods, opportunities to learn about different cultures and religions, medieval ruins, the best people watching ever, and train travel! I LOVE train travel!  Your pity for my struggles falls on deaf ears.  I’m having a blast!

​​One day while in Malaga, Spain, and enjoying too much wine and an incredible assortment of tapas with friends from Venezuela, Croatia, Spain, and Guyana (although this woman grew up in the UK), it was recommended to me that during my upcoming stay in Barcelona I must visit the town of Figueres and be sure not to miss the Salvador Dalí museum.  Why not, I thought?  With not much more than that in my mental back pocket, I later caught a train from Barcelona (well, three different trains, actually) for the two-hour trip to Figueres. 
 
I thought I might do a little more research while on the train, but I had no service, so winging it would be the mode of the day.  At the train station, I caught a cab and told the driver I didn’t really know where I wanted to go but floated out the idea of the museum.  He (Josep) was very chatty and told me that the museum was really the best thing to see in Figueres.  Although raised in a small pueblo nearby, he had little of the hometown pride that I have encountered with locals in most places.  He told me that Figueres had the museum and a pedestrian “old town” with cafes and shops, but I wouldn’t find it nearly as pretty as nearby Girona.  He told me the high-speed train I planned to take back would go right through Girona, but he also told me how to find cheaper options on a more local bus or train.  When we arrived at the museum, he showed me the bus and train stations on the map and then rushed around to the passenger side to open my door.  He offered his hand to shake mine and was actually kind of flustered when I also offered him a tip.  

​The Dalí museum was fascinating in several ways, and I will risk revealing my nescience for art by telling you about them.  First, unlike the Picasso museum that I had toured in Málaga, I appreciated understanding the objects I was seeing in Dalí’s work, even when they were distorted.  With much of Picasso’s work, if not for the title to tell me what I was looking at, I would never have known that those particular shapes somehow represented a rooster, for example.  With Dalí, a clock is a clock even when it is dripping off a table.

​Second, I was impressed with Dalí’s astonishing artistic talent, which in my structured mind means painting or drawing things that are perfect representations of what they really are.  Portraits and bodies beautifully well done: proportioned, shaded, lifelike.  I kind of feel that only once someone has proven their talent have they earned the right to mess around with child-like creative frivolity.  My last fascination was the wonder that is Dalí.  Bizarre.  I don’t really have to like it to marvel at the mind that produces the stuff of dreams, the kind of surreality that most of us only remember in fleeting moments upon waking.

​Well, Josep was right.  Figueres itself held very little charm for me.  I wandered around a bit and found a nice plaza for an open-air lunch, but somehow even the winding little side streets missed the mark for me.  The buildings were all fairly ordinary with no distinguishing features and none of the pretty little flower boxes and lamp posts that I adore in so many European towns.  What a snob I have become! 
 
I followed Josep’s advice for finding my way to Girona.  This involved a visit to a bus station and the train station across the street where I could buy a ticket for a train station farther away that I’d have to take a bus to get to!  Did you miss some of that?  Yeah, somehow that all worked out.

​While waiting for that bus, I met a young woman from China, Yinli, who was trying to return to Barcelona through Girona and was much more concerned about those connections than I was.  She spoke English very well, but admitted to understanding no Spanish at all.  I was feeling smug about my cavalier confidence but marveled at her ability to take on a much bigger challenge than mine. She’s living alone in Barcelona for three months working on a master’s degree in her second language (English) in a place where two new languages are spoken (Spanish and Catalan), and coming from a country so different that social media channels are severely limited and supervised; students are not allowed, much less encouraged, to discuss or challenge ideas; and personal freedoms are luxuries rather than the norm that we enjoy.  Plus, she’s arranged her schedule here so she can frequently travel to new countries for long weekends!  I think we were mutually fascinated by each other’s experiences, and we exchanged numbers to meet up again in Barcelona.  

​It was already after 4:00 when I disembarked in Girona, but I was determined to see what this town had to offer.  As I walked to the city center which spreads out on either side of a river in the middle of town, I felt something inside begin to smile and relax into the rhythm of this sweet place.  It probably helped that one of my first stops was an Ecuadorian chocolate shop with samples of smooth, exquisite chocolate and I was able to carry a cup of the hot, molten deliciousness with me as I strolled. The buildings lining the river were architecturally simple and primarily only adorned with drying laundry, but they were colorful and visually enticing from each of the many bridges that crossed the river, especially with the towers of two separate cathedrals rising magnificently behind them.  

​The far side of the river is home to an extensive set of Roman walls and passageways surrounding the structures connected with the cathedral.  I think I could spend days exploring there, but since I only had a couple of hours, I opted for the highest towers and most impressive parts of the walls so I could get the double benefit of exploring the ruins and taking in the views.  There are no entrance fees here; one is free to wander at leisure and simply feel a part of the history.  The fresh air, the trees, and the pretty foliage lining the paths up to the walls made me feel peaceful and happy.  There were very few people on those paths, and I was able to ascend lost in my own thoughts and enjoy the moment all to myself.

​Back in the lower part of town, I appreciated how easy it was to navigate and know my way around.  So often in these new places, I spend a lot of time trying to figure out where I am and how to get to where I want to go.  There was a pleasing randomness to the arrangement of streets, but somehow I was able to keep track of my landmarks even when I couldn’t see them. 
 
My only snag on this trip was that I should have bought my return ticket from Girona to Barcelona ahead of time.  I had checked the kiosk for the return times when I had arrived, but since I didn’t know when I would want to return, I didn’t actually purchase the ticket.  While walking around, I made up my mind to take the later of the two best options, but when I arrived to purchase that ticket and go home, I found that the train was full, and I would have to wait another hour for the next train.  At least there was a next train to catch!  Mental note to pay more attention to that next time!
 
This excursion really epitomized my whole trip for me: the international friendships; the passing recommendations for places to see; the spur-of-the-moment decisions; figuring out complex transportation arrangements; wandering and exploring whatever looks enticing in the moment; getting off the beaten track; learning how other countries do things; and just enjoying all the new sights and experiences!  I am so grateful for this opportunity.  This is what it’s all about!

​One of my favorite parts of this trip has been the people I’ve met along the way and the opportunities that have arisen because of those connections. I’ll dedicate a whole post to connections another time, but for now, join me on an off-the-tourist-guide experience.
 
I met Tanja (pronounced Tonya) at the Saltwater co-working space she runs in Split, Croatia.  Tanja is a delightful, kind, spirited young woman, half Australian and half Croatian.  Her mother grew up not far from Split in a beautiful agricultural town named Vrana, and one day Tanja asked me and a few other friends if we’d like to see this little place.  The answer to questions like that is always, “Yes!”
 
We rented a car from Split, and the five of us (including another Aussie, an American, and a Croatian) set off on the drive.  Road trip begun!  The conversation was primarily in English with Tanja bridging the gap between English and Croatian for her friend Silvana who didn’t speak a lot of English.  The back seat became a little language laboratory, with enthusiastic (and largely dismal) attempts to learn how to count and recite those basics like days of the week and months of the year in Croatian.   Silvana was enthusiastic about teaching us, gently correcting our pronunciation and challenging us with little quizzes and repetitions along the way.  She also spoke Italian, which turned out to be a really fun experience for me because, given that my Italian was slightly better than her English, that became our language of choice.  I never expected to have the opportunity to put my Italian into practice here, but this was one of the highlights of the day!  I am proud to have learned enough Italian while I was in Florence that I could actually use it here, even sometimes getting to serve as translator for other folks from English into Italian.  The swirl of languages on our 1.5-hour drive was so much fun!

​We stopped at little rest stops along the way to see the river that heads into Krka National Park (spectacular waterfalls that I had visited a few weeks before) and another one highlighting a sneak peek of the valley we would be visiting.  Tanja was already proving to be an intuitive and excellent tour guide!  The vista of Lake Vrana and the cultivated fields in front of it was lovely.  It was much greener than anything I had seen in Split, and it really gave me a sense of the land.  I’ve been spending more time in cities than ever before in my life, and I realize that witnessing the work of people who make their living from the land touches me much more than that which happens in shops, stores, and high rises.  No judgment, just a personal preference.  

​Our first real stop was for Turkish coffee and a snack at Maškovića Han.  Check out this LINK to learn more of the history of this beautiful place. Tanja hadn’t expected the kitchen to be open at that time of day, so we had only planned on the picnic snacks we had brought, but since it was indeed open, we ordered a fish plate with a tuna paté, anchovies, shrimp, pieces of some other fish, and lots of greens and veggies.  I loved this!  Everything was so fresh and tasty, and way more interesting than the typical cured meat and cheese plate that I’ve had a lot of lately.  Turkish coffee was a bit strong for me, but with copious amounts of milk and sugar, it became much more enjoyable.  Truth be told, that’s how I prefer all of my coffee drinks!

​Across the road from the Han were the remains of a 9th century Benedictine monastery, later converted to a Turkish military fort before being largely destroyed by Venetian forces.  The sign at the entrance saying, “The glorious past of the former center of ecclesiastical, political and military power is today overgrown with brambles, still waiting for its numerous rulers’ secrets to be revealed through archaeological research” so perfectly describes so many of the ruins that I’ve seen on this trip!

​Tanja had a personal delivery she had to make to a family member, so she sent the rest of us off on a hike to discover a “secret” cave at the foot of the mountains.  The walk took us through beautifully tended fields and into the foothills where a little sign pointed us toward a hidden break in the rocks.  A short path led down into an opening, cave-like on three sides, where the water flowed from the mountains to wherever it meandered on its path to the sea.  I don’t know if Tanja had planned this timing, but the sunlight was perfect for illuminating the water’s journey from the cave.  My senses blossomed into the experience of hearing the flowing water echoing though the cave, the crisp air enveloping my shoulders in a chilly embrace, the smell of the perpetually damp rocks and earth, and the brilliant sunlight beckoning beyond the darker recesses of the enclosure.

​Tanja met us with the car for the return trip and the journey up the Way of the Cross to an overlook above the lake.  At the top we found the chapel of All Saints, which we learned was built, along with the stone stations of the cross on the road, as a memorial to honor those who were executed and thrown into a well beneath it during WWII.  The sad history of this area is further honored and transformed into a place of peace with little picnic areas and spectacular views.

​Lake Vrana is the largest natural body of water in Croatia.  There is a narrow strip of land between it and the Adriatic Sea on its far side and then a collection of islands just off shore.  Seeing the archipelago of all these little islands was magical. We had arrived just as the sun was about to set, and as if that weren’t already amazing enough, Tanja pulled out a local wine (and actual, crystal stemware) and popcorn.  We carried everything up the rocky path to the upper overlook just as the sun began its glorious performance.  Gosh, they do sunsets well around here!  Best I’ve seen!  My daughter has taught me how to truly make the most of “soak-it-in” moments, and I did this one justice.  I took loads of pictures, of course, but I also put the camera away and just let the wonder and beauty of this incredible landscape fill me with appreciation, gratitude, and awe (or, Ahh!). 

We finished up with another exotic Turkish meal back at Maškovića Han before heading back to Split.  By the way, the Han also has beautiful rooms for rent, so if you’re ever in this part of Croatia and feel like a peaceful and unique getaway from the crowds, I recommend checking this place out.  If you can round up a fun, local guide like Tanja, all the better!  I’ve enjoyed many incredible adventures on this trip, and this one, to a beautiful place with wonderful new friends, has gone down in the books as an extra special one!

​Planning is overrated.  Sometimes the best plans have a way of thwarting our intentions anyway.  It happens to all of us all the time, of course, but traveling seems to invite uncertainty and require more flexibility than normal.  Sometimes, it is due to having no specific plans at all that leaves you open to serendipitous delights! 
 
Despite the rumors of all kinds of people happily traipsing off to live in Europe for a year, this whole trip took a major detour when my own plans to spend a year in Italy were dashed by the Italian consulate informing me that there really is no such thing as a year-long tourist visa in Italy.  If you have been following along, you know that the results of those subsequent decisions have been amazing!  Having to re-figure lodging options; research new places; pay for additional flights; meet new friends; pack, unpack, repack, rinse and repeat has not always been the picnic that one might think, but oh!  The places I’ve seen and the things I’ve done have been well worth the inconveniences.  The smaller, more immediate changes of plans have also led to beautiful and entertaining detours.

​Makarska was one of those.  When my dear friend Jay came to visit me, we had planned a little side trip to a cenote and monastery near the town of Omiš in Croatia.  Not having (ahem, not taking) enough time to do the research beyond what someone had told us at a party, we realized halfway there that this trip was going to take much more time than we had anticipated and was not really going to work well with the weather and our timing for the day.
 
We pulled over and debated our options.  I noticed that Makarska was not too far down the coast, and I had heard that name mentioned before.  Turns out Makarska is the gem of the Makarska Riviera and is a lovely little port town with a seaside promenade and a series of hiking trails on a hill overlooking a stunning coastline.  We elected to skip most of the quaint little streets, shops, and cafes and opted for a hike, and the connection with the natural beauty of the place filled my soul with joy.  My dilapidated and pathetically wind-damaged excuse for an umbrella was just enough to keep most of me dry when the rain doused us with a quick shower.  Jay chose to fend for himself!

​Another last-minute change of plans led us to a ballet!  Granted, on that particular night, we didn’t really have specific plans to change, but when we dropped by the theater to pick up a schedule for future events, we learned that the final showing of what promised to be a really fun ballet was showing in about 20 minutes and we could get really mediocre tickets for $14 each.  The ballet was called Gusar in Croatian, and is more well known in other parts of the world as Le Corsaire, both of which sound so much cooler than The Pirate.  While we paused near the ticket counter, mired in indecision, we were rewarded with an upgrade to seats in the center of the 6th row for no additional cost when a woman approached to get a refund because her guests could not attend the performance!  Decision made!  The ballet was so much fun!  It was a swashbuckling romance and exceptionally well performed with colorful costumes and beautiful sets.  Jay even stayed awake, which is saying something!  

While my kids were visiting me in Dubrovnik, we had heard that one of the fun things to do in town was take the funicular to see the views from the top of Mt. Srd (pronounced “Surge”). That sounded good to us!  I always love views of beautiful places from high vantage points, and we thought the cable car itself would be a fun activity.  When I told our Airbnb host, Ivo, of our plans, he was pretty emphatic in saying that, no, he would instead drive us up there and while we were at it, he would take the bigger part of our day to drive us around other places, too.  Well, that was kind of him, but what about the cable car experience?  What about not really wanting to spend most of the day in someone else’s car and having no control over the agenda?  The kids only had a few days there, and this was not part of our carefully crafted plan.  Decision time!
 
There was a part of me that felt like I gave in to this plan because I was too intimidated to refuse the kind offer from our host, and I felt a little apologetic in suggesting this new agenda to my kids.  Fortunately, the kids were totally fine with the idea, and a new adventure began. 

​Friends have asked me how I have gone about planning this trip.  Normally, for a two-week vacation, I would spend the several months prior thoroughly planning how to get around, where to stay, what to do, and including details like ticket prices, operating hours, and must-see highlights in a color-coded spreadsheet.  For this, the biggest trip of my life, I have been flying by the seat of my very baggy pants (Turns out not having a car is great for the waistline!).  I have been getting a big kick out of having a vague sense of where I am going next and knowing that the details will work themselves out.  It does still take time to solidify flights and Airbnb’s, but getting my nose out of a guidebook and into a coffee shop where my next conversation could lead to an awesome apartment to rent or a month-long stay in a town I’ve never heard of has proven to be surprisingly successful and entertaining! Details like opening hours when you’re tight on time are still important, though; I nearly missed the Mezquita in Córdoba because I didn’t know they closed mid-day.

Sometimes our plans change beyond our control and sometimes they are just stupid plans to begin with.  I think all of life is that way, really.  We can choose to be disappointed because things didn’t go the way we expected, or we can choose to be delighted by what we wouldn’t have known to look for.  I have a friend who calls that “keeping your knees bent” as one needs to do on a boat, for example, to maintain your balance when your “ground” is shifting.  So, keep your knees bent, and enjoy life’s little surprises!

Europe.  What countries first come to mind when you hear that word?  Chances are Montenegro is not one of them.  Montenegro is a little Balkan country (European, although not part of the EU) across the Adriatic Sea from Italy and bordered by Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Serbia, and Albania.  Despite its majestic mountains, crystalline fjord-like lake, beaches, and charming medieval towns, Montenegro has, so far, escaped the deluge of tourists that descend on those other European countries that popped into your mind a few sentences ago.
 
While my two adult kids, Caitlin and Andy, were visiting me in Croatia, we decided to check out the town of Kotor, along the Montenegrin coast, but tucked in one of the most indented parts of the sea in the Bay of Kotor.  Our journey began with a delightfully informal car rental experience.  I had friends tell me they were able to rent a car in Split, Croatia, for $10/day, and while disappointed not to be able to find a deal like that, at $40/day with NO additional fees, taxes, insurances, or charges of any kind, and only a three-minute walk from our apartment, I was satisfied.  Andy and I were both delighted to learn that in Croatia a rental car driver only needs to be at least 18, so Andy got to drive in a new country, and I got to handle the navigation and enjoy the scenery.

​The drive took about two hours and was stunning most of the way.  We drove through forests and around hillsides and then through the several fishing villages dotting an extended inlet of the sea, reaching like a hand outstretched to show off the jewels of its steep cliffs and peaks jutting up magnificently.  We stopped several times to appreciate and take pictures that we knew would only serve to remind us of this drive but never truly capture its beauty.  

​When we arrived in Kotor, we were happy to find the last parking space in a goofy, elongated parking lot bordering the bay.  Turns out there were a few tourists there; I can’t imagine what parking would be like in the summer.  Lining the sidewalk along the walls that envelope the old city center was a long string of market stalls, mostly selling produce, but there were also some with meats, cheeses, honey, and breads, and then, a Christmas market!  Given that it was already three days after Christmas, this was a surprise!  Apparently, it was a benefit for some school music program, and most of the wares were decorations and crafts made, and hawked, by school children.  Just to support the cause, we bought a little bag of homemade cookies, which, although cut into shapes and resembling shortbread, tasted exactly like very dry biscuits with no sugar at all.  They might have been tasty with some butter and maybe a bit of honey, but they couldn’t pass the swallow test and met their fate in a conveniently placed trash can.

​Patterned stone plazas and walkways within the walls invited us to linger by the sturdy clock tower and the many churches, cafes, and gift stores, all nestled between the city walls and the natural protection of the mountains.  Despite many businesses being closed for the winter, the Christmas decorations and colorful shutters on solid, stone buildings gave me a warm feeling of holiday happiness.  Over lunch, we consulted a guidebook and planned our afternoon.

​First on the agenda was the Church of Our Lady of Remedy.  This Catholic church is the oldest known building in all of Montenegro and is only accessible by about a 30-minute trek up a steep footpath. We saw and petted no fewer than six cats along the way who formed a sweet welcome committee for us.  Although I’m told local citizens do visit the church regularly, it was closed and locked when we arrived.  That’s okay, though, because we really only went for the views, which are open and gorgeous every day!  We decided that, in spite of the respiratory distress and lethargy my kids were suffering because of the colds they managed to catch on the plane, we would forge our way upward to see St. John’s Fortress at the top of the hill.  After another 45 minutes of quite steep climbing, we met our reward!

​St. John’s Fortress changed hands many times in its history, and has suffered the effects of war, earthquakes, and time itself.  In the economic interests of tourism, there have been some efforts to preserve it, and there is a plaque toward the bottom of the hill stating that, “The reconstruction of the lower ramparts of the Kotor Fortress was funded by the people of the United States of America, through the Ambassador’s Fund for Cultural Preservation, in cooperation with the Regional Institute for the Protection of Cultural Heritage.”  The whole city of Kotor is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, which means it is afforded certain international protections as a site of cultural, historical, scientific, or other form of significance, and considered “important to the collective interests of humanity” (see link).

​Meandering through the ruins of the fortress was fascinating in itself, but the views of the city tucked in around the Bay of Kotor and of the mountains all around, were equally enchanting and well worth the climb, even for the kids, whose colds seemed to take a back seat to this adventure after all.  Caitlin later told me these ruins were a particular highlight of her whole trip!  There was snow on the top of the highest peaks, and green grass around the tiny church in the meadow below.  The bay shone like a sapphire, brilliantly reflecting the sky and the mountains surrounding it.    

​We dallied at the top of the peak long enough that by the time we got back to town, we only had time to meander the streets for a while; admire the Cathedral of Saint Tryphon, built in 1166; buy a few unique pieces of art and jewelry (well, the kids who don’t have to carry their luggage around for the next six months, bought some things); and enjoy a hot beverage under the warmth of soft, fuzzy blankets and heat lamps before hitting the road for the drive home.
 
Kotor waved us a glorious farewell with a rich sunset mirrored in the water along our drive.  From now on, when I think of Europe, my memories of Montenegro will shine brightly among the stars of Europe’s well-known celebrity towns.

One of the joys of traveling is experiencing what is different from our own lives.  While it is true that Europe is not as exotic a destination for Americans as some other places are, there are still things that I’ve noticed here that have amused, intrigued, or frustrated me.  Here’s a little list of generalizations from my travels in Italy and Croatia.  By the way, the pictures here don’t necessarily relate to the items on the list; they’re just a few favorites I’ve collected.

• Pasta packages don’t come with instructions in Italy.  It is a given that one knows how to cook pasta there.  I think most people do everywhere, but at home there are instructions nevertheless.

​“You’re going to live in Croatia??  Where is that?  Why?” When it became clear that I was not going to be able to live my year abroad in Italy as planned, the search was on to find a non-Schengen country where I could not just pass the time while my 90-day cycle reset, but actually enjoy my time there.  For info on the whole Schengen Shuffle, as it is known here, see my blog entitled “Adventure Starts Here”.  I have a number of friends who had visited Croatia in the past couple of years and raved about its beauty, so in choosing among the countries that I had never heard of (I know my geography skills are not finely honed, but where the heck is Azerbaijan?) and those that are cold and dark all winter, a seaside port seemed like a pretty nice alternative.
 
I was a little nervous about spending more than a little vacation in a country where I don’t speak the language and everything is even more different than the “different” I was prepared to experience in other, more popular European countries.  Take money, for example.  I was at least familiar with euros and that exchange rate, but Croatia uses a currency called kunas at an exchange rate with the USD that makes me feel like everything here is insanely expensive.  My first purchase was a gelato (Of course!) for 13 kuna.  Thirteen anything for one scoop of gelato seemed crazy expensive, but when I realized that was only $2, I relaxed.  I had to learn to start accepting the scale of “normal” to be in comparison to what other purchases were rather than in comparison to how it related to USD.  It is kind of like when you get to the point with a foreign language where you don’t translate it through your own language anymore, but just think directly in that language.  If a full lunch is 50 kuna, is it reasonable that a gelato would be 13? Yes, probably so.
 
“Croatia will be dead and rainy,” I was told.  Tourism has become the top industry in this strip of land bordering the Adriatic Sea opposite Italy.  That means that what used to be thriving little villages are now only “open for business” during the crush of tourist season, between May and October.  When they say that everything closes down in the off season, they are right.  In the little town of Primisten, for example, a friend and I were hard pressed to find a single restaurant serving lunch, or food of any kind.  We did finally find the only one.  This baffles me a little bit.  What did people do here before tourism?  I was much more interested in learning about that than experiencing the flavor of the place with the overwhelming overlay of other tourists.  At least the sea and the landscape play no favorites and would still be beautiful year ‘round.
 
Given those cautions, even from a Croatian-run website, I expected Croatia to be the figurative “winter” of my trip, the place where I would spend long, lonely days writing, working, catching up on the quieter aspects of my personal life.  I was so wrong!  More on that later.

​I first arrived in Split after dark, which is exciting because new destinations always seem like totally different places in the light of day the next morning.  My landlord met me at the bus station and walked me and my two suitcases “home”.  He showed me the direct route for future reference, but detoured past the Riva, which is the promenade along the waterfront he refers to as “the living room” because that is where locals (and others) go to hang out at all hours of the day, and past the side of Diocletian’s Palace, evocatively lit against the dark sky. I was instantly enchanted!

​As soon as I dumped my stuff in my room, I headed back out to explore a bit.  I followed the irregular but polished stone walkway into the city center and discovered the Peristil, a sunken plaza outside the central court of Diocletian’s Palace, where live music enticed passersby to sit and drink a glass of wine while watching inspired couples and glamorously dressed young women dance.  If one sits on one of the cushions scattered along the steps of the plaza, one is required to purchase a drink, but you can sit anywhere to enjoy a 13-kuna gelato.  The city center is a maze of narrow passageways lined by ancient buildings and modern shops selling tourist wares ranging from Game of Thrones trinkets to local lavender sachets to high-end jewelry and clothing.  I knew that many hours would be spent exploring this little hive of activity and history.

​In the morning, I discovered the draw of the sea.  I’ve never really experienced the sea rather than an ocean, and there is a difference.  The water is calmer, the beaches less polished, and in this particular part of the world, the water is a brilliant aqua-turquoise color.  The October weather was perfect, warm and calm.  The beaches sported sunbathers, swimmers, and several groups of Speedo- and bikini-clad people playing a type of group handball with a little hackysack. 

​Five years ago, while relaxing and enjoying the peace and calm of the expansive, brick-lined square in Siena, I learned that twice a year since medieval times, that very square becomes the scene of an actual horse race called the Palio.  I’ve been to the horse races in the US, and I had a very hard time imagining that sort of event happening there, so when the opportunity arose to see one of these famed Palio races, I jumped at the chance.
 
The elation I felt about being able to join in such an event was quickly dashed when I learned of the prices and details.  Over $350 for a seat! I did have the option to stand in the center of the arena for free, but that meant standing in the blazing sun for over five hours, not being able to leave for a restroom or food, all for a 90-second race.  I initially gave up on the idea, but good ideas have a way of simmering until a bit of creativity burbles up to the surface. 
 
With a bit of research, I learned that seeing one of the pre-Palio races on the days heading up to the event was possible for only $65.  I could get a pre-Palio contrada dinner ticket for $30.  Another $80 for a budget-rate hotel and the deal was done!
 
Siena is divided into 17 different districts, or contrade (plural for contrada), each with a different mascot or symbol.  Each contrada has a horse that can run in a Palio, but each Palio only runs 10 horses.  The seven not included in one race are guaranteed to run in the next race, and the remaining three are chosen by lottery.  Each race is preceded by three days of pageantry, trial races, and contrada dinners.  The trial races are nearly as much fanfare as the actual race, with the primary difference being that the races themselves are not run at full speed.  More of a practice for both the horses and jockeys.  

​When I purchased my tickets, I was assigned to the Pantera contrada for my contrada dinner.  Knowing nothing about any of the different contrade, I decided that was as good as any and I would become a full-fledged, fervent Pantera fan.  To show my commitment, my first stop was a store selling the scarves of my “team” so I could proudly wear my colors and identify myself with my fellow fans, thinking this was a bit like football teams at home.  First of all, I was quickly corrected that it was not a scarf or bandana that I wanted, but a fazzoletto.  This was a square “scarf” with the colors of my contrada and a picture of the black panther that was our mascot.  I let the shopkeeper tie it around my neck, knowing that I would have bungled it and looked like the tourist I was.  I later noticed that there was no particular method to wearing this fazzoletto and saw them displayed in all kinds of ways.
 

​I set off, proudly displaying my Pantera loyalty, but then remembered that some contrade are actually enemies of others.  Having no idea whether I was in enemy territory, I thought it might be safer to only show my colors when I was in the correct district, which was my next destination.  I wandered all around town, through several neighborhoods, each clearly marked with banners, flags, and colorful decorations, and each containing gatherings of families, from kids to seniors.  Some people were playing games as familiar as beer pong, some singing songs, some preparing for their upcoming dinners, and some just sitting and chatting.  I wanted to take pictures of all of the decorations and festivities but felt that this was something personal.  Even though this frivolity was taking place in public streets, it felt as private as if I were spying in on someone’s Christmas morning, and pictures would intrusive.  I did sneak a few when I felt I could get away with it.  

When I finally found the Pantera district, I expected to be welcomed in and feel at home, but here, almost more than in any other contrada, I felt like an imposter.  I was first a bit put off by this invisible wall from “my people”, but I later learned that no one is welcomed into a district without birthrights and it was this strength of tradition that made it such a powerful bond.  This was an insider’s club that was special because of that very fact. 
 
I had met two lovely German families when checking in, but only the two husbands of the families were to join me at our contrada dinner, and we sat with another Italian family from a neighboring town.  At the dinner site, the locals were quite polite to us, but in the waiting period before dinner and between courses, there was exuberant singing, raucous chanting, joyous insider gaiety that we could only observe.  It was like the biggest, most elaborate of secret handshakes, spectacular to behold, jubilant and boisterous!
 
There are traditions in my family that other people would never fully understand.  We might have friends join my family for potato soup for Christmas Eve dinner, but they would never feel the history of my dad creating this simple meal that, for us, grounded the expense and stress that sometimes characterizes an American Christmas.  They wouldn’t have the memory of growing up with the anticipation of this meal that was only served on this day.  The year my dad was battling cancer and we knew that would be his last Christmas, I gave bittersweet attention to trying to translate the creative process from his head onto a little card so that I could carry on this memory of him in my own family’s Christmas Eves.  To anyone else, this was a soup, and a kind of bland one at that.  To me, it was a memory powerful enough to bring the sting of tears to my eyes.   Palio and a contrada dinner is all that, magnified over centuries and among generations of families. 
 
The trial race was postponed twice because of rain.  The layers of dirt that now covered the woven brickwork of the square had to be perfect for the safety of the horses and riders, and a slight drizzle had made it slippery.  The evening’s race was postponed until morning, and the morning’s race was postponed for another two hours of sunshine.  As the pre-race was finally about to begin, though, the pageantry was in full force.  Now everyone was wearing their fazzolettos, or some other version of their colors, with chosen representatives in full velvet costume, with hats and instruments, leading the parades as each contrada walked en masse to accompany their horse and jockey into the arena.

The horses and their bareback jockeys lined up, quite close to one another.  There are no individual starting gates here, like at the races I’ve seen back home.  There were a couple mis-starts, and Dominic explained how the horses get nervous with the tension of the morning.  Finally, the gun sounded, and they took off.  Even at less than a full sprint, there was tension and exhilaration in the air.  The horses circled twice, and once passing the finish line, the contrade representatives flooded the track, quickly surrounding and creating a buffer around their horse and jockey to escort them from the arena.  The cheering was thunderous, and I could only imagine how it must feel on the day of the actual race.  A Palio race (or even a trial race) is indeed an event not to be missed, but I mostly loved that a 90-second race spawned two magnificent days of insight for me, and centuries of tradition for the citizens of Siena.