by Rick Steves
Connect with People
One of the greatest rewards of travel comes from the people you encounter—especially if you’re open to letting them show off a bit and impress you with their culture. As a traveler, I make a point to be a cultural lint brush, trying to pick up whatever cultural insights I can glean from every person I meet.
In our daily routines, we tend to surround ourselves with people more or less like us. It’s the natural thing to do. But on the road, you meet people you’d never connect with at home. In my travels, I meet a greater variety of interesting people in two months than I do in an entire year back home. I view each of these chance encounters as loaded with potential to teach me about people and places so different from my hometown world.
For example, one of my favorite countries is Ireland—not because of its sights, but because of its people. Travel in Ireland gives me the sensation that I’m actually understanding a foreign language. And the Irish have that marvelous “gift of gab.” They love to talk. For them, conversation is an art form.
Actually, more Irish speak Irish (their native Celtic tongue) than many travelers realize. Very often you’ll step into a shop, not realizing the locals there are talking to each other in Irish. They turn to you and switch to English, without missing a beat. When you leave, they slip right back into their Irish.
Ireland gives me the sensation of understanding a foreign language…with people who love to talk.
The best place to experience Ireland is in a Gaeltacht, as Irish-speaking regions are called. These are government-subsidized national preserves for traditional lifestyles. In a Gaeltacht, it seems like charming and talkative locals conspire to slow down anyone with too busy an itinerary.
I was deep into one conversation with an old-timer. We were on the far west coast of the Emerald Isle—where they squint out at the Atlantic and say, “Ahhh, the next parish over is Boston.” I asked my new friend, “Were you born here?” He said, “No, ’twas ’bout five miles down the road.” Later, I asked him, “Have you lived here all your life?” He winked and said, “Not yet.”
In even the farthest reaches of the globe, travelers discover a powerful local pride. Guiding a tour group through eastern Turkey, I once dropped in on a craftsman who was famous for his wood carving. Everybody in that corner of Turkey wanted a prayer niche in their mosque carved by him. We gathered around his well-worn work table. He had likely never actually met an American. And now he had 15 of us gathered around his table. He was working away and showing off…clearly very proud. Then suddenly he stopped, held his chisel high into the sky, and declared, “A man and his chisel—the greatest factory on earth.”
Looking at him, it was clear he didn’t need me to tell him about fulfillment. When I asked if I could buy a piece of his art, he said, “For a man my age to know that my work will go back to the United States and be appreciated, that’s payment enough. Please take this home with you, and remember me.”
I traveled through Afghanistan long before the word Taliban entered our lexicon. While there, I enjoyed lessons highlighting the pride and diversity you’ll find across the globe. I was sitting in a Kabul cafeteria popular with backpackers. I was just minding my own business when a local man sat next to me. He said, “Can I join you?” I said, “You already have.” He said, “You’re an American, aren’t you?” I said yes, and he said, “Well, I’m a professor here in Afghanistan. I want you to know that a third of the people on this planet eat with their spoons and forks like you, a third of the people eat with chopsticks, and a third of the people eat with fingers like me. And we’re all just as civilized.”
As he clearly had a chip on his shoulder about this, I simply thought, “Okay, okay, I get it.” But I didn’t get it…at least, not right away. After leaving Afghanistan, I traveled through South Asia, and his message stayed with me. I went to fancy restaurants filled with well-dressed local professionals. Rather than providing silverware, they had a ceremonial sink in the middle of the room. People would wash their hands and use their fingers for what God made them for. I did the same. Eventually eating with my fingers became quite natural. (I had to be retrained when I got home.)
Stow Your Preconceptions and Be Open to New Experiences
Along with the rest of our baggage, we tend to bring along knee-jerk assumptions about what we expect to encounter abroad. Sometimes these can be helpful (remember to drive on the left in Britain). Other times, they can interfere with our ability to fully engage with the culture on its own terms.
People tell me that they enjoy my public television shows and my guidebooks because I seem like just a normal guy. I’ll take that as a compliment. What can I say? I’m simple. I was raised thinking cheese is orange and the shape of the bread. Slap it on and—voilà!…cheese sandwich.
But in Europe, I quickly learned that cheese is neither orange nor the shape of the bread. In France alone, you could eat a different cheese every day of the year. And it wouldn’t surprise me if people did. The French are passionate about their cheese.
If they’re evangelical about cheese, raise your hands and say hallelujah.
I used to be put off by sophisticates in Europe. Those snobs were so enamored with their fine wine and stinky cheese, and even the terroir that created it all. But now I see that, rather than showing off, they’re simply proud and eager to share. By stowing my preconceptions and opening myself up to new experiences, I’ve achieved a new appreciation for all sorts of highbrow stuff I thought I’d never really “get.” Thankfully, people are sophisticated about different things, and I relish the opportunity to meet and learn from an expert while traveling. I’m the wide-eyed bumpkin…and it’s a cultural show-and-tell.
For example, I love it when my favorite restaurateur in Paris, Marie-Alice, takes me shopping in the morning and shows me what’s going to shape her menu that night. We enter her favorite cheese shop—a fragrant festival of mold. Picking up the moldiest, gooiest wad, Marie-Alice takes a deep whiff, and whispers, “Oh, Rick, smell zees cheese. It smells like zee feet of angels.”
Family Pride and Fine Wine
I’ve been inspired by how the pride of a family business or regional specialty stays strong, generation after generation. In Italy’s Umbria region, I have long taken my tour groups to the Bottai family vineyard. Cecilia, the oldest daughter, is no longer the little girl that I once knew. Now, as her parents are taking it easy, she greets us at the gate and shares her family’s passion with us. Cecilia walks us through the vineyard, introducing grape plants to us as if they were her children. As we follow her into the dark, cool tunnels of her vast cellar—dug a thousand years ago—she finds just the right bottle to share. And finally, we gather at the family dining table in a room that has changed little in 200 years.
When your name’s on the label, you take great joy in sharing.
On my last visit, I remember enjoying Cecilia’s pride and happiness as she popped open that bottle of their fine Orvieto Classico wine. Watching my glass fill, I noticed her hand gripped the bottle in a way that framed the family name on the label. And I noticed how her mother and now-frail grandmother looked on silently and proudly as visitors from the other side of the world gathered in their home. On that remote farm in Italy, where the Bottai family had been producing wine for countless generations, my group was tasting the fruit of their land, labor, and culture. And our hosts were beaming with joy.
Take History Seriously—Don’t Be Dumbed Down
Contrary to conventional wisdom, a history degree is practical. Back when I got my degree, I was encouraged to also earn a business degree, so I’d leave the university with something “useful.” I believe now that if more Americans had a history degree and put it to good use, this world would be better off. Yesterday’s history informs today’s news…which becomes tomorrow’s history. Those with a knowledge of history can understand current events in a broader context and respond to them more thoughtfully.
As you travel, opportunities to enjoy history are
everywhere. Work on cultivating a general grasp of the sweep of history, and you’ll be able to infuse your sightseeing with more meaning.
Where can a monkey spy two seas and two continents at the same time? On the Rock of Gibraltar.
I was sitting on the summit of the Rock of Gibraltar, looking out at Africa. It’s the only place on earth where you can see two continents and two seas at the same time. The straits were churning with action. Where bodies of water meet, they create tide rips—confused, choppy teepee seas that stir up plankton, attracting little fish, birds, bigger fish…and fishermen balancing the risks and rewards of working those turbulent waters. The fertile straits are also busy with hungry whales, dolphins, and lots of ferries and maritime traffic. Boats cut through feeding grounds, angering environmentalists. And windsurfers catch a stiff breeze, oblivious to it all.
Looking out over the action, with the Pillars of Hercules in the misty Moroccan distance, I realized that there was also a historical element in this combustible mix. Along with seas and continents, this is where, for many centuries, two great civilizations—Islam and Christendom—have come together, creating cultural tide rips. Centuries after Muslims from North Africa conquered Catholic Spain, Spain eventually triumphed, but was irrevocably changed in the process. Where civilizations meet, there are risks…and rewards. It can be dangerous, it can be fertile, and it shapes history.
Later that day—still pondering Islam and Christendom rubbing like tectonic plates—I stepped into a small Catholic church. Throughout Spain, churches display statues of a hero called “St. James the Moor-Slayer.” And every Sunday, good 21st-century Christians sit—probably listening to sermons about tolerance—under this statue of James, his sword raised, heroic on his rearing horse, with the severed heads of Muslims tumbling all around him. It becomes even more poignant when you realize that the church is built upon the ruins of a mosque, which was built upon the ruins of a church, which was built upon the ruins of a Roman temple, which was built upon the ruins of an earlier pagan holy place. Standing in that church, it occurred to me that friction between Christendom and Islam is nothing new—and nothing we can’t overcome. But it’s more than the simple shoot-’em-up with good guys and bad guys, as often presented to us by politicians and the media. Travel, along with a sense of history, helps us better understand its full complexity.
In the 21st century, “St. James the Moor-Slayer” still gets a place of honor in many Spanish churches.
News in modern times is history in the making, and travelers can actually be eyewitnesses to history as it unfolds. I was in Berlin in 1999, just as their renovated parliament building re-opened to the public. For a generation, this historic Reichstag building—upon whose rooftop some of the last fighting of World War II occurred—was a bombed-out and blackened hulk, overlooking the no-man’s-land between East and West Berlin. After unification, Germany’s government returned from Bonn to Berlin. And, in good European style, the Germans didn’t bulldoze their historic capitol building. Instead, recognizing the building’s cultural roots, they renovated it—incorporating modern architectural design, and capping it with a glorious glass dome.
Germany’s old-meets-new parliament building comes with powerful architectural symbolism. It’s free to enter, open long hours, and designed for German citizens to climb its long spiral ramp to the very top and literally look down (through a glass ceiling) over the shoulders of their legislators to see what’s on their desks. The Germans, who feel they’ve been manipulated by too many self-serving politicians over the last century, are determined to keep a closer eye on their leaders from now on.
The new glass dome atop Germany’s parliament building comes with a point.
Spiraling slowly up the ramp to the top of the dome during that festive opening week, I was surrounded by teary-eyed Germans. Now, anytime you’re surrounded by teary-eyed Germans… something exceptional is going on. Most of those teary eyes were old enough to remember the difficult times after World War II, when their city lay in rubble. For these people, the opening of this grand building was the symbolic closing of a difficult chapter in the history of a great nation. No more division. No more fascism. No more communism. They had a united government and were entering a new century with a new capitol filled with hope and optimism.
It was a thrill to be there. I was caught up in it. But then, as I looked around at the other travelers up there with me, I realized that only some of us fully grasped what was going on. Many tourists seemed so preoccupied with trivialities—forgotten camera batteries, needing a Coke, the lack of air-conditioning—that they were missing out on this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to celebrate a great moment with the German people. And it saddened me. I thought, “I don’t want to be part of a dumbed-down society.”
I worry that the mainstream tourism industry encourages us to be dumbed down. To many people, travel is only about having fun in the sun, shopping duty-free, and cashing in frequent-flyer miles. But to me, that stuff distracts us from the real thrills, rewards, and value of travel. In our travels—and in our everyday lives—we should become more educated about and engaged with challenging issues, using the past to understand the present. The more you know, and the more you strive to learn, the richer your travels and your life become.
In my own realm as a travel teacher, when I have the opportunity to lead a tour, write a guidebook, or make a TV show, I take it with the responsibility to respect and challenge the intellect of my tour members, readers, or viewers. All of us will gain more from our travels if we refuse to be dumbed down. Promise yourself and challenge your travel partners to be engaged and grapple with the challenging issues while on the road. Your experience will be better for it.
Overcome Fear
Travel to faraway places has always come with a little fear. But, after 9/11, the US became even more fearful…and more isolated. I remember when the standard farewell when I set off on another trip was “Bon voyage!” But today, Americans tend to say “travel safe.”
Of course, there are serious risks that deserve our careful attention. But it’s all too easy to mistake fear for actual danger. Franklin D. Roosevelt’s assertion that we have nothing to fear but fear itself feels just as relevant today as when he first said it in 1933.
I’m hardly a fearless traveler. I can think of many times I’ve been afraid before a trip. Years ago, I heard that in Egypt, the beggars were relentless, there were no maps, and it was so hot that car tires melted to the streets. For three years, I had plane tickets to India but bailed out, finding other places closer to my comfort zone. Before flying to Iran to film a public television show, I was uneasy. And walking from Jerusalem through the Israeli security barrier into Bethlehem in Palestine made me nervous. But in each case, when I finally went to these places, I realized my fears were unfounded.
History is rife with examples of leaders who manipulate fear to distract, mislead, and undermine the will of the very people who entrusted them with power. Our own recent history is no exception. If you want to sell weapons to Colombia, exaggerate the threat of drug lords. If you want to build a wall between the US and Mexico, trump up the fear of illegal immigrants. If you want to create an expensive missile-defense system, terrify people with predictions of nuclear holocaust. My travels have taught me to have a healthy skepticism toward those who peddle fear. And in so many cases, I’ve learned that fear is for people who don’t get out much. The flipside of fear is understanding—and we gain understanding through travel.
As travelers and as citizens, we react not to the risk of terrorism, but to the perceived risk of terrorism—which we usually exaggerate. For travelers, the actual risk is minuscule. Here are the facts: Year after year, about 12 million Americans go to Europe, and not one is killed by terrorists. In 2004, there was a horrific bombing in Madrid—no Americans killed. In 2005, there was a despicable bombing in London’s subway and bus system—no Americans killed. In 2008, there was a terrible bombing in Istanbul—no Americans killed. This isn’t
a guarantee. Tomorrow an American could be beheaded by a terrorist in Madrid. But, tragic as that might be, it wouldn’t change the fact that it is safe to travel. Statistically, even in the most sobering days of post-9/11 anxiety, travel to most international destinations remained no more dangerous than a drive to your neighborhood grocery store.
Why do we react so strongly to these events? The mainstream media are partly to blame. Sensationalizing tragedy gets more eyes on the screen. But it also exaggerates the impact of a disaster, causing viewers to overreact. More than once, I’ve found myself in a place that was going through a crisis that made international headlines—terrorist bombing, minor earthquake, or riots. Folks back home call me, their voices shaking with anxiety, to be sure I’m okay. They seem surprised when I casually dismiss their concern. Invariably, the people who live in that place are less worked up than the ones watching it on the news 5,000 miles away. I don’t blame my loved ones for worrying. The media have distorted the event in their minds.
I got an email recently from a man who wrote, “Thanks for the TV shows. They will provide a historical documentation of a time when Europe was white and not Muslim. Keep filming your beloved Europe before it’s gone.”
Reading this, I thought how feisty fear has become in our society. A fear of African Americans swept the USA in the 1960s. Jews have been feared in many places throughout history. And today, Muslims are feared. But we have a choice whether or not to be afraid. Americans who have had the opportunity to travel in moderate Muslim nations like Turkey or Morocco—and been welcomed by smiling locals who gush, “We love Americans!”—no longer associate Islam with terrorism.
