This weeklong holiday through Wales and England has been a constant reminder of why I love travel. Going solo can be a bit lonely during the long train rides, but it also grants you permission to be more outgoing. I’ve developed a whole strategy for meeting people; go to the nearest pub that’s only a quarter-filled, sit at the bar, bring the travel guide and read it until someone asks where you’re heading. Works like a charm. The museums, the sights and the attractions are neat, but the random people I’ve met along the way have been the most memorable. Like:

• Dave, an Alaskan by way of Iowa who has actually been to through my hometown in southern Minnesota. We chatted on one of Wales’ scenic, narrow-gauge railways on the way into the mountains . He works in “the bush” of Alaska, way up in the Arctic Circle, as a police officer and part-time firefighter. He’s so removed from civilization that milk costs $10 a gallon. Because of the job’s remoteness, he gets a “two weeks on, two weeks off” work schedule, so he can travel all the time without using a day of his vacation.

• Tracksuit Guy with Ironed Hair, one of four people in my hostel in Cardiff who was there for The X Factor auditions the next day. He must’ve spent an hour to get his flat-ironed hair just right, but his solid grey, matching, two-piece tracksuit showed that he didn’t really care about how he looked. He was also too shy to perform his audition piece for us at the bar. Wuss. But just when I was starting to get all judgmental on this young guy from Newcastle, he hits me with a near-encyclopedic knowledge of World War II. We chatted for over an hour on Hitler’s strategic failures. Moral: Don’t judge a book by its cover.

• Sam, the sweet British hostel manager with arms covered in ink and a buzzed haircut. She told me about Ohio, where she went for a big tattoo convention. I told her about The Mall of America and had her saying she had to visit Minnesota. You know, for all the talk I do about Minnesota, I should really get a commission from the Board of Tourism.

• John and Merion, a retired English couple on holiday for the week. I met them on the aforementioned railway where we chatted about dream holiday destinations and for the entire hour-long train ride. It was only at the end of the conversation that I got the real nugget: When he was young, John served in the force as a parachuter. Coolest job ever?

• Bethan, a gorgeous Welsh student who was bartending at a pub where I stayed (they had rooms for rent upstairs). She was born-and-raised in Aberystwyth, where she now to college, and learned Welsh before she learned English. She plans to vote in next month’s prime minister election and thinks you should, too.

• Caitlin, an American working at Dartmouth College. She was recovering from surgery and couldn’t do any strenuous activity, so her travel companions had abandoned her to go hiking in Scotland. After they left, The Volcano left her stranded in Ireland. We met on the ferry where she was planning to take the Chunnel to France and the train to Amsterdam to try and make her flight by this weekend.

• Scott and Heather, a doctor/lawyer couple from Seattle I met on the rooftop pool of the town of Bath’s spa. I was solo at a place filled with couples, so it was grateful when they me to join them for the dinner that was included in the spa package, even if that dinner was in our robes. Fastest meeting to eating-in-our-robes turnaround ever.

• Nathan, another native Welsh-speaker with a masters degree in politics. He gave me a one-on-one tour of Y Senadd, the government building in Cardiff, the capital of Wales. Our mutual interests in politics turned the tour into a fascinating discussion of American federalism verses British devolution.

All these people and my holiday is only halfway through. Who knows who I’ll meet tomorrow.

Somewhere, in a world where volcanoes don’t disrupt air travel across Europe, I’m having a wonderful time visiting Angela and Michael in Austria. Unfortunately, I’m in a world where volcanoes do happen, and as a result, the last 48 hours have been a whirlwind for me.

“…and the volcanic ash from Iceland forced the cancellation of hundreds more flights today as airports around Europe closed. A spokesman for Ryan Air said they are working with stranded travelers, but prevailing weather conditions…”

That’s the radio report that just played on the speakers of the Citylink bus to Dublin that I’m on right now. Here’s a brief rundown of what’s happened: About a month ago I discovered that my employer gives paid vacation time. After only working at the shop for three months, I had accrued a week’s paid holiday. Amazing! I scheduled my holiday for this week. I was supposed to fly from Dublin to Vienna yesterday morning to see Michael’s choir concert and spend six days in Austria with my friends. Then on Thursday I was to fly from Vienna to London to spend the weekend with my cousin and her family, before flying back to Galway on Sunday. By Thursday, it was looking unlikely that would happen. My fears were confirmed Friday evening when I logged on to Aer Lingus’ website to find my flight had been cancelled. The next available flight was Wednesday. Scrambling, I rebooked a flight on Sunday morning from Dublin to Venice. A blessing in disguise! I’ve always wanted to go to Venice. I would spend the day there before taking an overnight train to Vienna to meet my friends. I went to the bookstore and picked up a pocket travel guide to Venice and leafed through it as I walked home — only to get a text message from Aer Lingus telling me that the Venice flight had been cancelled, too. Looking at the reports, no one really knew when this volcanic ash was going to go away, and I certainly didn’t want to spend my holiday in Galway. If I didn’t get to Austria I couldn’t make my Thursday flight to London. My entire holiday would be ruined. So I improvised.

Since there aren’t any flights leaving Ireland to mainland Europe, I booked one of the last available ferry tickets from Dublin to Holyhead, Wales last night. Then I turned around and exchanged my Venetian travel book for a British one. I’m going to need it, because outside of London, I know absolutely nothing about the Great Britain. I’ve got a B&B booked for tonight in Holyhead, and I’m still planning on arriving in London on Thursday. How I’m getting to London and what I’ll do in between is anybody’s guess. I love travel, but I’m a planner — I like to know where I’m staying the next night when I wake up in the morning. This trip will challenge me by forcing me to let go of what my father calls my “high control need.” I’m nervous, but also exhilarated. I could meet someone cool on the ferry tonight and end up hitching a ride to Liverpool. I could take a train and find a whitewater-rafting outfit in Wales. I’ve got no idea where I’ll be in twelve hours, but that’s one of the joys of travel of travel. When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade, even if that requires a bit of improvisation.