On the Road: Being and Seeing

My glimmer of an idea is now a commitment: I am taking the Blue Car to Europe in early 2026. I like the sound of that, like the Blue Car is in my carry-on luggage and I am just picking it up and heading off across the Atlantic.

When I typed that first sentence this morning, I initially wrote “plan” instead of “commitment” but that didn’t seem quite right, so I hit the backspace key and then stared at the screen. It seemed important to use the right word here and that took some thought.

When I first discussed the European road trip with my kids (they hear all my crazy ideas first because they are generally kind and supportive), they asked about the places I would travel. Germany came to mind first; I can’t be in Europe and not take the Blue Car back to Stuttgart, where it all began. And then I thought about France and Italy, and the roads through the Alps, and maybe Spain and Portugal, and certainly Scandinavia where I lived and studied for a short while.

That conversation was over two years ago, and I went on with my life, keeping the glimmer of the road trip in my mind but focusing on other things. At the time, I thought I would need two years to “plan” this trip, but more than a year has slipped by and after my early look at routes and places, I put the maps away and haven’t done a thing since. And now it’s less than a year until I would like to ship the Blue Car to Europe; I really should start preparing for the trip.

Just don’t call it “planning.”

My reluctance to use the word “plan” might seem like I don’t really want to do this road trip. But it’s not the trip I am struggling with, but the abundance of choices I have, and the focus on places. When I began to make a list of where I want to go and what I want to see, and to think about locking in some dates, I got stymied and just stopped.

So, I did what I always do when I need to take action, meet a deadline, make progress. I posted my first article here last week and promised everyone they would have something about my adventure in their inbox every Sunday (please be kind and ignore I am two days late with this post). There is nothing quite like the pressure of a public promise to get me moving.

And because I made that promise and told all of you I would be writing weekly, I got to work on the trip. I can’t put the Blue Car in my carry-on luggage, so the obvious place to start was my list of recommended car shippers. I called a few to pin down the most important details – how is the Blue Car getting to Europe, what will it cost, and how long will it take? And the information I got in those conversations unlocked this whole big conundrum of “planning” for me.

I confirmed that it’s surprisingly inexpensive to ship a car to Europe, that I have a wide choice in European ports of entry, and most of all, that there is a large degree of uncertainty regarding shipping time. This last bit was a surprise although it shouldn’t have been. There are many things that can affect shipping schedules -- weather, container loading times, congestion at the ports, customs clearance, and how long it takes for the car shipper to have three cars to fill a container. The bottom line? It could be anywhere from two to five weeks from when the Blue Car reaches the car shipper’s warehouse in New Jersey to when it arrives in Le Havre, France, which is currently my preferred port of entry (although that could change).

I assumed I would pick a “sail” date and deliver my car to the shipper and then receive a tighter arrival window with maybe a week’s wiggle room at most, not three. My immediate reaction was one of annoyance. How can I book a flight, reserve hotels, and schedule tours (including the Porsche Factory), if I don’t know when the Blue Car will arrive in France? This required some thought, and when I have some thinking to do, I usually take a walk or make a cup of tea. It was a dreary, rainy day so guess what won out?

As I drank a very large mug of Earl Grey and pondered that three-week window for my road trip start, I had some revelations. The more I thought about it, the more I liked the idea of not knowing an exact start date. That three-week window gave me the answer to why I have been reluctant to “plan” this trip. I have been avoiding the map and the route because thinking of places I want to see and my schedule doesn’t answer the most important question: what kind of trip do I want?

Perhaps because it is a road trip, I have been focused on destinations and mileage. But the kind of trip I want needs to be my first decision and it’s not about places. I don’t dream about this trip and see a map of Western Europe with a connect-the-dots route from country to country. I don’t see a list of the major tourist sites across the continent. I don’t see a race to cover as much ground as possible in Italy in three weeks. When I dream of this trip of mine, I close my eyes and see myself sitting at a café watching people stroll by and sketching or writing in my journal, catching a glimpse of the Blue Car parked across the road. I see myself taking an impulsive detour that transforms into a two-week exploration that wasn’t on my map. I feel the rush of the air in the open windows as I drive down a country lane with a canopy of leafy green trees overhead. I see myself unhurried, and open to to where the road will take me.

This trip is about “being” in the moment and serendipity. And its harder to plan for “being” than for “seeing.” I think my reluctance to start all the preparations is rooted in my worry that I won’t get it right. It’s hard to resist the temptation to see it all and do it all. In case you haven’t guessed it from my Instagram feed or my blog posts on my website, I tend to say “yes” to almost everything.

And on this trip, I want to say a different kind of “yes.”

I want to say yes to the unknown. I want to say yes to randomness. I want to say yes to simply being in the moment without a focus on schedules and must-see lists. It’s a grander version of the life I am trying to hold on to since I stepped back from my planning consulting when everything I did was dictated by schedules and lists.

It’s an oxymoron isn’t it? Planning for serendipity. I know how to plan to “see” but I am still thinking about how to plan the “being” part of the trip. My hunch is that it looks like a loose framework of some things I absolutely want to see and do with enough space and time between to allow wandering and just being in the moment, on some road, finding surprises. Space and time.

I didn’t used to travel like this. I can remember one trip, when I was 28, that was at the other end of the spectrum from space and time. I was newly married, and we crammed in Australia and New Zealand in our two-week vacation that included an academic conference in Auckland. I used Fodor’s Travel Guide as our bible. We saw what it told us to see, and the trip was one whirlwind of sprinting from place to place. I take full responsibility for that craziness.

No trip since has been as planned as that one – as I traveled more, I learned to relax. But I am looking at the other end of the spectrum for this road trip. With no train schedules or flights to worry about, with a few months of time, and with my biggest concerns the location of petrol stations and perhaps the nearest Porsche mechanic (Blue Car, please be kind to me), I can make my own rules and do it in my own time.

As I write this, I think making rules might be the answer, as odd as that sounds. Rules and serendipity – is that also an oxymoron? When my city planning consulting firm was at its largest, I was on the road every week by car or plane to run public meetings and meet with clients. I developed two methods for exploring new places when I had precious free time. Sometimes, I would simply put away my phone and maps and get lost – walking and sometimes driving to wherever whim took me. At other times, I would pick a simple rule to guide my explorations. Depending on the city or town, I might follow the line of mature trees from block to block or create a treasure hunt of public art or cafes. The rule gave some structure to my wanderings and created opportunities for serendipitous encounters.

My stress around “planning” is now gone (or at least quiet for the moment). Because as much as I have a romantic vision of getting into the Blue Car in Le Havre and just driving, I know I won’t be happy with a completely random trip, as boss as it sounds. Once I decide on the countries to visit, I will still ask people to make recommendations for amazing drives and food and public art. For little hidden towns and beautiful landscapes. I am preparing for a road trip that combines both rules and serendipity, being and seeing, set destinations and wandering. A trip that allows me to “be” in the moment for long stretches of time without a tight plan to see and do things. If I can pull this off, it will be quite the trip.

The preparation begins.

Susan Silberberg