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Rick Steves' Travel as a Political Act Blog

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El Salvador provides the norteamericano with a hot and muggy welcome. After one day, I had settled in quite well. I was speckled with bug bites and accustomed to my frail cold shower, noisy fan, and springy cot. I knew to brush my teeth with bottled water and to put used toilet paper in the waste basket to avoid clogging the toilet. I was ready for some serious education...and I got it.

Local experts briefed my educational tour group on the state of El Salvador's economy. The minimum wage was about $1 an hour ($144 a month). While in the US, minimum wage is considered a starting point, most Salvadorans aspire only to minimum wage...and that's all they get.

When coffee prices crashed in the early 2000s, that crop went from providing 50 percent of the country's export earnings to about 3 percent. With legions of coffee workers suddenly unemployed, their children were hopeless and directionless. Many teens were left with little to do but roam the cities in gangs and cause better-off people to build even higher walls. The maquiladora industry (sewing clothing for the rich world corporations looking for cheap labor) moved in, and now makes up 25 percent of the local economy.

To make ends meet, most Salvadoran families struggle to send one person abroad to earn money. Seven in ten families have an immediate member in the US — about two million total. In 2005, remittances (money sent home from these expats) brought $2.5 billion into El Salvador — or 16 percent of the country's entire economy. "Refugee aid" like this is big throughout the developing world. In fact, in 2004, the total amount of money that refugees working in the rich world sent home to their families (an estimated $75 billion) was fifty percent higher than all foreign aid combined ($50 billion).

In 2001, two huge earthquakes killed over a thousand Salvadorans (in a nation of about six million people). They destroyed or badly damaged a quarter of the private homes in the country, leaving 1.5 million homeless. Of course, in a big shake, it's the poor whose homes crumble — seismic safety is a luxury only the privileged can afford. An earthquake of the same magnitude hit my hometown of Seattle that same year, and no one died. The best those living in a shantytown can do for protection is to live in what they call "miniskirt housing" — cinderblocks for the lower half of the walls, and then light corrugated tin for the upper walls and roof. If a miniskirt house tumbles down, it won't kill you. And when it's over, you just scavenge a few two-by-fours, reassemble the frame, and nail your sheets of tin back in place.

The more I learned in El Salvador, the more appalled I was to realize how amazingly blind I was to people's daily reality just a short plane ride south of the border.

Posted by Rick Steves on September 30, 2009
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My first trip to Central America in 1988 lit a fire in me. I realized I have the right, if not the responsibility, to form my opinion based on my own experience, even if it goes against the mainstream at home. It was liberating, empowering...and exhausting. After that first trip, I published my journal, flew to Washington, DC, and spent two days hand-delivering it to the office of each Member of Congress on Capitol Hill. Deep down I knew that my efforts would likely end up in congressional recycling bins, but I needed to do it. And doing it felt good. That little mission marked the start of the time when my travels became more than just recreation.

El Salvador politics line up on two sides: The left includes the FMLN guerillas-turned-politicians, students, labor groups, Protestant churches, and many Catholic priests and nuns (especially those who espouse a Liberation Theology approach). The right includes the dominant ARENA party, the military (and Civil War-era death squads), big business, wealthy elites, and the official Catholic Church hierarchy. These two forces are locked in a seemingly endless battle for the souls of El Salvador's campesinos (peasants). The US typically supports the right wing, both to protect its own economic interests and — back in the 1980s — to fight the perceived "communist threat" of the left.

While the players remain the same, the game has changed. The peace that ended the country's Civil War also ushered in an era of globalization. By my third visit, in 2005, North American chains — from Pizza Hut to Texaco to Subway — were thriving. The Marlboro Man looked good on his horse. And, as I cruised through town past a cancan of American-owned franchises, it seemed the victory of the US-supported faction had been a huge success.

But living in San Salvador — a city of a million and a half people — was still no picnic. It had been 13 years since the end of the Civil War, five years since the collapse of the coffee industry, and four years since two huge earthquakes devastated the country. El Salvador had the highest homicide rate of any city in the Western Hemisphere, and gang violence was on the rise. Exploring San Salvador, it was clear that any nice home came with a fenced-in and fortified front yard. Rolls of razor wire were on sale in the newspaper for just $33. In the wealthy neighborhoods, each street had an armed guard. Every sizable business also posted a guard.

The relative lack of news about Latin America since the 1980s had lulled me into thinking that perhaps things were getting better for people there. But suffering that's not covered on the nightly news is still suffering. This trip reminded me of the power of our media — even over those of us who are determined not to be misled.

Posted by Rick Steves on September 28, 2009
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As we prepared to leave Miami for El Salvador, the flight attendant who liked my TV show bumped me from coach to first class. Alone among leather seats with my drink in a real glass, I thought about the congestion — noisy families, people trying to jam all their cheap new electronic gadgets overhead — back in economy. I felt more than wealthy. I felt elite. Looking out the window into the Caribbean night, I pondered my privileged position. A chain of lights led to Key West. Then, deep in the blackness, glittered the forbidden city of Havana. The pilot's door was locked and fortified as we flew to El Salvador.

Landing in the capital city, San Salvador, I was met by César, who whisked me away in his car. In his coin dish, I saw shiny Lincolns and Washingtons. I'm never very confident upon arrival in a new country, and this confused me. César explained, "We've been dollarized now since 2001." Since my last visit here, my coins had become the local coins. (In a kind of voluntary colonization, local elites chose to adopt the US currency to avoid losing their personal fortunes in case of a radical change in their government.) My hunch was that much more had changed in El Salvador than just the currency.

Back before my first trip to Central America in 1988, I specifically forbade my heart to get caught up in economic justice issues south of our border. I knew there were leftists fighting American-funded groups and it was a tragic mess, but that was it. There was too much pulling at me, and the competing sides, excuses, and complaints were all too complex and contradictory. I just didn't have the energy to sort it out, and I didn't need it in my life. Then I traveled here and I learned what Thomas Jefferson meant when he wrote that travel "makes men wiser, but less happy."

Posted by Rick Steves on September 25, 2009
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My three trips to Central America — each organized and led by Augsburg College's Center for Global Education — have done much to shape my politics. The first trip, in 1988, took place during El Salvador's Civil War. By my second visit, in 1991, the leftist people's revolution had been put down and US- and corporate-friendly forces were in control. The third trip, in 2005, was built around the events memorializing the 25th anniversary of the assassination of Archbishop Oscar Romero. (Complete journals from all of these trips are online at www.ricksteves.com/politicalact.)

For each of these trips, I had a week or two available for a vacation. I could have enjoyed lying on a beach somewhere, but I chose to spend the time in El Salvador. Checking in on a people who lost a revolution, taking the pulse of corporate-led globalization in a poor country, collecting my impressions, and sharing them now is precisely what I consider to be travel as a political act.

I realize it's odd, as a relative novice to Latin American travel, for me to have such strong opinions — or any opinion, for that matter — on these topics. It's clear: My passion is rooted in the opportunities I've had to talk with and learn from smart, poor people living in what I grew up considering “banana republics.” Frankly, spending time with the poor in Central America radicalizes people from the rich world. My next several blog entries will give you a glimpse into how traveling there has changed me. I hope these impressions and observations — mostly from my 2005 trip — not only share some of what I learned, but illustrate why choosing a place like Managua over a place like Mazatlán the next time you head south of the border can create a more fulfilling travel experience.

Posted by Rick Steves on September 23, 2009
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Here are a few more photos that show how Europe can inspire travelers to see things differently.

The English have an impressive ability to lie on beaches and pretend it's sunny.

The biggest single room in America is filled with airplanes. The biggest one in Europe (in Holland) is filled with flowers.

Like community events in my hometown are uplifting, little festivals contribute to the fabric of every community. In Verona, Italy, teenage cooks teach the little ones how to make ravioli in hopes of keeping that element of Italian culture vibrant. In spite of its modernity, Europe values its traditions. Festivals seem designed to hand these traditions from one generation to the next.

On the streets of Helsinki, seeing masses of people marching, I thought I might be in store for a big demonstration. Then I realized it was an annual festival where all the choirs gather on the steps of the cathedral. They sang a few hymns together, then they broke into small groups and invaded every pub in town. It's the “take choral music to the pubs” festival.

This woman just hiked all the way from Paris to the northwest corner of Spain, Santiago de Compostela. For a thousand years, pilgrims have made this trek for reasons I don't understand. I'll never forget seeing the jubilation on the faces as triumphant trekkers of all ages and languages — walking sticks frayed, pant-legs fringed, faces sunburned — paused to savor the sweet moment as they finally reached their goal. I'm not sure why this moved me so. Perhaps it's the timeless power of individual faith. Maybe it's heritage and tradition. Or it might be the notion that people would abandon everything and move mountains for treasured feelings and beliefs that never even occurred to me.

Regardless of your journey, you can put a little pilgrim in your travels and find your own personal jubilation.

Posted by Rick Steves on September 21, 2009
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Part of the fun of travel is learning to respect and celebrate how different people have different passions for different things. A traveler learns that the love of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness comes in different colors and knows no borders. And if there's one thing we can learn from Europe, perhaps it's new ways to enjoy life to its fullest.

In America, we have freezers in our garages so we can buy in bulk to save both money and needless trips to the supermarket. In contrast, Europeans have small refrigerators. It's not necessarily because they don't have room or money for a big refrigerator. They'd actually rather go to the market in the morning. The market visit is a chance to be out, get the freshest food, connect with people, and stay in touch. While the popularity of supermarkets is growing, Europeans who value the traditional fabric of their societies still willingly pay a little more for their bread for the privilege of knowing the person who baked it.

In Beaune, France, the local Chamber of Commerce invests in an exhibit to help people appreciate the wine. Clearly, having a good nose in France is a life skill worth cultivating.

In Italy, they love their expensive red wine — but they also love their simple, fill-‘er-up-at-the-gas-station wine. Italians get their table wine cheap at filling stations like this.

French farmers fatten their geese to eat their livers, which they consider a delicacy. They force-feed the geese four times a day. Then, when their livers grow from a quarter-pound to two pounds, they slaughter them and eat the fattened liver, or foie gras. The English travel in droves to France's Dordogne region to enjoy this gourmet treat. Animal-rights activists worldwide object to the treatment of the geese, and for a time, foie gras was actually illegal for restaurants to serve in Illinois. But French farmers don't understand all the fuss. They tell me the tradition started when their ancestors caught geese who had fattened up their own livers to make the migratory trip to Egypt. They found them very tasty and decided to raise them there, help them fatten those livers, and spare them that long flight to Egypt. They claim that geese are designed to grow fat livers, and they pride themselves in creating fine living conditions — as the quality of the foie gras depends on the quality of life the geese lead, right up until the day they are slaughtered.

Posted by Rick Steves on September 18, 2009
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In my last several blog entries, I've talked a lot about how America perceives Europe. Now let's flip things around, to see how Europe perceives America. Sadly, this changed dramatically in the first decade of the 21st century.

OK, I'll admit it: Like two-thirds of Americans — and virtually the entire rest of the planet — I was no fan of George W. Bush. While my differences with him on various philosophical and policy points were matters of personal political opinion, there's no question that the Bush Administration's actions severely blemished the "Brand of America" — how the US is perceived overseas. People in Europe like Americans as much now as they ever did. But there's no doubt that, throughout the Bush years, their view of the United States as a political entity took a hit.

Americans — mindful of the now-dated "Ugly American" stereotype — tend to be conscientious ambassadors of their country when traveling to Europe. And, particularly because of the Iraq War — even in the post-Bush era — many are fearful that they might receive a negative welcome, especially in France (where anti-war sentiment seemed the most vociferous). Through my tour business, I take a thousand Americans to France annually. Each year, I survey them in an email, asking, "How were you respected by the local people?" Even in the most “anti-American” times, nobody complained. The French have always given American individuals a warm welcome. They just don't always like our foreign policy. In Europe, the mark of a friend is not someone who constantly fawns over your obvious strengths, but someone who tells you when you are off-base and disappointing them.

When other countries refuse to support US foreign policy, many Americans say, "Don't they remember how we saved them from the Nazis?" The answer is yes, absolutely they do. I was recently filming in France's Burgundy, at a charming little mom-and-pop château. When I'm filming, get out of my way — the sun's going down, and we've got work to do. But the aristocratic couple whose family had called that castle home for centuries insisted, "We must stop and have a ceremony because we have an American film crew here working in our castle." They cracked open a fine bottle of wine and brought out — with great ceremony, as if it were a precious relic — the beautiful 48-star American flag they had hoisted over their château on that great day in 1944 when they were freed by the American troops. They implored us, "Please go home and tell your friends that we will never forget what America did for us with its heroics, its economic and military might, and its commitment to liberty." In addition to being grateful to the US for helping to free them from Hitler, Europeans also appreciate our defeat of the Soviet Union with a bold and determined battle of economic attrition during the Cold War.

I have European friends six or eight years older than me, born in the late 1940s, named Frankie and Johnny because their parents were so inspired by the greatness of the Americans they met who came to liberate them from the Nazis. But Europeans no longer name their children after American GIs. The sad reality is that, in the first decade of the 21st century, if your job was marketing a product in Europe, one of your responsibilities was to comb any hint of America out of your promotional material. "California" used to sell in Europe. But in recent years, it's been the kiss of death.

The "Brand of America" changes with the attitude of whichever administration is setting the tone. With each new president, other nations wonder if there will be unilateralism or multilateralism, respect and collaboration or threats and hypocrisy. Travelers have the opportunity to take home a firsthand understanding of what the rest of the world thinks when it sees America. And if they don't like what they learn, they can come home and help repair that image problem.

Posted by Rick Steves on September 16, 2009
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Because of strict FCC regulations on nudity, my television program has to be careful about which art we show. Because I show art featuring naked bodies, my shows are flagged by the network and, in some more conservative markets, programmers play it safe by airing me after 10 p.m., when things are less restrictive. In recent years, programmers actually got a list of how many seconds of marble penis and canvas breast were showing in each episode. They couldn't inflict a Titian painting or a Bernini statue on their viewership in those more conservative communities without taking heat.

Compared to Europe, America has long been laughable in its modesty. Only American tourists are biking into trees as they explore city parks, which are littered with topless sunbathers. But things got serious during the last decade (with naughty Howard Stern, Bono, soldiers, and football players swearing on TV, and Janet Jackson's notorious "wardrobe malfunction" all pushing the envelope).

"Decency proponents" complained that fines imposed by the FCC for these transgressions had been inconsequential. So, in 2004, Congress approved a tenfold increase, raising fines from $27,000 per incident to $275,000 (with many conservative Members of Congress pushing for even higher fines). Any station airing anything potentially offensive (between all the ads for erectile dysfunction medications) on the public airwaves can be made to pay dearly if some of its viewers complain.

The issue of classical art on TV — a nude David, for instance — seems okay for now. But these days, the power of America's moral guard should not be underestimated — especially with politicians from conservative regions quick to do what they can to "shore up" their moralistic base. This has a chilling effect: to be safe, producers are more likely to avoid ideas, words, or images that some Americans could find offensive.

As public broadcasting stations lack the resources to survive a major fine, they are particularly careful in this regard. Many of us who produce broadcast material on a shoestring (like me and public broadcasting in general) have to ponder: Should we put a digital fig leaf on David's full-frontal nudity? Bleep Bocaccio's bawdy language? Can I film The Three Graces only from the waist up? Will Raphael's randy cupids be labeled "child pornography" and Bernini's Rape of Persephone as "S & M"? For now, my partners in public television and I will proceed gingerly — not sure if we can show Venus's breasts. Can we risk the possibility of a $275,000 fine…and is that per nipple?

Posted by Rick Steves on September 14, 2009
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The last time I was at a spa in Germany's Black Forest, in one two-hour stretch, I saw more penises than I'd seen in the previous two years. All extremely relaxed...and, I must say, I was struck by the variety.

When I'm traveling, there are delightful road bumps in my intense research schedule where I put away the notes and simply enjoy the moment. The classic Friedrichsbad spa in Baden-Baden is one of those fine little breaks.

Ever since the Roman Emperor Caracalla soaked in the mineral waters of Baden-Baden, that German spa town has welcomed those in need of a good soak. And it's always naked. In the 19th century, this was Germany's ultimate spa resort, and even today the name Baden-Baden is synonymous with relaxation in a land where the government still pays its overworked citizens to take a little spa time.

Wearing only the locker key strapped around my wrist, I began the ritual. I weighed myself — 92 kilos. The attendant led me under the industrial-strength shower, a torrential kickoff pounding my head and shoulders...obliterating the rest of the world. She then gave me slippers and a towel, ushering me into a dry heat room with fine wooden reclining chairs — their slats too hot without the towel. Staring up at exotic tiles of herons and palms, I cooked. After more hot rooms punctuated with showers came the massage.

Like someone really drunk going for one more glass, I climbed gingerly onto the marble slab and lay belly-up. The masseur held up two brillo-pad mitts and asked, “Hard or soft?” In the spirit of wild abandon, I said, "Hard," not certain what that would mean to my skin. I got the coarse brillo-pad scrub-down.

I was so soaped up, he had to hold my arms like a fisherman holds a salmon so I wouldn't slip away. With the tenderness of someone gutting a big salmon, he scrubbed, chopped, bent, and generally tenderized me. In spite of the rough treatment, it was extremely relaxing.

Finished with a Teutonic spank on the butt, I was sent off into the pools. Nude, without my glasses, and not speaking the language, I was gawky. On a sliding scale between Mr. Magoo and Woody Allen, I was everywhere. Steam rooms, cold plunges...it all led to the mixed section.

This is where the Americans get really uptight. The parallel spa facilities intersect, as both men and women share the finest three pools. Here, all are welcome to glide under exquisite domes in perfect silence like aristocratic swans. Germans are nonchalant, tuned into their bodies and focused on solitary relaxation. Tourists are tentative, trying to be cool...but more aware of their nudity.

The climax is the cold plunge. I'm not good with cold water — yet I absolutely love this. You must not wimp out on the cold plunge.

Then an attendant escorted me into the “quiet room” and asked if I'd like to be awoken at any time. I told him at closing time. He wrapped me in hot sheets and a brown blanket. No, I wasn't wrapped...I was swaddled. Warm, flat on my back, among twenty hospital-type beds — only one other bed was occupied...he seemed dead. I stared up at the ceiling, and some time later was jolted awake by my own snore.

Leaving, I weighed myself again: 91 kilos. I had shed 2.2 pounds of sweat. It would have been more if tension had mass. Stepping into the cool evening air, I was thankful my hotel was a level two-block stroll away. Like Gumby, flush and without momentum, I fell belly-up...slow motion onto my down comforter, my head buried in a big, welcoming pillow. Wonderfully naked under my clothes, I could only think, “Ahhhh. Baden-Baden.”

Posted by Rick Steves on September 11, 2009
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It's striking to compare European attitudes about sexuality (described in my previous blog entry) to America's mindset. In our culture, a children's TV star is routed into obscurity after he's caught masturbating in an adult theater. A pop star dominates the news media for days after revealing part of her breast for a split-second during a football halftime show. During one particularly moralistic time, statues of classical goddesses gracing our nation's Capitol were robed to protect easily offended eyes.

An early edition of my art-for-travelers guidebook featured a camera-toting David — full frontal nudity, Michelangelo-style — on the cover. My publisher's sales reps complained that in more conservative parts of the US, bookstores were uncomfortable stocking it. A fig leaf would help sales.

When it comes to great art, I don't like fig leafs. But I proposed, just for fun, that we put a peel-able fig leaf on the cover so readers could choose whether they wanted their book with or without nudity. My publisher said that would be too expensive. I offered to pay half the cost (10 cents a book times 10,000). He went for it, and I had the fun experience of writing “for fig leafs” on a $500 check. Perhaps that needless expense just bolstered my wish that Americans were more European in their comfort level with nakedness.

Sometimes it comes down to good sightseeing advice. Whether in a German spa, a Finnish sauna, a Croatian beach, or a Turkish hammam (I can't come up with an English example), a fun part of travel can be getting naked with strangers. Recently I happened to be in Germany's famous spa town, Baden-Baden, at the same time that one of our tour groups was there. I told the guide (who was a German) that I was excited for this great opportunity for her group to enjoy the spa. She disagreed, saying, “No one's going. They can't handle the nudity. That's how it is with American visitors.”

Getting Americans comfortable in the spas with naked Europeans has long been a challenge and a frustration for me as a guide. I care because, once people get used to it, I find they consider it a great experience. My first European spa visit was with my wife and some German friends — a classy, good-looking young couple. We were swept into the changing area with no explanation, and suddenly the Germans were naked. Eventually we realized everyone was just there to relax. We eased up and got more comfortably naked. It's not sexual...simply open and free. Those skittish American travelers don't know what they're missing.

Posted by Rick Steves on September 09, 2009
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Sex is one aspect of the cultural divide that titillates any American traveler to Europe who's window-shopped a magazine kiosk, gone to a beach or park on a sunny day, or channel-surfed broadcast TV late at night.

Thinking through my recent travels, I recall many examples of Europe's different attitudes about sexuality: My Dutch friends had, on their coffee table, a graphic government-produced magazine promoting safe sex. I was sitting on the toilet at an airport in Poland and the cleaning lady asked me to lift my legs so she could sweep. I learned that I can measure the romantic appeal of scenic pull-outs along the Amalfi Coast drive by how many used condoms litter the asphalt. Soap ads on huge billboards overlooking major city intersections in Belgium show lathered-up breasts. The logo of a German travel publisher is a traveler on a tropical-paradise islet leaning up against its only palm tree, hands behind his head, reading a book that's supported by his erect penis. Preschoolers play naked in fountains in Norway. A busty porn star is elected to parliament in Italy. Coppertoned grandmothers in the south of France have no tan lines. The student tourist center in Copenhagen welcomes visitors with a bowl of free condoms at the info desk. Accountants in Munich fold their suits neatly on the grass as every inch of their body soaks up the sun while taking a lunch break in the park.

I'm not comfortable with all of this. During a construction industry convention in Barcelona, locals laughed that they had to actually bus in extra prostitutes from France. I find the crude sexual postcards on racks all over the continent gross, the Benny Hill-style T&A that inundates TV throughout Mediterranean Europe boorish, and the topless models strewn across page three of so many British newspapers insulting to women. And I'll never forget the time my wife and I had to physically remove the TV from our children's hotel room in Austria after seeing a couple slamming away on channel 7 (and the hotelier looked at us like we were crazy).

You may not want to bring the more casual European approach to sex and the human body back home with you. And I'm not saying we should all run around naked. But I suspect that children raised in America, where sex is often considered "dirty," are more likely to have an uncomfortable relationship with sex and their bodies than those in Europe. (I sense that there is more violence associated with sex here than there; in fact, Americans report at least double the incidence of rape as citizens of any European country.) And I have a hunch that the French, who have as many words for a kiss as Eskimos have for snow, enjoy making love more than we Americans do. I like a continent where sexual misconduct won't doom a politician with anyone other than his family and friends, and where the human body is considered a divine work of art worth admiring openly.

Posted by Rick Steves on September 04, 2009
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While the USA is inclined to legislate morality on issues such as prostitution, gay rights, and drugs, much of Europe takes a different approach. While countries differ, the general European sentiment is not to make a law forcing someone to be what the majority considers “moral.” Instead, European law tolerates "immoral" acts as long as they don't hurt someone else.

For example, few on either side of the Atlantic would argue that prostitution is a good thing. But in most of Europe, where many people recognize that you can't just wish it away with laws, prostitution is generally legal and regulated.

Of course, each country has its own laws...and quirks. German sex workers rent a room in multi-story “Eros Towers.” If a Greek prostitute gets married, she must give up her license to sell sex. Portuguese call girls can lose custody of their children. Dutch hookers have a union. In Iceland and Switzerland, while prostitution is legal, it is illegal for a third party to profit from the sale of sex. In general, the hope is that when a prostitute needs help and pushes her emergency button, a policeman rather than a pimp comes to her rescue.

While that's the ideal, it's not foolproof. There is still sex trafficking and abuse of women in the sex trade. But Europeans figure with their more progressive, creative, and pragmatic approach to what they consider a “victimless crime,” they are minimizing violence, reducing the spread of AIDS and other diseases, and allowing sex workers a better life...all while generating some additional tax revenue.

In another example of European pragmatism, Europe's drinking age is typically lower than the US's. While no country in the world has a higher drinking age than America's, most European countries allow 16- or 18-year-olds to consume alcohol. European parents recognize that — no matter how fiercely they moralize against alcohol — their teens will drink. (Europeans puzzle over why 18-year-old Americans can marry, buy a gun, go to war, and vote...but not buy a can of beer.)

Around the world, when kids graduate from high school, they party, get drunk, and some die on the roads. When traveling through Scandinavia in May and June, you'll see a creative solution to this problem: truckloads of drunk high-school graduates noisily enjoying a parent-sponsored bash. The parents hire a truck and provide a driver so none of the students need to drive. The kids decorate their party truck. Then the whooping and hollering grads parade through their towns from one family home to the next, where parents each host one stage of the progressive graduation kegger. Just about everyone gets drunk. But no one lies, and no one dies. While this makes perfect sense to Scandinavian parents, it would be a tough sell for American parents.

This is just one example of pragmatic harm reduction motivating drug policy in Europe. In some parts of Europe, a joint of marijuana causes about as much excitement as a can of beer. And the Continent's needle junkies are dealt with by nurses, counselors, and maintenance clinics more than with cops, judges, and prisons. (I'll talk more about the European approach to drug policy in later blog entries.)

Perhaps Europe's inclination to be tolerant is rooted in the intolerance of its past. In the 16th century, they were burning Protestants for their beliefs. In the 18th century, they were drowning women who stepped out of line as witches. In the 20th century, Nazis were gassing Jews, Gypsies, and gay people. Now in the 21st century, Europe seems determined to get human rights, civil liberties, and tolerance issues right.

Posted by Rick Steves on September 02, 2009
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