HELSINKI, WHERE I’M writing this in my small studio apartment, is cold and dark in November. The world has shrunk, airplanes are grounded and travel plans are canceled. As a travel writer, I’ve spent the past few years journeying far and wide. I’ve retraced the steps of the writer and lady-in-waiting Sei Shonagon in Kyoto, where she lived more than a thousand years ago. On a tent safari through the savannas of Tanzania, I’ve listened to the roaring of lions in the spirit of Karen Blixen. I’ve sought out evidence of Renaissance-era female painters in Italy. This year, however, the longest trip I’ve made was a three-hour…
