It seems like lifetimes since I tucked my passport into my clear plastic lanyard and made my way across “the pond.”  I felt more than due for a break; for a change in routine and scenery, for a chance to tread streets rendered uneven from centuries of wear, not from last winter’s potholes.

I longed to see the world through what I call “tourist eyes,” a mixture of amped up attention, because the sights are new and unfamiliar, and a natural state of self-forgiveness, understanding  that challenges in communications or taking extra time between destinations is not only okay, it’s to be expected.

I chose to visit Northern Spain and Portugal with a small group tour company, much of the itinerary following the path of the French Camino.

After a layover in Amsterdam, in an airport that seems to be the size of Delaware, I arrived in Bilbao. I took an easy trek on my own, across the river, down the Gran Via, the main shopping street.

I relied on my pre-GPS navigation system; my observation skills and memory. If I turned at the square with a statue of a man on a horse, I paid attention to whether I turned left or right at the Hotel Intercontinental or Michael Kors store and reversed the sequence to get back to my hotel.

On my first evening, I joined fifteen other souls on the tour to exchange introductions, meet our guide and enjoy pinchos (tiny sandwiches, tapas, that are purchased vs. free with a drink).

Having not slept at all during my flights, I slept through the tour’s first organized activity, a “panoramic” bus tour of Bilbao. I probably started earning a reputation for going my own way among group members then, although my status as a no-show was only about catching up on sleep.

Our three days in Bilbao were filled with typical tourist attractions — the Gehry designed Guggenheim, the Vizcaya Bridge (actually built for foot traffic), and bus excursions to Guernica and a family-owned winery.

I enjoyed getting a history lesson on the Basque independence movement and experienced the blending of local traditions with new technology. The family-run winery, making txakoli wine, couldn’t thrive and grow without using technology to optimize their acreage and develop export partners.

A few days later, we traveled to Leon, a key stopping point on the French Camino.  Its grand cathedral, both Romanesque and Gothic in design, was started two thousand years ago as a Roman military encampment and became an important resting spot for pilgrims en route to Santiago, where Saint James’ bones were discovered.

I visited the cathedral and its amazing stained glass windows with a few members from our group in the late afternoon and set out towards the old part of town with our full group and guide in the evening for light snacks and wine.

It was raining as we proceeded towards the cathedral. Umbrellas were open. The seventeen of us quickly blended in with local traffic. I tried to stay with the group but it was hard. Lots of small streets and alleyways veered off the main path.

When I realized that I was no longer with the group, I walked towards the cathedral, then back to the beginningsof the main street in the old part of town. I considered that the group probably pulled onto a side street and would be impossible to find. I stopped at a modest kabob house for a wrap that would serve as my dinner for the evening.

I headed back to the hotel, towards the fountain, remembering to make a right turn at the bank.

The guide called my room later that night to make sure I was okay, advising that I could always stop someone and ask to use their phone to call her. The next morning at breakfast, a group member asked me where I got “lost.”

I reeled off a snappy remark automatically, not realizing how many layers it contained.

“I wasn’t lost,” I said.  “You were.”  We both laughed.

I got “separated”  from the others. I knew where I was. I knew where the hotel was. I was a bit upset that I missed the wine and little sandwiches I expected for dinner, but I didn’t panic. I didn’t blame the guide for not watching me more closely.

I think of not knowing exactly where I’m going as part of the travel experience.

People will often call you out for being “lost,” when you’re just not following the path they’re on.

In his Lord of the Rings trilogy, Tolkien said, ”Not all those who wander are lost.”

In my own reflections on traveling, I might say, “It’s not a location I seek, a view to a perfect sunset, mountaintop or waterfall.  My heart is always the destination.”

Always knowing where your heart is — that’s no small thing.