When I was younger I picked travel destinations without too much thought. I went to Italy to ski because I heard the Alps were great for skiing, and besides Italy seemed cool for everything else. Venice was Venice – it seemed like a place people should go. I went to Cambridge because a friend lived there, and then to Amsterdam because, well… it’s medicinal. Then Paris, then Barcelona, then a more nakedly Spanish party town, Alicante, all because they seemed like cool places.
God knows how I arrived at these decisions. In College, the “Grand Tour” I took with my sister seemed to pluck big, well-known cities off the map of Western Europe because the aggregate of everything we’d absorbed in that time (before the Internet made minute research into every detail of a place the norm) it seemed like the right move. We were College kids, and we didn’t know any better. After College, my horizons expanded somewhat, but I still picked places in “bucket list” fashion: a place I should go because I just felt like I should go.