The Right Attitude to Do Europe : A resourceful first-time visitor combines energy and curiosity to live her own adventure.

As the big black taxi pulled away from her London hotel, Patty was elated, craning her head to stare at the wrought-iron gates, the red brick roofs topped with chimney pots, the men in turbans and the men in bowlers carrying sturdy umbrellas that, she’d read, they call brollies.

She was 40, spunky and alone on this, her first trip to England.

All would be well now, she figured, after a shaky start: The hotel she had booked in Kensington turned out to be full. But the folks there had suggested a place near Notting Hill, where she had dropped her bags, washed her face and raced out to hail a cab and meet a fellow traveler--her seat-mate on the flight over.

She leaned back in anticipation. After lunch, she would walk until she dropped and then--only then--head back for a nap at her hotel.

Her hotel?

She gasped as she realized that she did not know its name. Nor its address. By now they had turned several corners and rounded several roundabouts. Lost in London in the first hour.

Stay cool, Patty told herself. You can handle this.

She tapped on the glass and asked the driver: “Did you write down the address where you picked me up?”

“I always do,” he replied. “Gate Hotel . . . Portobello Road.

“Right,” she said, jotting it down.

Patty’s energy, curiosity and upbeat attitude served her well in Europe. She was still brimming with wonder when we were introduced at a California spa a couple of months later.

“The first thing I had to do was buy a coin purse,” she told me. “I had all these foreign coins that I had to keep separate. And the fanny pack I took wasn’t big enough for guidebooks and maps so I bought a large shoulder tote at a thrift shop. I spent a lot of time wandering through the market stalls of Petticoat Lane and Portobello Road. That’s how you learn stuff and meet people.”

Patty went to the theater every night--often on a cut-rate ticket from the Leicester Square ticket booth. “It’s no problem to get a single seat for anything, if you’re not demanding about the view.”

She saved by dining on pizza and the hearty English breakfasts that came with her lodging. She brought fresh fruit--especially tangerines--from the market to her room. She wore comfortable leather boots instead of white athletic shoes so that she would not stand out as a tourist. She carried Birkenstock sandals in her tote.

She blended into the crowd by wearing earthy colors: tans, browns and blacks. She wore her long hair in a braid. And, after the first taxi ride, she depended on buses and the Underground, using a Visitors Travelcard.

Patty’s resourcefulness constantly came in handy. After shampooing one evening, she could not get her hair dryer to work in the room outlet. Because she had a theater date, she went into the dark corridor and scanned the floorboard. “I’ve worked in hotels,” she said. “I knew where to look for a vacuum cleaner plug. It worked, but I was sure glad that no one caught me crouching in the hall, drying my hair.”

Patty is something of a grown-up flower child--a tall, ebullient character who cares about strangers and the streets where they live.

“I’m not interested in touring so much, but I met a guy in a pub in London and he had a car and offered to show me the sights,” she said. “He drove all over town calling out: ‘There’s the Tower. There’s Buckingham Palace. There’s the Changing of the Guard, and this is the best place for a photo. I’ll slow down the next time around so you can get your picture.”’

After England, Patty traveled south in Europe and stayed at youth hostels to save money. “One of my friends said: ‘You? At 40? What if they ask your age?’

“They won’t,” I said, “and they didn’t.”

As a scuba diver who loves fresh fish, Patty went crazy for the waterfront cafes of Portugal, Madeira and Greece. Then she was felled by food poisoning in Turkey.

“But, you know, that was good, too,” she insisted. “If everything works too perfectly, you don’t really get to know a place. I live on the dreamy side of life. I’m not too logical. The up-and-down experiences are what make a trip real.”

While in Istanbul, she explored the ancient mosques and cisterns, bought a leather jacket, drank apple tea and experienced a Turkish bath.

“It cost $11 and you slosh water on yourself and then these giant women, who look like sumo wrestlers in bikinis, give you this pummeling massage. Turkish towels are not the big, fluffy white ones I imagined, but more like rough burlap rugs. The baths are in a big ornate domed room with round holes in the ceiling for light and air.”

The Turkish bath might almost be considered professional research: Patty did her travels before and after a stint as a masseuse on the Golden Door spa staff aboard the Queen Elizabeth 2.

In fact, she shared these adventures while rubbing a major knot out of my shoulders, back in California. Thank goodness for tape recorders. I enjoyed her guileless perspective, but I was far too relaxed to take notes.