“Isn’t this EXXX-CITING?” exclaims the sophisticated British woman standing behind me in the queue. We are about to embark onto Her Majesty Queen Mary 2 to traverse 3632 nautical miles from the port of Southampton, England to her berth in Brooklyn, NY. I couldn’t agree more. I am experiencing my own anticipatory jolt as I ascend the multi-level gangway to be welcomed onboard by a committee of nautically-clad officers from the ship’s “Company”. As I officially step foot on level 3 of the ship (please, not a boat – she is a ship!) and start to consider the indulgences awaiting me, I find myself in the Godiva Café. Oh! An entire café devoted to chocolate. And espresso drinks with chocolate. And espresso drinks with alcohol and chocolate. This bodes very well indeed. In truth, I am not an OTO (one time only). I was fortunate to have been invited by…

You’d miss it at first glance. But if you were to look very closely at my sneakers, you’d see it there – the stubborn streak of rich brown mud which I acquired on a rainy Saturday afternoon in Transylvania. We had spent the morning in the spa town of Sovata, which is also known for its narrow gauge steamtrain, and had now stumbled on the annual cabbage festival in the nearby town of Praid. The unexpectedness, the “real”-ness, the spirit, and the artistic and culinary devotion of this village celebration was one of the highlights of ten recent days in Romania. When I first told friends and family that I was headed to (and excited about) Romania, the ubiquitous reaction was…”ummm. Why?” Even the front desk staff at my Bucharest hotel was perplexed; “we never met anyone before who really wanted to come here,” they claimed. But Romania had been…

And then another plane. An express coach. Three trains (including the cute red one you’re seeing right here). Several cars. And that’s just the beginning. For my next journey, which unfolds this week, there will also be a large ship, aerial trams and funiculars, taxis, chair lifts, Tube rides, a horse-drawn carriage, a colorful mountain bus, and a rental car that I’ll be driving on the “wrong” side of the road. These red clogs are on the move again. Why do I do it? Why the strong pull to move, to abandon my current (very fine) station, to suffer all the Sturm und Drang of modern travel just to arrive elsewhere. Especially if you don’t have to? Paul Theroux observed, “The wish to travel seems to me characteristically human; the desire to move, to satisfy your curiosity or ease your fears, to change the circumstances of your life, to be…