In the spring a young Brooklynite's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of Airbnb. All of a sudden those ridiculous rents we pay don't seem quite so ridiculous after all. Now people offer us huge sums of cash for our little hellholes (though Airbnb begs us to brighten up the place, perhaps by leaving some flowers in front of the sign that reads, "LOITERERS WILL BE PROSECUTED" or hanging Japanese lanterns over the fluorescent security lights). Different people have different travel strategies: high vs. low season, bank holidays, following the sun. Me, I leave whenever French tourists who want to spend a few weeks in New York offer me enough to buy a pony.

So, I'm off again. London, Prague, Salzburg, Vienna, and Budapest. When I get back, I'll share the highlights. Don't expect too much, though: I've passed the age of backpacking and doing drugs with topless fire-eaters on remote beaches, and now blindly follow Rick Steves into quaint little villages with tea shops and strudel. Until May 4 you'll have to entertain yourself by wandering the archives. If this note has left you with even the slightest hint of melancholy you'll want to find my Pride and Prejudice piece, and all fond feelings will vanish like Paco's oats.