Classic Books Depict Trips as Spiritual Journeys.

John Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress portrays Christian on the road. Robert Pirsig describes his journey with his son in Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. Chaucer's Canterbury Tales is a contrast, indeed, to Erica Jong's Fear of Flying, but the comment on the journey is the same. We long to be "on the road again."

Railroads present a special lure. I've visited fabulous castles and other sites in France, Germany, Belgium, Austria, Czech Republic, and Canada. No matter how enticing the place, how fascinating the tour, I'm eager to head back to the station, the gare, the bahnhof, aerogare, flughafen. (Even the words fascinate me!) In Czech Republic, my transportation was a press van, but don't expect me to say that or anything else in Czech!

In Paris, I avoided large museums and chose small ones that required only an hour, so that I could traverse the city with walking tours of Montmartre, quays along the Seine, river ferries and subway jaunts. Now I know my way around Paris, but not the Louvre. I can draw a map of the city and plot on it most sites and neighborhoods.

"Piloting" is my forte; I thrill at navigating subways and countries. With internet research, I know which street exit I want from each subterranean station and when to turn left or right. I know every footstep before I leave home. Finding Victor Hugo's flat in Paris was only a retracing of steps I'd already "taken" on paper, so the way seemed familiar. I've led David to out-of-the-way sites with only a few index cards as my guide. At train stations, I don't look at departure boards, for I already know which platform and what time. (Consult Deutsch Bahn's website for schedules throughout Europe.) First time landing at CDG, I turned right for the train to Paris Nord. We only changed trains there - and three more times before we arrived in Azay-le-Rideau in the Loire Valley! I wasn't as anxious to see Paris as I was to traipse up and down the Loire to chateaux.

On Amtrak, David and I gazed at corn through Indiana and Illinois and repeated, "Corn . . . more corn," but we were only mocking boredom. Corn reminded me of the hobo life. I actually expected to see knapsacks between the tall rows. In Belgium, we chased steeples and departed the train at towns with antique towers. Many are UNESCO World Heritage town halls, churches, and bell towers and quite impressive, but the thrill is jaunting from town to town.

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