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Rick Steves: Blog Gone Europe

I'm on the road in Spain, Italy, Slovenia, Montenegro and Bosnia — weaving my travel experiences into my business, and sharing 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

As the US presidential election nears, I am inundated with emails from Europeans telling me they will be ecstatic if Obama wins. I know that alone is enough to drive many proud Americans to vote for McCain.

I’ve been pondering the different ways Americans are received in Europe. When our current president visits a city, the place is literally shut down and his motorcade races through ghostly streets. When Obama visited Berlin, he was greeted by 200,000 Germans waving American flags. Impressively, the McCain campaign turned that into a negative, and Obama’s advisors decided not to gloat about his popularity among Europeans.

On my recent visit to Capitol Hill — where I talked with Members of Congress and their aides about American relations with the rest of the world — people from both parties were really into the concepts of “soft power” (creating goodwill, letting the ideals of America shine and inspire to complement our “hard power,” in which our military might forces compliance) and the “brand of America” (which all agreed needs some serious fixing for the good of our export trade...people just don’t want to “buy American” when it symbolizes torture, pre-emptive war, and a go-it-alone approach to the world).

While most of the European correspondence I’ve received simply begs us to elect Obama, this letter, from an American woman who married local guide Roberto Bechi in Italy, shares more introspectively the European sentiment about our election. (I have never encountered anything from a European favoring McCain over Obama, so I can’t be balanced here.)

27 October, 2008

Dear Editor,

I am a long-time Virginian, raised in Richmond and Harrisonburg. I graduated from D.S. Freeman High School in Richmond, hold two degrees from UVA, and am the (tax-paying) owner/employee of a small business based in Harrisonburg which promotes tours to Tuscany, Italy, my current residence. I am writing in hopes of contributing a bit of international perspective for those who are still undecided as to whether to vote for Senator Barack Obama or Senator John McCain in the presidential race Nov 4th.

America is and always will be my beloved homeland, despite the fact that I now live abroad. Therefore I have been greatly disheartened and dismayed by the changing attitude towards my country, seen first-hand in the comments and questions of my Italian neighbors. Ten years ago, I was the object of curiosity and admiration: upon meeting me, people proudly listed even distant relations in the USA, asked questions both about my culture and how one could visit or work there, and on occasion even marveled at my decision to move here. Alas, that is no longer the case.

Over the past eight years my neighbors’ questions have taken on an increasingly worried tone. They wondered aloud why my country consistently ignored the opinions of other nations in the events leading up to the invasion of Iraq. They asked, preoccupied, whether I really agreed with the use of preventative strikes, and wondered why even the massive public outcry against the war had no effect on public policy. The re-election of Bush made some ask whether all Americans were more concerned with terrorism than prosperity at home or abroad. The flouting of the Geneva conventions at Guantanamo Bay Naval Base further increased that impression…were Americans perhaps so obsessed with “security” that they preferred it to justice itself? It’s important to underline the fact that after 9/11, I was direct witness to an unbelievable outpouring of love and sympathy for my country even from perfect strangers who, upon hearing me speak in English, would stop to express their solidarity. The fact is that we have squandered that good will.

I don’t receive many inquiries about studying abroad in the USA anymore, despite the weak dollar. Our country is not seen to be as welcoming as it once was, for one thing: even if students wish to study in the USA, visas are much more difficult to come by. Furthermore, the attitude of the Bush administration has clearly shown that the US government prefers arms to education, and supports a quasi-religious zealotry over scientific research.

I can assure you, as an American living abroad, that we have lost our moral authority. Where we were once seen as yes, ambitious, but also thrifty, honest, and defenders of the poor, we are now seen to be a nation at once self-centered and overbearing. Europeans no longer count on us to side with projects for the greater good after our willful disregard for the U.N. and refusal to sign on to international agreements like Kyoto.

The moralizing of this administration, particularly regarding issues like human rights and the “right-to-life,” is seen as hypocritical. Why? This is in light of our own human-rights violations, among which can be counted the use of torture at undisclosed locations, our continuing use of the death penalty (illegal in most of the civilized world, and abolished here in Tuscany in 1786!), and now-well-known issues like the fact that 58 million Americans are without healthcare. While Italians are hardly unaccustomed to comical politics with a figure like Berlusconi at the helm, the nomination of Sarah Palin to the McCain ticket has inspired a mixture of amused disbelief and horror. (“Is it true she could not name a single newspaper?”)

I still believe that the United States of America can be a force for good in the world. Despite the current economic mess, we wield great economic and military power. My neighbors here in Italy have not lost faith in their neighbor across the Atlantic. But do not doubt that the world is anxiously awaiting our decision, and desperately hoping that we will turn the page, and move towards collaboration rather than bullying, generosity and outreach rather than withdrawal and protectionism, and healthy growth rather than dangerous, unrestrained greed. Like him or not, Senator Barack Obama is the president who has the best chance of healing our nation and its relationship with the rest of the world. I know — I live there.

Yours sincerely,
Patricia Robison Bechi
Siena, Italy

Posted by Rick Steves on October 31, 2008
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I'm spending the evening confirming odd facts I'm using in my upcoming political book. Here are a few things I've learned:

While I call the mystic leader of the dervishes Mevlana, I guess most people refer to him as Rumi. It was the former editor of Reader's Digest that was made chairman of the board of the Corporation for Public Broadcasting (illustrating how, rather than zeroing out PBS, the Bush administration wanted to give it a lobotomy). While "e pluribus unum" is our motto, Europe's is "in varietate concordia" (united in diversity). I thought Berlin was one of the world's biggest "Turkish cities" — but with 113,000 Turks, it would be only the 50th largest city in Turkey. Tirol includes parts of Italy and Austria, but not in inch of Germany. The female president of Finland is well into her second six-year term, running one of the most highly taxed countries anywhere, and she maintains her 75 percent approval rating. (What does she give those Finns for all that money?) I'm loving getting this book written.

Perhaps you can help me. I need to confirm figures on WWI that I remember from my college professor. I seem to remember that the French lost huge numbers of people in one day many times, and that by the end of WWI half of all the French men between the age of 15 and 30 were casualties. Can anyone tell me what the bloodiest single days in WWI were for the French? (For example, the British lost 20,000 on the first day of the Battle of the Somme.) Also, what was the population of France in 1914, and then what percent of its men (ages 15-30) were killed (or killed or wounded) in that "War to End All Wars"?

Thanks.

Posted by Rick Steves on October 27, 2008
Comments (28)

While working on my upcoming book about the value of thoughtful travel, I’ve been thinking about how having a guide (or a friend who functions as a guide) who actually lived through the local history heightens the experience for a traveler.

When I was just 14 years old in a dusty village on the border of Austria and Hungary, a family friend showed me the excitement of history by introducing me to a sage old man. As he spread lard on my bread, he shared his eyewitness account of the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand in 1914 (which sparked the beginning of World War I). That encounter instilled in me a life-long interest in history.

In Prague, I walked the path that my Czech friend Honza walked night after night in 1989 with 100,000 of his countrymen as they demanded freedom from their Soviet overlords, and finally won it. The walk culminated in front of a grand building where Honza said, “Night after night we assembled here, pulled out our keychains, and all jingled them at the President’s window, saying, ‘It’s time to go home now.’ Then one night we gathered...and he was gone. We had won our freedom.” Hearing Honza tell that story as we walked that same route drilled into me the jubilation of a small country winning its freedom from a big one.

My Norwegian uncle Thor gave me a similarly powerful experience in Oslo. While gazing at mosaic murals in the Oslo City Hall that celebrate the heroics of locals who stood strong against German occupation, Thor told me stories of growing up in a Nazi-ruled Norway. I wondered to what lengths I would go to win back a freedom lost.

In Ireland, I had a guide determined to make his country’s struggles vivid. He introduced me to Belfast’s Felons’ Club — where membership is limited to those who’ve spent at least a year and a day in a British prison for political crimes. Hearing heroic stories of Irish resistance while sharing a Guinness with a celebrity felon with the gift of gab gives you an affinity for their struggles. The next day I walked through the green-trimmed gravesites of his prison-mates who starved themselves to death for the cause of Irish independence.

El Salvador’s history is so recent, tragic, and fascinating that anyone you talk to becomes a tour guide. My Salvadoran guides with the greatest impact were the “Mothers of the Disappeared.” They told me their story while leafing through humble scrapbooks with photographs of their son’s bodies — mutilated and decapitated. Learning of a cruel government’s actions with those sad mothers left me with a lifetime souvenir: empathy for underdogs courageously standing up to their governments.

Tourists can go to Prague, Ireland, Norway, and Central America and learn nothing of a people’s struggles. Or, if traveling to broaden their world views, they can seek out opportunities to connect with people (whether professional guides or accidental guides) who can share perspective-changing stories.

Posted by Rick Steves on October 27, 2008
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As I ponder my passion for Europe and why I’m a Europhile, I’ve recently been writing about my experience as a schoolboy visiting the Vienna factory of the most luxurious and expensive pianos in the world, Bösendorfer. Two blog entries ago, I mused that the old-fashioned quality of those pianos, built so lovingly that they were almost birthed and each had its own personality, likely is no longer the case in our fast-food world.

It’s exciting (or perhaps scary) how one's writing can spread these days. I just received this email from Rupert Loeschnauer in Vienna, who assured me that their pianos are made “faithful to their traditional heritage.” (I’ll have to take him up on his offer next time I’m in Vienna.) Here’s his letter:

Dear Rick,

I found your interesting article (October 18) on HeraldNet. With great curiosity I read about your visit to Bösendorfer in Vienna back in the late 1960s and early '70s and about your fear that old-time quality might have gone.

Don’t worry, Rick, the loving care for making our wonderful grands and pianos hasn’t gone. The employees in Bösendorfer factory, who are without exception great masters of their trade, have remained faithful to their traditional heritage. Still more than 10.000 production steps – most of them still done by hand – are executed per instrument to create a true work or art. Still we use the best materials for our pianos. And when it comes to the unique singing tone: we still treat the entire instrument as a resonating body, thereby achieving Bösendorfer’s unique richness of tone color and its typical singing timbre.

We would be glad, Rick, if we could host you another time in Vienna and show you that within our fast moving, mass-produced modern world you still can find traditional quality: products that are not manufactured but being birthed. How I like your words!

With best regards from Vienna Rupert Loeschnauer

I have a habit when I travel that I must open the keylid on any piano I see. The make of the piano gives me an indication of the values and priorities and appreciation of quality an establishment will have. While cheap Asian pianos dominate these days (I remember doing the math once and finding that one big Asian piano company produces as many pianos in a month as Bösendorfer does in 30 years), I'm always pleased (and impressed) to open the lid and see that classic Bösendorfer emblem. (In case you wondered, the Beatles played a Blutner, from East Germany.)

Posted by Rick Steves on October 22, 2008
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Anne and I have been completely immersed at our daughter’s "parents’ weekend" here at Georgetown University in Washington DC. We have been getting to know her friends, teachers, deans, dorm, campus, and the surrounding neighborhood. She is just energized to learn and surrounded by new friends that will make the environment here even richer.

I don’t think Anne and I have ever wanted anything so much as to see our daughter Jackie get into this great school. It’s funny when you really want something badly and you have no power. We are so thankful she's here.

While the students were carrying on with their regular class loads, parents were given a chance to sample the professors here. We attended a lecture by a psychology professor (Fathali Moghaddam) called “How Globalization Spurs Terrorism: Challenges for the Next President.” It reminded me how stimulating the university years are. Here's a peek at my notes:

Threats of globalization hit different societies differently. We fear losing jobs, while many fear losing their culture.

The demands of the global economy (large-scale units) are pitted against the demands of cultural identity, causing anxiety. Thousands of years ago, the logical social unit was a group of around 500 people. Today that number is getting huge (with vast free trade zones). Cultural diversity is the victim. For example, it’s estimated that there were 15,000 languages on the planet 500 years ago. Today there are about 6,000. By 2100, there will be a predicted 2,000. A handful of languages go extinct every year.

Rising material expectations are unrealistic. Everyone wants to be rich as Orange County. That will result in some pushing and shoving.

Today there is greater movement of people and cultural forces without “pre-adaptation.” Groups are getting into contact without a gradual readiness for contact, resulting in more conflict.

“Sacred carriers” become more important to a group when it is under threat. That’s why the Islamic headscarf (symbolizing the traditional position of women in Islamic society, which is threatened by Western culture) is important to fundamentalist Muslims. That’s also why the American flag is most important to Americans who feel their way of life is threatened. We may ask why the scarf is such a bone of contention. They wonder the same about our flag.

Walking back to our Georgetown hotel — on well-worn red-brick sidewalks past stout and lovingly painted two-story buildings, square yet elegant, and kicking blazing golden leaves that just fell — I thought how great it is that Jackie is being exposed to people like professor Moghaddam, who’s from Iran (and who gave us his home phone when I promised him I'd encourage Jackie to consider him). As we walked, we thought Jackie will enjoy what must be one of the best “U districts” in the entire country. M Street and Wisconsin Avenue are a cancan of tempting places to shop, eat, and drink. I wear my little “Hoya Dad” pin with pride and gratitude. And I can only wonder about the fun and learning this school will bring Jackie.

Posted by Rick Steves on October 19, 2008
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When you travel, enjoy the cultural wonders. I used to be put off by those sophisticates in Europe. They're so into their fine wine and stinky cheese, and even the cultural soil that created it all. But now I love being the cultural bumpkin.

Sure, I’m simple. I was raised thinking cheese is orange and the shape of the bread. Slap it on and...voilà! Cheese sandwich. Over there, cheese is not orange nor the shape of the bread. In France alone, you could eat a different cheese every day of the year. And it wouldn’t surprise me if people did. These people are passionate about their cheese.

I love it when my favorite restaurateur in Paris, Marie-Alice, takes me shopping in the morning and shows me what's going to shape the menu tonight. She takes me into her favorite cheese shop. It's a festival of mold. Picking up the moldiest, gooiest wad, Marie-Alice takes a deep whiff, and groans ecstatically, "Oh, Rick, smell zees cheese. It smells like zee feet of angels."

I'm her wide-eyed student. It’s fun to be on the receiving end of all that cultural, gastronomic, and regional pride. I see it as a learning opportunity. Thankfully people are sophisticated about different things, and when we have the opportunity to meet the expert, it can be good for all.

While my father doesn’t know the first thing about cheese, he is sophisticated about pianos. He was a piano tuner in Seattle, and he imported fine pianos from Europe. When I was young, he took me to the Bösendorfer factory in Vienna, where the world’s finest pianos were made. I remember thinking they weren’t made — they were birthed. Touring the factory, which fills a former monastery, we learned how the wood was aged and the imported felt was made from just the right sheep’s wool. In each of the former monks’ cells, they proudly produced only two pianos per worker per year. The result of this lovingly labor-intensive production process: each piano had its own personality.

I remember going to Vienna on those first trips with my dad. Back in the late '60s and early '70s, I’d join him on a flight to Vienna. They’d line up five or six of these grand pianos — the finest and most expensive in the world. I'd hop from bench to bench playing them as my dad would analyze the personality of each, matching it with his client’s taste back in Seattle. He’d make the selection, autograph the sounding board, they'd put it in a box, and ship it to some lucky American pianist. Bringing that Old World quality to the New World was the joy of my dad’s work.

While this old-time quality is gone — a casualty of our mass-produced modern world — perhaps having seen this is one of the reasons I'm enthusiastic about sharing the fine points of European culture. Bösendorfers may no longer be produced with such loving care. But, thankfully, the cheese still smells like zee feet of angels.

Posted by Rick Steves on October 18, 2008
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Last week, I went to Tijuana. After I made the decision to go and purchased the plane ticket, the newspapers reported a rash of killings in Tijuana. I saw my emotions stir up fear, as is human nature, and I sent in my brains to quell that nervousness with common sense. It’s a city of a million and 20 drug runners are gunned down in turf wars with the cops in the wee hours in bad neighborhoods. Let’s go.

Once in TJ, standing there on the curb, I noticed a clear military and police presence: machine-gunners in “Federale” uniforms tense atop speeding armored jeeps. I found that exciting and fun to photograph...and nothing for the tourist to worry about. As usual, the image from a distance was one of tension. With the bloody news and concerned loved ones, I wondered if my visit was wise. And also as usual, when I got there, I found no tension. Locals I quizzed discounted the bloodshed, saying, “The dead are just drug pushers — they’re killing each other, and that makes fewer of them we need to deal with.” (They’re actually killing police, too.)

I guess they’re planning on a long struggle, as I saw the next generation of drug warriors being trained. I met what looked like a Boy Scout troop in juvenile police DARE uniforms learning how to be policemen to fight a drug war stoked by the US appetite for recreational drugs (it is American consumers, after all, who make up a substantial part of the lucrative drug market). With that training, these kids will have an exciting job awaiting them when they turn 18.

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Looking at the loving teachers and the new DARE uniforms, I wondered about the cost and violence that comes with drugs. I pondered the countless American boys waiting until they’re old enough to “fight evil” funded by the illegality of drugs in poppy-rich Afghanistan. I envisioned that war heating up and the USA getting sucked deeper into a quagmire much like the one that helped bring down the USSR, when gung-ho Russians underestimated the task of fighting and winning a war in Afghanistan.

Then I recalled seeing the movie No Country for Old Men — the entire plot based on a very violent confrontation between police and drug runners. Bloody movies, shoot-'em-ups just south of the border, expensive wars in lands rich in poppies: It’s all got me thinking. Imagine if drugs were suddenly made legal (people who chose to use them were held criminally responsible for bad things they did) and the money and violence associated with drugs disappeared overnight. That would infuriate a lot of very bad people who make money because drugs are illegal. Just a thought I had in Tijuana.

(PS: I am what drug reform activists call an "incrimentalist"--I support decriminalization of marijuana but not harder drugs. The pot issue is clear to me. I'm still struggling with the more sweeping approach to taking the crime, money, and violence out of hard drug use and abuse. Except for one delightful mushroom dinner in Bali, I've never ventured beyond pot.)

Posted by Rick Steves on October 12, 2008
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A year ago I was excited about Tangier in Morocco and wrote on this blog, “It’s no longer the Tijuana of Africa.” I didn’t realize I’d touch a nerve with people who think TJ is not the armpit of North America.

So I went to Tijuana this weekend to give it a second look. Okay, I admit, I’ve never been there ... so I’d give it a first look. (I also wanted to be in a rough border town, where First World meets Developing World, as I continue to work on my upcoming book about the value of travel as a political act.)

I had a great time. While TJ is not a destination most would fly to in itself, as a side trip from San Diego or a stop while heading south, visiting it is a great experience. As an observer of the cultural and economic riptides created where two worlds collide, it’s a fascinating case study.

At what locals claim is the busiest international border in the world, 24 lanes are busy with traffic — 24/7. It’s easy to get out of the USA ... tough to get back in. A handy trolley zips tourists from San Diego literally to the border for $3 (it also takes Mexican workers into San Diego on a daily commute that thousands make). Drivers can park within 100 yards of the border for $8 a day. Pedestrians step right in without showing a passport, power past the trinket stalls and aggressive cabbies, and head for the towering arch that marks the start of Revolution Avenue (and all the fun).

Getting out of Mexico is different. Pedestrians shuffle fairly quickly through an officious passport check. Cars are generally stacked up for a several-hour wait. As taxis are dirt cheap and there’s always a very long wait to drive north across the border, there’s no reason to drive in if you’re just visiting TJ.

Tijuana, barely a century old, thrives today with 1.5 million people. A local explained there’s a big funnel from Mexico to the USA and this is the little hole through which everything flows. While there’s the cross border business — legal and illegal — there’s also a thriving local industry stoked by 650 maquiladoras: assembly factories for First World manufacturers that locate here for the cheap labor. With plants for companies such as Samsung, Sony, and Hitachi, more TVs are assembled here than in any other city.

Throughout Mexico, Tijuana is considered a place of opportunity. With this thriving economy comes a thriving culture: music, arts, an impressive cultural center, and lots of people who love San Diego’s public television station. Everywhere I walked, I met locals who were regular viewers of my travel show on KPBS — something I expect when I cross the border to the north and visit Canadians in Vancouver but something I didn’t even consider in the south.

The city, while ramshackle architecturally, is impressively clean. The streets were free of litter. Locals thank their new government that “gets things done.”

Tijuana’s tiny old town, which radiates from the arch, feels like ramshackle 1950s. You can’t miss all the things people come to a border town for: plastic surgery, pharmaceuticals without prescriptions, dentistry, cheap hair cuts, Cuban cigars, and of course jumping beans. The kitsch is riveting: glow-in-the-dark tattoos, hucksters hollering “Hello, 100 percent off today!”, donkeys painted like zebras on each street corner, ready for you to don a sombrero and pose for a photo.

Bars that feel like saloons come with cheap prostitutes wearing down their stiletto heels at their doors. Checking out a few $20 hotels, I struggled by transvestites patiently waiting for something in the lobbies ... while watching Law and Order: Special Victims Unit. Apparently, the siesta is alive and well, as these places also rent rooms by the hour. (While there is a hotel strip with big high-rise places, there are plenty of decent places — without company for hire in the lobbies — renting $40 rooms on or near Revolution Avenue.)

After the salesman promised me it came with a fine guided narration in English, I hopped onto a two-hour, $10 bus tour. It was a great tour — but with no guide. I chatted the best I could with the driver for the duration. He said the USA and Mexico are brothers, stuck together. If the US gets the flu, Mexico gets pneumonia. He explained the youth culture is crazy about Japan these days, explaining all the colorfully painted hair and people dressed up as different pop culture characters. Hopping off the open top tour bus at the cathedral, I joined a Mass.

Grabbing a pew in the cathedral, I sat there with hundreds of Mexicans, enjoying a vivid reminder that the gang the tourist sees along Revolution Avenue and in front of the saloons is photogenic but not representative. This was the real Tijuana. Surrounded by well-worn people, I pondered how all were at various stages on the same ride up and down the parabolas of their respective lives. These people, taking an hour out of their Sundays to worship, wearing crude t-shirts, hooded sweatshirts, and shoes without arch support picked up for $3 at a street market, were the Joe Six-Packs and Hockey Moms of their world.

And as I poured out of that church with all those people and bought a bag of fresh baked churros encrusted in sugar, it occurred to me how wrong I was to consider Tijuana the armpit of the Western Hemisphere.

Posted by Rick Steves on October 09, 2008
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Postcards from Europe — Ten Years Later (Part Three: Switzerland and France)

As I reread my Postcards From Europe book for its special tenth anniversary edition, it was fun to consider how the lives of its real-life cast of characters and their hometowns have changed since 1999.

Here’s the latest from Switzerland and France:

Up in Switzerland’s Alps, my favorite village of Gimmelwald has gone through some tough times. The only real restaurant closed, resulting in a big hit to the town’s commercial metabolism. Locals pulled together with creative ways to parlay the products of a humble alpine village into sustenance for visitors, and thankfully, the restaurant seems to have new and energetic owners. Petra’s youth hostel is stronger than ever, and the talents of her handy husband, Wally, complement her own. And Walter is more and more the eccentric and generally lovable old man of the town — with two new hips, he still shuffles around, refusing to retire and still feeding his hungry hikers. Olle and Maria still share the village’s only teaching position. Every time I visit I remember how Gimmelwald was the scene of our Swiss Alps Christmas show for public television. Olle helped heroically — he cranked up the town’s traditional charm, and turned the entire village into bit players as we filmed a traditional Christmas under a delightful blanket of new snow.

In Paris, Rue Cler is more Rue Rick Steves than ever — busy with my readers but still a delight. My friend, Marie-Alice (for whom cheese smells like “zee feet of angels”) is mad at me because I gave her hotel a bad write-up, so we no longer communicate. It’s complicated maintaining objectivity while also trying to maintain friendships for people who — when you get right down to it — sometimes see you more as a source of free advertising than as a friend.

Daniel Roth, my musical hero, still welcomes visitors into his St. Sulpice Cathedral loft to enjoy the finest pipe organ experience in Europe up close and intimate. He performs with an elegance that creates a glorious little interlude just for you, where there is no kitschy, shrill, garish, frustrated, rag-tag, mind-numbing world out there. While in Daniel Roth’s loft, your world is simply ivory keys, inlaid stops, and a timeless heritage of great music powering worship, appreciated by silent and humble pilgrims contained in a Gothic box lovingly carved of stone in centuries past.

Posted by Rick Steves on October 07, 2008
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Postcards from Europe – Ten Years Later (Part Two: Italy)

Ten years is a long time. As I reread my Postcards from Europe book for its special tenth anniversary edition, it was fun to consider how the lives of its real-life cast of characters and their home towns have changed since 1999.

Here’s the latest from Italy:

Venice continues to lose real residents while gaining tourists. Asians are famously buying up and running the shops and locals now admit that no restaurant can survive without being “touristy.” Sexy Piero is no longer quite the playboy. He’s grown a full head of hair, but his voice is as sonorous as ever, and — with his partner Robbie — still seems to get great joy out of running their wonderful Hotel Guerrato.

My buddies Roberto and Manfredo are well. Their conversation was the greatest fiction of this book. All the sentiments and quotes were true — but taken from isolated times with them and they never actually got together until after this book was published. Roberto is the hardest-working guide in Siena and a big help with any projects I have in Tuscany. Manfredo burned out of the hotel business and has gone on to other things.

My Roman friends, Stefano and Paola, who contributed the sweetest romance to this book, are sadly no longer married. Stefano is still my Rome buddy and with each year, his hotel gets better.

Gene, my original travel partner back on the high-school grad trip, remains a key collaborator — co-authoring many guidebooks with me and contributing mightily to our teaching program at Europe through the Back Door.

In Vernazza, Monica and Massimo are happily married with a lovely child and Grandma still makes the pasta at the family restaurant. Vittorio (which is a pseudonym because of my portrayal of him as a playboy) is now too old to effortlessly sweep tourist women off their feet. His story saddens me as my guidebook lets many business owners repeat the sentiment of Sr. Sorriso (who said, “Rick Steves make me a rich man”). Vittorio still shuttles around from restaurant to restaurant, serving anchovies but never really getting a piece of the pie.

Paolo Sorriso passed away. His wife was long my only real enemy in Europe. I believe it was because of my candid listing of their humble pension; she was just filled with anger for me. She spooked me. She demanded to be out of my guidebook (even though she already was). Villages are small and for years I walked quickly past her door. Just last year, their children took over the family business, we sorted through our problems, and Pension Sorriso is back in my listings.

While Vittorio seems to be out of the game, Ivo — while gradually morphing into a grizzled old Italian man — still holds court at Riomaggiore’s Bar Centrale. Each year, when I pass through, he’s the master of hedonistic ceremonies in his Cinque Terre town.

When I consider all the places I work, I am frustrated by not having good local contacts and friends in some countries. I travel there year after year ... and just don't make the right connections. But in Italy, being connected comes easily. Hmmmm. I think I just stumbled into one of the reasons I like Italy so much. Its people are the low-hanging fruit of European travel.

Posted by Rick Steves on October 02, 2008
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