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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

For several years, I’ve marveled at how Berlin has eclipsed Munich in urban energy. I was just in Munich, and now it seems to be comfortable just being itself rather than trying to keep up with Berlin.

After the last couple of years — with the elevation of Joseph Ratzinger (the local archbishop) to the papacy, Pope Benedict’s wildly successful visit, and hosting the World Cup — Munich seems revitalized and on a natural high.

And tourists love Munich. Legions of young expat tour guides are in a brutal battle for the tourist dollar. Here in the beer capital of Europe, tours start late — giving backpackers a chance to sober up. Feisty small walking and biking tour companies train guides who then split off and offer tours for free (and just ask for tips at the end of the gig).

I’ve tuned into bike tours in Europe this year, and I like them more than I thought I would. That’s partly because of competition driving prices down to literally zero. A guy named Lenny offers free tours every day from Munich’s main square — and he’s a fine guide. In general, the guides dumb down their lectures with lots of silly legends, and refer to the beloved Frauenkirche as the “church with the Pamela Anderson domes.” But they are introducing many visitors to a facet of Bavarian culture beyond its famed beer.

My favorite local guide joined me for an evening of restaurant visits. Heading for the Hofbräuhaus, I mentioned I’d love to give it some meaning. He thought that was funny and quoted Freud: “Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.” We climbed to the beer-stained top floor hall where tour groups gather to pay €20 for an all-you-can-stomach buffet of traditional food and a yodel show. I did find some culture downstairs in the main and noisiest hall. The smoke-stained ceiling, repaired and repainted after WWII bomb damage, was an evocative mesh of 1950s German mod — Bavarian colors, chestnuts, food, drink, and music themes. And a slogan arcing across the ceiling above the oom-pah band read, Durst ist schlimmer als Heimweh (Thirst is worse than homesickness).

Wandering through the legions of happy beer-drinkers in the Hofbräuhaus, it occurred to me that, unlike with wine, more money doesn’t get you a better beer. Beer is truly a people’s drink, and you’ll get the very best here in Munich. Connoisseurs have their favorite brews — and to get it, they don’t pay more...they simply go to the beer hall that serves it.

Beer halls always impress me with their ranks of urinals. Munich had outdoor urinals until the 1972 Olympics and then decided to beautify the town by doing away with them. What about the people’s needs? The new law: Any place serving beer must admit the public (whether customers there or not) to use their toilets.

I struggled for a smooth transition from beer-hall toilets to a new synagogue and failed. Sorry.

Munich’s striking new synagogue is locked tight to the public, but it’s still worth a look for its powerful exterior — its lower stones are travertine, like the famous Wailing Wall in Jerusalem, and the upper part represents a tent that held the important religious ware during 40 years of wandering through the desert until Temple of Solomon was built, ending the Exodus. Today (because Germany has agreed to accept religious refugees from the former USSR), the Jewish population of Munich has finally reached pre-Nazi levels — 10,000. And Munich’s Jewish community is understandably enthusiastic about its impressive new center, with a synagogue, school, and museum.

Posted by Rick Steves on June 27, 2008
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Sleeping on the train from Salerno to the Cinque Terre, I couldn’t stop thinking what a great job I’ve got: I was on a natural high after enjoying a wonderful guided tour of the Greek ruins at Paestum (which will be hugely helpful in next year's edition of my Italy guidebook), and I was about to wake up on my favorite stretch of Mediterranean coastline.

One of the joys of running my own company is that I get to choose my research chores each year. This year (along with my TV production work) I get to update the guidebook chapters on all of Portugal (except the Algarve), Naples/Sorrento/Amalfi Coast, Cinque Terre, Munich/Bavaria/Tirol, Paris, Amsterdam/Haarlem, Brussels, Bruges, Edinburgh, York, Bath, and London.

While the Cinque Terre is a huge favorite for my staff, no one wants to update the Cinque Terre guidebook chapter because the people here are so aggressive about staying in, getting in, or getting back in to the book. Every two years I grab the assignment, and it’s about my favorite four days of the season.

And with each visit, I meet with the director of the Cinque Terre National Park, a man nicknamed “the Pharaoh” for his grandiose vision and heavy-handed effectiveness. When I refer to him in passing by his nickname to people of the region, they do a double-take as if they never expected to hear this insider's term uttered by a foreign tourist.

After hiking to the top of Riomaggiore, I sat in the Pharaoh’s grandiose office. It’s littered with plans for park development, awards, and tourist promotion gadgets. He surveys me and I survey him, as we each matter to the other’s work. I explain to him that the region would enjoy more overnight visits (to the profit of struggling local seniors and the benefit of euro-stretching visitors) if the chaotic apartments-for-rent business were coordinated by village clearinghouses. He tells me of a school in the village of Corniglia that’s being renovated to house a big new hostel for 2009. I compliment the wonderful manager of the Manarola hostel. I complain of the ridiculous fines train conductors levy on innocent tourists who board a Cinque Terre train not knowing to sign their park transit passes first.

The Pharaoh takes me out onto his big balcony, and with a sweep of his hand, we survey his domain. Seeing a tourist lugging a backpack across the way, I shame him into promising that next year the park will provide a place for day-trippers to check bags for a more comfortable visit.

A big question for the region is the future of the Cinque Terre’s quirky nude Guvano Beach. The Pharaoh, like many locals, considers Guvano an embarrassment for the region. He said the park has the legal right of first refusal for the purchase of any land that goes up for sale, and they hope to buy the beach and end the nudity in 2009. Hiking the trail from Riomaggiore to the next town, I’m nagged by the difficulty I have believing that my son could have hiked the entire trail from town #1 to town #5 in just over an hour and a half (as he claims, and I recount in my book). With several hikers I meet making the case that this would need to be done at a steady run without any other hikers congesting the trail, I decide to take out the reference. But Andy insists it's true.

With this visit, I reinstate my sentimental first-ever recommended pension in the region — Pension Sorriso. I stayed here on my first visit in the mid-1970s. It was one of the very few places to sleep back before tourism hit the region. I’ll never forget the place, run by a family of huge people who seemed to spin and fill the kitchen like gears spin and fill an old-fashioned wristwatch. Dinners were a beggar's banquet of fresh fish and cheap white wine.

For 15 years, Pension Sorriso was the home of our tours in the Cinque Terre. Then, after a too-honest write-up in my guidebook, Sr. Sorriso’s wife decided to hate me. She hated me with a fiery venom like no one else in Europe hated me. In my favorite little magic wonderland in Europe, their place was a 20-meter stretch of lane I dreaded passing. We took our tour business elsewhere, and she demanded to have her hotel’s listing deleted from my guidebook.

Only after Sr. Sorriso died did I learn that for 20 years I was calling him Sorriso, when that word (which means “smile”) was simply the name of his hotel. For two decades I greeted him with a name that only I called him...and he just smiled.

Now their children — who are so cool they remind me of Sonny and Cher — run the hotel. I drop in (making sure I won't encounter their mom) and we click. We share some old stories, make some agreements for how they’d welcome my readers, and bam — I list 19 more good budget rooms in my book ($125 to $155 per double with breakfast, www.pensionesorriso.com).

That night I enjoy Miky’s, my favorite Cinque Terre restaurant in Monterosso, and the town doctor drops by to meet me. He’s beloved for happily hopping on his one-speed bike — with a virtual doctor’s clinic in his bag — and making house calls. He suggests I make a warning to tourists that freak waves kill. (In 2007, an American woman was swept from the top of a rocky breakwater to her death by one such wave.) I normally resist filling my guidebooks with motherly advice: be careful on the breakwater; don’t be on the trails after dark; don’t trust strangers; and so on. But this tip goes in.

After one of the best dinners of my trip and a quick blitz of the nightspots in Monterosso, I stroll back along the harborfront promenade to my hotel. There's one soul still out. It's Miky, the owner/chef of Miky’s. Still wearing his little white chef’s hat, he's enjoying a cigarette and sipping a White Russian. Both of us are capping an exhausting yet gratifying day of work.

Posted by Rick Steves on June 25, 2008
Comments (28)

Girls flirt with passing motorcyclists in Naples' Spaccanapoli District.
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Garbage takes up valuable parking real estate.
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All my life, Naples has been the symbol of chaos, stress, and culture shock for European travel. I remember my first visit (as a wide-eyed 18-year-old). Gene and I stepped off the train into the same vast Piazza Garibaldi that 35 years later still strikes everyone who visits as a big paved hellhole. On that first visit, a man in a white surgeon's gown approached me and said, “Please...we need blood for a dying baby.” Gene and I made a U-turn, stepped back into the station, and made a beeline for Greece.

Now I’m flying here from Iran (after a quick change in Paris). And, coming from Tehran, Naples is a model of order and sanity.

But coming from anywhere else in Europe, Naples remains uniquely thrilling. One of my favorite sightseeing experiences anywhere in Italy is simply wandering the streets of Naples. I spent an hour and probably a hundred photos just observing the teens on motorcycles in the vertical neighborhoods of the Spaccanapoli district.

Every few steps, a couple of James Dean-cool guys lean against lampposts while three or four girls straddling the same motorbike would cruise by as if playing Neapolitan Idol.

Everyone who knew I was going to Naples seemed to be obsessed with the garbage strike. Minibus-sized mountains of garbage were parked on the curb every couple blocks. It’s easy to make a big newspaper stink about it, but locals seemed to just hold their noses and know that someday this little piece of Naples chaos, too, would be dealt with. I smelled nothing.

In the spirit of finding cheap eats near major sights for my guidebook readers, I walked behind the Archaeological Museum in Naples and met exuberant Pasquale — owner of the tiny Salumeria Pasquale Carrino. Rather than do the cheapskate “how much?” question, I just let fun-loving and flamboyant Pasquale make me his best sandwich. He turned making a sandwich into a show, and I watched, enthralled.

Demonstrating the freshness of his rolls as if squeezing the Charmin, laying a careful pavement of salami, bringing over the fluffy mozzarella ball as if it were a kidney transplant, slicing a tomato with rapid-fire machine precision, and then lovingly pitting the olives by hand and then hanging them like little green paintings on a tasty wall, he finished it all off with a celebratory drizzle of the best oil. Five euros (less than $8) and a smile later, I had my cheap lunch. Saying goodbye to Pasquale, I tried to explain to him that he’d be giving this sandwich show to lots of American visitors next year, and stepped outside to look for a suitable bench upon which to enjoy my lunch.

(Salumeria Pasquale Carrino is 100 yards from the Archeological Museum--as you leave take two rights and a left to Via Salvator Rosa 10, tel. 081-564-0889, closed Sun.)

Posted by Rick Steves on June 22, 2008
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For some reason, planes leave Iran for the West in the wee hours. My departure was at 3 a.m. My crew caught a flight two hours earlier. My guide went home. I was groggy and all alone. While eager to leave, I was savoring every last impression before flying exactly the opposite route the Ayatollah flew as he returned home to toss out the shah.

Walking down the jetway to my Air France plane at Tehran’s Ayatollah Khomeini Airport, I saw busty French flight attendants — hair flowing freely — at the plane’s door. It was as if they were pulling people symbolically back into the Western world. As though the plane were a lifeboat, people entered with a sigh of relief. Women pulled off their scarves...and suddenly we were all free to be what to us was so "normal."

For ten days, I was out of my comfort zone in a land where people live under a theocracy — a land that found different truths to be god-given and self-evident. I tasted not a drop of alcohol (Islam is dry). I never encountered a urinal (Islamic men squat). Women were not to show the shape of their body or their hair (they were beautiful nevertheless). And people took photos of me, as if I were the cultural spectacle.

On my first day back in Europe, I noticed hair, necklines, and tight pants like never before. I sipped wine as if it were heaven-sent. And, standing before that first urinal, I was thankful to be a Westerner.

Paris seemed designed to accentuate the cultural differences. When I saw a provocatively dressed woman — tattooed breast barely covered by a black-lingerie top — I kind of missed the thrill of a little extra hair on the forehead of a chador-clad woman. University students sat at outdoor cafés, men and women mingling indiscriminately, discussing whatever hot-button issue interested them. Out of Iran and back in the West, I felt an energy and a volume and an efficiency that is cranked up. People — not on the valium of a revolution of values — are free to be "evil."

Of course, I would never choose to live according to the Islamic Revolution. But I gained a respect for people who are living what they call a ‘values revolution” — a respect that I could only understand by actually traveling there. And I overcame a fear that plagues many who’ve yet to visit Iran.

What do I conclude from this experience? If I were to make any judgment on their theocracy, it would be to point out the irony of a society that is aggressively theocratic, yet actually seems less spiritual than a neighboring, secular Muslim nation — Turkey, where five times a day it’s hard to walk down the sidewalk because mosques are overflowing with people praying.

All the “death to America” and "death to Israel" posters Westerners fixate on are impossible to defend. But I will say they seemed very incongruous with the people I met. It made me wonder if the penchant for Iranians to declare “death” to so many things is not so different from Westerners who exclaim “damn those French” or “damn those cowboys” or “damn this traffic jam.” Even though this actually means “die and then burn in hell”...of course we don’t mean it literally.

There's a lot of debate between our two nations about who's right and who's wrong. Many who comment on this blog seem to know. Some issues (such as the wrongness of denying the holocaust) seem clear-cut. But, as I leave Iran, I'm not convinced that everything is so straightforward. Politicians come and go...but people are here to stay. I leave thankful that I don’t live in Iran. Yet I believe the vast majority of Iranians — regardless of what they think of their current government — would choose to live nowhere else.

After this experience, I’m reminded of the fundamental value as well as the simple fun of travel. When we travel — whether to a land our president has declared part of an “Axis of Evil,” or just to a place where people yodel when they’re happy or fight bulls to impress the girls or can’t serve breakfast until today’s croissants arrive — we enrich our lives and better understand our place on this planet. It’s my hope that with people-to-people connections, we can overcome our fear and mistrust of each other, and, at a minimum, learn to co-exist peacefully. And that gives me and my partners here at ETBD meaning in our work. Thanks for traveling with me via this blog through Iran. I hope you enjoyed the journey.

Posted by Rick Steves on June 20, 2008
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In Iran, every city has a martyrs’ cemetery.
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The tombs of the unknown soldiers give mothers whose sons were never found a place to grieve.
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How has the loss of this boy’s father shaped his world view?
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Could be anywhere: A mother and her son.
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One of the most powerful experiences of our Iranian trip was a visit to a martyrs’ cemetery. War cemeteries always seem to come with a healthy dose of God — as if dying for God and country makes a soldier’s death more meaningful than just dying for country. That is certainly true at Iran’s many martyr cemeteries. While there are no solid figures, most estimates are that there were over a million casualties in the Iran-Iraq War. Each Iranian city has a vast martyrs' cemetery.

Iran considers anyone who dies defending the country a martyr and a hero. At the Esfahan cemetery, tombs seemed to go on forever, and each one had a portrait of the martyr and flew a green-and-red Iranian flag. A steady wind blew on the day of our visit, which added a stirring quality to the scene. And the place was bustling with people — all mourning their lost loved ones as if it happened a year ago rather than twenty. The cemetery had a quiet dignity, and — while I felt a bit awkward at first (being part of an American crew with a big TV camera rolling) — people either ignored us or made us feel welcome here.

We met two families sharing a dinner on one tomb. (One of the fathers insisted we join them for a little food.) They met each other twenty years ago while visiting their sons — who were buried side by side. They became friends, their surviving children married, and they come regularly to share a meal on the tombs of their sons.

A few yards away, a long row of white tombs stretched into the distance, with only one figure interrupting the visual rhythm the receding tombs created. It was a mother cloaked in black sitting on her son’s tomb — a pyramid of maternal sorrow — praying.

Nearby was a different area — marble slabs without upright stones, flags, or photos. This zone had the greatest concentration of mothers. My friend explained these slabs marked bodies of unidentified heroes. Mothers whose sons were never found came here to mourn.

I left the cemetery sorting through a jumble of thoughts:

My visit to the cemetery drove home a feeling that had been percolating throughout my trip. There are many things that Americans justifiably find outrageous about the Iranian government — from denying the Holocaust and making threats against Israel; to oppressing women and gay people; to asserting their right to join the world nuclear club.

And yet, no matter how strongly we want to see our beliefs and values prevail in Iran, we need to understand the 70 million people who live here. What if the saber-rattling coming out of Washington (and the campaign trail) doesn't coerce this country into compliance? In the past, other powerful nations have underestimated Iran's willingness to be pulverized in a war...and both Iran and their enemies have paid the price.

In the coming months and years, I believe smart and determined diplomacy can keep the Iranians — and us — from having to build giant new cemeteries for the next generation's war dead. That doesn't mean "giving in" to Iran...it means war is a failure and we need to find an alternative. If this all sounds too idealistic, or even naive...try coming to Iran and meeting these people face-to-face.

Posted by Rick Steves on June 17, 2008
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Our shooting is finished, our crew is home, and now we set about to editing all the footage into a one-hour TV special. Without telling you all the details of our show, here are some excerpts from the script that (especially if you can imagine the gorgeous footage we captured to illustrate these words) I hope will give you that Iranian sense of place:

[1 OC (on camera)] Hi, I’m Rick Steves — in what just might be the most surprising and fascinating land I’ve ever visited. We’re in Iran — here to learn, to understand, and to make some friends. Thanks for joining us.

[3 OC] Like most Americans, I know almost nothing about Iran. For me, this is a journey of discovery. What’s my hope? To enjoy a rich and fascinating culture, to get to know a nation that’s a leader in its corner of the world (and has been for 2,500 years), and to better understand the 70 million people who call this place home.

[9 with POVs from car, motorcycle taxi, pedestrian crossing] Traffic is notorious here. Drivers may seem crazy, but I was impressed by their expertise at keeping things moving. Many major streets actually intersect without the help of traffic lights. It’s different...but it works. Helmet laws are ignored. To get somewhere in a hurry, motorcycle taxis are a blessing. But wear your helmet. I’d rather leave a little paint on passing buses than a piece of scalp. Pedestrian fend for themselves. Crossing the street is dangerous. Locals say it’s like “going to Chechnya.”

[10 general chaos cut-aways] Just wandering the teeming streets here is fascinating and endlessly entertaining. And having survived Chechnya, I’m ready to celebrate with a refreshing local treat.

[11] This isn’t just any ice cream sandwich — it’s got rose water, saffron, and pistachios...a Persian specialty.

[14, face montage] Of Iran’s 70 million people, about two-thirds are under 30. People are mostly Persian. While there are minorities, we’ll focus on Persian population. The local ethnicity reflects the turmoil of its 2,500-year history. Local blood comes with Greek, Arab, Turkish, Mongol, Kurdish, and Azerbaijani influence. These are not Arabs, and they don’t speak Arabic. They are Persians and they speak Farsi. This is an important issue with the people of Iran — don’t call them Arabs. Each face seems to both tell a story and beam with warmth...especially when they see a film crew from the USA. We found that the easiest way to get a smile was to tell people where we’re from.

[16 OC] Another communication challenge: people here need to keep track of different calendars: Persian and Muslim (for local affairs), and Western (for dealing with the outside world). What’s the year? It depends: After Muhammad — about 1,390 years ago, or after Christ — two thousand and some years ago.

[23] Walking the streets of any city here, it's clear that Iran is ruled by a theocracy. They may have a president, but the top cleric, a man called “the supreme leader,” has the ultimate authority. His picture — not the president’s — is everywhere. Religious offering boxes are on every street corner. The days when the shah’s men boasted Iranian mini-skirts were shorter than those in Paris are long gone.

[24] While the Islamic Republic of Iran is a theocracy rather than a democracy, I was surprised at the general mellowness of the atmosphere compared to other Muslim countries. I barely heard a call to prayer. Skylines aren’t broken by minarets. And — except for women’s dress codes and the lack of American products and businesses (because of the US embargo on Iran) — life on the streets here is much the same as in secular cities elsewhere.

[41 Isfahan] Isfahan, with 1.6 million, is a showcase of ancient Persian splendor. One of finest cities in Islam and famous for its dazzling blue-tiled domes and romantic bridges, the city is also just plain enjoyable. I’m not surprised that in Iran, this is the number one honeymoon destination. Isfahan is the cultural heart of Iran. School groups come from all over the country to appreciate their roots. Iranians come to connect with their heritage and celebrate it.

[43] The Chehel Sotoun Palace is a vivid reminder that Isfahan was the capital of Persia 400 years ago. With its reflecting pool, fine gardens, and portico of twenty delicate wooden columns, this gives you a sense of Persia’s 16th- and 17th-century Golden Age.

[44] Stepping inside, you are struck by the elegance and grace of Persia at its zenith. Tender dancers, flowing hair, dashing moustaches, and sumptuous riches, it comes across in these fine paintings.

[45] Frescoes in its grand hall tell how the shah maintained, defended, and expanded his empire. Here the shah and his troops quell a revolt against his rule by the Uzbekis. Then, defending his empire, the shah battles the Ottoman Turks — with their frightening new artillery — and manages to stop their eastward juggernaut. Waging what I would imagine was very high-powered diplomacy, the shah threw extravagant banquets in this very palace. Here Turkmans, of today’s Turkmenistan, were treated to wine, women, and song — with traditional Persian instruments. The dancing girls that worked up a thirst...and a refreshing watermelon. And in this banquet, the shah of Persia welcomed the emperor of India with a similar lavish banquet…and then, a century later, the shah invaded India anyway.

[53 cemetery] Whatever the root causes — faith or nationalism — the Sunni and Shiite Muslims share a bloody past. And the killing continues. Like cities throughout Iran, Isfahan has a cemetery dedicated to the 400,000 martyrs — as anyone who dies in a religious or national war is called — of the Iran/Iraq War. All the portraits and all the dates are from 1980 to 1989. Over two decades later, the cemetery is still very much alive with mourning loved ones. While the United States lives with the scars of Vietnam, the same generation of Iranians live with the scars of their war with Iraq — a war in which they, with one quarter our population, suffered six times the deaths.

[54] We meet two families sharing a meal at a grave site. They each lost a son in the war. They met here at the cemetery nearly twenty years ago and became friends. Their surviving children married. And they’ve shared memorial meals together here at the tombs ever since.

[88] Traveling through Iran teaches many things. This ancient land is a complex center of many civilizations through the ages. All along the way we met people: warm hospitality, spontaneous, gregarious, and curious. While they generally didn’t like our government, they seemed inclined to genuinely like Americans. Just like my country, there’s a dominant ethnic group and a dominant religion, with plenty of ethnic and religious diversity at the same time. And just like my country, there’s a not-always-graceful synthesis of influences: modern and traditional, liberal and conservative, secular and religious. Like in my hometown, people of great faith are threatened by people of no faith or a different faith. And, as with my neighbors, in the interest of being close to God, people of great faith treasure their time-honored rituals as a defense against the onslaught of modern materialistic society that threatens the moral fabric of their society.

[89 OC] I came to Iran a little nervous. I leave struck more by what we have in common than by our differences. I’ve overcome my fear by getting to know the Iranian people. Granted, there’s no easy solution to the problems confronting our two nations. But surely getting to know this culture is a step in the right direction. I’m Rick Steves. Happy travels...and as they say here, “May peace be upon us.”

Posted by Rick Steves on June 13, 2008
Comments (17)

My reach is longest as two narcissists burn under the Persepolis sun. And wait, what’s that camera in the background?
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Whenever we filmed a place of commercial or religious importance a plain clothes security guard would appear. Seyed would earn his pay by explaining who we were and what we were doing. It wasn’t always easy as different branches of the Iranian government don’t work entirely in sync (perhaps like different branches of American intelligence).
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Seyed was expected to follow that big camera wherever it went. Zipping through the chaotic traffic to show the “point of view” of Rick on a motorcycle taxi? Hang on tight and follow that bike.
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Our government guide, Seyed, documents our shoot on his tiny camera.
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Here is a short email back-and-forth I had with our Iranian government guide, which I thought might be of blog interest. Seyed must be the top Iranian government guide (he accompanied Ted Koppel on his recent Iranian shoot). He was with us from start to finish. I wish you could hear his voice (as I can) in his writing:

To: Rick Steves Subject: Thanks from Tehran Iran, Seyed is sending you his best wishes

Dear Rick, I hope you and your family are well. I am following your web blog and I enjoy your comments and also the comments of your fans. I am so glad you had the interest in Iran and writing and caring about my country, Iran.

I am going to take my group to Italy next month so I meant to ask some of your advice if possible please. Unfortunately we do not get much American tourists at the moment, but I hope after your video about Iran comes out, then more American people will decide to come to Iran so that I myself will have more jobs and also all my colleagues will have jobs and Iranian people, not Iranian government, will enjoy the benefit of it.

I hope that people who comment on your web blog get and understand the reality that I as a tour guide have never misled you or misinformed you. As you saw, I have been honest and loyal to you and have answered all your questions according to my knowledge and plus that as I have said before I am not a government guide. But if you insist on calling me your government guide then go ahead please, no problem, call me as you wish.

I hope that some day I can come over to America and give some speeches in some universities and tell American public more facts and reality about Iran, so that we can have more understanding from each other.

My best wishes for you and your family and Simon and Karel and Abdi. It really was a great honor for me to be able to work with you and learn from you. As you said when you were in Iran, we have our differences, but it does not mean we have to change each other, but we can have respect for one another. Thanks for your friendship.

Yours,

Seyed

Seyed Rahim BATHAEI

Hi Seyed,

Thanks for the kind email. I have been so inspired by my learning experience with you in Iran. I am glad you are following the blog. It is interesting...so many the comments! People have strong feelings. I am thankful for your help and I agree you never misled us. In fact, you were the one who opened so many doors. I hope we can stay in communication. Would it be okay with you if I put your email on my blog?

Rick

Dear Rick,

Thanks for your so kind and so fast e mail. I think you are a superman and I am jealous of you how hard you work and how you take your job seriously and I think that is why you are a successful businessman and producer. That is something I like about Americans, the hard work. I did not tell you that once some years ago I tried to start a small business, but later I became bankrupt because I could not work hard enough and my mind was not a business wise mind so I failed. But I learnt some good lessons from you this time.

About putting my email in the blog, as you know my answer always is yes, as you saw I like publicity. I am so open for socializing with people and talking to people and even getting criticized and listen to criticism. It is OK to show my pictures and video and name and email and everything. As a mater of fact, some of my American tourists who have come to Iran and I have been their tour guide had seen your blog and noticed my picture there and they emailed me about it.

Even I know some of the commenters in the blog. And as we talked about my big wish is to become a commentator in the US TV morning shows and talking about politics. Of course I only mentioned I want to be in Hollywood which was a joke, but in fact I like to talk on TV shows, which I am working toward by appearing in documentaries, thanks to your video too, I will be one step closer.

I hope some day you start your tours to Iran and I can be the tour leader for your groups to Iran. My best wishes for you and your family.

Yours,

Seyed

Posted by Rick Steves on June 11, 2008
Comments (22)

The woman in the bookstore gave me a free book.
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Martyrs walking heroically into the sunset of death for god and country.
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In the university there’s a lounge for boys...and one for girls.
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After traveling through Iran, my notebook is filled with quirky observations. Reading the comments readers share on my blog is also thought-provoking. The whole experience makes me want to hug people and scream at the same time. It’s intensely human.

One moment, I’m stirred by propaganda murals encouraging young men to walk into the blazing sunset of martyrdom. The next, a woman in a bookstore serves me cookies and offers me the book I admired for free.

My friends are worried about my safety, and even progressive people have adopted the post-9/11 phrase “be safe.” (Hearing that makes me want to do something dangerous.) Safety is the least of my concerns in Iran. The only danger I could imagine during my visit would be something explosive falling from an American airplane high above.

And I learn that after the JFK assassination, there was a popular song here that was a standard among grade-school children. They sang, “Oh, God, what would the world be like if Kennedy were brought back to life?”

I marvel at some example of inefficiency in this society...and then see an old man with a beautifully carved walking stick ingeniously designed with a small flashlight in its handle to light the way home through his poorly lit village late at night.

In our TV filming, I was excited to visit the University of Tehran in hopes of showing highly educated and liberated women and an environment of freedom. Conformity on any university campus (in the USA or Iran) saddens me. You conform once you are parenting or paying off a house or climbing the corporate ladder, but university is where you run free...barefoot through the grass of life, leaping over silly limits just because you can. I assumed I’d find a free spirit at the biggest university in Iran. But the University of Tehran made BYU look like Berkeley. There was a strictly enforced dress code, no non-conformist posters, top-down direction for ways to play, segregated classrooms and cantinas...and students toeing the line.

Hoping to film some interaction with students, I asked for a student union center (the lively place where students come together on Western campuses), but there was none. Each faculty had a cantina where kids could hang out, with a sales counter separating two sections — one for boys and one for girls. In the USA, I see university professors as a bastion of freedom (understandably threatening to people who are against freedom). In Tehran, I found a situation where the theocracy was clearly shaping the curriculum, faculty, and the tenor of the campus. It was the saddest and most disheartening experience of my Iranian visit. I only visited one campus, but I was told it was the biggest and most prestigious in the country.

While the traffic is crazy, it is not noisy. Because of a history of motorcycle bandits and assassinations, only small (and therefore quieter) motorcycles are allowed. While traffic is enough to make you scream, people are incredibly good-humored on the road. I never heard angry horns honking. Once, while stalled in Tehran traffic, people in the neighboring car saw me sitting patiently in the back of our van: a foreigner stuck in their traffic. They rolled down their window and handed my driver a bouquet of flowers with instructions to give it to the visitor. When the traffic jam broke up, we moved on — with a bouquet from strangers in my lap.

Posted by Rick Steves on June 09, 2008
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Our trip through Iran has given us a glimpse of a paradoxical world where the murals are mean, yet the people are friendly. Here is a little slideshow of some of the people, places and moments that have delighted me on this trip, strictly from a traveler's point of view.

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Posted by Rick Steves on June 04, 2008
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Persepolis is pharaoh-like in its scale. Emperor’s tombs are cut into the neighboring mountains.
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2500 years ago, subjects of the empire (from 28 nations) would pass through the Nations' Gate bearing gifts for the "King of Kings."
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The tarmac laid for an aristocratic “tent city,” set up by the Shah to celebrate 2500 years of Persian empire, still survives — reminding visitors where their revolution came.
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Locals — quick to smile for the camera of a new American friend — visit Persepolis to connect with and celebrate their impressive cultural roots.
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With the sun low and the colors warm, Simon, Karel, and Rick are enjoying a great day of filming. I would say this is your PBS pledge dollars at work … but this shoot’s on me.
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Under a blistering sun, the rocks share the cool of the night.
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Europeans enjoying the greatest sight between the Holy Land and India.
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While the tourist women may have looked gawky in their scarves, I looked worse under my “script sun hat.”
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The sightseeing highlight of our ten days in Iran was the ancient Persian capital of Persepolis, what I’d consider the greatest ancient sight between the Holy Land and India. Arriving there in the middle of a vast and arid plain was thrilling. This was a rare place that actually exceeded my high expectations. My main regret in traveling through Iran on my first visit (back in 1978) was not trekking south to Persepolis. Now I’ve experienced it.

I wanted to include Persepolis in our TV special because it’s a powerful reminder that the soul of Iran is Persia, and that predates the introduction of Islam by a thousand years. Persepolis merited 450 words out of our 5400 word Iran script. Here’s my take on Persepolis as told in a bit of the rough script (hence the sequence numbers) from our upcoming TV special, which will air in early 2009. As I reread this, I can see some of the most stunning high-definition video we’ve ever shot:

[78] A 40-mile drive from Shiraz takes us to Persepolis, the dazzling capital of the Persian Empire back when it reached from Greece to India. For nearly two hundred years, from 518 BC to 333 BC, this was the home of the “King of Kings.” It was built by Darius and his son Xerxes the Great around 500 BC.

[79] It’s a big complex of palaces of the greatest kings of the day. They were so strong, no fortifications were needed. Still, 10,000 guards were permanently posted here.

[80] This is the “Nations’ Gate,” where dignitaries from the 28 nations subjugated by Persia passed in “we’re not worthy”-style to pay their taxes and humble respect to the "King of Kings," as the emperor was called.

[81] Cuneiform inscriptions from 500 BC say the same thing in three languages. Roughly: the king is empowered by god. Submit totally to him for the good of Persia. All nations can live in peace if you are compliant.

[82] The palace of Xerxes, called the Columned Palace because it once had 72 columns, each with the uniquely Persian capital, had a precious roof of Lebanese cedar carried here all the way from the Mediterranean. Xerxes the Great defeated the Greeks and burned and pillaged Athens in 480 BC.

[83 reliefs] Beautiful carved reliefs survive throughout the ruins of Persepolis. Supplicants gracefully climb the same steps we do, bringing offerings to the king. Lions were a symbol of power. They represented the king and even the power of the seasons. In this reoccurring scene, a lion kills a bull, symbolizing spring killing winter and bringing new life. Today, Iranians still celebrate their new year on March 21, the first day of spring.

[84] The figure on the eagle’s wing, that Zoroastrian symbol, is a reminder that the king’s power came from Ahuramazda — the Zoroastrian god.

[85 Rick On Camera] Imagine this place at its zenith: the grand ceremonial headquarters of the Persian Empire. Coming here you have high expectations. Being here, they are exceeded. Iranians visit with a great sense of pride. For an American, it would be like having Monticello, Cape Canaveral, and Mount Rushmore all rolled into one magnificent sight.

[86] Grand royal tombs, the scale of Egyptian pharaohs — or Mount Rushmore — are cut into the adjacent mountainside. The awe-inspiring tombs of Darius and Xerxes come with huge carved reliefs featuring ferocious lions: even in death, they’re reminding us of their great power.

[87] But no empire lasts forever. In 333 BC Persepolis was sacked and burned by Alexander the Great, the Macedonian Greek who turned the tide against Persia. Ending Persian dominance, he spread his Greek culture all the way to India. Persepolis has been a ruin ever since.

We arrived after a long day of driving — just in time for that “magic hour” before the sun set. The light was glorious, the stones glowed rosy, and all the visitors seemed to be enjoying a special “sightseeing high.” Iranians were savoring this reminder that their nation was a huge and mighty empire 2500 years ago.

The temperature (as it does in the desert when the sun goes down) dropped dramatically. I pressed my body against the massive stone walls to feel the warmth stored in the stones. (The next morning, under a blistering sun, I hugged the same wall to catch the cool of the night that it still shared.)

I was impressed that the approach to this awe-inspiring site was marred by a vast and ugly tarmac with 1970s-era light poles. This is left from the Shah’s party celebrating the 2500 year anniversary of the Persian Empire — designed to remind the world that he ruled Persia as a modern-day Xerxes or Darius. The Shah flew in dignitaries from all over the world, along with dinner from the finest restaurants in Europe. Iranian historians consider this arrogant display of imperial wealth and Western decadence the beginning of the end for the Shah. Within about a year, he was gone and Khomeini was in. I think it’s left here so visiting locals can remember who their revolution overthrew.

I saw more Western tourists visiting Persepolis than at any other single sight in the country. They were from all over Europe and Australia — all with local guides, most with the Lonely Planet guidebook to Iran, and everyone marveling at how Iran has great tourism potential. (After the elegant way local women wear their scarves, I can’t help but notice how gawky many tourist women are in their scarves.)

Persepolis has the majesty of Giza or Luxor in Egypt. And I was most struck, not by the international tourists, but by the local people who travel here to connect with their Persian heritage. Wandering the sight, you feel the omnipotence of the Persian Empire and get a strong appreciation for the enduring strength of this culture and its people.

Posted by Rick Steves on June 01, 2008
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