I came back once or twice a year to visit my family, and then I would take off again. In the beginning, I think everybody thought I would get over it and get it out of my system. And I never did.

Even here, in the U.S., I walk my daughter's dog and I look for interesting people sitting at a picnic table and I walk over with my white hair and I ask, "Would you mind if I sat and rested here for a minute?" Nobody would refuse that.

I don't want to be responsible anymore. I don't want to have plans. I just want to float through the world.

When I'm by myself, I'm not threatening at all. I get many more invitations than I would if I were traveling with anyone else, especially with a man. But I'm rarely alone. I sit on a park bench and I'm not alone because I pick a park bench where somebody interesting is sitting.

There were times that the kids were upset I wasn't there, those three times a year they needed me. The rest of the time, I'm sure that I wasn't in their thoughts.

I don't worry about being a woman alone out there. My advice to people is to smile a lot, talk to strangers, accept all invitations and eat everything you're offered.

Risk-taking, trust, and serendipity are key ingredients of joy. Without risk, nothing new ever happens. Without trust, fear creeps in. Without serendipity, there are no surprises.