I haven’t the foggiest.
But, in a way, this is one of the most exciting phases of the trip, as this is the moment when I can most unreservedly delude myself. An Excel spreadsheet doesn’t limit me in that cruel way suitcases do, and so at the moment, while my pond-hopping belongings are still in list form, I have the luxury of including stupid things like my rabbit corkscrew and a watercolor set. Because, of course, once I find myself surrounded by the mystique of Europe, I will find myself a connoisseur.
What I’m really banking on, though, is that I’ll soon come to my senses and acknowledge that this isn’t Eat Pray Love. My editing eye is going to kick in (as will the confines of my suitcases), and with that, my list (and the mental picture I have of me, sitting on the terraced hillside opposite Bingen, wine in hand, painting the boats floating down the Rhine at sunset) will be rendered ridiculous, and I will never have to figure out how to fandangle myself so that I can drink wine and paint simultaneously. Thank goodness.