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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

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Italians are not patriotic about much...except their food. They tell me French cuisine is the art of making a fine sauce to cover the taste of mediocre ingredients. In Italy, they say, “La miglior cucina comincia dal mercato” — “the best cuisine starts from the market.”

It’s the ingredients, stupid. And that’s the topic of conversation (which can become an animated debate) when a chef comes out to chat with his diners. “Arugula is not yet in season. But oh, Sra. Maria has more sun in her backyard...and her chickens give her a marvelous fertilizer.”

It occurred to me that high cuisine has evolved like flowers. The most attractive get all the attention, and over time get even better. I’m in hog heaven with my Amarone wine, cheese plate, and honey. When the fancy wine glasses come out, you know it’s a particularly complex wine. At my last fine dinner, the glasses seemed designed to function like a gas mask...or drug paraphernalia, if the truth be told.

Then Corinna, who ran the enoteca I was enjoying, takes things up a notch proposing “a dish of walnuts for acidity and texture…to give things a kick. And the walnuts rake your palate.”

To go gourmet and not go broke, I like a small, classy enoteca (wine bars are trendy in Italy these days) owned and operated by hands-on food evangelists. A great wine costs €8 (about $10) a glass. Rather than bog down on an expensive entrée (or secondi), I order top-end on the antipasti and primi piatti list. That’s appetizers — the best meats and cheeses possible, and the chef’s favorite pasta dish of the day. Again...it’s the ingredients.

Strangely for me, even in the finest places, Italian waiters and waitresses don’t think coughing into their hands is a problem. (There’s been no rain here for a month. People keep telling me that’s giving everyone colds.) When I complain about this to people who run restaurants...they look at me like I’m from Mars. I guess that’s the downside of a hands-on food evangelist.

Posted by Rick Steves on April 30, 2007
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Nearly each day in my travels, I meet a charming local guide. It’s like cheating socially — I’m the only student for three hours with someone who loves their town, loves people, and loves to teach. And they are paid to answer my questions.

These local friends have a passion for speaking English and are so generous with their information, I like to gift them with little insights into the fun of our language. Checking out a great little hotel, I explained “this one’s a slam-dunk.” Working out the directions from the bus stop, I had to explain “dogleg left.” My guides lap it up.

Europe grows up with American culture, but occasionally things shift in transit. If I hum the “I Dream of Jeannie” theme, they know the program... as “My Beloved Witch.” They'll enjoy a lifetime of movies by a great American star — artfully dubbed by the best voices in Italy. Then, when they finally hear a TV interview with George Clooney or Elizabeth Taylor actually talking, they are hugely disappointed by the weak voices.

In Bolzano, my guide, Nancy, met me under a statue. The day’s first factoid: This statue is made of Lasa marble — the same marble the USA chose after WWII for 80,000 crosses and stars of David destined for places like Normandy. She said it was hard, white, and weather-resistant. (I almost responded, "Like me.") Nancy was young, sprightly — seemed like a ski bum who guided in the summer — and wore a costume-jeweled American flag on her lapel (the kind my grandmother wore). I told her, “I’ve never met an Italian wearing an American flag in Italy, and I've never met a Nancy in Italy.” She said, “Maybe I’m eunuch in Italy. My grand grand father moved to New York. I want to live there some day.” Letting “grand grand father” go, I explained to her the difference between eunuch and unique.

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As I walked with Nancy through Bolzano, she lamented we had only “a pair of hours.” We passed Romina, the receptionist from my hotel. Romina is the kind of person who giddily spends an entire lifetime working for a family-run business with no hope for any advancement — as family members hold the few good spots — but is still thrilled to be there. (I see this a lot in Europe.) Romina was a human shield, standing firmly on an available parking spot wonderfully close to the hotel, waiting for travelers to show up. She said, “A family is coming who has your book. So here I am. This is a true piece of life.”

All over Italy I’ve been using two easy statements: “Complimenti,” meaning "my compliments to you," and “Buon lavoro,” meaning “best wishes in your work.” Here in Südtirol, where 68 percent of the Italians speak German first, I asked my guide for the equivalent of “buon lavoro” in German. She said, “Gute Arbeit.” That just didn't sound right. I shouted to Romina, “Buon lavoro!”

Posted by Rick Steves on April 27, 2007
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I'm in Kastelruth, in the Italian Tirol. My chalet--sturdy as a bomb shelter, yet warm and woody--comes with a generous fluffy down comforter and serious German plumbing: Ka-chunk...ahhhh.

High in the Dolomites, tourism is huge. But April is the limbo time between the skiers and the hikers. The lifts are still. Most hotels are closed. It’s a lousy time to be researching. I survey the town from my two-chair balcony. There are no tourists...just busy-as-a-beaver locals getting things ready for the coming rush. A man in blue overalls swings a pickax. Children run free in the guest house lounges and gardens — learning to rollerblade, playing rollicking games of foosball.

As I sat down to lunch today with four representatives from the tourist board, they asked me, “Do Americans know this region as Südtirol or the Dolomites?” I answered, “the Dolomites,” and complimented their town as the only one that didn’t feel like a ski resort in the summer. We were presented with plates of shaved cabbage sprinkled with bits of bacon. Ignoring the meat, Günter, the man across the table, said, sadly, “Kraut.”

I’ve been on the road nearly a month. I’ve had just two hours of rain. I've enjoyed meeting countless Americans. All seemed to be having a great time (except a woman who shut the car door on her coat and needed a cleaner, a man whose wife was forcing him to tour the Siena Pinacoteca, and a kid from Michigan State who just couldn’t accept the fact that "pepperoni" was green peppers and not spicy sausage).

And during this month I’ve had absolutely no news. When at home, I consume news as entertainment — probably an hour a day. And for 30 days now I have not seen a TV or newspaper. I read a brilliant rant from Lee Iacocca (Lee Iacocca Excerpt). And I heard about the massacre at Virginia Tech...but only because so many Europeans wonder why we let anyone — even nutcases — own a gun, yet do things like legally requiring bikers to wear helmets. My news-fast will continue. It feels somehow healthy.

Enjoying this little eddy in the whirlpool of Italy, I’m savoring a quiet evening in my room. Freshly showered and in bare feet, I “cook” dinner: my tiny post-9/11-sized Swiss Army knife, a champagne flute from my minibar, and a paper bag ripped open as my tableware. The menu tonight: rough, bakery-fresh German bread, salami, carrots, a tub of yogurt, and Apfelsaft (apple juice). Everything’s in two languages here: I believe there’s a dot of yogurt on the bridge of my nose — it’s both frutti di bosco and Waldfruchte... that’s "berries of the forest." The fact that my feast cost less than €5 makes it taste even better.

I dig out my iPod. Music takes me home — dancing with memories of family, friends, things non-European. Then, I turn off the iPod and return to Europe. With a happy soundtrack of German-speaking Italian children playing just out of sight, I watch a slow show as darkness settles on the Dolomites. Slowly those rugged limestone peaks and gaily painted chalets become two-tone, then gone.

Posted by Rick Steves on April 24, 2007
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Last night I was in Verona, strolling after dinner through a multigenerational sea of people on a wide sidewalk promenade. It was made so wide by the town's Venetian overloads in the 17th century, so the town's beautiful people could see and be seen. This morning at breakfast, a tourist asked, "What on earth was going on last night?" I said, "It was just a Thursday night in Verona. The passeggiata is a much-loved sport here. It could have been just about anywhere in the Mediterranean world."

Here in Verona, Romeo and Juliet seem to be on every tourist's mind. The "Balcony of Juliet" is a crass and throbbing mob scene, as every tour group in this part of Italy converges on it all day long. As they take snapshots of each other rubbing the statue's polished breast to get "luck in love," their guides tell stories about the completely bogus balcony.

But simply out and about, there are little love stories everywhere. I enjoy the simple moments when a snapshot of love flutters in and out of my world like a butterfly: A guy on a bike, with his girlfriend sitting on the handlebars embracing him as somehow he pedals gracefully by. A happily frenzied couple in their 25th year of running a restaurant together with a perfect rhythm of serving great food. He says their goal is to "stir emotions with their cooking." She says, "Like a cherry under alcohol, he never ages."

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Today Verona is overrun with families: it's a kids' fair. Grade-schoolers in tiny numbered jerseys run a kiddie marathon...dads jogging at their sides carrying their water bottles, and countless proud little faces smiling through the exhaustion. Five-year-olds in chef hats learn to make pasta from patient teenagers. Moms give little ones coins to activate the human statues on the pedestrian mall--as kids look with wonder at the statues suddenly coming to life.

When I visited a hotel I recommend, Rosella insisted I see her wing of new rooms. Like all the others, each room had an erotic collage on the wall above a double bed with red heart-shaped pillows. I commented on the passion the rooms evoke. Rosella said her hotel is all about the union of man and woman. She makes all the art while running the hotel. While her husband steamed me an espresso, I commented on her energy. She pointed to her husband, saying, "Amato gives me energy...he's my mezza mela--half an apple." Apparently, when soulmates find each other in Italy, it makes the apple whole.

Here in the "land of a thousand bell towers," people have a great love for their towns as well. As my guide walked me through the cloister of the church, she showed me the tombs of the great early scientists--local boys who made good and whose names live on in their greatest discoveries: Fallopian tubes and Eustachian tubes. Occasionally I scribble in my notebook, feigning interest so as not to disappoint my proud local guide.

Verona, so famous for love, gets countless letters addressed simply to "Juliet, Verona, Italy." The Juliet Club (www.julietclub.com) has 10 volunteers who actually respond to these mostly lovesick people. My hunch is they live in lands where people are not so connected.

Posted by Rick Steves on April 22, 2007
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And here's my final set of answers to questions posted to this blog. Thanks for everyone's interest!

Question: What brand/model laptop do you carry, and how do you typically use it to get online?
Answer: I use whatever laptop Brooke Burdick, the Communications Manager at my office, gives me for a trip. I had three or four Toshibas — each smaller and faster and equally dear to me. Then a Compaq. And now an HP. To get online, I generally take the phone wire out of the back of the phone and plug it into the gadget that lets me plug it safely into my laptop and dial up. More and more, hotels are offering Wi-Fi (wireless Internet), which I appreciate.

Question: I'd like to know how you like your new camera, and whether you think there's enough of a difference in image quality/photo opportunities to justify carrying all the extra gear that comes with an SLR.
Answer: My new Nikon D-40 has been great so far. I really appreciate having an SLR. There’s no extra gear needed. I have one 18-55 mm lens (which came with it), a 2-gigabyte memory card, and essentially the same battery charger that comes with any pocket-sized camera. I noticed today how it seems more people are reverting back to the bigger SLR cameras like I have. The main drawback is that it's a pain to carry. Today I left the hotel without it and, as usual, I missed two fun shots: a massive Holland America cruise ship gliding by the Venice harborfront looking like it would destroy the Doge's Palace, and a bunch of white-bonneted chefs gathered outside an ancient building during a fire alarm.

Question: Do you have a specific camera bag, or do you keep you camera in your day bag?
Answer: I don’t believe in protective bags for my laptop or my camera. I treat them as gently as tender parts of my body and they do fine without protection.

Question: After reading Andy's blog, I think it would be helpful if Andy had a section in your guidebooks for the college age person.
Answer: I’ll propose that to my son. He’ll be assisting on our tours this summer for six weeks and traveling on his own for 14 days (visiting a cousin in Sevilla and a girlfriend in Toulouse). I’m in Padua today with memories of how, about five years ago, 15-year-old Andy took his first solo European adventure: riding the train from here to Venice for the day to just explore on his own. His mom and I were nervous…and we all enjoyed a celebratory gelato upon his safe return. Now, Europe is Andy’s playground.

Someone responded thoughtfully to my concern about having a passport with no pages left to stamp:
If you're out of pages for passport stamps, just go to the American citizen services desk at a US embassy or consulate. Fill out a short form, and in about 30 minutes you'll have additional pages added to your passport. (I did this in January in Vienna, in less than 30 minutes. I suppose it could take longer in heavier travel periods.) Your passport doesn't need to be completely filled; just down to only a page or two of space for stamping.

Posted by Rick Steves on April 21, 2007
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Here are a few more answers to questions posted by readers of this blog:

Question: Have you thought about offering electronic versions of your books--perhaps as a value-added download from the site for those who purchase the paper copies?
Answer: My publisher (who’s very enthusiastic about these things) has produced a few prototype electronic versions of my books, and we are open to this. But I think the electronic guidebook needs to be cleverly designed beyond simply offering the same page layouts as the printed versions. I think the business model is yet to be developed.

Question: OK, Rick, we know how you pack, but how does your wife, Anne, pack? It would be nice to hear the female Steves version of packing light.
Answer: My wife travels with the same size bag I do (but the wheeled version). I’m traveling this week with a woman from my office (Heidi Sewell, a great Italian tour guide who speaks Italian so well locals think she’s from Bologna). Just today, as we transferred from Venice to Padua, I marveled at how mobile a good woman traveler can be. (I felt sexist to have doubted it.) Heidi (like all the women in my office…and at home) travels with a 9 by 22 by 14 inch wheeled bag. Whether going for two weeks or two months, you pack precisely the same.

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Question: Do you always identify who you are when researching or do you go incognito?
Answer: I not only go incognito, I try to go stupid…as a gawky, tightwad, English-only tourist, in order to get a sense of how the clumsiest tourist will be received in a hotel or restaurant. Yesterday we dropped incognito into a recommended bar for a glass of wine and plate of fried vegetables — and were overcharged. That place will not be in the 2008 edition of my book. Most hotels and restaurants I recommend now know who I am. (I send many of them Christmas cards with my family photo each year — not to mention probably a third of their American business.) My best tool is talking to other people who have already eaten or slept there to learn if the recommendation is a good one. For restaurants, my standard operating procedure lately is to blitz known and unknown places from 8 to 10 p.m., and then drop into my favorite (which is often run by someone who by now is a friend) and just say, “Feed me — bring me a sampling of your most interesting dishes.” It’s always a great cap to a great day.

Question: Any interest on your part to relocate to Europe one day or buying property? Wouldn't it be easier if you had a second home?
Answer: I once flirted with buying a little place in Civita di Bagnoregio, Italy’s ultimate hill town. It was a dreamy little home perched on the edge of a grand canyon with several floors of Etruscan cellars below. With each visit (on successive tours…so every three weeks, all summer), I’d get the real-estate agent and fantasize about owning it. Then, thankfully, someone else bought it. I believe there’s also a great chalet for sale in Gimmelwald (my favorite Swiss alpine village) for around $250,000 — what a dream to have a place there! But I don’t want a single place in Europe. I sleep in about 60 different hotels in about 60 wonderful towns and villages all over Europe each year. (And I already have one cabin — in the Cascades — that I only use a couple times a year.)

Posted by Rick Steves on April 21, 2007
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While I generally don't have time to respond individually to comments and questions posted on my blog, here are answers to a few questions I thought people might find interesting:

Question: Will you look into the Marche area or more of the "toe" and "heel" of the boot of Italy? Or any of the smaller islands off the coast?
Answer: Italy is my favorite country for many reasons. Most of those favorite aspects come from Italy’s rich heritage. And by "rich," I mean money. Both during ancient Roman times and during the Renaissance, Italy's extreme wealth gave it the wherewithal to fund marvelous culture. That money was in central and northern Italy — and that’s where that rich culture remains today. Southern Italy has a rustic culture. Part of its allure is that it's relatively untouristed and much less expensive than the urban and touristic north. People love the south of Italy. (It’s one of our most popular tours.) But the goal of my guidebooks is to introduce travelers to what I think is the best first 30 days a country has to offer. And in Italy, the boot and the heel don’t make the cut. If I had 30 days, I wouldn’t go south of Naples and the Amalfi Coast. About islands: I don’t know much about the resort islands of the Mediterranean. My feeling is that the famous resort islands are often inundated with Europeans enjoying their fun in the sun. For that, I’ll take a winter trip to Mexico. The French, Italians, and Spaniards can keep their Mediterranean getaways--they have an impressive knack for enjoying extremely congested beaches.

Question: How long before the Italy updates are out? We leave October 31, 2007. Do you think printing will make my deadline so I can take the most up to date information?
Answer: Our 2008 editions will begin to appear by the end of this summer (mid-August). The first books will be Europe Through the Back Door, Best of Europe, Rome, Florence, Venice, and Italy--appearing in that order, each about a week after the last. All of our Italy books will probably be out by mid-September. The specific dates aren't set yet, but keep an eye on our website for a specific list of arrival dates as soon as we know them.

Question: What's a folding board that you mention (in your packing description)?
Answer: Eagle Creek makes a clever "Folder" the size of a folded shirt. It comes with a stiff vinyl board that you fold the shirt around. You stack your shirts, put the board on top, and wrap and fasten the Velcro flaps to make it a tight little package. With my TV work (both in Europe and going from PBS station to station) I travel with my backpack and, thanks to this board, still have reasonably well-pressed shirts.

Question: Do you carry a handheld GPS?
Answer: No. People rave about these. But I have never thought, “Boy, if only I had a GPS.” Part of the fun of being immersed in Europe is navigating. By being engaged, I learn and internalize the lay of the land. But then, for several years after owning a computer, I still insisted on writing out manuscripts on paper, committed to the notion that the paper was a fertile battleground upon which my ideas would be scratched and organized and pounded into a good order. And then, only when that all was in order, did I type the article or even a book into a computer. I may have been the last writer in America to cling to WordPerfect. So, it’s a fair bet that in a few years I’ll wonder how anyone ever traveled without the help of a handheld GPS.

Posted by Rick Steves on April 20, 2007
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Italians love their dogs. Strolling the polished limestone streets, marveling at the gorgeous buildings and people all around, you have to watch your step. Walking with my friend in Siena, I barely missed a dog mess. In a disgusted voice, my Sienese friend said, “Those Florentines are everywhere these days.”

National, regional, and civic pride has brought war and suffering for centuries. Today in Europe it survives, but only brings off-color jokes and fills soccer stadiums.

National pride can be abused. Of course, when a nation has a Hitler or a Mussolini, flag-waving spikes...and then takes a serious dive. (Actually, if flag-waving spikes in any country, wise citizens with an appreciation of history and an ability to see beyond their borders know to be concerned.) Understandably, in post-WWII Europe, Italians and Germans did less patriotic singing and flag-waving than their neighbors.

On a related note, post-WWII Italy had the strongest communist party in Western Europe. Locals tell me they were not really leftists as much as anti-rightists (after the catastrophic fascism of Il Duce). The result: a generation of bad entrepreneurs. Today, in Italy’s business world, I see the “generation next” filled with entrepreneurial creativity and energy. On this trip, I find Italy thriving with creative small businesses driven by new young management as never before. (The banks and government support this with fewer restrictions and easier and longer business loans — 30 years rather than 5 or 10, as in past years.)

You can draw some fun conclusions from movie-translating practices in different nations. Italians are notorious for dubbing just about all foreign movies, while the French are inclined to read subtitles when they watch a “foreign” (i.e., American) movie. Some say the French are more into the subtleties and art of the movie, while the Italians are just lazy and don’t want to read. Others say Italian dubbing itself is an art form. It’s true that the Italians actually have famous dubbers who lip synch so artfully you think Robert De Niro is actually speaking Italian. In fact, Robert De Niro insisted on the same Italian voice for his parts. He actually traveled to Italy to meet with and coach Amendola, the man with his Italian voice. And now, the big news in the Italian movie world is that the king of dubbing voices, Amendola (the voice of Dustin Hoffman, Sylvester Stallone, and Roberto De Niro), has passed away.

Enjoying the wonders of Italy this month, the movie star that comes to mind for me is Roberto Benigni. Like Benigni, I need no Amendola to declare (as I seem to do several times a day), "Life is good"--La vita è bella.

Posted by Rick Steves on April 18, 2007
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In each hotel room, I crack open a rickety old desk drawer, where I stow business cards I pick up throughout the day in my research work. This gives me a "trash can" that the maid won’t take out. I strive to keep loose papers out of my writing world, but very often I need to retrieve something I tossed.

Rummaging through my trash, reviewing the discarded cards of two days' worth of people met, reminds me of how travel here is like a gelato social.

I met John Mica, a congressman from Florida, while dodging a horse carriage under a Donatello statue. He called himself a “knuckle-dragging conservative on economic issues who believes in funding the arts.” He and his wife sneak over here with no fanfare (so he doesn’t have to mess with security or any protocol). He was enthusiastic about a new “open skies” initiative leading to more transatlantic flights...and some funky little trattorias he wanted me to check out for my guidebook. For some reason he reminded me of salt on fresh pineapple (one of my favorite things). Meeting a likable Republican (like meeting a Catholic priest who challenges my intellect) reminds me that there’s more than one way to skin an idea.

When Congressman Mica opened his wallet to give me his card, I saw he had the card of a man I had just met and whose card I also had: David Stempler, Esq., president of the Air Travelers Association. A crusty man (and an Esq.), the government listens to him on consumer affairs dealing with the air industry. I told Stempler and Mica I thought the clamor for an “air travelers' bill of rights” was media-stoked over-reacting to a perfect storm of airline bad luck, and that I am mightily impressed with our airline industry even if they do lose a few bags and once in a snowy blue moon a few planes are stuck on the tarmac. We agreed that the worst thing for our airline industry (and for consumers who know what’s good for them) is to saddle airlines with needless regulations and to create a business environment where they’ll cancel flights out of needless timidity.

Other cards were reminders of other encounters. For example, there was “Dr. Patricia Cantilli, Medic veterinary homeopath,” a Romanian woman on an extended computer date with a friend who once ran my favorite hotel in Florence (La Scaletta, which I deleted this year after about 20 years in my guidebooks — bad new management). Free trade, globalization...the expanded EU spills into romance, too.

"Lora Gori, president Scuola del Cuoio” runs the leather school at the Church of Santa Croce. It was actually referred to as “Citta dei Raggusi” (“Boys' Town” in Italian) when her leatherworking family established it in collaboration with Franciscan monks during the tough years after WWII to give orphaned boys a trade. Sra. Gori still welcomes tourists as her leather workers fill former monks' dorms with fancy belts and purses (www.leatherschool.com).

Christoph Rehli, a conductor from Switzerland with Young Frankenstein hair, was in Florence preparing for a concert. He was eating alone in one of my favorite restaurants. We had pianos in common. I told him my piano was made in the same Black Forest village as the accordion of the Gypsy man who just left the restaurant (Hohner harmonicas and accordions, and Sauter pianos — all made in Spaichingen). I told him my dad imported fine German pianos. There were three Steinway brothers, so factories ended up in New York, Hamburg, and Braunschweig. (Dad imported the Grotrian-Steinweg from Braunschweig. Back then, CBS owned the New York Steinway, was threatened by the better German Steinway, and successfully sued requiring that the name be simply Grotrian in the USA.) Christoph said he had a Hamburg Steinway that was old but good. I guessed it was a “vintage” from around 1930. He said yes. (Knowing pianos like others know wine assures me that we can all be snobs in some realm. I am forever impressed by wine-lovers who know the good years — a topic which completely baffles me.) Maestro Rehli and I had a wonderful chemistry…the kind of person I know I could be great friends with, but I’ll never see again. (A sad reality a traveler gets callous to: the best travelers say the most goodbyes.)

And another card from someone who called herself “The Tuscan Concierge” was a reminder that countless Americans and Italian entrepreneurs are still capitalizing on the “Under the Tuscan Sun” fascination we have with this part of Italy (and would love to get into my guidebook). Ristorante Medioevo (that Buca I loved in Assisi) has one of those cards so artsy you have a tough time actually deriving the name of the establishment — a growing problem, it seems, in Italy. Thankfully, Web addresses generally list the name without the over-the-top font play. Jim Fox and Barbara Miller, an American expat couple living in Florence, pass out their tandem card to people they meet. Jim said when you travel with a personal card and hand it out liberally, Europeans take you more seriously. Good tip.

Among piles of other cards penciled up with notes for the next edition of my Florence guidebook was a very clever card by Dr. Stephen Kerr, “the tourist doctor” with a clinic 100 yards from the Uffizi, open two hours a day for drop-ins. He also makes €80 “house calls” to hotels and gives student discounts.

A card from the Istituto Oblate dell’Assunzione, a welcoming convent renting rooms and tranquility, actually has an email address on it. Finally convents are getting a little business sense. The spunky sister there — Theresa — remembered me from the early 1980s when I kept my tour groups (minibus loads only back then) at a convent near the Vatican on via Andrea Doria. I didn’t remember her...but I did remember kindly sisters letting me hang my wet laundry on the rooftop with all their linen.

This little nostalgic swing through my trash drawer reminds me that good travel connects people with people. Whether I’m leading a tour group, researching a guidebook, or producing a TV show, I know that connecting my traveling Americans with Europeans is what will carbonate the experience.

Posted by Rick Steves on April 15, 2007
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In Florence, I stay at Loggiato dei Serviti -- a stately former convent, crisp with elegance and history. I consider it a splurge — but it’s far less costly than a night at the Sheraton, and it stokes Medici fantasies like you can’t imagine.

My bedroom looks out on a courtyard. The building across the way is the Accademia, housing an art school...and Michelangelo’s David. The courtyard in between is gravelly with broken columns and stones set up for students to carve. Like creative woodpeckers, all day long I hear the happy pecking and chirping of chisels gaining confidence, cutting through the stone. With this actually enjoyable soundtrack, I spent all yesterday here in my room pecking doggedly yet happily on my laptop.

Moving into my room, I got set up: Put the TV out of view. Ask for a desk and an extra lamp for writing. Pick up and stow all the clutter that comes with a hotel room so it’s just pristine, Old World Florence. There’s a creaky freestanding armoire (I open the huge door with its skeleton key). The heavy wood beam ceiling fifteen feet overhead evokes a day when monasteries had Pentagon-like budgets. My circa-1980 phone is ruby-red, and the receiver rattles like a maraca if I get animated while talking. The mini-fridge is just big enough for my liter box of pompelmo (grapefruit juice) to sneak in with all the overpriced drinks that don’t exist in my mind. The parquet floors have extremely slip-slidey little throw rugs. I think they’re called throw rugs for what would happen to me if I carelessly stepped on one.

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My hotel is on a grand old square and faces the first Renaissance building — a hospital designed by Brunelleschi. Outside, an arcade shelters the local lowlife. Enjoying a warm slice of pizza bianco while leaning against a column, I ponder the scene. While these well-worn people littering the steps used to get me down, now I realize that for 500 years, vagabonds and street people who couldn’t afford a bedroom like I’m calling home for these six days in Florence could enjoy the architecture (or at least the shade). Since the days of Michelangelo, they have set up camp free under the loggia eave of my fancy front door.

Each midnight, I open the window and untie the big sash that lets the heavy-tasseled curtain tumble straight...like princess hair. At 6 a.m., the birds chirp. I get up, look at the sleepy courtyard with its unfinished statuary, and close the windows hoping to grab another hour’s sleep. But too often I pick up this laptop and start pecking and chirping away.

Posted by Rick Steves on April 13, 2007
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Charging through dark and quiet Assisi -- stony with history -- I needed to visit two more restaurants before enjoying my reward for the day’s work: returning to my favorite place reviewed that night for a good meal...hopefully before the kitchen closed.

At 10:00, the pink marble streets of Assisi shine, lonely under the lamps. It seemed the only ones out were Franciscan monks in their rough brown robes and rope belts. All over Europe, I find monks hard to approach. But there’s something about “the jugglers of God,” as peasants have called the Franciscan friars for eight centuries, that this Lutheran finds wonderfully accessible. (Franciscans modeled themselves after French troubadours — or "jongleurs" — who roved the countryside singing and telling stories and jokes.) Franciscan brothers remind me of really smart dorm kids in the University of God...and tonight, it seemed, their studies were done for the evening.

Their warm “buona seras” and “ciaos” reminded me of my experience here filming a few years ago. While I like to say things with a creative edge, this can occasionally haunt me in my work. (Like the Norwegian mountain village I called “painfully in need of charm”...and then, during my next visit, the tourist office staff saw this printed in my guidebook and ran all over the building reading it with disbelief to everyone they could find. And like my little Vatican Museum rant posted on this blog last week. It was originally entitled “Vatican: practice what you preach” and had a harsher, more angry tone, until my Roman friends read it and made it clear that burning a Vatican bridge can haunt a tour organizer for years. The respect/fear they had for the Vatican was actually astonishing.)

But back to filming in Assisi: I had a 7 a.m. appointment to take my PBS TV crew into the grand Basilica of St. Francis, one of the spiritual and artistic highlights of Western Civilization and critical to our episode. At the crack of dawn, we waited — our letter of permission in folded hands — at the basilica-big door. Finally, three unusually officious-looking Franciscans appeared. In my most reverent tone I said, “buon giorno.”

They had reviewed our script, which made clear what we planned to film. This I expected. But before they opened the door, they said, “And...we’ve read your guidebook.” I immediately reviewed in my head the quirky descriptions I had used to tell the Francis story. (Passages such as “Holy relics — like the saints’ bones — were the ruby-red slippers of the Middle Ages. They gave you power, answered your prayers, won your wars...and ultimately got you home to your eternal Kansas.”) I was feeling sunk. Then the shortest of the monks looked at me and said, “We all read your guidebook...and we like it.”

We had the basilica — so adored by centuries of pilgrims and wallpapered by Giotto — all to ourselves. And the camera rolled.

Back in the present, I made it back to my favorite restaurant. It filled a brick-vaulted old cellar, or “buca.” Many restaurants are called “Buca” (even in the USA...as in, "di Beppo"). Since a buca or cellar traditionally paid cheap rent, it served cheap food. But now, with European Union regulations creeping into just about everything, there are no more restaurant licenses for cellars — bad ventilation, no secondary escapes in case of fire, and so on. And I’m seeing bucas with licenses grandfathered in really spiffed up and, while no longer cheap, great places to savor the local cuisine.

A local guide (Giuseppe) and his wife (Anna) joined me and we let the chef shower us with his best work. The wine (Sagrantino de Montefalco, Umbria’s answer to Brunello de Montalcino) was almost like marijuana, evoking flames and dancing girls. And the food both looked and tasted delightful. Anna greeted each plate with unbridled enthusiasm.

Suddenly, Giuseppe looked at me and said, “My wife’s a good fork.” Misunderstanding him, I blushed — amazed at what I thought he said. My face said, “Come again?” And Giuseppe clarified, saying, “una buona forchetta...a good fork...that’s what we call someone who loves to eat.”

Posted by Rick Steves on April 12, 2007
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I leave Rome more enamored with the Eternal City than ever. Tourism inundates Florence and Venice. But in Rome, while there’s plenty of tourism, the city is big enough that, culturally, we hit it like a bug hits a windshield on the freeway — bouncing off with almost no impact. The cultural juggernaut of Rome continues undaunted...and on its own terms.

And when it comes to organization, it’s not your father’s Eternal City. Traffic is sane. Smart cars (the “VW Beetles” of our generation) park as if they're motorcycles, nosing head-first up to the curb. Taxis now have a strict and enforced €40 rate to and from the airport (no extra fees).

A restaurateur told me that, while a generation ago, wine was all different grapes fermented into a punch called Chianti, today it’s much better. “Super Tuscan” wines are among the best in the world. Each region takes pride in excellent wines. I just drank an unforgettable wine called Montiano from Lazio (the district around Rome). "Osteria" once meant a cheap and rustic eatery (back in the days when they advertised half-servings to people who couldn’t afford much). With Italy’s new affluence, "osteria" now means quality…but not necessarily cheap.

But the new affluence isn’t changing everything. For instance, eateries around markets that traditionally and creatively cooked up the bits of meat no one would buy, still do — to the delight of discerning eaters who know their tripe. A fine example is Trattoria da Oio a Casa Mia, in Rome’s colorful Testaccio district, historic home of the city’s slaughterhouses. Its menu — with specialties like its unforgettable Pajata sauce, made with baby lamb intestines — is a minefield of soft meats.

Anywhere in Europe, I find that the most colorful eateries with the freshest ingredients and best prices are often at or near the thriving outdoor produce markets.

In responding to my blog, someone commented that I’m forgetting the value of finding cheap eateries. Not really, but I am reconsidering the wisdom of going into a good restaurant uptight (with a $30 limit) when you can trust the chef for $50 and have a grand evening. This assumes you’re finding a small and honest place with an ethic of serving a good value...rather than ripping off the tourist. That’s the challenge for the savvy traveler (and guidebook researcher). With $90 to spend for three meals, I’d rather have one $50 blowout and two $20 dinners than three $30 dinners. My challenge as I research is to find the personality-driven restaurant where you’ll celebrate that $50 check.

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Because of my research schedule (visit lots of restaurants while they are busy with diners, from 7:30-10:00 p.m.), I’ve been eating late — after 10 p.m. While this is tough for American tourists, it is clear to me that restaurants often have a touristy ambience from 7 to 9 and a more elegant, local ambience from 9 to 11. Trying — and generally failing — to turn down the chef’s favorite dessert at 11 p.m., I realize why breakfast is such a small affair for many Europeans. Hardworking restaurateurs are thankful for tourists eating early because that lets them turn the tables once over the course of the evening when, without tourists, they’d just serve one late sitting.

And language skills have little to do with the quality of the restaurant. In fact, last night my waiter declared, “The cook is in the chicken.” Later, when I ordered a tonic water, he asked me, “You want lice?”

Posted by Rick Steves on April 09, 2007
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The big talk among tourists and tour guides these days in Rome is the frustration with long lines at the Vatican Museum, and the museum’s seeming lack of sensitivity to the chaos that surrounds its front door every day. Unfortunately, in what seems like a callous (and, some could say, even un-Christian) gesture, the Vatican Museum limits entry times to about half the hours that other great galleries are open.

Why? They claim, “Not enough staff.” Guides think they shut it down for private showings and rental by big shots. This leaves pathetic crowds of tourists needlessly baking for hours in the sun. While in the cool of November, January, and February, off-season visitors simply walk right in, during the hot tourist season, lines can stretch over half a mile. Countless cultural pilgrims travel all the way to Rome to stand in line for hours...only to reach the door minutes after it closes and be turned away.

In its defense, the museum is working on a new entrance. And the building itself was simply not designed to accommodate the masses of modern tourism. In the Sistine Chapel, the situation seems almost tragic: the humid and smelly crush of the crowd, with guards shushing, scolding those setting off their flashes, and demanding “silencio.” Some even see deterioration setting in again on the newly restored frescoes.

The Vatican can treat its horde of art as its own private treasure, or as a cultural treasure we all share. During most of the year, there is simply no way to get in without enduring this grueling (and, most believe, entirely unnecessary) line. Even well-connected local guides can’t get around these lines. By merely extending opening hours, the Vatican Museum could better share its art with the masses (and make more money, to boot).

If you don’t want to bake in the long (un-shaded) line at the Vatican Museum this summer, remember that Rome has fine alternatives: The Capitoline Museums and the National Museum at the Palazzo Massimo have equally great ancient art with no lines. Renaissance masterpieces can be enjoyed at the Church of St. Peter-in-Chains (Michelangelo’s Moses) and in the Villa Farnesina (where you’re all alone with wonderful Raphael frescoes). And the most sumptuous collection of Baroque statues in all of Europe is in the Villa Borghese.

For now, I’ll pray for longer hours at the Vatican Museum (but there’s someone right here on earth who could solve the problem subito).

Posted by Rick Steves on April 08, 2007
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My Rome guidebook is joy to update. While Rome used to be a jungle, now it’s a forest. In fact, if Paris is a formal urban garden, Rome is a fertile forest rewarding countless cultural truffles to those who know where to sniff.

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Enjoying the new and strikingly modern building housing the Ara Pacis (Altar of Peace), I pondered the grand monument that kicked off the Roman Empire’s best two hundred years — the Pax Romana, or "Roman Peace." They had what they wanted. Now, on their terms, there would be peace in the land. They were so dominant, with a military so huge, that — short of pesky little acts of terrorism on the fringes of its empire — there was no way for what it considered the barbarian world (anyone beyond its borders) to even quibble with dictates from Rome.

This Altar of Peace museum is so striking because it is literally the first building in the old center of Rome built after 1938 (when Mussolini shifted focus from construction to destruction). For the rest of my visit, the architectural charm of Rome was more clear — a city with no new buildings (and no electric lines, since everything is underground), coursing with people living well.

The city is infused with money. Things are actually working now: A fleet of new topless hop-on, hop-off tour buses (#110) is capped with a layer of wide-eyed tourists enjoying taped tours as they glide through the city; Lazio wine (from the region of Rome) is served with pride — I loved the Montiano; and the Termini train station is a sleek mall with everything you might want, and only a shadow of the rough edges that once made it the scariest station in Europe.

While not wanting to be ageist, I try to avoid old-school guides in my work. Too often, old-timers were trained by rote: “Loooook. Dees is dee Victor Emmanuel Monument. We no like...but eeees here. Loooook. Now you a see de beeeeeeautiful Trevi Fountain.”

Younger guides, on the other hand, venture away from the tour company scripts to explain today’s Rome. For instance, they explain that many politicians are corrupt, enriching themselves with their power. When some Romans vote, they actually slip a slice of salami into their paper ballot, check the box, and say, “Eat this, too.”

Posted by Rick Steves on April 07, 2007
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Rome epitomizes the male-dominated Mediterranean world. Going to dinner with Chiara, a Roman guide and friend of mine who’s petite, blonde, and with a thin (almost cartoony) voice, I learned a lot. Chiara explained, “Italian men just can’t take a blonde seriously — especially one with a thin voice.” In fact, she refuses to guide Italian groups now that she knows American groups take her seriously.

Our target for dinner: Restaurant Fortunato, the kind of place with photos on the walls of the owner posing with fat and happy customers like Condi Rice, Tarik Aziz, Bill Clinton, and Ronald Reagan. Sitting down, we were immediately cased out by the businessmen and politicians who seemed to fill the place. I didn’t notice until Chiara explained. “About 20 percent of Roman women are blonde like me, but we’re still considered exotic.” When Chiara’s father takes her to dinner here, she enjoys the strange looks as other men fantasize about their relationship.

I wanted Signor Fortunato to understand that Chiara was much more than a good-looking blonde. I pointed to her head and said, "Fifty percent of my Rome guidebook came from this beautiful head.” He looked past her at me and said, “Bene, 15%.” It’s a man’s world in Rome.

Despite the lack of respect for women, the food was great. Chiara insisted on vignarola: artichoke, peas, and fava beans with bacon. It’s only available during a perfect storm of seasonality, with everything bursting with flavor. Vignarola is on the menu early this year. In fact, this year’s early spring is bringing confusion in Rome…old timers can't remember ever seeing vignarola on the menu before Easter.

Chiara shared her thoughts on dining in the USA: “American food has to travel, look good, and be available all year. Italian food does none of that…just taste good. We Italians have never seen apples with wax. I even saw waxed lemons — shiny only in the USA. For Italians, your lemons are too uniform.”

Another Chiara observation: “An American can’t wait in a restaurant. They eat bread dipped in oil before the meal comes…as if to escape the actual meal. Talk, sip your wine, relax…the real food is coming…and worth the wait.” At Fortunato, that's especially true.

Posted by Rick Steves on April 04, 2007
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Two days before departure, and I'm packed and ready to fly. (That's part of my trip preparation ethic.) Anne and our daughter Jackie join me for a farewell breakfast -- one last "eggs any style." I'm dressed for the long flight -- green t-shirt under blue work shirt. Jackie (17 and so stylish) says, "You look like a scrub -- OK if you're painting a house."

Scrub or not, my bag is light. It is as compartmentalized as a TV dinner: A folding board with four shirts and an extra pair of pants. Stuff bags for little clothes: t-shirt to be cozy in hotel beds (many Italian hotels are unheated in April), underwear, five pairs of socks (two days each…wash every ten days). I used to recommend no electronics. Not any more. I'm packing chargers, adapters, batteries, gadgets to get online, iPod, cell phone, camera, and a laptop. Books (everything I'll be researching ripped down to minimum, with second copies for local guides to follow). And that miscellaneous bag filled with smart little security-blanket extras you don't actually need (spot remover, sewing kit, extra glasses, and so on). My toiletries kit is extremely small (so small my staff, claiming no one could manage with this size, refuses to sell it). A folder for papers and my on-the-road office. Valuables these days are pretty minimal: passport, credit cards, drivers' license. Plane ticket is electronic. A sweater, light jacket, and day bag. That's it.

All my shoes are on my feet. I broke a rule, buying them just before departure. Tried to break them in on the treadmill. They broke me in. After .7 miles I had a blister. My passport is good until 2013 -- but I'm out of blank "visa" pages. I'm hoping they can register entries and departures on the "amendments and endorsements" pages. (I could be in for a lesson.) We claim I've tried and tested everything we sell with my name on it. Not quite true. I'm packing our "Rick Steves" liquid soap. I can't believe it's as good as we claim. We'll see.

The ritual ripping of the guidebooks went very well. Slamming the industrial-strength staples into my selected chapters to make slim editions pumps me up for the trip. My black jeans are too tight...I'm committed to getting into shape. New electric gear (faster laptop, serious SLR Nikon D40 camera, portable audio recorder to grab natural sound and interviews on the fly for my radio show) is both exciting and a bit burdensome physically and emotionally. Travel should be simple.

I'm off to the airport.

Posted by Rick Steves on April 03, 2007
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Travel writing and guidebook research are two different things. Researching is more technical than creative. I gather, assess, distill and organize data for other travelers' needs. While travel writing, I become Lady Experience's willing and eager dancing partner (or...sometimes...whipping boy) hoping to gather insights and lessons and stories because I'm green, vulnerable, and far from home.

Blogging gives me an excuse to write creatively (and prioritize experiences along with the more mundane fact-checking for the guidebooks). And blogging creates an online community of travelers, which I enjoy.

I am embarking upon four months of travel (basically the Mediterranean world in April and May, home for much of June, north of the Alps in July and August), and I'm kicking off a hundred-day blog. This year, I'm emailing home photos, too. If you don't see an entry every two days, I'm having too much fun (or -- more likely -- behind in my research or TV work).

My general plan: update guidebooks in Italy and Spain; shoot TV shows in Barcelona and Dordogne; update the guidebook in Croatia; return home; update guidebooks in Denmark, Germany, and Switzerland; shoot TV shows in Burgundy, Switzerland, Czech Republic, and Austria; fly home (late August).

Via this blog, I'd love to sneak you into my backpack. I hope you enjoy the ride. Thanks for coming along.

Posted by Rick Steves on April 02, 2007
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