Years ago when I first contemplated traveling to Europe, I realized after awhile that there was a soundtrack playing in my brain and it was Joni Mitchell, singing “ Free Man in Paris .” Now, I like Joni Mitchell plenty, but I'm not a devoted fan, so I thought it curious that this song would surface from the depths of my subconscious. But I did picture myself wandering foreign streets “unfettered and alive,” having left behind work and bills and any other commitments. And truthfully, that's the way it was on that first trip. I was so absorbed with the history and otherness surrounding me (not to mention all the logistical details), that I quite forgot about anything I was supposed to be fretting about at home. One morning, I found myself in a Starbucks in, I think, Edinburgh. (Whatever you think of Starbucks, it was a familiar and welcome refuge all over Great Britain). As I sat there nursing my latte, suddenly, there was Joni singing our song over the PA system. I ju...