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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

I recently responded to some questions from a reporter. I thought you might find my answers interesting (and I have nothing else handy in my blog bucket).

How has your job changed the way you travel?

I do whatever is necessary at whatever cost to maximize the value of my time, like hiring taxis and local guides.

How much do you plan your trips in advance? (What do you leave to chance and what do you nail down beforehand?)

These days, because I’m committed to an intense research schedule, I book all my hotels in advance. Each day unfolds as I’m there. It’s really a fun challenge to envision each day’s work of a two-month trip, three months before departure, and lay out an itinerary where each overnight is right on.

What are some packing tips you've picked up?

Pack light.

What's the one thing you won't leave home without taking with you?

I'll give you three: my laptop (with an extra battery), my iPod, and a little something to help me sleep.

What do you wear on the plane? Why? And what do you bring with you on the plane to make the ride bearable?

I wear a sweater and my noise reduction headphones. I’d rather fly coach with noise reduction headphones than business class without.

How do you deal with jet lag?

Leave home well-rested. For about the first three nights in Europe I use a quarter tab of Ambien when I wake too early to finish that night’s sleep.

What's the first thing you do when you arrive at a destination to acclimatize yourself or get the bead on a place? How do you get your bearings?

I read my guidebook chapter about the place. (That also helps me sleep when struggling with jet lag.) I also like to simply get out and wander—slow, alone, head in the clouds—to just pick up the current flavor.

How do you find non-touristy spots?

I talk with locals about their favorites. The Moms and Pops who run the little B&Bs and guesthouses I recommend hear day in and day out what thrills and disappoints their guests. I vigorously pick their brains. But it’s important that I get beyond cronyism. People working for the tourist boards are worthless in this regard.

How do you approach local cuisine? Is it something you seek out (or find overrated?) How do you find good local restaurants? What are your thoughts on street food? What sorts of things do you look for to determine whether a street vendor is worth trying?

Places near markets, places with no English menus, and places with fast turnover are a good sign. Döner kebabs are my new fast, cheap, lunch option, washed down with a nice refreshing glass of ayran, a yogurt drink. But I want a kebab stand that does a brisk business. "Local cuisine" is often clichés that only tourists eat. Lately I've been careful to cut back here.

How much of your travel is on your own? What sorts of things have you learned to do when traveling solo? Do you have tips for other solo travelers? (Do you have tips relating to bars and restaurants in particular? Nightlife?)

Unless I’m filming or apprenticing a new researcher, I generally travel alone. I assume my readers are in bed by midnight. I use my evenings to check restaurants. I then eat a late dinner in my favorite restaurant find of the evening. Then I go home and input text into my laptop of what I learned that day. I can work 60 hard, long days in a row but only if I get 7 or 8 hours sleep a night.

How do you record and take notes on your trip while traveling? (Are there certain products you use? Do you schedule certain times of day that you take a moment to write observations down?)

I love my Moleskine notebooks. I feel like a human lint brush. I’m constantly collecting scraps of news, tips, and new ideas and then diligently working them into existing or new chapters as I input it all into my laptop.

How do you keep in touch with others while traveling? (products? times of day/ email? postcards?)

I deal with my email nearly every night—but only once a day. I haven’t sent a postcard for ages. I’ll never travel without the help of a mobile phone.

What sorts of tourist etiquette tips have you picked up along the course of your travels? Is there a way you've learned to approach locals that particularly effective? A type of attire? What would you absolutely avoid doing?

I don’t worry about what kind of flowers to bring or how to cross my legs. I am just genuinely respectful, curious, and positive with the people I encounter on the road. And I enjoy being received warmly. For people in the tourist industry in Europe, I just do my work with laser focus and if they appreciate that they work with me. If some big shot in the tourist board wants to have a long lunch with me, I tell him that I am committed only to my readers and I have one shot at updating the material in his city and I have no time for a social lunch. This just doesn’t make any sense to (and astounds) many of the bureaucrats I meet and deal with in Europe.

Posted by Rick Steves on August 31, 2008
Comments (14)

I was traveling through Europe during the Olympic Games and enjoyed watching events from overseas. Now home, I was watching the exciting closing ceremonies and thinking (as I did four years ago) how other countries might view the "medal count" differently.

All my life I've marveled at how great the American Olympic team did compared to the rest of the world. I imagine the spirits of most Americans, like me, soar to see us on top of the medal count. But then, one year, as I raved at how dominant our team was, my Dutch friend told me — not too gently — that Americans have a lot of medals…but, per capita, the Dutch have three times as many. While Americans are not inclined to view the tallies this way, before we gloat, consider this listing. Thanks to a nudge by my Dutch friend, I now do the arithmetic for the summer games to see things two ways—total medals (yea USA) and medals per capita (yea Bahamas). Check this out:

2008 Total Medal standings regardless of population:

Rank

Country

Total # of Medals

1

USA

110

2

China

100

3

Russia

72

4

Great Britain

47

5

Australia

46

6

Germany

41

7

France

40

8

Korea

31

9

Italy

28

10

Ukraine

27

11

Japan

25

12

Cuba

24

13

Belarus

19

14 (tie)

Canada

18

14 (tie)

Spain

18

2008 Total Medal standings per million population:

Rank

Country

Total Medals

Total medals/million

1

Bahamas

2

6.5433

2

Jamaica

11

3.9566

3

Iceland

1

3.3120

4

Slovenia

5

2.4885

5

Australia

46

2.2511

6

New Zealand

9

2.1867

7

Norway

10

2.1608

8

Cuba

24

2.1064

9

Armenia

6

2.0191

10

Belarus

19

1.9538

11

Trinidad/Tobago

2

1.8928

12

Estonia

2

1.5199

13

Bahrain

1

1.4113

14

Lithuania

5

1.3984

15

Mongolia

4

1.3551

22

The Netherlands

16

0.9656

37

Russia

72

0.5093

44

Austria

3

0.3659

45

United States

110

0.3653

46

Romania

8

0.3591

68

China

100

0.0757

Congrats to the Bahamians—they won 6 medals per million people (18 times the USA rate). And to get things into a larger population pool (where a single superstar can’t mess up the standings), congrats to Australia, New Zealand, Norway, Cuba, and Armenia (each with a medal for every two million or so people…six times the USA production).

Among those nations, special honors to Cuba and Armenia (Where would it be if per capita income of these poor nations was a factor?) China? Great games (and I don’t care about the piddling gripes of media pre-disposed to find something wrong with the Beijing games)…but only 100 medals for over a billion people (and with the home court advantage). We Americans whooped you (with four times the per capita medals).

So America, wave the flag and be proud. We did great. On a per capita basis, our athletes cleaned the Chinese, nearly kept up with the Russians, and finished right between Austria and Romania.

Posted by Rick Steves on August 25, 2008
Comments (35)

I finished my trip with a sprint — updating Bruges and Brussels in a frenzy and using the flight home to input my notes. Getting home was wonderful — seeing family after nearly two months away...finally catching up with Anne...enjoying the last days before empty-nesthood as Jackie, our youngest, is heading off to Georgetown University in three days...and Andy is heading back to Notre Dame in a week.

Our last nights with Andy were particularly fun, as he shared photos from his semester abroad. (I was envious of the fun he had — which we’ll be sharing in a series of entries here shortly.) He’s so excited about the experience, that he’s building a website to share and organize information for other students making weekend trips from their European study home bases.

Travel has gotten Andy into the ritual of appreciating fine cigars. It’s both strange and fun having a 21-year-old son sit on the deck and teach you how to appreciate a good Cuban cigar. Sophisticated as he was in explaining the qualitative differences in cigars from various Latin American countries, he admitted it was un-cool to smoke it right down to the very end. (And sophisticated as he was, I was struck by the fact that this 21-year-old cigar aficionado with the burny fingers had never heard of a roach clip.)

Andy’s youthful sophistication intrigues me. When we met up in London, I took him out to dinner and squirted oil all over my shirt while ripping the head off a shrimp. Andy looked at me and said something like, “Not staining your shirt when you’re eating out is a lifestyle.” Then he shared a highlight of his London stay with me — a cigar lounge. He took me into his favorite, and together we shopped for the best cigar money could buy. (He also showed me how willingly cigar salespeople can slip the ring off a Cuban cigar and slip the cigar into a tin from a country not weathering an American embargo, and suddenly you have no way of knowing where that tobacco actually came from.) Andy knows how to make that effete scene and feel like it’s not forced.

One great thing about doing my work in Europe is that I’m out of touch with the day-to-day challenges back in my office. My first few days back home are always spent getting briefed on things. Tim, my radio producer, announced that (in just our third year on the air) our radio show is now carried weekly by 99 stations. He gave me CDs of new shows (with guests like Salman Rushdie, David Sedaris, Lord John Alderdice, and others) that are just better than ever. We must have a party when we crack 100 stations.

The best news of my homecoming was about our Iran show. The network offered our one-hour special to the public television system and well over a hundred stations responded enthusiastically, saying they’d run our show. Only seven said, "No, thanks." This means this January, we’ll have our Iran show running in nearly every major city in the USA. Now we set about finishing the show, and I am busy turning my Iran blog and photos into a companion booklet.

Within days of my return, our staff enjoyed a sunny, annual office picnic. It seems like just a couple years ago when there were 20 of us and only a few little kids. Now there are 70 — with probably 30 kids old enough to toss water balloons and whack a piñata.

Posted by Rick Steves on August 24, 2008
Comments (18)

Here's a batch of photos shares a little of the fun I had in the last two months in Europe. I’ve also added a few photos to the last dozen or so blog entries you may enjoy reviewing.

At the John Knox House in Edinburgh a fun little dress up corner let me play out my Great Reformer fantasy.
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In a York churchyard a family illustrates how a picnic can become a great budget dining experience if you find the right place to picnic.
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Armed with a well-stocked Oyster Card, London's Tube can be one of the best tools to enjoy London efficiently and economically.
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The thought-provoking London tee-shirt is an example of the edgy take many Europeans have on Globalization.
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The Big Boy helps make the Aros museum in Arhus, Denmark one of Europe’s more entertaining artistic experiences.
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Everyone gets around better by bike in the Netherlands.
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Posted by Rick Steves on August 21, 2008
Comments (78)

A few more "leftovers" from my recent trip:

While traveling on business — especially while filming — I have the time figured out very carefully and always have necessary reservations to keep things moving smoothly. In Denmark, leaving the Isle of Ærø early one morning as we began a demanding day of filming — and proud of my ability to read the sign — I directed us into a line for the ferry that said “reservation.” I felt smart...until all the other lines emptied into the ferry and I realized I put us in the “no reservations” line. We nearly didn’t get onto the boat.

A couple days later, I left Denmark with a 20-kroner coin in my pocket — worth about $4. It occurred to me that I couldn’t think of a nation that had a smaller “biggest coin” than the USA. (Europe’s 2 euro coin is worth over $3. Canada has a $2 coin.) What does it say about a nation that can’t get used to a coin worth more than 25 cents? We’ve tried 50-cent and one-dollar coins, but they just don’t work. (Now, don’t think this comment is anti-American...it’s an innocent question, neither pro- nor anti-USA.)

In Denmark, things are so costly that it seemed people consume more sparingly. The society is designed in a way that encourages people to consume less, chew slower, and just sip it. A glass of beer costs $10. A cup of coffee can cost $7 — and refills are unheard of. I think they know they could make more money if they embraced the “Big Gulp” track and started super-sizing things. But the collective decision is not based on what’s good for the economy. A Costco economy is just not Danish.

Susanna, who runs a gorgeous little B&B on the Isle of Ærø, hosts lots of travelers from both my guidebooks and my Scandinavia tours. She observed that nearly 100 percent of those with my guidebook are Democrats, while those taking my tours are half Democrats and half Republicans. Hmmmm.

While beer costs a fortune in Denmark, it’s half the price and twice as good in Belgium. Good beer has been a theme of mine in Belgium. Everywhere else, it seems you order what’s on tap for the best local brew. Here, the experts remind me that because there is such a vast selection of beloved specialty beers, there is not enough quantity consumed of any single brew to keep kegs from going old and stale. Therefore, the connoisseurs prefer their beer in the bottle.

Wandering around Brussels, I found a monument to “Au Pigeon Soldat WWI” at the end of St. Catherine’s Market. Imagine, honoring the men who cared for the pigeons that played an important role in a world war.

One evening I ordered wild mushrooms because of their evocative name in French: champignons sauvages.

Posted by Rick Steves on August 19, 2008
Comments (20)

I was just in the Netherlands researching the new edition of my guidebook on Amsterdam and getting up-to-date on the "coffeeshop" (i.e., marijuana) scene. Regardless of how you might hate or love marijuana and what you think about American laws, it’s fun to try to understand the Dutch system. Here’s what I learned just last week.

When tourists call an ambulance after smoking too much pot, Dutch medics just say, “Drink something sweet and walk it off.” Amsterdam, Europe’s counterculture mecca, thinks the concept of a “victimless crime” is a contradiction in terms. Drive under the influence of anything and you’re toast. Heroin and cocaine are strictly illegal in the Netherlands, and the police stringently enforce laws prohibiting their sale and use. But, while hard drugs are definitely out, marijuana causes about as much excitement as a bottle of beer.

Throughout the Netherlands, you’ll see “coffeeshops” — pubs selling marijuana, with display cases showing various joints or baggies for sale. The minimum age for purchase is 18, and coffeeshops can sell up to five grams of marijuana per person per day.

Because of laws prohibiting the advertising of marijuana, you need to take the initiative and ask to see the menu. In some places, there’s actually a button you must push and hold down to see the menu illuminated. And the menu looks like the inventory of a drug bust.

Americans with no reason for paranoia play hide and seek in an Amsterdam coffeeshop.
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The big news on the coffeeshop scene is the new nationwide smoking ban. These laws pertain to tobacco smoke, but not marijuana smoke. But the Dutch, like the rest of Europe, mix their marijuana with tobacco. It might seem strange to an American, but if a coffeeshop is busted...it’s busted for tobacco. Shops are mixing a kind of herbal tea as a tobacco substitute for joints. Coffeeshops with a few outdoor seats have a huge advantage, as their local customers can light up outside. And shops without the outdoor option are in for an extra challenge, as many local smokers would rather get their pot "to go" than smoke it without tobacco at their neighborhood coffeeshop.

Pre-rolled joints are now sold pure, with the non-tobacco “hamburger helper” herb mix, and with tobacco. The pure marijuana joints are much easier to buy now than just a year ago. Some shops sell individual joints (€2-5, or about $3-7.50). Others sell only small packs of three or four joints. Shops sell marijuana and hash in pre-rolled joints and in little baggies. Shops have loaner bongs and “smoke-free” inhalers, and dispense cigarette-rolling papers like toothpicks.

While Dutch law allows for shops to keep an inventory of up to 500 grams, the wholesale dimension is the famous “grey area” in the law. It’s just left out of the equation. Most shops get their inventory from the pot equivalent of home brewers or microbrewers. Shops with better “boutique suppliers” get the reputation for having better-quality weed (and regularly winning the annual Cannabis Cup). The tax authorities don’t want to see more than 500 grams (about a pound) on the books at the end of each accounting cycle, and shops lose their license when found with too much in stock.

A shop could retail a ton of pot with no problem, as long as it maintains that tiny stock and refills it as needed. Amsterdam’s mayor, understanding that this just has the city busy with small-time deliveries, has proposed doubling the allowable inventory level. The reason the inventory level is kept so small: They want shops to stay small and not become bases for exportation. Providing pot to neighboring countries would bring more international pressure on the Netherlands to crack down on its coffeeshop culture.

The other legal trend is that licenses are not being renewed in some neighborhoods as the city wants to maintain a certain smattering of shops and not have too big a concentration in any one area.

The Dutch are not necessarily pro-marijuana, but they do believe that a prohibition on marijuana would cause more problems than it solves. Statistics support the Dutch belief that their system works. They have fewer hard drug problems than other countries. And they believe America’s policy is based on fear, misinformation, and electoral politics, rather than rationality. And, after a 10-year track record, the Dutch have found that their drug policy does not result in more pot smoking. Statistically, Americans smoke twice as much pot as the Dutch (per capita).

Posted by Rick Steves on August 16, 2008
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I’m just wrapping up this trip. And my refrigerator is cluttered with still-edible blog scraps. So tonight, we’re having leftovers.

Just like Americans used to clap when a plane landed safely after a long flight (back in the 1970s), on two successive Turkish Air flights I noticed that Turks clap today as they land safely.

English drivers monitor their driving record carefully to maintain their favorable insurance rating. Moving violations are given various points (e.g., 3 points for speeding). When they get 12 points, Brits loose their license. Points stay on their record for four years. Everyone I talked to in Britain was nursing their record along with somewhere between 3 and 6 points.

London’s emerging Manhattan at Canary Wharf.
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Back when Britannia ruled the waves, London’s Canary Wharf was the world’s biggest shipping harbor. Then it became a run-down wasteland. Now it's hosting my nomination for Europe’s most impressive urban development. London is shifting east. There’s a whole new Tube network evolving east of London. The 2012 Olympics will be the district’s coming-out party, as most of the events and venues will be there. Wandering around the Docklands (Tube: Canary Wharf) was like finding a slick, futuristic Manhattan with an English accent.

I found the English were really caught up in the American presidential campaign. They say this is in part because of the popularity of the TV series The West Wing, which has educated an entire generation of Brits on American politics, and is still very popular in the UK. When I told an English friend I thought American travel to England was down, he disagreed, saying, “Americans are still coming to the UK because as Americans are less popular in the world, England is a refuge...a place where Americans can tell if people are talking about them.”

When I meet backpackers, I quiz them on shoestring travel in 2008. Most find rooms via www.hostelworld.com, which lists and assesses the countless hostels that house people who don’t stay in hotels. And most are enjoying Europe on $80 a day.

I’ve never seen a car with a bumper sticker on it in Europe. Why are we so into bumper stickers, while sticking what you think about something on your car never even occurred to any European?

I don’t make a habit of responding to comments on this blog, but Ken’s question (responding to my previous entry), implying that I was contributing to the Russian Bear’s economy and image by choosing this “monumental” time to start our tour program there, deserves an explanation. Yes, we have just added a Best of the Baltics tour that includes St. Petersburg in Russia. And it happens to be our best-selling tour right now. (You can find out more about this new itinerary on our 2009 Tours website.)

Like most people, I didn’t anticipate the Russian aggression against Georgia. But, to answer Ken’s concern, this breaking development makes me more enthusiastic about a tour including Russia, rather than less enthusiastic.

I believe many people, when confronted with an enemy, are predisposed to shut off communication, hunker down, and fight. And I believe that when you travel into “enemy territory,” you can make connections that help encourage understanding and dispel fears. (That's why I took our film crew to Iran this spring.) I believe people-to-people communication (along with the costly-but-successful US battle of economic attrition and our hard military stance) helped us get through the Cold War with the USSR without it going hot.

We will always have enemies and people whose goals are at odds with ours. While interviewing Lord Alderdice, Member of Parliament and architect of the Irish peace, for my radio show (which will air on the weekend of September 6), I learned that the only alternative to needless wars (which ironically make us weaker on the international scene) is perpetual negotiation and compromise and creative waging of peace — which, I believe, will make us stronger.

Posted by Rick Steves on August 13, 2008
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I’m a little drunk after an evening of research in Belgium (so forgive the wordiness of this long-winded entry). A good percentage of the tourists you meet here are beer pilgrims — on a quest. For two nights in a row, I’ve shared a table or bar with American couples here specifically to enjoy the fine local beer.

The Belgian love of fine beer shows itself in mini-markets dominated by bottles of the finest monk-made brew.
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Tonight, at my favorite Brugge bar (‘t Brugs Beertje — a favorite here...famous and even beloved for stocking over 300 Belgian beers), I sat with Chris from San Diego. Chris actually brought a bottle of Speedway Stout by Alesmith all the way from San Diego to give to Daisy, who runs this local pub.

I was a bit down on Brugge (a.k.a. Bruges) after a long day of visiting every sight in town. The place is inundated with tourists, especially when a cruise ship is in. It seems nothing is possibly “untouristy.” I’ve been in Belgium, the Netherlands, Britain, Denmark, Turkey, and Iran lately. With the high price of things here (with our dollar down) and the predictability and homogeneity that comes with the new affluence in northern Europe, I was thinking how much more challenging and rewarding travel in places like Iran and Turkey is. It took staying out late and enjoying a couple of beers to jolt me back into a positive mindset.

After making the rounds of 12 or 14 restaurants last night, I wanted to actually eat in one high-end little place in my book — Bistro in den Wittenkop. It’s a cool, candlelit, jazzy place serving $30 plates (the going price for a nice dinner place these days).

I was mad at them last night for insisting that no one in Belgium served tap water in restaurants. Then I asked at all the other restaurants and learned it’s true. Germany, France, and the Netherlands have no problem serving free tap water. But in Belgium, it’s just not done. They claim all their water is “recycled,” and a few years ago a bunch of people got sick drinking tap water here, so — apparently — the government doesn’t allow restaurants to serve tap water.

I tracked down three places from reader feedback, and all were good. Two were characteristic pubs — focus on beer with cheap bar food (€7 spaghetti), allowing the poor American tourist to have a great night out for cheap (two great beers and a basic meal for $17).

The third place was a real winner. I just loved it. The local guide who was tagging along with me pointed to the medallion outside the door and said, “Yes, Hotelschool Koksude — one of the best cooking schools in Belgium…this place has got to be good.” My gut feeling was that this was a good value, but recognizing where the chef had studied...that was way beyond me. I wish I was more sophisticated about these things.

I had a fine meal, affirming my take on the place, and then popped over to the ‘t Brugs Beertje pub to check the intro material I had on Belgian beers. I sat at the bar planning on picking Daisy’s brain. But I was surrounded by beer experts — all happy to clue me in. Soon I had a chemistry lab of four different beers in front of me — each with its distinct beaker (a critical part of the beer culture here is that the glass must fit the beer). I had one called Zot (“the fool” — the last beer actually brewed in Brugge and considered one of Belgium's best), Kriek (made bitter with cherry), an apple Lambic (what you order for your friend if they “don’t like beer”), and a complex and creamy Chimay brewed by Trappist monks. Licking my lips, I thought that Chimay would almost make celibacy livable.

As a beginner, I was extremely steep on the learning curve (and did my best to stay there as I walked home).

As I busily took notes, the gang on stools around me marveled at what a cool job I have. A couple stools down, a girl recognized me and said, “My mom loves you.” (I don’t know why, but I get a lot of that lately...lots of moms love me.)

Two stools beyond her was Astrid. She’s a guide at the local brewery that makes the Zot beer. (She wasn't drinking Zot.) For years I’ve recommended that brewery tour in my book, raving about Inge (a guide there who I like and who’s a friend of mine). Today, Astrid rather than Inge was my guide. She had to mention, “There’s more than one guide here.” And I realized how it was wrong for me to favor one of seven guides just because I happened to know her. For six years, the other guides have had to hear American tourists ask, “Are you Inge?” I thanked Astrid for the nudge, apologized for the oversight, and assured her that in the new edition she won’t have to tell people she’s not Inge. Loosened up by a few Zots, my Belgian stool-mates explained to me how money-oriented the Dutch are. They said, “The Dutch have the worst beer, Heineken — but sell it all over the world. Belgians make far better beer, and it is barely exported. The first thing the Dutch ask you is about money (how much people make and how much things cost), which is taboo here in Belgium. Those Dutch could sell a fridge to an Eskimo.”

I’ve been in Belgium for 24 hours now. I’ve learned they “have nice weather 20 times a day.” And it occurs to me that old people speak English now. This is really a switch. I have been conditioned to find only young people able to clue me in on things; consequently, I get a young perspective. Now, enough years have gone by that I need to remember that the era of Europeans speaking English is long enough so that even the semi-retired people helping out in museums will likely speak English. They may be old, but they are from the modern age.

Speaking of the modern age, I just passed a threshold. Yesterday in Antwerp at the train station, I had 15 minutes between trains and wanted to get a SIM card for my cell phone to work in Belgium. I asked where the shop would be, and the information person directed me not to a shop but to a machine. I popped a ten-euro bill into the SIM card dispenser, and got my chip with a Belgian phone number and €7.50 of credit.

Posted by Rick Steves on August 09, 2008
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I was standing at the urinal. There were white puffy clouds blowing past Golden Age gables above me, and the clatter of bikes giggling over the cobbles as they crossed the toyland bridge at my side.

In Amsterdam, the view from inside can be fascinating.
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But I was studying the heavy ironwork of the pre-WWII-vintage structure that wrapped 80 percent of the way around me — with its heavy green paint job and the mesh pattern of tiny plus signs that let me enjoy the idyllic street scene as I discretely stood there for my open-air, urban pee. I just assumed I was alone.

Then my focus changed, and beyond that green-iron wall of plus signs — just across the lane — I saw an abundant and jaunty woman in a cliché of lingerie eyeing me seductively from a plush window, framed in red. (I thought of my Dad's favorite Jolson song: "Ma! She’s makin’ eyes at me.") It was strange to be doing what I was doing while finding myself forcibly flirted with. The whole episode seemed to last longer than your typical trip to an Amsterdam urinal.

The prostitutes like her are businesswomen. I think she probably chose a very good window to rent. Location, location, location. As I walked away, I had to pass closer and give her a friendly wave.

I spent my first day in Amsterdam pedaling through a persistent mist, visiting hotels through the day and restaurants through the evening. It happened to be Gay Pride Day. The parade was over — things were quiet now. The city was strewn with litter and felt like it had just enjoyed one big simultaneous orgasm. I saw two boats hovering ghostly just below the canal surface. Still tied to their cleats, they were lifeless...drowned. My friend explained that troublemaking party animals see how many can stand on the deck, and eventually they submerge it — the canal equivalent of rolling over a car.

Amsterdam seems made for biking.
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When I’m in Amsterdam, I always pick up a bicycle for the duration of my stay. The mechanic wasn’t at the bike shop when I arrived, so they didn’t adjust it to my height. It left me working harder and with a sore back.

The next morning I got my bike properly adjusted and it made a world of difference. I met my guide, Ab (who, like most Amsterdammers, doesn’t own a car), and we biked the routes in my guidebook to tighten up the information.

I asked about my guide’s name. He said it’s Albert, but nobody uses the nickname "Al" in Dutch — instead, they go by "Ab." Almost as if making a confession, I told him that I stole a sandwich from my breakfast buffet. Ab said, "After the help you gave us with the Marshall Plan after World War II, you can steal as many sandwiches as you like."

Much of my Amsterdam experience is framed by my black bike handlebars: the shiny wet cobbles, powering up a bridge to coast down it and halfway to the next bridge, getting pinged by passing bikes and pinging my bell to pass others. I wished I had a bigger periphery, as cars, trams, bikers, and pedestrians seem to float by from all directions in silence — their noise lost in the white noise of this dreamy city.

No one wears helmets. The tires seem to grip wet cobbled corners well, but I do have a paranoia about a tire slipping into the trolley track and flipping me as I jay-bike across a bigger street. All canalside streets are one-lane and one-way. “Do Not Enter” signs attract my eye as I zip across a series of canals because, I figure, that’s the direction cars and bikes will approach me from.

I feel local, efficient, and even smug with my trusty and well-fitted bike. I get anywhere in my neighborhood faster than most could even get their car started and out of the garage. And I can get across town faster on my bike than I could by taxi or tram.

Biking is the way to go here. And in Amsterdam, there’s a solid piece of metal to lock it up (and a memorable urinal) just about wherever you need one.

Posted by Rick Steves on August 06, 2008
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Istanbul is digging a tunnel from Europe to Asia under the Bosphorus.
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I'm done filming the last three TV shows of our new series (Denmark, Copenhagen, and Istanbul). Tomorrow my producer Simon flies home with the precious tapes. I just gave Simon my second bag (with my printer and extra wardrobe in it), getting me down to my usual light load. I'm heading for the airport — within a couple hours, I'll be deep into Amsterdam guidebook research.

Driving along the coast in the taxi to the airport, I scan the Bosphorus. A hundred freighters fill the sea — a commotion of ships that reminds me of the force of the D-Day landings. Each is filled with cargo for thriving economies. Many are escorted by tough little tugs. One by one, they enter this maritime bottleneck, fueling this city of 15 million.

In the middle of the strait is a construction site — an industrial-strength pontoon island with heavy machinery digging down, and then out. Istanbul is well on its way to constructing its Bosphorus tunnel. I trace the city's horizon, from the misty minarets spiking up from the old town, to a distant skyline of modern suburbs where tourists never venture — a forest of modern skyscrapers in league with Shanghai's.

Yesterday we needed a better spot for our show's opening shots. We had a reasonable one from the Galata Bridge, but it showed charming old fishermen and tour boats. Instead, I wanted to somehow capture the historic crossroads and contemporary might of this city.

Climbing with the camera crew to the rooftop of a toy store, we found a spot that showed off Istanbul as the churning metropolitan powerhouse where east meets west.
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Site selection had led to frustration. Mentally scanning all possible angles, it hit me: We needed a high-wide shot, almost an aerial, showing the freighter-filled Bosphorus just where it's met by the Golden Horn inlet, with the teeming Galata Bridge, lumbering commuter ferries churning up the port, and a huge nondescript mosque in the foreground (we didn't want to show the city's icons — the Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia — so early in the show).

We went to the spot I envisioned (above the "New Mosque," near the famous Spice Market) and surveyed the zone. We spotted a restaurant with a shaded roof terrace, and went to check it out. It was perfect...except that as I spoke into the camera, there was no necessary sun on me. Next door, however, we noticed a toy company with offices that had a small open terrace. It was exactly what we needed. They welcomed us onto their roof and brought us tea. Grabbing a calm moment between the gusts, I gave my lines:

“Istanbul is one of the world's great cities, period. For thousands of years, this point where East meets West has been the crossroads of civilizations. Few places on Earth have seen more history than this sprawling metropolis on the Bosphorus."

Then we taxied to Ortaköy, a trendy café scene at the edge of town — too far away for tourists. It sits in the shadow of a Baroque mosque and one of the mighty modern bridges that cross the Bosphorus, lacing Asia and Europe together.

In Istanbul, where an awe-inspiring suspension bridges connects Europe and Asia, a modern skyline is emerging.
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I wanted to get more interaction on camera between me and the locals, and this was perfect — a gang of four charming young Turks joined me to pass around a hookah (big water pipe), sip chai, and play backgammon. Backgammon is the perfect way to create a jolly conviviality with new friends. At the neighboring table, we filmed two sisters — one secular and the other wearing a colorful but conservative Muslim head scarf — chatting as they passed the mouthpiece of their big water pipe. (I hoped this might make both a big water pipe and a scarved Muslim woman less scary to the more insular of my American viewers.)

Then, with the sun low and the chop of the Bosphorus carbonating the scene, I stepped out onto the ferry landing to film the closing shots of the show. The frilly mosque cut the harsh diagonal created by the mighty bridge reached for Asia. Just as a ship entered the frame, I looked into the lens and said:

"Like its bridge, Istanbul brings East and West together. With a complex weave of modern affluence, Western secularism, and traditional Muslim faith, it's a dynamic and stimulating city, well worth a visit. Thanks for joining us. I'm Rick Steves. Until next time…keep on travelin'."

Reaching the airport, I tip the taxi — selfishly holding back just enough local lira for a coffee. Enjoying a rare break with my iPod, I listen to Amy Winehouse ("They wanna make me go to Europe, I say yes...yes...yes") while drifting through all the lines, immersed in the sea of people traveling. An old woman weeps as the security line slowly swallows up her son, with a reaching grandson in his arms. Water and shoes are okay to take through security here — but my watch and belt need to come off. With a thump, my passport is stamped.

In the terminal, I see the big green welcome of a Starbucks, and feel thankful that I no longer have to choose either Turkish coffee or Nescafé. I have 6.05 Turkish lire. A grande latte costs 6.25 (nearly $5). I beg. The Turkish barista says, "No problem." I'm so happy — the frugal traveler is triumphant, leaving the country with exactly no local currency.

Nursing a good American latte, head buried in my Amsterdam book, I transcribe feedback notes into my work copy of the guidebook. Thinking back, I'm amazed how out of Turkey I already am — ready for the Netherlands.

Posted by Rick Steves on August 03, 2008
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