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Rick Steves: Blog Gone Europe

I'm sharing my travel experiences, candid opinions and what's on my mind. If you think it's inappropriate for a travel writer to stir up discussion on his blog with political observations and insights gained from traveling abroad, you may not want to read any further. — Rick

I'm producing a new special on Spain and its working title is "Rick Steves' Spanish Fiesta". I'm sure there's a better name out there, but I can't come up with one.

Last year my show with a working title of "Mediterranean Hopscotch" was given a much better name (Mediterranean Mosaic) by our blog friends. I'd love your creative help again. The description is below. I need to keep it 4 or 5 words. Thanks a lot.

The two-hour special adventure covers the quintessence of Spain: From pilgrims trekking to Santaigo to the bulls running through Pamplona, from dazzling Moorish palaces to flamboyant flamenco revelry, and from a never-to-forget paella feast to sparkling sherry poured with an intoxicating love of life, Rick Steves' Spanish Fiesta will shake your castanets like nothing else.

Posted by Rick Steves on September 08, 2010
Comments (1)

As I do every year, I spent four months in 2010 wandering around Europe, looking for something good to eat and a safe place to sleep.
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Bratislava, capital of Slovakia and just an hour from Vienna by train, bus, or boat — and a wonderful side-trip — is the comeback kid among European capitals. Its entire Danube riverfront is well on its way to becoming a delightful people zone.
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In a pub in Prague with my musician and tour guide friends, we sat next to Count Schwarzenberg, the newly elected charismatic playboy who finds himself a key player in the new Czech government. Considered by many the new political hope for that country, he sat down with his young staff to find the best way to implement their vision.
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The saddest thing I witnessed all summer was in Vienna at the famous pastry shop, Demel. At precisely 7:00 pm they lock their doors and dump all the unsold cakes and pies on their luxurious shelves into big plastic garbage bags.
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The hottest new sight in Munich is BMW-Welt, the showroom and museum at the BMW car headquarters and factory (with the city subway zipping visitors from downtown to literally its doorstep in minutes). The sweeping architecture invites you into a state-of-the-art interactive showroom and its adjacent museum. It's enough to make anyone a car buff.
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Sleeping in airports can be amazingly comfortable. And the price is always right.
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A fun new tote bag on sale in Vienna reveals all, making X-rays at the airport unnecessary.
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There are new challenges that come with Europe's insistence on being ahead of the USA in many techie areas. As it moves quickly to a cashless society, many European machines accept only credit cards that come with a chip. And, as American banks are sticking with the magnetic strip, that means American cards don't work in these cases. (Little challenges like these make a good guidebook all the more helpful.)
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I got all excited when, in a great little restaurant in St. Jean-de-Luz in French Basque country, the owner of the place whispered into my ear, "You might be interested that the last wife of Pablo Picasso, Françoise Gilot, is sitting just over there." She was in town with her own art exhibit. Quite elderly, she seemed full of vigor and style. While tempted, I didn't invade her privacy for a closer photo. Amazing to think that from 1945 to 1953 she was the muse (and corralled the sexual energy) of Picasso.
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With bright-red press vests, my cameraman Karel Bauer and I enjoyed front-row spots to film the Running of the Bulls in Pamplona for a new TV show. The show is part of our new series — 11 shows debuting nationally on PBS this fall. Stay tuned!
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The city of Pamplona knows how to keep things organized, as the biggest and wildest party in Europe seemed to be perfectly run.
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Filming in Pamplona, we had plenty to shoot and lots of drunken troubadours to entertain us...even if strumming only the neck of a guitar.
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The year 2010 was Holy Year in Santiago de Compostela. And that meant at each Mass they swung the massive incense burner, the botafumeiro. In mid-Mass, I caught a priest being more of a tourist than a priest. I hope he doesn't get in any trouble for his lack of focus.
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After years of seeing groups of tourists rolling oddly through towns on Segway tours, I finally took one. While they are expensive (nearly $100) and not really the most efficient way to "tour," I must admit the experience is lots of fun. After a 10-minute training session, gyroscopes spinning, we roll into the city. In Paris there are plenty of quiet lanes and parks and bike paths to Segway on.
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For 10 days in England I prioritized my limited time to actually have the experiences — take the hikes, see the shows, follow the audio tours — produced by various sights. One thing I learned: A hike is about the best three hours you can invest when in places like the Cotswolds and the Cumbrian Lake District, where you're there to enjoy the natural wonders. Hiking Catbells — a ridge trail leading all along and over a small mountain overlooking the lake called Derwentwater in the Lake District — was a highlight of my summer.
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Being in Athens is generally a battle between you and a million cars. But if there in mid-August during a sweltering heat wave, you have the streets literally all to yourself. Athens was eerily quiet during the midday heat.
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My vote for the best new sight in Europe: Athens' Acropolis Museum. With great architecture, great presentation, and an inspirational setting, it looks straight across at the actual Acropolis. I think the National Archaeological Museum, long the dominant museum in town, will see a dip in its attendance.
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I love to meet enthusiastic history teachers inspiring their students to enjoy the rubble of ancient Europe. Here in Athens' ancient Agora, a teacher was a bit over-the-top in his desire to bring those ruins to life. On that visit, I was inspired myself to help out by producing more audio tours. We'll produce four new Athens tours (Acropolis, Agora, National Archaeological Museum, City Walk), three for Vienna (Ringstrasse, City Walk, St. Stephen's Cathedral), one for Salzburg (City Walk), and maybe even a narrated Rhine tour for train and boat travelers.
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I reaffirmed and stoked my love of the island of Hydra last month. Just two hours by fast ferry from Athens, this island is a wonderland. Frisky shuttle boats zip you to remote beaches from where peaceful trails lead you back into town.
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Hard at work in Europe. Here I am, bravely visiting Greece during its economic meltdown. With my eyes closed, enjoying both the breeze and the sun, I'm thinking of the many people who opted out of visiting Greece because of hysterical news coverage. I'm pondering how each of us has a choice in how we lead our lives. I thought how fear is for people who don't get out much and how glad I am to be finished with TV news — to no longer be held captive by a news media with so much time and so little to say.
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Home sweet home. I've been away for four of the last five months. Now, travel research done until next year, I'm thankful to have such a wonderful place to call home.
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Posted by Rick Steves on September 06, 2010
Comments (17)

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I just got back from eight days in Greece — Athens and the island of Hydra — updating my guidebook there. Before my visit, people were concerned that my trip would be complicated by the country's "economic meltdown." (A magazine I write for didn't want to run my article on Greece, fearing that it would inspire its traveling readers to venture into trouble.) As has been my standard operating procedure lately, I wanted to go to Greece to get beyond the media hysterics and see for myself the truth — to experience firsthand the effect of Greece's economic problems on travel there. Greece remains an enjoyable place to travel, but it does help to have some background in what's going on there.

There's no doubt that Greece has its economic problems. It has lived beyond its means, worked too short, retired too early, consumed too much, produced too little, enjoyed too much job security, created a real-estate bubble with overvalued properties, and funded too much on a growing deficit. Many other countries (including the United States) are plagued by these same problems, but Greece is an extreme case, with extreme consequences.

The Greek government is scrambling to salvage their economy. They're getting more serious about collecting taxes. And those taxes are higher: From the beginning to the end of 2010, the Greek VAT (Value Added Tax, a national sales tax) will incrementally rise from 19 percent to 25 percent. This means everything people consume will cost more, because 25 percent of what they pay is going to the government to rescue the economy. Complicating matters: Many businesses have gone bankrupt because of the crisis, so there's less competition — which means higher consumer prices.

What about all that violence in the streets? Strikes and demonstrations have long been a way of life in Greece. Most Greeks see a general strike as an excuse for an impromptu holiday. But there is a tiny anarchist fringe element that knows a peaceful demonstration or rally by teachers or doctors at Athens' parliament building will have media coverage. And a handful of troublemakers will "come out to play with their friends" (as locals term it), and things become violent. Like back home, when it comes to TV news, "if it bleeds, it leads"; Greek and international media outlets embrace anything violent and exaggerate it. People who don't get out much overreact, offering anarchists behind those actions huge rewards.

What's the future? Greeks are optimistic by nature. They realize they've dug themselves into a pretty deep hole. But they also know they'll get through their "tough economic times." And they understand that a reality check — which will come with some brutal belt-tightening — is necessary. The biggest culprits of Greece's notorious largesse are government employees. They have cushy jobs, 100 percent job security, and great benefits. In the public's eye, they get in, make too much money, and — because they know they can't be fired — just luxuriate away their work lives in worry-free comfort. There's a huge anger about economic scandal and corruption, as maddening cases fill the news almost daily.

Simply put, Greece's adjustments to its new economic reality won't be fair. For instance, if you turned 60 in 2009, you're comfortably retired. If you turned 60 in 2010, you'll need to work seven more years. People are angry about that, but there's nothing they can do. Young, well-educated, multilingual people feel that they're overqualified for what Greece has to offer, and are tempted to go abroad for employment to match their skills. This potential "brain drain" of bright young people is yet another of the many challenges the new Greece will be dealing with.

What about the practical effect on tourists? Strikes are nuisance strikes — just a day or two here and there, and generally not prolonged. Regardless of the economic challenges, people still need to get to and from the islands, and they still need services once on those islands.

There will be destructive attempts to grab headlines and express anger at corporate and government sources of local frustration. (Anarchists burned two Starbucks in Athens. Other branches, realizing they were targeted, closed up shop.) But, as of this writing (August 2010), the violence is relatively easy to avoid. Unlike the frightening, random "suicide bombings" of marketplaces that we hear about in the Middle East, in Greece, any violence has been done with notice and generally at off-times — they'll call the newspaper at 4 o'clock in the morning, just before they bomb an empty bank building (their target is the institution itself, not the people inside). And virtually all demonstrations or acts of violence have taken place solely within one small, high-profile area of central Athens, and have not affected the main tourist attractions (islands and ancient sites) elsewhere in Greece.

I had a great visit to Greece. Based on my mid-2010 experience on the ground in Athens and out in the islands, Greece is the same old place. My company is taking more tours through Greece then ever (our 2010 program is particularly hot), and they're bringing home happy customers. The museums are still open. When I asked a Greek friend about his, she responded, "Why would we close the Acropolis? It would make no sense. Tourism is an important part of our economy. People pay to see it. That's why they are here."

In my mind, the biggest impact of the crisis on anyone considering visiting Greece is the satisfaction you'll get from contributing to the economy of a nation dealing with tough times, and the joy that comes with a tourist industry that really appreciates your presence.

If there's a positive outcome from all of this, it's that Greece's economic irresponsibility has inspired politicians and political movements across Europe to get real with their economics. In the US, throughout Europe, and elsewhere, the cautionary tale of Greece has sparked a sweeping realization that government pork, corporate corruption, and personal production relative to consumption needs to be re-calibrated.

As many American travelers are nervous about visiting Greece, I plan to put a version of this blog entry in the 2011 edition of my Athens guidebook. Please share your thoughts on this issue. What's the impact of the crisis on tourism in Greece, and how should this impact our plans to travel there in 2011?

Posted by Rick Steves on September 03, 2010
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I just returned from several days in Athens, and I enjoyed the city more on this trip than ever before. Part of my enjoyment was seeing a place that's getting its act together, as I believe Athens is. I had a great experience even though I was there at the worst time of year. It was sweltering — well over 100 degrees — and in mid-August, much of the town was gone, enjoying a vacation and finding relief on the beach. Still, there was an energy in Athens that made me want to come back and linger...in the winter.

Right off, I noticed women's toes. I did a study of feet on my subway ride through town. While sandals and painted toes, of course, are routine whereever it's really hot, for some reason toes caught my attention in Athens. Surveying hundreds of Greek feet (actually doing a counting tally), I found over 90 percent wore open-toed shoes, and there was a huge emphasis on beautifully painted toes. Women I talked to later affirmed that pedicures are a particulary big in Athens.

Munching a tomato reminded me of my backpacker days here. Back then, tomatoes cost literally pennies each (or drachma, in those days), and that was all I could afford. I ate them like apples at a Huck Finn fest. I grew up thinking vegetables were the pulp of filling the tank — not very flavorful. With my upbringing, broccoli grew in cubes, and cherries came off the tree filled with red dye. I ate mandarin orange sections for years before I ever actually peeled one. Then, when I hit Europe as a teen, I found tomatoes splashed with flavor. My first mushroom was in Germany. My first yogurt was in Yugoslavia. And my first quiche, crêpe, and pâté were all in France. Back in the 1970s, Europe did to my personal food world what color did to my TV.

The oppressive heat was a big topic of conversation on this trip to Athens. My guide pulled a bottle of water from her purse, took a guzzle, and offered me some, saying, "It's hot enough to shave with." The day before, she had gone to the departure point for her company's walking tour, and the heat drove five of the twelve tourists (who had prepaid plenty of money to take the tour) not to show up.

After talking with Athenians about the brutal heat, it occurred to me that even people who live in hot places don't get used to the heat. When considering the impact of global climate change on our planet, it's easy for people in temperate climates (like me) to imagine that people in the tropics just get acclimated to the blistering heat. But I don't think they do — they just suffer through it. That would make me pretty miserable. Like my experience in Athens, they just have no alternative. For most of the people on this planet, summer is as hot as Fargo in the winter is cold.

Athens was still shaken by its recent riots and violence. At the Changing of the Guard in front of the parliament building, we saw the "riot dog" — a stray dog that has hung out around the palace for years. She smells trouble and always sides with the people against the police. Locals look for and usually see her in all the TV coverage.

At lunch, I asked my guide if she felt endangered by the street violence. Putting the last bite of moussaka in her mouth, she told me her grandma's words of wisdom: "When you see food, eat it. When you see a fight, go away" — advice that has worked very well for her.

I'll talk more about those riots — and Greece's much-touted "economic crisis" — in my next entry.

Posted by Rick Steves on September 01, 2010
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Last week, sitting down to a traditional fried breakfast in an early-19th-century steel master's mansion in England's Ironbridge Gorge (birthplace of the Industrial Revolution), I reviewed ways people had spiced up and given meaning to my travels in the past month.

Collin, who ran the B&B I was enjoying, topped up my coffee and showed me a photo of an industrial wasteland with his stately brick home standing like some weary war survivor in its midst. Today, his delightful house stands in a lush river valley welcoming guests like pilgrims to the place where iron was first produced in the modern way. As his wife, Sara, brought my toast on a rack, I asked about the marmite. She explained to me what the beef-yeast spread was, and that "even the adverts admit you either love it or hate it."

A few days before that in Paris, under dangling lamps and a heavy subterranean stone vault a block from the Louvre, I spent a tasty and fascinating two hours with Olivier, a passionate young sommelier. He makes his living explaining the fine points of French wine to travelers. Between the pouring and sipping, he shared the basics with random insights: "Riesling works well both in the Alsace and in Russia. A French Alsatian vintner was offered big money to make wine in Russia. He refused, saying, 'Here, I have the privilege of being from somewhere.'"

A few days before that, in Finland, a man sat naked next to me beating himself with birch twigs while explaining the importance of opening the pores, stimulating circulation, letting out toxins, and relaxing in a place "where there are no bosses and all are equal."

A week before that, I met Marianne from Berlin, who'd been hiking alone across Spain on the ancient pilgrims' Way of Saint James. With her floppy backpack dangling carelessly from her tiny frame and backlit goldilocks, she talked with a pilgrim's philosophy as if singing children's rhymes. She spoke as if she were a real saint come to earth. Talking with her, I felt like I had just entered a Botticelli painting.

And, packing up after that Ironbridge Gorge breakfast, I was heading west...knowing that, in a couple of hours, I'd cross another border, where I just knew someone would tell me why in heaven they speak Welsh.

If there's one thing that keeps me enthusiastic about traveling in Europe and teaching European travel, it's the beauty of connecting people with people. Maybe it sounds trite. But that fact can't be over-emphasized. If you're not connecting with people in your travels, you're missing out.

Posted by Rick Steves on August 29, 2010
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As in the States, people in Britain have been trained by the media to talk about "The Crisis." For 10 days, all I saw was Britain at play. But the metabolism of tourism is certainly down. It's sad to see lively cultural events like the medieval folk banquet in Ruthin (North Wales) and the sheep shows (Ewe-phoria in North Wales and the Cockermouth Lakeland Sheep and Sheepdog show near Keswick) fall out of business. All three were major sights in my guidebook. And now all three are gone.

For 20 years, I've built my North Wales coverage in part around the medieval banquet at Ruthin Castle. Driving into Ruthin, knowing its banquet was out of business, I intended to cut the town entirely from my guidebook. I was on edge, moody, as if I was about to commit a violent act. I was mad that the town would drop the one thing that put it on travelers' map. I was going to kill it.

But as soon as I entered my good old Ruthin — and saw the funky half-timbered pubs, the humble fountain, the cheap but beloved WWI monument, the home where Cynthia Lennon lived after John left her, the church with the never-locked wrought-iron gate where everything is in Welsh, and the views down cobbled lanes leading directly into forested hills — I lost my nerve and knew I'd have to keep it in my book. Even without the banquet — the wenches playing harps, the noble lord telling Irish jokes, and the rotund voices of Welshmen and -women raising the rafters of the castle dining hall to the delight of tourists from around the world — I couldn't cut Ruthin entirely. I scaled my coverage down, but kept the city.

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The new attraction for me — perhaps a sign of the times — was not the medieval folk banquet, but the panache that Christopher and Gavin (a big-city couple) have brought their adopted hometown with their artful guesthouse and restaurant. They're gay, artsy, and flamboyant — a little dicey when they first came to this rural town. But within a couple of years, they and their restaurant were established. In fact, Gavin was actually mayor (actually, "president of the town council"). Today when locals want the best meal in town, they go to the Manorhaus, and are served by Gavin and Christopher.

Culture doesn't always hit you with a goofy stage show. Especially these days, you need to look harder to find culture in action. Anyone can point you to a great ruined castle or a fine restaurant. But how do we see the culture in action for today's residents...not tourists? It's tough. In Conwy (North Wales), I found it in a Bingo Palace. Here's the new entry for my guidebook:

Conwy's former cinema is now the Bingo Palace, where nearly every evening people who are very serious about their bingo gather. Visitors simply fill out a free membership card and buy in. Don't show up after 19:15, because you can't start late. As the woman calls numbers with her mesmerizing tune ("eight and seven...eighty-seven...all the twos...twenty-two, only five...number five"), intense old ladies who dress up to go play blot their numbers. The tension breaks each time someone calls, "Line!" It's keyed in with a national game, so someone can really win big. Note: As posted, "If you bring your own teabag, you'll still have to pay 40p" (joining the game costs £7-14 depending on the evening, Thu-Tue 18:00-22:00, closed Wed, across from Castle Hotel on High Street).

Posted by Rick Steves on August 26, 2010
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I just spent 10 days in a car exploring Britain. I forgot to note the mileage, but I started in London, scoured the Cotswolds, toured North Wales, and then drove up north to the Windermere Lake District (near Keswick), before returning to London. Total cost for diesel: £120 (about $185).

For the first time, I really took time to hike in the Cotswolds and the Lake District. And when I think back on the highlights of the last 10 days, those hikes were it. Nothing too demanding — just hiking through farmland from Stow-on-the-Wold through the Slaughters to Bourton-on-the-Water and back in the Cotswolds; and up along Catbells, high above the lake called Derwentwater in the Lake District.

The point: I can't imagine a better way to spend three hours in a day. Every day has three hours to spare. What else is so important between 4 o'clock and dinnertime? With these walks, I take home vivid memories.

In the Cotswolds: farms in action viewed from behind, ducks rudely butt-up in millponds, rabbits popping up in fields like some video game challenge, ancient wind-sculpted trees, wet and slippery kissing gates, and slender slate church spires marking distant villages where a hot cuppa tea awaits.

In the Lake District, I struggled up and over Catbells — a ridge walk I've recommended for years (and felt guilty having never actually hiked). The weather almost kept me in. But I was glad I ventured out — the wind "blowing the cobwebs out" (as my B&B host warned) once atop Catbells ridge, the comedic baa-ing of sheep, being the stick figure on the ridge for those observing from distant farms or boats on the lake...as others have always been the stick figures for me.

And, oh, the joy of a pub after a good hike. Studying the light on ruddy faces while sipping the local brew in a pub has always been part of the magic of travel in Britain. When your face is weather-stung and your legs ache happily with accomplishment, the pub ambience sparkles even better.

About the weather: In Britain, you don't wait for the weather to get good. Blustery weather is part of the scene. Consider it a blessing. The majority of "bad weather" comes with broken spells of brightness. Don't get greedy — you wish for and are thankful for brightness, not sunshine. As they say here, there's no bad weather...just inappropriate clothing. And if you're in a hiking area and your clothing is inappropriate, your B&B host can likely loan you a heavy coat (along with the best local map).

Hiking along the ridge, with the weather — like a dark army — storming overhead, the wind buffeting in my ears, my camera bulging but dry under my coat, and a commanding 360-degree lakes view...makes me want to turn cartwheels.

Posted by Rick Steves on August 23, 2010
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Olivier Magny, a young sommelier, gathers tourists in a royal French wine cellar a block from the Louvre. Two crude lamps hang under a rustic vault. Before us, sparkling empty glasses await an impressive array of fine French wines. As we drink, Olivier gives us a wonderful commentary. I'm no wine expert and would never claim to be, but I learned a lot. Here's what I gleaned (from my rough notes):

White wine should be clear...if not, it's Spanish.

Acidity is like salt. It gives wine character. "Legs," a.k.a. "tears," indicates how much sugar is in the wine. Dry wine has fewer legs; sweet wine has more and faster-running legs.

Americans need to break out of their four favorite words to describe the taste of wine: "dry, sweet, fruity, oaky."

When you sip a little wine and then suck air in, it exaggerates the character. You're not making it better, but bringing out its flavors, so that it's easier to identify the characteristics of that particular wine.

The Champagne region defended its name and therefore has a strong image today. The Chablis region did not, so winegrowers outside of France used the name and made it cheaply. Today the real Chablis is better than its reputation.

Terroir (pronounced "tehr-wah") is a uniquely French concept. The French don't call a wine by the grape's name. Two wines can be made of the same grape, but be of very different character because of their terroir. A real Chablis made from the Chardonnay grape is better than Chardonnays made elsewhere because of its terroir. Terroir is "somewhere-ness," a combination of the macro- and microclimate, soil, geology, and culture (the accumulated experience of the people and their craft).

Grapevines are creepers, with roots going through the topsoil and into the geology deep down. The roots are commonly 150 feet long and deep. While topsoil can be influenced by the vintner, the deep geology cannot; and this gives the wine a distinct character. The French do not allow irrigation, thus forcing the grapes to search deep for water.

Riesling works well both in the Alsace and in Russia. A French Alsatian vintner was offered big money to make wine in Russia. He refused, saying, "Here, I have the privilege of being from somewhere."

There are two basic kinds of wine in this world: that of big growers and that of little growers. Big business works better for wine in places like Argentina and Australia (where 90 percent of the wine is made by three companies). Most French wine is still made by thousands of small, independent, and passionate vintners.

The French are not enthusiastic about oak barrels. A French vintner went to a wine conference in California, where the wine is shaped by oak barrels. When pressed to comment on California wines, he said, "I don't like oak shaping my wine. When I drink Californian wine, I feel like I'm kissing Pinocchio." (Actually, he had a more graphic way of describing it.) Without the focus on oak-barrel aging, and because of the business environment that encourages small outfits, French wine is lighter and more diverse.

Because of global climate change, wine in general is sweeter these days. A grape can't be harvested properly until it's both sweet enough and the tannins are right. This used to happen at about the same time. But lately the grapes are sweet enough many days before the tannin level is ready. Consequently, when the tannins are right and the grapes can be harvested, they are sweeter than is optimal. Before, the average wine was 11 percent alcohol; now it's 13 percent.

The average French bottle sells for €3.60 (about $4.50). Bordeaux makes half of all French wine; that's more than all the wine produced in the US. Everyone wants Bordeaux Grand Cru, and that demand drives up the price. That's why Bordeaux, while very good, is overpriced. Burgundy makes only 3 percent of French wine. Because of its reputation and the demand, it is overpriced as well.

Back when rooms were cooler, the idea that red wine is best drunk at room temperature was established. But room temperature is higher now than it used to be. Consequently, many restaurants serve their reds too warm. It's perfectly acceptable to ask for it to be chilled. Five or ten minutes in the fridge, and it'll be just right.

People like their cars and dishwashers made in Germany, not in France. And they want their wines French, not German. Since World War II, the French have lifted their glasses and — after bottoms-up — said, "That's one thing the Germans won't take from us."

Generally, in France you'll get light wines in the north, and big, full-bodied wines in the south (where it's sunnier). Big name (e.g., Bordeaux, Burgundy) means big price. Small name (e.g., Languedoc, Sud-Ouest) means potentially better value. Languedoc can be a great value for a big syrah. A high-end Languedoc costs less than a low-end Bordeaux. Of the thousand different grapes that make good wine, 10 are famous. Break out and experiment.

Merci, Olivier! (For more on his Paris wine-tastings, see www.o-chateau.com.)

Santé!

Posted by Rick Steves on August 19, 2010
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To commemorate the Smithsonian Presents Travels with Rick Steves magazine — now on sale online, and at newsstands nationwide — Rick is blogging about the 20 top destinations featured in that issue. One of those destinations is the Greek isle of Hydra.

The island of Hydra is made-to-order for relaxing...and that means eating, long and well. Greek food — so simple, but oh so good — tastes even better in the convivial mom-and-pop tavernas that seem to be a Greek island specialty. On Hydra, I have three favorites. They're so delicious and so different, it almost makes it worth stretching a two-night stay to three nights to be able to dine at one each evening. I'm just wrapping up a visit to Hydra to update my guidebook, and I made a point to stop in at each of these.

Taverna Leonidas, which feels like a cross between a history museum and a friendly local home, has been around so long it doesn't need (and doesn't have) a sign out front...everyone just seems to know where it is. The island's oldest and most traditional taverna was the hangout for sponge-divers a century ago. Today, former New Yorkers Leonidas and Panagiota, who returned to Hydra in 1993 to take over the family business, enjoy feeding guests as if they're family. Diners call in the morning to discuss what main dish they'd like. Then Leonidas and Panagiota shop and prepare a great meal. When I filmed a TV show about Hydra, I found these two almost too eager-to-please: We'd arranged ahead of time to film dinner here. When we showed up, we found that they'd closed the place down just for us. Unfortunately, empty restaurants make for bad TV; we'd rather be surrounded by other diners. And so we filmed an intimate dinner...just Leonidas, Panagiota, my producer Simon, and me. But the food and company was so wonderful, it was good TV after all.

Taverna Gitoniko — which Hydriots simply call “Manolis and Christina” for its warm and kindly owners — is an Hydra institution. Offering wonderful hospitality, delicious food, and a delightful rooftop garden, this tricky-to-find taverna is worth seeking out for a memorable meal. Visitors climb up a staircase to a vine-covered terrace nestled above the rooftops of Hydra. Christina is a great cook — everything is good. My Greek-island M.O. works perfectly here: Order a variety of starters to sample as many different dishes as possible.

My favorite way to cap any Hydra day is to follow the coastal path to the rustic, picturesque village of Kaminia, which hides behind the headland from Hydra town. Kaminia's pocket-sized harbor shelters the community's fishing boats, and on the bluff just above is Kodylenia's Taverna. Owner Dimitris takes his own boat out early in the morning to buy the day's best catch directly from the fishermen, before they even come back to port. Here, with a glass of ouzo and some munchies, as the sun slowly sinks into the Saronic Gulf and boats become silhouettes, you can drink to the beauties of a Greek isle escape.

I hope you've enjoyed revisiting 20 of my favorite destinations this summer. The Smithsonian magazine covering these 20 places is just finishing its run on the newsstands. Good news: It sold great. It seems that, just like travelers on Hydra have an appetite for that perfect Greek taverna meal, travelers back home hunger for tales of faraway places. Thanks for joining me.

Posted by Rick Steves on August 17, 2010
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Tallinn, the capital of Estonia, is the only part of the former USSR that I include in my guidebooks and TV series. I put it in our Scandinavia guidebook because I love it — it's so easy to reach from Helsinki (ferries leave hourly, it's a 2-hour ride, no visas, and they'll be on the euro in just a few months), and it provides a great contrast to the rest of Nordic Europe.

The Old Town — with the best-preserved medieval center in all of Nordic Europe — is quite comfortable now. In fact, it's almost too comfortable. It's Muzak hell: Billy Joel melodies done à la Kenny G are everywhere. At the same time, there's an edge I really like. I ate dinner under rusty barbed-wire lampshades in the first pub to open after communism fell.

Its Russian-ness sharpens Tallinn's edge. Estonia is one-third Russian — a leftover from when the Soviet Union planted Russians here in an attempt to do to Estonia what China is doing to Tibet. While China is succeeding, Russia did not dilute Estonia into oblivion. Today Estonia is strong — but with a tough Russian minority that resists assimilation. Strolling through the Russian market, you feel tension. They are clearly the poor minority. And young Russian men can often make me uncomfortable. Their lives are tough. As I was passing a group of young Russians with heads nearly shaved bald, one of their phones rang. His ringtone was the sound of gunshots.

On my visit last year, I was charmed by the Estonian tradition of burying loved ones in forests. Wandering in a dense pine forest with well-cared-for tombs scattered all around, I thought this would be great for our TV show, and included it in our script.

This year, I returned with a script that read, "You feel the connection to their land and heritage at the forested Estonian cemeteries. Estonia is a thickly forested country and, for many, they see trees as almost spiritual." Then I planned for my guide to say, as he'd told me last year, "This is our forest cemetery. Since ancient pagan times, we Estonians have buried our loved ones with the trees. We are people of the trees. This is one way we are still connected with our pagan past...still uniquely Estonian." But it felt a little forced. While he could say it to one tourist, looking into a TV camera, he hedged and squirmed. I decided to leave it out of the show.

Still, we ended up with a great new show called "Tallinn and Helsinki: Baltic Sisters." As I figured last year, each one is not substantial enough to make a blockbuster script individually, but a show split between these two fascinating cities is very full and strong.

Finishing our work in Estonia, we wrapped the last show of our new series. It'll air this October.

Posted by Rick Steves on August 14, 2010
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