For many travelers, exploring a new city or country can be a daunting experience. A foreign city, especially, as London, Venice or Rome could be overwhelming. My advice is to wander the alleys and ramble the walkways far from the maddening crowds. What a great way to have the soul of a place reveal itself in all its history, glory and simplicity. Following is a personal history of just such jaunts.

Summer of '95 found me in the tiny hilltop town of Bastia in Northern Tuscany truly in the "middle of nowhere" Italy with my family celebrating an anniversary. On an outing one morning into the neighboring village, Licciana Nardi, searching for cappuccino, my nostrils were suddenly lured down a very narrow alley by the heavenly smells of freshly baked bread. We had found the village baker and his glorious assortment of goodies: peasant bread, breadsticks, hard rolls and more which we gladly packed up to take home to our casa and enjoyed for days. I also vividly remember that just as my sister and I turned a corner leaving the bakery and wandered down another smaller alley, we passed an elderly Italian gentleman who, as Italian men are known to do, brushed closely to us and under his breath greeted us with, "Bellissima!" This is Italy, I thought - great food and sensual men at any age.

On a jog early one morning during that same trip, over very hilly terrain to another small village named Pontremoli, I ventured down a narrow road and wandered into an alley, which I thought to be a continuation of the same road. Suddenly I realized that I had actually come down a resident's driveway for there stood Mama watering her plants as I hit a dead-end right at her front door. "Bongiorno", she said smiling as I sheepishly backed away to turn around and head out. I apologized in what little Italian I could muster. I'm sure I was a comical sight as joggers are rarely seen in tiny villages in Italy and I was also lost and American. But the woman's pleasing smile seemed to assure me that I was always welcome.

In the evenings in Bastia we would sit on the patio of our little "villa" and watch the sunset over all of the Lunigiana and wait for the cats to come. We'd search the alleys separating the houses, as this was where cats of every variety loved to hang out. The old women of the village would lay their leftovers out and what a feast for the felines this was. This became an evening ritual for us and left us with found memories of old women's voices calling to stray cats that responded with purrs and meows to the smells and tastes of Italy. It seems alley cats are found the world over and not all of them are undernourished.

On a moonlit evening in Venice in March of 1996 as I meandered my way back to the Gritti Palace Hotel from dinner at da Fiori, I was sure I could feel the sway of the Canal even though I was on dry land. I had not had that much wine with dinner. Maybe it was the constant swooshing sound of water hitting stone. Or maybe it was the closeness of the tiny alley passages that wind from one square to the next; and the subsequent wide-open feeling of each square as the moon cast its shadow over a church tower or a pair of lovers entwined. Venice is magical, I thought, and the magic comes in part from the mysterious maze of alleys, squares and walkways leading to or away from the Grand Canal. As I slept that night I dreamed of being lost in a myriad of alleys filled with sparkling Murano glass and Venetian masks with eyes that seemed to peer deep into my soul. On a more mundane level, along these small passageways one also finds the staples of life in Venice - the café bars, the green grocers and the cheese markets, the shoe stores, and the pharmacies. The ordinary and the sublime existing side by side in this city explored only on foot.

Biking through Provence in southern France on a Backroads trip one May many moons ago, I was amazed to find how easily one could get lost in these small villages whose alleys seem to tempt one to go in a hundred different directions. The main roads, which are not very wide by US standards, are very well marked; but the smaller lanes and alleys are a whole other story. Thankfully Backroads provides bikers with a detailed route map, which includes markers other than road signs. A sweep-rider also ensures that no one gets lost. One particularly beautiful morning while biking near the hilltop town of Gordes, my husband and I decided to explore an intriguing looking passageway off the road a bit which caught our eyes as a lovely grove of olive trees lined its entrance. It was truly more of driveway than an alley but we felt it worthy of pursuing. Indeed it was, for it revealed to us as we reached the end of the lane a charming abbey, which we discovered to be the Abbey of Saint Hillaire. Having a daughter named Hillary, we felt this to be a most fortuitous adventure and continued to wander around the grounds of the place admiring pots of flowers in full bloom ventured inside the abbey unbeckoned as there were no signs of welcome or activity. This was obviously not a public place. We savored the serenity and just as we were about to leave, a meek little man, possibly a monk though he was not clothed as such, scurried past us quickly reminding me of the White Rabbit in "Alice and Wonderland" who was "late for a very important date." Remember that my husband and I were in biking attire with helmets in hand and not dressed for such a sacred place. What a sight we were and by the looks of the raised eyebrows of the "monk" as he passed us one that he would rather soon forget. This was a day I would remember for a long time to come.

On a recent trip to Milan, Italy I was fortunate to take a "side" trip to a wonderfully historic town called Brescia just a short train ride away. Brescia dates back to Roman times when the city, which was then called "Brixia", flourished under the Empire. Remains of Roman monuments stand to this day including the Capitoline Temple and the forum. Brescia is dominated to the north by a medieval castle. Heading in the direction of the castle as I left the train station with my husband and friends on a brisk November day, our group immediately began to think of food as the time approached the lunch hour.

We were starving, a constant state for us in Italy. Upon entering the older part of the town, we searched up and down the narrow street we were on and saw nothing. As we approached a large square where the Duomo (Cathedral) stood I noticed a small alley off to the right. As I glanced down the long passageway my eyes caught sight of a sign, "Trattoria Serraglio" it read and in no time flat we were seated in a cozy cellar-styled restaurant ordering pizza with grilled eggplant, pasta with spicy tomato sauce and house vino. Our desire to visit the late Romanesque Cathedral was superseded by our lust for food. Roaming back to the train station that evening after visiting the Cathedral and the Castello and its gardens, we ventured down another alley and landed in the middle of the old Town Square. It was a Sunday and we were excited to see that seemingly all of Brescia had turned out to just "hang out" here. Families with children in strollers, young adults enjoying cappuccino at "la Loggetta," an American bar and older couples simply sitting on benches and watching the action. No tourists here, I thought and how pleasant that was; we were the only tourists on the scene.

There are mysterious, beckoning alleys the world over. New Orleans boasts "Pirate's Alley" where the rotting smell of oyster shells outside promises great food and good times inside. Famous Luckenbach, Texas is just that - an alley or driveway constitutes the whole "town" with its dance hall and post office. "Antique" alleys abound in small New England towns on Cape Cod and Martha's Vineyard. And I'm sure exotic place as Nepal and Bangkok, Hong Kong and Singapore, house hidden treasures found down many narrow passages. Perhaps the light or dark attracts the eye to places unknown. Maybe it's a smell, or a color or a sound that beckons. Whatever stirs the senses to follow, an adventure lies waiting - something perhaps that is "right up your alley."