Discovery – by Shannon Kenny The joy of travel, for me, resides in almost equal parts in the planning - when to go, how to get there; the act of going, embarking on an adventure; the delight of completing the must-see and must-do list; the heartbreak of relegating activities or places to the ‘interesting-but-not-essential-to-a-fulfilling-experience' list; the thrill of the unknown, and the wonder of discovery. Now, because I'm curious and can't resist a peak around a corner, down a side street with no name, there's always the very real prospect of getting lost in unfamiliar places. There've been times that I've arrived, but not to where I thought I'd be going. On a pre-GPS solo walking trip around a Greek island, an old widow in a tiny village briefly took me under her wing. Neither of us understood a word the other had to say, but her compassion for this obviously lost young woman transcended words. She tucked her arm into mine, showed me about the local market, shared snacks with me, and eventually found someone I could communicate with verbally. Soon she commandeered the services of a taxi-driver to ferry me to where I needed to be. In a Parisian hostel, after we'd written off the idea of a guided tour because of its prohibitive cost, Stephane approached us. He offered us a free, guided tour of the old city in return for our honest critique of his venture, Froggy Tours. The tour was exceptional. Stephane wouldn't accept an honorarium, insisting that our critique and appreciation were payment enough. My husband and I arrived for the first time in Cairo at Tahrir Square. Six lanes of non-stop traffic, for which no travel guide could prepare us, swarmed between our racing hearts and our accommodation. A little girl of about ten and her older sister noticed our panic. “Follow me,” she said as she grabbed our hands and escorted us safely to the other side. The sisters bade us farewell and disappeared back into the traffic! On a rainy evening in Varna, Bulgaria, my husband and I stared forlornly – completely illiterate - at the Cyrillic script on a bus timetable. A wizened old man a few feet away introduced himself as Hovig, and explained exactly which bus to take and where to disembark. A few days later we met Hovig again at Sofia airport and he revealed to us one of the city's best kept secrets: the airport staff canteen! Our family says: “Next stop, Lebanon,” when we think we've gone too far out of our way. It comes from the time we thought we were on a train to Jerusalem from Tel Aviv, but instead found ourselves at the end of the rail line in Haifa, near the Israel-Lebanon border. A young man, Saar, enlisted the help of the station master to ensure we got back on the returning train and changed transport at the correct place. He gave us his telephone number and insisted we stay in touch till we were safely in Jerusalem. While the prospect of getting lost, and sometimes being at a loss for what to do, may not be the most appealing value proposition, I have come to embrace it as an essential element of any adventure. Strangers have shown up as if by divine appointment, and blessed me with their kindness and compassion, generosity and protection, direction and humour. It is in being lost, and frankly a little vulnerable, in just about every place I have ever been that I have made the most wonderful of discoveries - the beauty of the human heart.