By Jennie O'Connor   August 31, 2010

Rome looks less magical from the back of a police car. I should know. I was escorted home to my hostel—a monastery—in one.

I wasn’t guilty of a crime. But I certainly was having a devil of a time explaining to these chocolate-eyed Carabinieri via my mini-English-Italian dictionary why my pants were shredded (perhaps I should rethink climbing over walls as a method of travel). Or why I had no identification in my possession (the lamentable result of climbing over those walls).

I recently noticed a startling number of my stories involve climbing over or jumping off of something. I don’t know whether to credit fearlessness or foolishness. Perhaps it’s the combination of both that makes life so colorful. If my life were a food, it would be a towering cone of habanero/cherimoya/dragonfruit-flavored cotton candy: spicy, bizarre, and whimsical.

I’ve stared down giant tarantulas and I’ve harvested grapes to make organic Montepulciano wine. I don’t know which was scarier—leaping from the towering precipice into the Caribbean ocean or trying to scramble up the rocky shelf afterward without getting stung by anemones. I’ve taken a 5-hour detour by crowded bus for a taste of the world’s most perfect gelato. I’ve slept in a gnome village and eaten “beef feet.” But I drew the line at scorpions on toast.

For anyone who’s ever been stranded, I’ve got some choice tidbits about breaking into my hotel on St. Maarten because the owner was dancing in the streets, celebrating Carnivale. Are you seeking experiences virtually unknown to tourists? I’ll tell you about the best swimming spot in Capri—the Blue Grotto, after the tour boats have called it a day. You might even learn to pour the perfect Guinness—with a shamrock in the head—by reading about my lesson from a barkeep in County Cork. And I’ll explain why you should never leave home without a roll of duct tape.

Sure, a lot of bloggers would do a fine job reporting from these far-flung locales. But none have my penchant for attracting misadventure, nor a passion for telling their stories quite as fiery as mine. My tools: trusty laptop, kick-ass digital camera, and the irrepressible desire to climb over or jump off just about anything to choose the road less traveled.