In his book, Neither Here Nor There, Bill Bryson says

Is there anything, apart from a really good chocolate cream pie and receiving a large unexpected cheque in the post, to beat finding yourself at large in a foreign city on a fair spring evening, loafing along unfamiliar streets in the long shadows of a lazy sunset, pausing to gaze in shop windows or at some church or lovely square or tranquil stretch of quayside, hesitating at street corners to decide whether that cheerful and homy restaurant you will remember fondly for years is likely to lie down this street or that one? I just love it. I could spend my life arriving each evening in a new city.

That's just poetry to me, and to some extent that is what I'm doing with my life. During the last few years I have done this in Bordeaux, Paris, Cologne, Cambridge, Galway, Luxembourg, Trier, Amsterdam, Berlin, Breda, Rotterdam, Brussels, Antwerp, Vienna and Budapest, among other places. What I like to do, towards the end of those sunny afternoons, is to sit in a cafe drinking tea or coffee, reading or writing (avoiding computers if possible  WHY? ).