The Blue Car chose rush hour in Amboise to stop working. One moment I was driving up the hill away from the main square. The next the radio flickered, the engine died, and traffic stacked up behind me on the narrow street. I turned the key. Nothing. I was alone in a foreign country with a stalled car. Then the rain started. Pouring rain. It was my fourth full day back with the Blue Car. ______________________ For weeks now I’ve been thinking about comfort zones. It started in

walking forward through landscapes of memory

on arrival, journey, and the space between

on becoming a flâneuse before the road begins