Through the ages, would-be saunterers have devised ways not only to escape to the streets, but to be more open to chance. In Alexandre Dumas’s “The Mohicans of Paris,” a character decides which way to go by tossing a fragment of paper into the wind and following it toward whatever adventure awaits. Nowadays, books and games like “Anywhere Travel Guide: 75 Cards for Discovering the Unexpected, Wherever Your Journey Leads,” offer travel prompts such as “Imagine a song you haven’t heard in a long time. Move your body with the music. Turn right when the song ends.”
When Sabrina Impacciatore, the Italian actress who played Valentina in the second season of “The White Lotus,” was asked during an interview on HBO whether she plans everything or goes with the flow on vacation, she said her idea of vacation is to follow smells and sounds. “I love to arrive in a place,” she said, “and the first smell I like, I follow the smell.”
In Krakow, Poland, one spring, I followed the sun. I had a bad cold but it was the sort of unseasonably warm afternoon that draws everyone, even an ailing tourist, to the banks of the Vistula River. A monk and a nun sat on a low wall, their legs dangling over the side. Three women gathered under a weeping willow. Dogs sniffed each other on the grass. I stopped to rest. After all, pauses are as much a part of flânerie as putting one foot in front of the other.
Sitting on the wall, I watched five old men, one shirtless, playing cards at a picnic table. A couple of bicycles and a set of crutches leaned against a tree. It was an unremarkable scene and yet, as I kept looking, it took on a certain significance. Most of us travel with must-see destinations in mind. But every now and then, on a stroll to nowhere, we’re reminded that life doesn’t get much better than communing with a friend or two by a river in the late afternoon.
These days, most flâneurs are not bons vivants in top hats. Gone is the detached observer looking on as Paris transforms before her eyes. We are of our time. All kinds of people today, including those for whom walking isn’t easy or possible, may consider themselves flâneurs and flâneuses. What remains of the original privileged character is a certain romance, an air of freedom and a desire to pursue a slower, looser way of experiencing a city — if only for an afternoon. Eventually, you return to your hotel. You’ve strolled unfamiliar streets and tried new things. If you’re lucky, you’ve seen something beautiful or tasted something superb. Maybe you’re feeling grateful, or you’ve rekindled some joie de vivre. You did not go out with a destination. But perhaps you arrived somewhere after all.
