Where Does That Go?

When I was sixteen, I crashed my car because I was looking down a side street.

For legal purposes, let's say I misjudged the stopping distance of my 1978 Ford Thunderbird Boat Edition and lifted off the brake when I shouldn't have. Rookie mistake.

But that's only part of the story. I still don't know what was at the end of D Street. It dead-ended at the railroad tracks. I have no idea why it mattered so much in that moment. I just remember catching it out of the corner of my eye and wondering where it went.

Apparently, I've been doing that ever since. I'm still intrigued by a well-lit alleyway. Or an archway that seems to invite you through. Or a narrow street that disappears between old buildings. Not the dark, creepy kind, but the sort that suggests there's a little bit of everyday life just beyond.

Lecce is full of courtyards and passageways that reveal just enough to spark your curiosity. Sometimes it is a staircase disappearing around a corner, a balcony, or a patch of sunlight on old stone.

Sometimes it's a tiny vintage Fiat tucked beneath a grand arch, surrounded by potted palms. I have no idea who lives there. I only know that I stopped, smiled, and wondered what their life was like beyond that courtyard.

Lucca invites a different kind of curiosity. Every opening in the Renaissance walls feels like a question. Is it just a narrow passage? A dead end? Or will it suddenly release you from the sheltered world inside the walls and send you across the moat toward the train station?

There is something satisfying about that transition: one moment you are enclosed by the city, and the next you have popped out into a completely different landscape.

Whether it is a side street, a courtyard, or an opening through an old city wall, I am always tempted to see where it leads. Sometimes I take the detour. Sometimes I simply check Google Maps to see whether it's another way to reach where I was already going.

And sometimes I don't go at all. I just stand there for a moment, admiring the way the afternoon light falls across the cobblestones farther down the street, wondering what might be around the next corner.

I enjoy destinations, but I'm just as interested in the possibilities between them. Not every side street leads somewhere remarkable. Some really do end at the railroad tracks. But every now and then, curiosity rewards you with a beautiful courtyard, a neighborhood café, a tiny yarn shop, or simply a quieter way to get where you were headed.

Just this past week, I stepped on the back of a woman's shoe because she slowed down while I was admiring the pastéis de nata in a bakery window.

Apparently, curiosity still has its hazards. Fortunately, these days I'm usually moving at walking speed.