If you’ve read these travel blogs of the past few weeks, and have gained nothing in terms of useful information, tips, perspective or growth at any level, then I’ve accomplished precisely what I set out to do.

   I like the going.  Once there, I like the staying. A good accommodation – comfy couch, sizable fridge filled with delightful comestibles, Smart TV and maybe a balcony  – there’s a destination. (Just don’t tell Carol I said that.) 

   I do like to know what there is to see and do when we arrive at a particular city, mostly to determine what can be avoided doing and seeing. Finding a strategically located café, with the right kind of wicker – rounded back, sturdy armrests, an attentive waiter (good luck with that in Paris) and from such a perch all that humanity has to offer can pass right by you, and without you moving an inch.

(The sudden rain shower led to an impromptu wet tee shirt contest, which underscored the value of simply sitting and staring and waiting for good things to materialize – or dematerialize, as it were.)

   Such a place we’d found in Bordeaux, where our stay was ably assisted by a steady rain. (The sudden rain shower led to an impromptu wet tee shirt contest, which underscored the value of simply sitting and staring and waiting for good things to materialize – or dematerialize, as it were.)

   The key is to do enough to satisfy the always curious (Carol) without making a whole day of it. Here, the heat of the day is my friend, as it is Carol’s worst enemy. A heat-aided respite occurred in Madrid, where I’d faced multiple sites to see, but were mercifully cut from the itinerary when Carol declared, “I’m wilted. I need a sangria.” Music to my ears.

   Europe, of course, is rich in history, much of it well preserved and readily accessible. I hate subjecting myself to almost all of it. It was the historian Edward Gibbon who wrote that “history is little more than the register of the crimes, follies and misfortunes of mankind.” I can’t look at a Gothic cathedral without thinking of peasants starving for the sake of organized religion building monuments to its own perfidious glory. And don’t get me started on what inhuman crimes were committed inside the Colosseum in the name of entertainment. Even Carol had had enough on that day, which led to the happy discovery of the best fried potatoes we’d ever had, along with café’s last bottle of Frascati.

   Probably the best afternoon of complete dissipation occurred in Lisbon, where a promenade view of the Tagus River from a plush set of chairs afforded a panoramic view of riverfront vitality that provided a healthy antidote to our own Iberian torpor. We stayed for several delightful hours. That afternoon reset the standard for what constitutes a perfect travel day. I enjoy the energy of other people; I just don’t feel a need to participate in it.

   Clearly, Carol sees things differently. Actually, she sees a lot of things period, while I tend to sit and watch them go by. Somehow it works. Already, Carol can’t wait for our next trip, and I can’t wait to see what I’ll be able to avoid seeing. Sounds like it’ll be a great trip. Get my wicker on!