Dispatch from the planning department
On balancing the planned and unplanned when traveling.
First things first, a little business: Have you shared Jen’s last post to receive her fab Beginner’s Japan Itinerary? If not, go do that now, I’ll wait …
Okay, now that’s done, I can tell you her post has me in serious wanderlust territory, again. It made me even more wistful about the trip to Iceland my son and I took a few years ago, the details of which were — heavily, gratefully, successfully — influenced by the Google docs two friends shared with me.
But it also reminded me of trips further in the rearview, ones that had no inkling of Instagram or TikTok influences or shared spreadsheets, trips that forced, okay maybe just nudged, me not to try to account for each minute of a trip like I was a junior associate logging every seven minutes of my day at the firm. Here follows a reminiscence …
When my husband and I were in our mid-twenties, we took a trip to Paris that was weirdly both spontaneous and hyper-planned. One late summer afternoon, a coworker had casually, while passing in the office hallway, announced that Delta flights were wildly discounted and that she’d just booked a flight to Italy for some insanely low fare. We’re talking under $400, and even a quarter century ago this was really something to crow about. I picked up my desk phone and dialed my beau. “Wanna spend Christmas in Paris?” I asked.
We booked for November instead, and I spent the next six to eight weeks madly researching where we should stay and eat and go. I read every word of the Frommer’s Budget Guide to Paris. (Remember them? Wistful sigh.) I obsessed over how to split up the trip for the best combination of locales from which to explore the city. I decided we should divide our 10-ish days between staying on the Rive Droite and Rive Gauche (the Right and Left Banks of the Seine) for the widest experience. And I prepared to book our selected hotels via fax — yes, FAX. That’s how budget international hotel stays were booked in the 1990s, kids.
But my guy had a request: He wanted us to leave a couple of days unplanned and unbooked, with the idea that we’d gather some on-the-fly intel at the tourism office on the Champs Elysées and head to the train station, sans reservations. (We were so ahead of Anthony Bourdain, if not quite as profane or culinarily adventurous.) To be honest, I was a little freaked out about not having a bed — in a room, under a roof — lined up ahead of time. (As a child, I once slept on the porch of a random real estate office during a family hitchhiking trip that didn’t quite go to plan, if there had even been a plan to begin with, and I like to know where I’m gonna sleep. Sue me.) But this was supposed to be an adventure, and since neither of us had ever been to the City of Lights, it made sense to leave space for feeling out a local recommendation.
So my plans nailed down four delightful days in a mod little Right Bank hotel on the front end, and four cozy, chintz-wrapped nights in a charming-if-faded Left Bank spot with red geranium-stuffed window boxes near Les Invalides on the back end, with two spontaneous days in the middle that led us to the town of Blois in the Loire Valley.
We arrived at the Blois station on a Wednesday afternoon without a place to stay. I honestly can’t remember how we decided on the funky hotel — probably an advert on a bulletin board in the station — but traveler’s luck was with us, as we landed a charming and very affordable corner room with a turret-style bay window and an in-room shower (though not, alas, a private toilet).
The main draw here is the storied royal Chateau de Blois, rife with historical and political drama. The buildings are rich with architectural interest spanning the Middle Ages to the 17th century and include Medieval, Gothic, Renaissance, and Classical sections.
On the political stage, Louis XII moved the French central court here in the late 1400s; his cousin and son-in-law, King Francois I, used it as his residence in the early 1500s; then in the late 1500s, King Henri III took refuge here during the Wars of Religion, and a whole bunch of deadly intrigue ensued, in which Henri had the Duc de Guise and his brother the Cardinal de Guise murdered (at least one of them in the king’s bed, no less, though the king wasn’t there, you understand).
Anyway, the place is absolutely stacked with fascinating details. And, no shade to Paris, but between shatteringly flaky apricot croissants from the family bakery around the corner in the morning and perfect crisp-bubbly wood-fired pizza in the evening, we had some of the best food of the whole trip in Blois.
The point here is that, while I’m an over-researcher at heart and am always going to be quite grateful for the well reported guide book and a trusted friend’s google doc to lay a sturdy foundation (particularly for a big trip), there’s something to be said for carving out a little time to let les vents du pays carry you along.
Sometimes the adventures you don’t expect are the most satisfying or at the very least, memorable. When was the last time you just … wandered, and it worked out?
Happy trails this almost-weekend.
I’m game for Christmas in Paris!