The Quiet Streets of Spain: Finding Stillness in Zamora and Beyond

I am writing this from my desk in the 10th arrondissement of Paris, listening to the distant, rhythmic thrum of a helicopter circling overhead. It has been a turbulent week. My neighborhood, usually defined by the smell of baking baguettes and the clatter of café chairs, has been shuttered and tense. I’ve spent the better part of the last few days watching from my balcony, checking the transit apps with a grim sense of resignation, and wondering how, exactly, I advise you—my readers—to navigate a Europe that feels increasingly fragile.

When you spend your life documenting the art of travel, you become attuned to the pulse of a place. Paris is currently vibrating with a nervous energy that isn’t conducive to the kind of leisurely, open-hearted wandering we all crave. But here is the truth that doesn't make the evening news: Europe is not a monolith. The frustration bubbling over in the metropolitan capitals is a localized fever, not a continent-wide plague.

If you are currently holding a ticket to Europe and feeling that familiar, sickening pull of anxiety, do not cancel. Divert.