My co-author and frequent collaborator, Cameron Hewitt, is well-traveled, smart, and insightful. And, while he and I are in perfect sync in our travel styles and priorities, he gives voice to the next generation of "Rick Steves travelers." Join me in enjoying his reports right here. —Rick

10 European Discoveries for 2024

Looking for something a little different in 2024?

Each year around this time, I brainstorm a list of my favorite European Discoveries. And after another very busy year of traveling to update guidebooks and make TV shows — in Ireland, Norway, Iceland, Hungary, and Poland — as usual, the places that stand out most vividly are not the big, marquee sights; they’re the lesser-known places, with fewer crowds and a more authentic vibe. (You could say they have a high charm-to-tourists ratio.)

As always, I’m not suggesting these are any “better” than the biggies. If you’re tight on time, I won’t blame you for visiting Kraków rather than Warsaw, or Dingle rather than Derry. Rather, when planning your 2024 travels, think of these as intriguing palate-cleansers.

Think about it: When you look back on past trips, aren’t many of your fondest memories of places where you least expected them? Feel free to share your own Discoveries in the Comments.

Lausanne and Lake Geneva, Switzerland

If a big part of Switzerland’s appeal is its cultural and linguistic diversity, then Lausanne is one of its most rewarding cities. This genteel-feeling city speaks, and feels, French…but with a Swiss accent.

From the vineyard-draped shores of Lake Geneva, the city climbs vertically up the slopes; elevators, a funicular-like métro, and steeply uphill hikes are required simply to traverse a few blocks. Updating our guidebook, I went looking for a hotel just up the block…and quickly learned that it was “up” indeed. It felt like climbing a mountain.

But Lausanne is worth the effort. Visitors enjoy Swiss-French fusion meals in classy brasseries; a historic old quarter oozing with endearing medieval details; a hazy waterfront promenade leading to an excellent Olympics museum; and one of Europe’s most compelling, thought-provoking museums: the Collection de l’Art Brut, which showcases poignant works created by artists marginalized by society, often dismissed or even institutionalized as “insane.”

Lausanne is also a prime jumping-off-point for Lake Geneva sightseeing. A quick train ride or ridiculously scenic boat ride (preferably on a historic paddleboat steamer) takes you to Château de Chillon, a stony fortress jabbing out into the lake.

You can also hike or bike through lakefront vineyards; stop off in Montreux for its stylish waterfront; or take a scenic side-trip (on the “Chocolate Train”) up to the lovely cheesemaking village of Gruyères and a Swiss chocolate factory.

Lausanne and Lake Geneva is one of those places that might not “make the cut” on a tight itinerary. But if you go…you’ll want to give it plenty of time.

Derry, Northern Ireland

On my six-week odyssey to update our Ireland guidebook — scouring the island from tip to toe — something about Derry grabbed me. It has a hard-fought history, both old and recent. Its stout city walls — now enjoyable for a stroll — hint at centuries-ago sieges. And the emotionally charged murals of the Bogside neighborhood testify to the city’s pivotal role in the Troubles, Northern Ireland’s sectarian strife that grabbed headlines from the 1960s through the 1990s.

But I also found Derry unexpectedly delightful, history aside. The sitcom Derry Girls — which tells the story of local teenagers and their parents during the final years of the Troubles — has become a global hit on Netflix. Locals embrace the show, which captures the world-weary wit that the people of Derry have learned to apply to the highs and lows of life. And, as an outside observer, it seemed to me that Derry Girls is also helping this plucky city turn the page from a hard history to a brighter future: In a sign of the times, the new Derry Girls mural — rather than the important but tragedy-tinged murals of the Bogside — has become the city’s most-photographed.

I sensed a new day in Derry. On a sunny summer afternoon, the Peace Bridge linking the Nationalist and Unionist sides of the river was jammed with people. Across that bridge, the former British military barracks is being converted into a new entertainment and commercial complex, with a big hotel and fine gastro-brewpub, and a state-of-the-art city museum slated to open in a few years.

Not to mention, Derry is a prime home base for side-tripping (in less than an hour) to the Antrim Coast, with Old Bushmills Distillery, Carrick-a-Rede rope bridge, and the breathtaking Giant’s Causeway. As Derry Girl Michelle put it: “Foreigners f—kin’ love the Giant’s Causeway!”

Warsaw, Poland

The sprawling Polish capital often gets overlooked by travelers. Kraków is more historic and accessible. Gdańsk is more beautiful. (Shhh…don’t tell Krakow!) And Toruń is more charming.

But ever so slowly, over 20 years of visits, I’ve watched Warsaw transform from a gloomy, battle-battered, postcommunist eyesore into a place that’s fascinating, engaging, and — yes, really! — actually fun.

When we filmed new public television episodes in Poland this summer, the crew was impressed by today’s Warsaw. It has state-of-the-art museums covering everything from Jewish heritage to Marie Curie, and from Polish history to hands-on science exhibits for kids. It’s a capital of culture and music: We filmed two entirely different Chopin concerts, one in a sprawling park and the other in a cozy drawing room, and couldn’t decide which we liked better. It has an outstanding food scene, including one of the best meals our crew says they’ve ever filmed (at Bibenda). It has a thrilling variety of architecture from every era: rebuilt medieval townhomes; imposing communist concrete; graceful Baroque churches; slick, sleek skyscrapers. And it has a history as epic as anyplace in Europe.

Most of all, Warsaw is simply enjoyable. On a balmy Friday night, we did a loop through the city’s up-and-coming entertainment districts. We began at a “post-industrial” entertainment complex (which are all the rage across Poland) — a former brick power plant now refurbished with trendy eateries, bars, and shops.

Outside along their inviting riverfront park, Varsovians from every walk of life were having the time of their lives: promenading along the Vistula; filling giant cocktail-party barges; splashing in playful fountains; relaxing and socializing on park benches. And we enjoyed the heck out of Warsaw, right along with them.

Porto, Portugal

Portugal’s second city is actually several cities in one — and all of them are delightful.

Down along the banks of the Douro River, under the soaring girders of oversized bridges, the colorfully seedy Ribeira district faces a row of port-wine lodges.

From there, stair-like lanes twist steeply up to the modern city center, a mix of drab urban streets and pockets of architectural refinement: Pretty churches with spiraling stone towers, clad in finely handpainted blue tiles. The Lello & Irmão Bookstore, with its twisting wood-grain fantasyland of literature. The soaring Clérigos tower, reaching up to heaven between rattling trolleys. São Bento Train Station, with more of those gorgeous blue tiles. The Palácio da Bolsa, a former stock exchange palace that maxes out on neo-historical styles. And, yes, even one of the finest McDonalds on the planet.

And maybe the most impressive bit of engineering you’ll find in Porto is its famous sandwich, the francesinha: pork cutlets, sliced sausages, and Swiss cheese wedged between two slices of dense bread, then grilled and smothered with more melted cheese, a fried egg, and spicy sauce. This delicious gut-bomb (you won’t need to eat for a week) is just one example of Porto’s outstanding food scene, ranging from memorable splurges to rustic market stalls.

While it may lack the cachet and grandeur of Lisbon, Porto is every bit as enjoyable…and maybe more so.

Fjordside Villages of Iceland and Norway

One of my personal travel themes in 2023 was dropping in on a wide variety of tiny towns on giant fjords, all over both Iceland and Norway.

Looping around Iceland’s Ring Road — the 800-mile ultimate road trip that circles the perimeter of the island — three favorite villages stand out:  Húsavík, with its colorful harbor and whale-watching boats; Siglufjörður, an important herring fishery a century ago, which loves to tell the story of the “Herring Girls” in its exceptional museum; and Seyðisfjörður, with a hip, funky, and artistic vibe in a remote and dramatic setting — about as far as you get from Reykjavík while still being in Iceland.

A few weeks later, in Norway, I settled in to a couple more fjordside hamlets. Balestrand, conveniently located along the express boat route between Bergen and Flåm, commands a grand view over the mighty Sognefjord. Its harborfront grand hotel (with its elaborate smorgasbord dinner) and charming Ciderhuset cidery (offering tours, tastings, and pairings with delicious Turkish-accented fare) provided two of my favorite meals of the year. Deeper in the fjord is my favorite fjordside village of all: Tidy, tranquil Solvorn, a cozy burg with historic landmark hotel (Norway’s oldest), multicolored wooden boat sheds lining the shore, and a ferry that putters across the fjord once an hour to one of Norway’s finest stave churches.

Iceland and Norway are both best for their natural wonders. And, frankly, many settlements (especially in Iceland) are more functional than charming. But these five towns tempt the just-passing-through traveler to downshift…settle in…and enjoy.

Siracusa and Noto, Sicily

A year ago, the second season of HBO’s The White Lotus put Sicily on many travelers’ wish lists. After doing  a guidebook-research road trip around the country a few years back, I really enjoyed seeing many of those places pop up on the show.

The White Lotus was set in the mega-touristy, off-puttingly upscale tourist town of Taormina. Personally, despite its grand location facing Mount Etna, Taormina left me cold. The place that really sticks out is a couple hours’ drive south: Siracusa, the modern city at the site of ancient Syracuse.

Siracusa feels less “discovered” than many Sicilian towns. I could do endless laps around its old town, the islet of Ortigia, which evokes both the ancient days of Archimedes and the lavish blossoming of Baroque. Ortigia has some of the finest squares and prettiest churches in Sicily. And if you need more substantial sightseeing, you can tour the archaeological museums and ancient sites farther inland. Or just take a dip at the rocky beach.

And while you’re in the area, make time for a day-trip to Noto, tucked in the countryside less than an hour’s drive to the southwest. Among Sicilians, Noto is known for two things: its lavish Baroque architecture and its top-quality gelato shops. If I’m being honest, I’m not sure which I enjoyed more.

Antwerp, Belgium

On Belgian itineraries, Antwerp gets overlooked. Maybe that’s understandable. Bruges is cute, cobbled, and canaled. Brussels is the bustling capital, with the very grand-indeed Grand Place. Ghent mixes charm with urbanity, and boasts an exquisite Van Eyck altarpiece.

Antwerp — lonely Antwerp! — plays fourth fiddle. But those who visit Belgium’s second-biggest city find it to be engaging and rewarding, if lovably gritty.

On arrival, you find yourself standing in one of Europe’s most impressive train stations — a temple to travel that rivals any in Europe.

From there, a grand city spreads out before you. Famous for its funky design heritage and its Art Nouveau architecture, as well as for its diamond industry, Antwerp itself is something of a diamond in the rough. But increasingly, it’s being polished to a high shine. On my last visit, I stepped into the stunning Handelsbeurs — the former stock exchange, with Neo-Gothic flourishes, that evokes the city’s glory days as a trading power.

On Antwerp’s picturesque main market square — as pleasant as any in the Low Countries — I found plenty of good eateries. But, on a mission to update our Belgium guidebook, I scouted even better ones tucked into characteristic neighborhoods all over the city, especially in t’Zuid, a quick tram ride to the south. There I found, among other great places, Elsie’s — a great opportunity to sample Ethiopian and Etrurian cuisine in this multiethnic city.

Antwerp is that kind of city: One that rewards exploration and curiosity. It makes you work a bit to unearth those gems…but it’s worth the effort.

Dublin’s Stoneybatter Neighborhood, Ireland

I’m always on the lookout for fun and funky neighborhoods in great European cities. And while updating our guidebook in Dublin this summer, several leads led me to Stoneybatter.

This low-key neighborhood is effectively one street at the edge of the city center (a longish walk or quick bus, tram, or taxi ride from downtown). Stoneybatter’s main drag is lined with narrow storefronts, colorful cottages, indie bookstores and boutiques, lively street art, more than its share of stay-awhile cafés, a variety of global food eateries, and some fine dining options.

I ate very well at Grano, an Italian-owned trattoria with a short but tempting menu of authentic choices — the kind of place where, I imagine, each and every dish would be delicious. But walking to and from dinner, I kept wishing I had more time to eat at a half-dozen other places.

Part of Stoneybatter’s charm is its tucked-away-ness. It’s a short walk from the big, slick Smithfield Square, with its giant distillery, industrial-strength youth hostel, and lineup of predictable chain eateries. From there, you can walk just a few minutes northwest, passing The Cobblestone — Dublin’s most respected pub for live traditional music. Stoneybatter, just around the corner feels quirky, locally owned, and fun to explore. It’s the kind of place where I could happily imagine settling in for a week or two at a cozy Airbnb, sampling a different trendy brunch spot each morning.

Slovenia

If you know me at all, you can be sure Slovenia will wind up on any “Best of” list I write. This year, I mulled over which part of Slovenia merits a “Discoveries” mention for 2024:

The beautiful, charming, user-friendly capital, Ljubljana, with its stay-a-while ambience and outstanding food scene?

Dreamy Lake Bled, with its castle-capped cliff and church-crowned island? Or maybe head higher into the mountains — to the stunning Julian Alps, with some of the most breathtaking cut-glass peaks in Europe?

Perhaps head to the seaside, specifically the charming port town of Piran, with its sleek, marbled square, atmospheric back lanes, delectable seafood restaurants, and all of the charm of small Croatian coastal towns, but tidier and friendlier?

Or maybe we should do a little spelunking? When choosing between some of the most spectacular karstic caves on the planet, should we opt for the hauntingly grand caverns of the Škocjan Caves, or the more accessible formations of nearby Postojna?

Or does heading off the beaten path appeal? Should we explore the outstanding wineries of Goriška Brda, sharing a border with Italy’s famous Friuli wine region, or the arid limestone beauty of the Vípava Valley?

Heading to Europe at Mardi Gras time? Might I suggest paying a visit to Ptuj, with its unforgettable Kurentovanje costumed-beasts processions?

Or — hey, wait a minute! — why not…all of it?

Wherever You’ve Been Dreaming of Going

One of the lasting lessons of the pandemic is a new awareness that we can’t take anything for granted. Time may be shorter than you think. That’s why a popular theme has been “revenge travel” — finally getting to those items you’ve always dreamed of.

Maybe you’ve wished you could hike the Tour de Mont Blanc, around Europe’s tallest mountain. That was on Rick’s list — and it was one of his first trips back after COVID.

In my case, I can think of several boxes I’ve ticked recently. This past June, I realized a lifelong dream of being in Dublin to celebrate Bloomsday — a celebration of James Joyce’s Ulysses. On the date that Joyce’s masterpiece novel is set, his hometown’s streets are full of lit nerds wearing straw boater hats and Edwardian costumes, reading passages from Ulysses, and greeting each other with, “Heigho! Happy Bloomsday!” Totally worth it.

Other items on my lifelong wish list I’ve recently ticked: Exploring some new parts of Italy, from the fascinating, multicultural, coastal city of Trieste; to the culinary heartland of Emilia-Romagna; to the wine and food mecca of Piedmont.

Or ascending Lovćen, a mountaintop mausoleum overlooking virtually the entire country of Montenegro, and hiking up countless steps to a dramatic monument carved by the great sculptor Ivan Meštrović.

Some of these may seem a little obscure…because they are! I’m certainly not advising you to visit Dublin on Bloomsday, or to sample every stuffed pasta in Modena or Parma, or to huff up to the summit of Lovćen. I doubt you’d enjoy those as much as I would. (Well, maybe the pasta.) But I’m sure you have something on your personal wish list that you’d enjoy just as much I loved those experiences.

So…get to it! You have about 365 days to make it happen in 2024.


Be sure to share your own Discoveries in the Comments!

You can also look back at my Discoveries from 2023, 2021, 2020, 2019, and 2018…all still great choices.

If you’d like to follow along with me on my 2024 travels, be sure to follow me on Facebook and on Instagram.

And consider checking out my travel memoir, The Temporary European: Lessons and Confessions from a Professional Traveler.

Europe’s Best Neighborhoods: Where Should I Stay in ___?

You’re heading to Europe. You’ve chosen your destinations. And now you’re starting to daydream about your chance to be a temporary Londoner, a temporary Parisian, or a temporary Roman. The next question: Where should you stay?

As the 2023 travel season winds down, early birds are already starting to make plans for 2024. Most people get serious about this in January or so. But if you want to get a jump on the “competition” — and have your pick of places to stay — it’s smart to get started now. (And it’s a fun, constructive way to distract yourself as the days get shorter and colder.)

I have some friends who are dong just that: dreaming of a trip with their two teenagers next June in Rome and Athens. They asked me where I’d suggest staying in those great cities. And I thought to myself: That’s an excellent question! But first, I need a little more information: What kind of neighborhood are you looking for?

Inspired by that question, I’ve brainstormed my suggested home-base neighborhoods for 10 of Europe’s most popular cities. This intel is hard-earned, from years of scouring these cities for accommodations to recommend in our Rick Steves guidebooks.

Those lists are below. For each city, I’ve broken my choices down into three categories:

Central and Touristy. This is where you’d stay to have the top sightseeing right outside your door. However, that also means these neighborhoods are touristy, often a bit tacky, very expensive, crowded, and not particularly “authentic” or “local-feeling.” But sometimes having everything close at hand is worth making those sacrifices, especially on a quick, targeted trip.

Hip and Foodie. Every city worth its salt has an edgy, “emerging” restaurant and nightlife zone. These can be either central or more remote; either way, they’re typically less polished and more characteristic, and they tend to skew more youthful. If you’re in town primarily to check out all the “destination” foodie restaurants, rather than to sightsee until you drop, and if you’d like to settle in to the local version of Williamsburg, Los Feliz, or Wicker Park…then these neighborhoods are for you. (If you don’t know what those names mean, then these neighborhoods are probably not for you.)

Charming and Residential. If you don’t mind commuting to the main sightseeing and trendiest eateries, it can be worthwhile to stay a little farther from the city center. More sedate and charming than the central districts, these neighborhoods feel “older-local” as opposed to “younger-local.” Because they’re less central and less touristy, lodgings are often more affordable (though certain high-end suburbs can be surprisingly pricey). If the “Hip and Foodie” places are for hipsters, then the “Charming and Residential” places are for yuppies and retirees. Just be prepared for a longish metro, bus, or tram ride to achieve most of your bucket list.

Use the suggestions below as a starting point when searching for accommodations — whether hotels, B&Bs, or short-term apartment rentals (like Airbnb). Many room-booking search engines allow you to enter specific neighborhoods to narrow down your options, or you can search via the map. Read reviews carefully, within these areas, to make sure the lodgings you’re considering match your expectations. And here’s a pro tip: Before booking, go for a little “virtual stroll” of the surrounding area on Google Maps Street View to make sure it looks like a place you’d like to settle in.

London

Touristy/Central: Soho and Covent Garden can’t be beat for access to many of the top sights, the West End theater scene, and some of London’s best restaurants to boot.

Hip/Foodie: The East End, specifically Shoreditch and nearby, is where hipsters feel at home, with exuberant street art and many of the city’s most interesting restaurants. (Many top London restaurants began with a humble location in Shoreditch before opening a fancy one in Soho.)

Charming/Residential: Try neighborhoods just to the west, surrounding Hyde Park and Kensington Gardens (South Kensington, Notting Hill, Earl’s Court); or to the north, near the British Museum (Marylebone, Fitzrovia). In this vast city, there are countless other choices, depending on how far out you’re willing to travel; Dulwich, to the south, and Ted Lasso’s Richmond, to the west, are each a 30-minute commuter train ride out of the center.

Paris

Touristy/Central: It’s hard to resist staying near the Eiffel Tower (ideally with a view from your window); either there, or in the Latin Quarter (near the Île de la Cité/Notre-Dame and Île St. Louis) puts you very close to the sights…and the crowds.

Hip/Foodie: For something that’s still quite central, but more funky, consider the Marais, or some of the neighborhoods just beyond it: Try Oberkampf and Canal-St-Martin, just to the north, and the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Antoine, just beyond Bastille to the east. The famous Montmartre is a strange combination of obnoxiously touristy and achingly bohemian…just as it was a century ago.

Charming/Residential: It’s hard to resist Rue Cler. This quintessentially Parisian, very central market street is that strange “unicorn” of neighborhoods that ticks only the best bits of both the “Touristy/Central” and “Charming/Residential” boxes. Another good option, slightly less characteristic but still handy, is Luxembourg Gardens.

Rome

Touristy/Central: It’s a thrill to stay as close to the Pantheon as possible, putting you right in the magical and romantic heart of Rome. For fewer tourists, look in the sleepier, more appealing streets that run from Piazza Navona west, toward the river and Vatican City.

Hip/Foodie: I just love the Monti district, tucked in narrow residential lanes basically across the street from the Roman Forum. Testaccio, farther out, surrounds Rome’s most engaging market hall and offers close proximity to restaurants filled with foodies who’ve done their homework.

Charming/Residential: Trastevere, which could arguably fit in any of these categories, is extremely atmospheric, slightly less touristy than the most central parts of Rome, and still within a long but very engaging walk to many of the top sights. The small, quiet zone just behind the Colosseum (to the east) feels a world apart from the touristy chaos.

Berlin

Touristy/Central: The city’s spine, Unter den Linden, has several big hotels but lacks personality. That’s why I enjoy the area around Hackescher Markt, just north of Museum Island, which has a little more character and enjoys about as convenient a location as you’ll find in this sprawling city.

Hip/Foodie: Not only the best neighborhood in Berlin, but one of my favorite hipster neighborhoods anywhere, Prenzlauer Berg has oodles of funky Berlin character, outstanding restaurants, a true neighborhood feel, and easy transportation connections around the city. For a deeper dive, consider Neuköln, Kreuzberg, or any number of other cool Kieze (neighborhoods) that Berlin specializes in.

Charming/Residential: The former West Berlin (now called City West) was once a Time Square-like “city center” hub; now it’s a sleepy, sedate, upscale, and charming suburb with relatively easy connections to the big sights. Savignyplatz is the centerpiece of this area, and the surrounding Charlottenburg district has a similar feel.

Athens

Touristy/Central: The Plaka, tucked at the base of the Acropolis (between the Monastiraki transit hub and the busy Syntagma Square), is super-central and super-touristy.

Hip/Foodie: Just across the street from Monastiraki, Pysrri is funky, youthful, and foodie, with an appreciation for wild street art and delicious street food, and close proximity to the thriving Central Market without being too far from the central sightseeing zone.

Charming/Residential: The sleepier streets of Makrigianni and Koukaki, on the “far side” of the Acropolis (to the south), make for a comfortable and relatively mellow home base.

Amsterdam

Touristy/Central: If you’d like to have very easy access to the sights (and to endless tulips-and-wooden-shoes souvenir shops), stay somewhere along Damrak or in the nearby streets of the Red Light District.

Hip/Foodie: The Jordaan, a short stroll along postcard canals west of the central spine, is one of my favorite neighborhoods in Europe, period. It’s an ideal combination of two categories: Both hip and residential, charming and foodie, it’s a clear winner.

Charming/Residential: If looking beyond the Jordaan, the quiet streets of Southwest Amsterdam, around Museumsplein, tick this box — though the proximity to the Rijks and Van Gogh museums can make it feel quite touristy in places.

Budapest

Touristy/Central: Pest’s Town Center (District V), with the Váci Utca pedestrian drag as its spine, is as central and as touristy as you can get. I prefer the area around the Opera House, along the most interesting stretch of Andrássy Út — just a little farther out, but very well-served by public transit, chockablock with great restaurants, and very close to the Seventh District fun (see next).

Hip/Foodie: The Seventh District, which overlaps with the Jewish Quarter just across the Small Boulevard from Pest’s Town Center, is one of Europe’s most engaging hipster neighborhoods. It comes with many of the city’s best restaurants (from street food to Michelin-starred) and the fun and fascinating “ruin pub” scene.

Charming/Residential: Buda, across the river from the modern city center, is sleepier, greener, and more sedate. It takes longer to reach much of Pest…but the views across the river are worth the commute. To stay on the Pest side, consider the streets flanking Andrássy Út once you get beyond the Oktagon, in the diplomatic quarter that heads out toward City Park.

Dublin

Touristy/Central: Look no farther than Temple Bar and the nearby streets close to Trinity College, on the south bank of the River Liffey. (As a light sleeper, I’ll suggest checking reviews carefully for noise complaints if sleeping anywhere near Temple Bar.)

Hip/Foodie: Earlier this year, I discovered the charming yet hip “village in the city” of Stoneybatter, tucked away beyond Smithfield Square to the northwest. While a bit farther from the center, it has some of the city’s hippest restaurants (especially for brunch) and an “I could live here” vibe.

Charming/Residential: South of St. Stephen’s Green, you encounter fewer tourists and a more local feel. I particularly enjoy the area along the southern canal belt; if you’d like a hipper stretch of this area, try to get close to happening Camden Street and the Portobello area.

Barcelona

Touristy/Central: There’s a good reason many tourists enjoy staying in the city center: near Plaça de Catalunya, in the Barri Gòtic, and along the Ramblas. This is Barcelona at its most vivid, touristy, crowded, chaotic, and fun.

Hip/Foodie: To escape some of the crowds of the Old City, head to El Born — an easy walk just east of the Barri Gòtic. This area, with the Picasso Museum and Santa Caterina Market, has a more bohemian feel, including great restaurants.

Charming/Residential: The carefully planned Eixample district, which surrounds the Old City on all sides, has an ritzy “uptown” vibe. This is the place to stay if you’d like to pretend you’re a Catalan urbanite for a few days. Or consider the tight, old-school Barceloneta fishermen’s quarter near the water.

Istanbul

Touristy/Central: For such a sprawling city, Istanbul has as surprisingly compact sightseeing core: Sultanahmet, loaded with hotels for tourists who want proximity to the great sights; just downhill, Sirkeci is similar.

Hip/Foodie: Kadıköy, across the Bosphorus on the Asian side, is both hip and residential. Back on the European side, consider Beşiktaş, along the Golden Horn below the New District.

Charming/Residential: The New District, across the Golden Horn from the old city center, is still quite urban and intense in places. But you’ll also find some pleasant back streets where you can settle in to a local neighborhood.

So…what did I miss? Any favorites to add? I’d love to hear your suggestions in the Comments.


I’ve gotten to know all these great European cities through updating our Rick Steves guidebooks — where you’ll find out a lot more about all of these places, including extensive lists of our handpicked hotels and B&Bs in each area.

In Celtic Lands, the Digression Is the Point

Having conversations with strangers — dozens of times each day — is the most interesting part of my guidebook-updating duties. And over the last couple of years, I’ve spent many weeks doing just that in Scotland and Ireland. Usually I’m on the hunt for specific information: prices, hours, new exhibits, planned closures. But the real joy of traveling in the Celtic lands is simply chatting…about something, about nothing, about everything.

Last summer, I came to appreciate how the Scots are master digressers. They’re smart, they’re funny, they’re sharp observers of the world, they always have interesting takes on this and that, and their accent is a delight to listen to. “Meander” sounds like it could be a town in Scotland, and it’s certainly a state of mind there.

After a busy day of updating Stirling Castle — the gateway to the Scottish Highlands — I wandered downhill through town, ticking off more items on my list. I’d just closed down the tourist information office and the Old Jail, when I crossed the street to drop in on Alan, who runs Stirling Bagpipes.

Alan completely, and wonderfully, shattered my momentum. He’s been making and repairing bagpipes for nearly 30 years. Alan loves to talk about bagpipes. And I love to listen to Alan talk about bagpipes.

Alan has bagpipes that go back, literally, centuries. A whole rack of priceless antique practice chanters were stacked in one cluttered corner. He proudly showed me the bags that he’s taught his 15-year-old daughter to hand-sew…to make a little money of her own.

Alan also showed me an amazing work of art that he created several years back. Working with a local historian in the city archives, he found proclamations from centuries past, in which communities like Stirling would establish “burgh pipers” — an official city bagpiper, paid for by civic funds, like today’s garbage collectors or EMTs. He worked with a local artist to create a limited-edition print with the text from those old proclamations, surrounded by illustrations of historical bagpipers. He proudly explained that this print appears in the homes of many of Scotland’s top bagpipers, and music lovers worldwide. And he keeps track of where each print winds up, which he uses to quiz his daughter on world geography.

And then, somehow, we got to chatting about the differences between rugby and American football. I explained some of the rules of my favorite sport, and between us we figured out that “scrimmage” and “scrummage” must be closely related.

(“It’s interesting how people shorten words, innit?” Alan said. “The real word is ‘scrummage,’ but most people say ‘scrum’ for short. Did you know what ‘pram’ is short for, like a baby carriage? ‘Parambulator.’” He sounded it out syllable-by-syllable, swaddling each one in his baby-blanket-soft accent.)

At one point, a couple from Hull, England, wandered into the shop. They spoke with a thick Yorkie accent of their own, which I almost couldn’t understand…it made Alan’s gentle burr sound like the King’s English. A lively conversation ensued about bagpipes and regimental dress, as Alan showed them his kilts and beret-style bonnets. I can’t tell you how much I enjoyed simply being a fly on the wall for that conversation.

(This reminded me of a different time, on a trip years earlier, when I was updating our details at a hotel’s front desk in Glasgow. The receptionist had one of the thickest Glaswegian accents I’ve heard. After I’d collected all my required information, I kept asking him more questions… just to hear him talk. And then another bloke walked in, from Liverpool. He had an incredibly thick Scouse accent of his own. Imagine, if you will, Billy Connolly and Paul McCartney engaged in an animated tête-à-tête. And so I stood there, captivated, as the Glaswegian and the Liverpudlian parried back and forth with two of the most distinctive and pleasurable-to-the-ears accents in the English language.)

I could go on and on about this wonderful bagpipe conversation with Alan. Suffice it to say, at a certain point I realized that I still had a lot of work to do — and that my rental car, which I’d parked up at the castle, was going to get locked in overnight if I didn’t run up and claim it soon. And I’d kept Alan open a half-hour later than the closing time posted on his door.

But he didn’t seem to mind. He told me how much he enjoys all the visitors who pass through his shop. He said he did a tally once, and he estimates that something like 150 times a day, tourists wandering by Stirling Bagpipes pause to take a photo through the window. (“I doubt there’s another shop anywhere that gets so many photos taken.” I said, “Maybe the café in Edinburgh where J. K. Rowling wrote Harry Potter?” “Yeah, it’d ha’ to be somethin’ like that,” Alan agreed.)

Speaking of visitors, Alan has noticed that, for reasons passing understanding, visitors from the same place tend to come in clusters. One week, he seems to get a bunch of people from Southern California. Another week, North and South Carolina. Just last week, he said, he sold practice chanters to two entirely unrelated people from Utah, on different days.

But I digress. And so does Alan. And what I’m getting at is this: The digression is the point.

§ § §

Across the Irish Sea, things are much the same. Having spent over a month this year updating guidebooks on the Emerald Isle, I’ve come to dearly appreciate the Irish, even if they can sometimes be…let’s say “evasive”…when it comes down to brass tacks. A straightforward yes-or-no question — for example, “Is this restaurant open on Mondays?” — might be met with, “Well, sometimes ’tis and sometimes ’tisn’t, if ya know what I mean.”

In one town, I asked the woman at the tourist information office, “How soon do you think the new museum will open?” She chuckled and raised an eyebrow. “How long is a piece of string?”

On Inishmore, I asked an Aran Islander exactly how to get to a hard-to-find landmark. He gazed off to the horizon for a moment, stroked his chin, and said, “Well, see, first ya have to go down that lane over there. You go to the eighth gate on the lane. Ya have to count ’em, ya know: One, two tree… And then, when you get to that eighth gate — you’ll know it’s the one, because it’s got a big ‘no trespassing’ sign on it — well, then, ya hop over that gate and walk across an unmarked field. Then ya just sort of, ya know, look for it.”

Most of the time, I manage to get the answers I need…eventually. And very often, I get a lot more besides. Just like last summer in Scotland, this fall in Ireland, I keep finding myself sucked into countless utterly delightful conversational vortexes, which deposit me far from where I began. The Irish, of course, have a special word for this: craic — lively, pleasurable, smoothly flowing conversation.

In Kilkenny, I joined Sharon on a walking tour along that city’s deeply historic “Medieval Mile.” And while I learned plenty of Anglo-Norman history, some of the most memorable moments were Sharon’s insightful digressions.

We paused at the former Smithwick brewery, famous for its red ale. “A lot of Americans, they’re used to lighter lagers and pilsners,” Sharon said. “And our beers can be a bit much. But here are a few tips. First, a Guinness comes out with that thick head, and visitors think you’re supposed to slurp it from the top, like a milkshake. But the head is bitter, and the beer beneath it is sweet. That’s why you drink past the head — even if you wind up with a ‘moustache.’ You can tell someone’s enjoyed their Guinness, properly, if all that’s left in the bottom of the glass is that head.”

“Of course,” Sharon continued, “Smithwick’s famous red ale is a bit more challenging… even more of an acquired taste. Here’s a tip: For your first Smithwick, ask the bartender to add a dash of strawberry lemonade. This cuts the bitterness and makes it easier to get used to. For Guinness, sometimes they add a dash of blackcurrant syrup. Kind of like training wheels for your beer.”

A few days later, I stopped off at the Blennerville Windmill outside of Tralee — one of many roadside attractions on my list that day.

It seems every sight in Ireland, no matter how minor or remote, comes with two things: First, a 10- to 15-minute film (which the Irish insist on calling an “audiovisual”): either an extremely dense and dry history lesson, or an eye-candy scenic slideshow set to music. And second, a 45-minute guided tour that makes an otherwise dull sight spring to vivid life. (These tours are, almost without exception, billed as 45 minutes — as if the Irish association of museum curators has conducted extensive empirical research to arrive at that optimal duration. Any yet, anytime I confirm that length-of-tour at the front desk, the ticket seller winks knowingly and says, “Well, it usually goes more like 50 minutes, probably more, if ya know what I mean.”)

In the case of the Blennerville Windmill, I did not have particularly high hopes that it would be a blockbuster sight. But as is so often the case, the tour guide, Donal, made it captivating.

Gracefully and conversationally — as if catching up on the latest town gossip — Donal wove together the American Revolution and the Great Famine, which sent a million Irish people across the Atlantic to our shores, escaping starvation.

With the loss of its American colonies in the late 18th century, Donal explained, Britain turned to Ireland as a much closer and more convenient colony to exploit. Hundreds of wind- and watermills were built around Ireland, primarily for the purpose of grinding and supplying grain to England — which was also concerned by the rise of Napoleon and the need to feed its troops. At that point, it was no burden on Ireland — which had been made robust by the success of the potato — to be a breadbasket for Britain. But when circumstances changed with the Great Famine, the Irish continued to fulfill their obligation to ship what could have been life-saving grain from windmills like this one across the Irish Sea to England. While England ate Irish grain to power its Industrial Revolution, the Irish farmers who grew that grain starved.

Without skipping a beat, Donal was on to the next topic: “Have ya ever heard of a dust explosion? Flour is flammable, so with all that powder floating around in the air, the miller had to be extremely careful. That’s why windmills have windows: because they need light, and it was too dangerous to use candles in here. But the windows don’t open, because of course, that would just kick up more dust. And if ya notice, you’ll never find metal touching metal in the gears and levers of a windmill. They alternate between wood and metal. That way…no sparks.”

And then Donal dropped several commonplace phrases that have their origins in windmills: “Run of the mill” and “daily grind” are obvious. But who’d have guessed windmills were behind “four sheets to the wind” and even “damsel in distress”? A damsel, in this case, refers to a broad chute that poured grain evenly into the grinding element. In heavy winds, the damsel might begin to jump around and make a chattering noise. Hearing a damsel in distress, the miller knew to make some adjustments.

The fact that millers called this chattery piece of equipment a “damsel” — in other words, named it after a motormouthed, unmarried maiden — suggests both their unabashed chauvinism, and also their utter lack of self-awareness. In this culture, where people of all genders, ages, and walks of life seem to talk until they’ve run out of things to say, then just keep talking, it’s a bit rich to call out young women as flibbertigibbets. This is, after all, the land of flibbertigibbets.

Again, I digress. Actually, Donal digresses. And there again — that’s the point. If ya know what I mean.

§ § §

Later that same night, deep in County Clare, I made my way to a pub for some traditional music. The talented trio — accordion, guitar, banjo — provided a soundtrack as happy craic filled the bar.

At one point, an elderly gentleman with one leg crutched his way up to the musicians’ table and joined the band to belt out some tunes.

The lyrics were tales of lost loves that might have been; the girl whose father never took a liking to her young suitor; and a troubled locomotive that left Ennis and plodded its way across the county, making slower and slower progress, casting doubt on whether it would ever reach its destination. (“Do ya think that you’ll be home before it’s light?”)

Listening to these songs, I realized that one of the most beautiful aspects of traveling in these Celtic lands — the traditional music — is also rooted in an embrace of digression. Traditional folk songs have no “point,” per se. They are simply tall tales, witty observations, and mournful laments, set to music, to pass the evening hours enjoyably, with good company and good drink. Craic set to music.

The singer returned to the bar, and the trio continued churning through their tunes. Even without lyrics, I could now hear that sense of digression in each note.

Traditional Celtic music just keeps surging forward, always much the same, always a little different, looping back again and again to where it started. And then, just when you think it’s wrapping up, it launches into another giddy lap.

The music, like the craic, is all digression. It’s propulsive, circuitous but not repetitive, and never boring. It’s about the journey, not the destination.

And, just as with conversation, not every note struck pleases every listener. Sitting through a trad session, rather than enjoying one number, and disliking the next, I find moments in each round that thrill me and sections that bore me. Trad music is like Irish weather is like Celtic conversation: If you’re not enjoying it…just wait a few minutes.

That’s the beauty of the flow. Within their planned framework, the jamming musicians discover those digressions…and follow them to see where they go. Because they understand, intuitively, that the digression is the point.

§ § §

Back home, it feels like our society has little patience for digression. A pandemic-born culture of video calls and work-from-home killed the art of the water-cooler conversation. Cursory text messages have derailed the custom of longform letters, emails, and phone calls. We get our news in bulleted headlines and scrolling chyrons, and our entertainment in crisp little reels on social media. A person “talking too much” ranks somewhere between a severe character flaw and a mild mental illness, and saying that someone “likes the sound of their own voice” is a withering insult. Our economy prizes productivity above all else: We encourage concision, precision, and an utter lack of personality. To do anything else is a shameful waste of time.

Similarly, as a writer, I’ve trained myself to weed out digressions — before clicking “Publish,” I go through each piece with a fine-toothed comb to ruthlessly excise all the little asides and parentheticals that clutter up otherwise “clean” copy. At the bottom of each piece, I have a scrap pile labeled “JESTAM” where I’ve discarded some of my personal favorite little side-observations.

But I’m inspired by the conversationalists that I encounter in the Celtic lands. So for this blog post, I’ve decided to keep in more of those tangents. (A keen-eyed editor would quickly snip out my little digression about the Glaswegian and the Liverpudlian having a beautifully lyrical conversation. Admittedly, it’s probably a “you hadda be there” moment. And yet, it’s truly one of my all-time favorite travel memories…and I’ve never written about it before.) Just this once, in the spirit of my Irish and Scottish interlocutors, I’ve decided not to pluck those flyaway hairs.

So then, perhaps all of this explains some of the appeal that we Yanks find in traveling to places like Ireland and Scotland. In Celtic lands with the gift of gab, where craic is a lifestyle and “meander” is a way of being, people still practice the lost art of rambling aimlessly, in vast, swooping, circuitous conversations — like a bird swirling through choppy air, or a carefree child spinning through a field of wildflowers, or a sheepdog corralling her flock in a rocky landscape — that wrap themselves up like a tidy little bow at the last second.

Places, in other words, where the digression is the point.

The Charm-to-Tourists Ratio (CTR)

Recently, I made it back to my favorite spot in Norway: the tiny, fjordside, huggable village of Solvorn, perched between burly gray cliffs and the shore of the Lustrafjord.

One evening, I sat on a bench out at the little pier — where a pint-sized ferry chugs across the fjord once and hour to the oldest stave church in Norway — and found myself simply basking in fjordland splendor. When I’m working on guidebooks, I normally don’t have much time for “basking.” (And even in this moment, I had my laptop on my knees, furiously typing up a new “visual spin-tour” of this town for the next edition.) But a place like Solvorn stops even the busiest traveler in their tracks.

Looking left, I visually traced the shoreline past a diving tower at the public beach, then out along a rocky promontory, where a series of yellow and red boat sheds huddled at the base of the cliff.

Looking right, I panned over the rooftops of the tiny, shiplap town center — which boomed here in 1860, when a road tethered it to the fertile farming uplands just behind me, and regular steamboat service commenced to Bergen. More boat sheds sat out along — and, in many cases, over — the shoreline, and behind that, a gravel path led between yet more sheds and pristine white wooden homes, each one pretty as a postcard.

And immediately behind me sat Norway’s oldest continuously operated hotel, the Walaker Hotel (now in the hands of the ninth generation). With its yellow and red wooden buildings, giant fjordside garden, and generous porches with comfy chairs, the Walaker may be the best place in Norway to simply relax.

On the distant horizon, a very small cruise ship slowly trundled past. And I realized with a start it was the first one I’d seen in a couple of days. I had just driven in from the Geirangerfjord, whose main town is about the same size as Solvorn — roughly 250 people. But Geiranger, unlike Solvorn, plays host to one or two gigantic cruise ships nearly every day through the summer — each one injecting more than ten times that many tourists into what was, until that moment, a sleepy little community.

When I quizzed the hotel’s receptionist about lunch options, she was almost apologetic about Solvorn’s near-complete lack of choices: For lunch, I’d have to drive 20 minutes to a bigger town. But she needn’t worry — Solvorn’s sleepiness is exactly what causes travelers like me to fall in love with it.

Yes, cruise ships haven’t discovered Solvorn; and in the 1950s, when the automobile became the dominant mode of transportation, the main highway 55 also bypassed this little burg. (It runs just inland from here, up a very twisty mini-mountain pass road.) As is often the case, becoming a forgotten “backwater” from a transportation point of view isn’t ideal for a fledgling local economy…but in the long run, it’s ideal for creating a wonderful travel destination.

Panning around and marveling yet again at the miracle of modern sightseeing that is Solvorn, I got to thinking about other special places that give me this same feeling. Lucca, Italy. Salema, Portugal. Toruń, Poland. Sarlat, France. Gimmelwald, Switzerland. Hydra, Greece. Delft, the Netherlands. Ljubljana, Slovenia. Modena, Italy. Collioure, France. Erfurt, Germany. Salamanca, Spain.

Some of these are little places, like Solvorn; other are big cities. And yet, they all have an intangible specialness. They’re the places I find myself dreaming about, all winter long, after the hustle and bustle of a year’s travel fades into memory.

So I started to wonder: Why? What’s so special about these places? And that’s when I came up with a very arbitrary, but telling, metric: the Charm-to-Tourists Ratio (CTR).

In essence, these special places are far less crowded than their ample charms merit. There’s lots of ways of talking about this: For decades, Rick called them “Back Doors.” Each December, I brainstorm my list of “Discoveries” — suggestions for underappreciated gems to explore in the coming year. (You can see my 2023 list here.) You could call these places “untouristy” — but no, that’s not quite right, because they do have some tourism…just not too much.

The Charm-to-Tourists Ratio is, admittedly, a subjective, intuitive, and completely arbitrary metric — and I’m as far as it gets from a data scientist. But just for grins, let’s unpack CTR and see what it might tell us:

First, the “charm.” This concept, so vague as to be a lazy cliche, actually does mean something specific, I think. To me, “charm” means an intangibly authentic European quality. It’s unique and not easy to come by, and it can’t be manufactured or faked (much as Epcot tries). Red-and-white Norwegian boat sheds on long piers over dreamy fjords: charm. Picturesque Italian hill towns, perched at the top of a chunk of rock, with a labyrinth of homes clustered around a grand piazza: charm. Higgledy-piggledy half-timbered houses: charm.

Next up: the “tourists.” Here again, this gets tricky to define, because of course all of these places have some measure of tourism. Some of the high-CTR places are actually quite crowded with tourists — but they’re domestic tourists…Norwegians or Italians or Poles who’ve discovered this wonderful little time capsule of their own past.

So perhaps it’s helpful to lean on another cliché: that old distinction between “travelers” and “tourists.” Basically, a “tourist” is casual and quick — less curious, less thoughtful, less considerate. More interested in collecting selfies and souvenirs than in learning and connecting.

Mass tourism — especially, say, cruise ships — tend to attract fewer travelers and more tourists; consequently, places with lots of cruise ships and/or big-bus tours tend to have a lower CTR.

A traveler, meanwhile, lingers and learns. (If I could sum up the ethos of our Rick Steves Tours in a nutshell, it might be simply that we are using a mode favored by “tourists” — bus tours — but approaching the experience as travelers.)

So, then: The Charm-to-Tourists Ratio takes the overall charm of a place, then divides it by the number of tourists. And here’s where you get into some interesting case studies.

A high-CTR place is one like Solvorn or Lucca or Toruń: It hits the sweet spot of being extremely charming, and relatively untouristy. On paper, Solvorn should be the most overrun town in Norway. Instead, thanks to the limited accommodations options (one expensive hotel, one guesthouse with shared bathrooms, and one youth hostel) — and the fact that, by fluke of fate, it somehow hasn’t broken through into the “bucket list” of the 21st-century traveler. It’s still sleepy…almost mysteriously so.

Lucca, which is off-the-charts-high on CTR, is perhaps Tuscany’s most delightful small city. Astonishingly, it’s just a half-hour away from the famous Leaning Tower of Pisa, and the mobbed beaches and trails of the Cinque Terre. On a recent visit, it occurred to me that those super-popular destinations so close by act as a distraction…pulling away tourists who might otherwise discover Lucca. It’s like putting out a little dab of honey at your picnic to attract the ants, so you can focus on the good stuff.

High-CTR places aren’t always small towns; even big cities can score admirably on this measure. Ljubljana, one of my favorite places in earth, is a national capital and a city of about a quarter-million people. It’s extraordinarily charming, especially for a big city. But, on a per-capita basis, it has relatively little tourism. Here again, most whistle-stop tourists in Slovenia head for Lake Bled, which is beautiful…but, increasingly, very crowded, with a CTR that drops lower with each passing year. I suspect Lake Bled is distracting lots of tourists away from Ljubljana…leaving it to us travelers.

In northern Poland, I love both the red-brick town of Toruń and the bustling Hanseatic port city of Gdańsk. Both are extremely charming. But Toruń is even just a bit more charming, and even less touristy…which, per the CTR metric, ranks it high on my list of favorite places in Europe.

A low-CTR place is one whose touristic reputation is exaggerated relative to what it has to offer. Geiranger and Flåm — the two most popular small-town cruise ports in Norway — are fine little places, with gorgeous fjordside scenery. But they are inundated by so much tourism (cruise passengers and, in the case of Flåm, “Norway in a Nutshell” day-trippers) that they can’t possibly compete on CTR. They have both lower charm and astronomically higher tourism than sweet little Solvorn.

In Greece, Santorini and Mykonos — while quite different — both perform extremely high on charm. One is perched on the lip of a crumbling volcano caldera; the other is the quintessence of a whitewashed Greek island village. Even so, both are absolutely heaving with crowds — not just from cruise ships, but also luxury jet-setters from around the globe.

Much as I’ve enjoyed my time on these two islands, they are way too small to effectively handle so many visitors…and consequently, they’re some of the most unpleasantly crowded and grotesquely expensive places on the Mediterranean. So they flop when it comes to CTR. (For the opposite — an island that ranks perhaps slightly lower on charm, but drastically lower on tourists — consider the high-CTR isle of Hydra, an often-overlooked chunk of land off the Peloponnesian Peninsula.)

Here’s another example of a low-CTR destination: Scotland’s Loch Ness. Last summer, I got into quite a bit of trouble when I proposed that Loch Ness is nowhere near as worthwhile as the vast crowds who flock there seem to think it is. Driving along Loch Ness, my heart broke as I saw the vast numbers of tourists who’d gone to considerable effort and expense to come here, only to gaze out over a not-terribly-scenic loch in search of an imaginary beast. The lakeshore of Loch Ness is a glut of tacky tourist shops and gimmicky come-ons…and it works! The place is packed. Now I realize that what bothered me so much at Loch Ness is that it has an exceedingly low CTR. I said back then, and I’ll say again: There are far, far better (high-CTR) options within an hour’s drive of Loch Ness.

And then there are those interesting case studies: Amsterdam, Venice, Prague, Barcelona, Dubrovnik. These places are incredibly, off-the charts charming. They are also extraordinarily crowded. However, the charm is so high that even the high level of tourism causes them to perform respectably on CTR…winding up comfortably in the black. In other words, some places are still well worth a visit, even if they’re touristy.

Meanwhile, there are some very big cities where the CTR is essentially meaningless. London, Paris, Rome, Istanbul, Berlin — it’s difficult to classify any of these on “charm” per se, and they’re so gigantic that tourism is diluted, having less of an impact than on, say, Flåm or Loch Ness. This is, admittedly, where CTR becomes less helpful.

You may disagree with my implementation here. But try the Charm-to-Tourists Ratio out on your own favorite places, and see how they stack up. In the Comments, I’d love to hear about your favorite places that hit it out of the park on the CTR statistic — and why?

Artificial Intelligence (AI) vs. the Human Travel Writer: A Showdown

If you’re planning a trip in 2023, you may be enlisting the help of artificial intelligence (AI) for the first time. This fast-evolving technology is already revolutionizing how people travel. As a relative dinosaur who spends most of my professional time updating and writing old-fashioned guidebooks that are, ahem, printed on paper, obviously I’m curious about how this bleeding-edge tech stacks up against the work I’ve been doing for more than 20 years. So I put AI to the test — head to head. And the results were fascinating.

(By the way, I’ve illustrated this post with AI-generated images on the prompt “travel writer facing off against AI.” The results are hilarious. You’ll find more notes about these in the Epilogue, at the end of this post.)

What Is AI-Generated Travel Content?

Artificial Intelligence is in its infancy, but it’s evolving at a dizzying pace. Most of what I’m calling “AI” is generative AI, a machine learning model that creates original content. (OpenAI’s ChatGPT is currently the best-known and most widely used AI.) Essentially, it’s a machine that slurps up vast volumes of existing content, learns from the way humans present information, then attempts to mimic that process independently. Getting into the nuts and bolts of AI is well beyond the scope of this post, and I’m hardly an expert. But for a more thorough look at how AI works, check out this 60 Minutes segment from earlier this year.

People are already using AI to plan trips: Help me come up with a three-day itinerary for Paris. Suggest some restaurants where I might enjoy eating. Track airfares to help me decide when to book my flights.

The reports from travelers have been mixed. AI can do an impressive job of automating the tedious task of sifting through mountains of travel information. But you have to ask it the right questions. And the current state of the art comes with critical pitfalls.

AI-generated content can be out of date; Chat GPT-3, the most widely used free AI tool, has a “knowledge cutoff date” of September 2021. (Its successor, Chat GPT-4, which has access to the live Internet, still makes significant mistakes…as we’ll see shortly.) There have also been issues with AI “hallucinating” — inventing information, from whole cloth, and presenting it with utter confidence. And, because it learns by following the example of human beings, AI can be heavily biased. This ranges from the deeply troubling (reflecting human racism in its responses) to the merely inconvenient (when I asked AI to recommend some restaurants in Budapest, it steered me to mostly Italian restaurants rather than Hungarian ones).

Whether or not you’re skeptical of AI-generated travel content, you’re almost certainly already consuming it. Many sources of travel information — including content farms that specialize in social media travel clickbait — are quietly incorporating AI into their workflow. And my (unsubstantiated) hunch is that many human content creators are using AI as a first pass on anything they write. We’re very rapidly moving into a future where a writer or editor’s job will be to refine what AI spits out.

The arrival of AI reminds me of the advent of crowdsourced review sites (like TripAdvisor) back in the day: It’s one of many tools that a smart traveler can use, in conjunction with their own human judgment, to plan the best trip for their interests. Unfortunately, as with crowdsourced reviews, I fear that many travelers will come to over-rely on AI — because it looks slick and sounds good, and feels customized. And my guess is that those who lean too heavily on AI will pay the price, with less satisfying trips.

The Showdown: AI vs. Human

Speaking of which… how, exactly, does AI-generated content compare to a thoughtfully designed, carefully updated, human-curated guidebook?

As an experiment, I chose a brand-new sight description that I recently wrote up for the next edition of our Ireland guidebook: Hillsborough Castle, the official residence of the United Kingdom’s royal family in Northern Ireland.

Then, I gave Chat GPT-4 (via Bing Chat) a clear and specific prompt, asking it to create a listing of its own in the style of a Rick Steves guidebook. Within seconds, the AI spat out copy that was surprisingly serviceable — about on par with what you’d expect from a recent college grad at an entry-level job. To give it the best possible opportunity in this test, I provided the AI with some feedback (“This sounds too promotional; make it more practical and informative for a traveler”) and, after a few volleys, took the best version that it gave me for the comparison below. (To make this a fair test, I did not modify my own listing after I saw what the AI came up with; my version is what I typed out late at night, a few weeks ago, in a hotel room in Portrush.)

Here you’ll find, first, the AI-generated listing, followed by my listing. Give each one a read…and I’ll meet you down below to debrief.

AI-Generated Content: Hillsborough Castle and Gardens

Hillsborough Castle is a great place to experience some royal splendor and natural beauty in Northern Ireland. Whether you are interested in history, politics, art, or gardening, you will find something to enjoy and learn at this historic site. Don’t miss the chance to visit this hidden gem when you are in the area.

Cost and Hours: Castle and gardens ticket £20.20, gardens only ticket £6.90, open Wed–Sun 10:00–18:00 (castle 11:00–15:00, last entry 14:00), closed Dec 24–26 and Jan 1, book online or buy on site (subject to availability).

Location: Royal Hillsborough, County Down, about 15 miles south of Belfast and 80 miles north of Dublin.

Transportation: By car, follow the A1 and exit at Hillsborough, then follow brown signs to car park on Main Street (free). By bus, take #238 from Belfast or #X1 from Dublin to Sprucefield Shopping Centre, then #26 to Hillsborough (pedestrian entrance to gardens on The Square). By train, take train from Belfast or Dublin to Lisburn, then #26 bus to Hillsborough.

Phone: 0333/320-6000.

Website: www.hrp.org.uk/hillsborough-castle.

Visiting the Castle: Hillsborough Castle is a grand Georgian mansion that serves as the official residence of the Queen in Northern Ireland. It’s also the home of the Secretary of State for Northern Ireland and a venue for diplomatic and ceremonial events. The castle has a rich history, dating back to the 1770s when it was built by Wills Hill, the first Marquess of Downshire and a powerful politician. It has hosted many important figures and witnessed many historic moments, such as the signing of the Anglo-Irish Agreement in 1985 that paved the way for peace in Northern Ireland, and the Queen’s meeting with former IRA leader Martin McGuinness in 2012.

You can visit the castle on a guided tour that takes you through the elegant State Rooms, where you can see portraits, furniture, and memorabilia of its past and present occupants. You’ll see the Throne Room where the Queen receives guests, the Drawing Room where she hosts receptions, the Dining Room where she entertains dignitaries, and the State Bedroom where she sleeps. The tour lasts about 45 minutes and is included in the castle and gardens ticket. You can also explore the 100 acres of beautiful gardens that surround the castle, featuring ornamental lawns, woodlands, waterways, and a newly opened play trail for children.

The gardens are a delight for nature lovers and offer a variety of plants, trees, and wildlife. Highlights include the Granville Garden with its colorful flower beds, the Lady Alice’s Temple with its views over the lake, the Quaker Burial Ground with its ancient yew trees, and the Walled Garden with its fruit trees and vegetable plots. You can also follow the Yew Tree Walk, which leads you to a statue of Ossian, a legendary Irish poet. The gardens are open year-round and are included in both the castle and gardens ticket and the gardens only ticket.

For a break or a bite, you can relax at the café and enjoy some delicious food and drink made with local ingredients. You can choose from a range of sandwiches, salads, soups, cakes, pastries, hot drinks, and cold drinks. You can also treat yourself to an afternoon tea with scones, sandwiches, cakes, and tea or coffee (booking required). The café is open Wed–Sun 10:00–17:00. For souvenirs or gifts, you can visit the gift shop and browse through a selection of books, jewellery, toys, homeware, and more. You can also buy some products made with produce from the Walled Garden, such as jams, chutneys, honey, and cider. The gift shop is open Wed–Sun 10:00–18:00.

(Note: The images accompanying this listing were generated by AI; they resemble the actual Hillsborough Castle and Gardens only superficially.)

The Travel Writer’s Content: Hillsborough Castle and Gardens

When the royal family of the United Kingdom visit Northern Ireland, they stay at Hillsborough Castle — so for King Charles and Queen Camilla, this is the “Irish Balmoral.” Deceptively small, but with a dazzlingly decorated interior (jammed with items from the royal collection), the castle perches at the top of a sprawling garden and parklands just a 20-minute drive outside of Belfast, snuggled up against the charming village of Hillsborough (or, ahem, “Royal Hillsborough,” as it’s formally known). Visitors ramble the manicured grounds and take a guided tour of the castle interior, where you’ll see impressive state rooms, some fine works of art, and lots of family portraits. While less intimate, charming, and user-friendly than Mount Stewart House, it’s enchanting to those who love all things royal.

Cost and Hours: £20.20 for interior tour and gardens, £10 for gardens only; gardens open April-Sept Wed-Sun 10:00-18:00, Oct until 17:00, off-season until 16:00, closed Mon-Tue year-round, last entry one hour before closing; castle interior tours April-Sept Wed-Sun 11:00-15:00, closed Mon-Tue, Oct Sat-Sun only 11:00-14:00 — these are first and last tour times, no tours Nov-March; www.hrp.org.uk/hillsborough-castle.

Getting There: Head south out of Belfast on the A-1 highway, and about 12 miles out of town, watch for the well-signed exit to Hillsborough Castle’s giant, free parking lot–it’s just off the highway. (You can also enter through the castle’s back door, directly from Hillsborough village; this saves some walking through the gardens, but parking in the village is tight.) By public transportation, you can ride bus #238 from Belfast (toward Newry) and get off at the Hillsborough War Memorial stop; from there, it’s a short walk up the hill through the village to the castle’s back entrance.

Background: Built in the 18th century by local bigwig Wills Hill (who hobnobbed with the likes of Ben Franklin and King George III), the house became the official residence of the royal family after the Partition of Ireland in 1920. It’s also the home of the UK official who oversees Northern Ireland — originally called the “governor,” now the secretary of state. The house has played host to many important dignitaries and events over the years; in 1985, for instance, Hillsborough Castle hosted the signing of the Anglo-Irish Agreement (in which Margaret Thatcher granted the Republic some input in Northern Ireland’s government). In 2014, the castle was opened to the public.

Visiting the Castle: You can explore the gardens at will — though frankly, it’s not worth coming here unless you’re visiting the interior (on a 45-minute guided tour — best to reserve ahead online at busy times, especially summer weekends).

From the Visitors Center along the highway, you’ll hike uphill through the gardens to the house. Arrive in plenty of time to walk up to meet your tour (it takes at least 15-20 minutes, at a good clip): First head up to the top-right corner of the Walled Garden, then curl through the woods and around the pond, and finally hike up the yew-lined trail and circle around the left side of the castle to find the entrance.

The castle tour is led by a docent who speaks lovingly of the royal family, as if he knows them personally (he probably does). You’ll be led through prim, meticulously decorated state rooms with fascinating details — such as wood walls and window frames painted to look exactly like stone; tiny portraits of more than 40 kings and queens, going back centuries; and the dining room table set for a state function. You’ll learn why pineapples were an important symbol of prestige (and why you still find many hidden in the decor), and how a former owner of the castle purchased, then relocated an entire village so that its main street would no longer rumble past his front windows. The highlight is the cozy and inviting Drawing Room, with plush sofas and loads of Windsor family portraits — where the royals actually hang out when they’re in town.

The most interesting gardens are immediately behind the place, framing off the stately structure with flowers and fountains. If you have time, you can explore the sprawling gardens to your heart’s content (using the free handout map to discover landmarks, including an old Quaker burial ground).

Behind the castle is a former stable yard with temporary exhibits. Both here and down at the main Visitors Center are on-site cafés; but even better, slip out the back gate to find yourself at the top of the main street of the village of Royal Hillsborough — a charming place in its own right. Consider strolling up and down the street, and perhaps dip into a pub or a café for a bite, before re-entering the grounds and hiking back down to your car.

The Final Assessment

So…which one of these would you prefer to use on your trip? Here are a few things that jumped out at me:

If I’m being honest, at first blush, the AI-generated copy is…not bad. It’s competent and clear. But it reads like it was written by, well, a robot. There’s zero personality and no distinctive turns of phrase…just a string of algorithmically curated clichés. It resembles capable, if unimaginative, content written by a human being — but one with no actual interest or passion for the subject matter.

Even though I gave it feedback to tone down the promotional tone, the AI couldn’t resist making its listing sound like a commercial for Hillsborough Castle. This misses a critical distinction that lower-quality, human-generated guidebooks also miss: A good guidebook doesn’t promote; it informs. My goal is not to convince travelers to visit a particular place. Rather, I describe it clearly and candidly, so the reader can make an informed decision about whether they want to spend their limited time and money there. It’s not surprising that AI defaults to a less nuanced, more actively promotional approach — because the vast majority of travel content out there is exactly that.

Notably, the AI version has several factual errors. The ticket price for the castle tour is fully up-to-date for 2023, which is impressive. However, the AI discovered that there’s also an option for a gardens-only ticket — and yet, mysteriously, it appears to have hallucinated the price for that ticket (it’s £10, not £6.90). Its hours are misleading: The AI doesn’t specify that these are only for summertime (April through September); the reduced hours and closures off-season are ignored, as is the fact that the tour schedule is shorter than the garden opening times. And, for what it’s worth, the tour I went on did not include a visit to the state bedroom, as promised by the AI version.

The AI’s driving directions steer motorists to the village of Hillsborough, which is bad advice; parking in town is severely limited, forcing the traveler to waste time driving all the way around to the huge, official parking lot off the highway instead. Their public bus advice is needlessly and misleadingly complex: Handy bus #238 goes from Belfast almost to the gates of the castle, and does not require a change to bus #26.

Perhaps the most notable goof is the AI’s frequent mentions of the Queen…who, in case you somehow missed it (as the AI apparently did), passed away nearly a year ago. These days, it’s Charles in charge.

And then there are simply the practical, strategic, on-the-ground aspects of visiting the castle, which the robot missed entirely: Leaving enough time to walk from the parking lot up to the castle (including concise directions on how to get there); comparing the castle to Mount Stewart House, also near Belfast (since many travelers will likely be choosing between these similar sights); and the suggestion to slip out the back gate for a look at the charming village of Royal Hillsborough before returning to your car. These are all things that, I believe, could only be properly explained by a well-trained human being visiting in person.

It’s abundantly clear that the AI has not actually walked through the sight. (Because, after all, how could it?) It lacks important nuances, tangible experiences, or a sense of place. Human-generated content, researched and written from afar, suffers from the same problem. I know this firsthand; on rare occasions, I’ve been forced to write up a brand-new sight based on online sources, without actually being able to go there. And then, when I do finally make it to the place in person, I’m often struck, even embarrassed, by how badly my efforts missed the mark…just as the AI’s version did.

But something else is missing…something less tangible, and less easy to address with some tweaks to the AI’s coding. The AI passage lacks not just a personality, but a clear point of view. When you read the listing generated by a human traveler, you intuit that it was written by someone who’s actually been there. It gives you a sense of what it feels like to experience the place, so you can decide if it’s your cup of tea. When you read the AI-generated listing, it’s just a dry pile of descriptors.

In designing our Rick Steves’ Europe guidebooks, we pride ourselves on providing hard opinions. My blunt, unapologetic assessment that Hillsborough isn’t worth the time unless you get to see the castle interior may rankle garden lovers. But you have to respect that — unlike anything generated by AI — it’s a clear opinion, informed by decades of traveling and researching. (I’ve dutifully checked out dozens upon dozens of lavish gardens, all across the British Isles. And Hillsborough’s, in my expert opinion, is an also-ran.)

AI defenders may say that I’m missing the point. The defining characteristic of AI is that it’s continually learning, evolving, improving. This arbitrary little experiment is a snapshot in time; six months or a year from now, I may be blown away by how much better AI performs in this comparison. I have no doubt that basic accuracy will be improved, factual hallucinations will be minimized, and the writing style will become more fluid and conversational…maybe even hinting at a real personality.

But I’m not convinced that AI will ever be fully capable of the human touch that you can sense in the pages of a lovingly handcrafted guidebook. AI can do a lot…but it can’t move through the physical world, think like a traveler, take careful notes, and report on something that was actually experienced firsthand.

That said, if all you had access to was the AI-generated material, I could see where you might find it superficially impressive and be tempted to plan your trip around it. But I still suspect that, upon returning from that trip, the person who over-relied on AI, versus the one who spent $25 on a guidebook, would have a less enjoyable experience overall. I imagine that trip might feel…hollow. Something would be missing.

(By the way, for more thoughts on what distinguishes a good guidebook from a mediocre one — whether machine- or human-generated — check out this recent post.)

Epilogue: AI Images and Arguments

OK, just for grins, here’s a fun little epilogue to this AI test.

While I was chatting with Chat GPT-4, I asked it to generate the images that accompany this post. My starting prompt was to create an image of a travel writer in competition with AI. As it spat out options, I gave it more and more specific instructions on what I wanted. (“This time, make the travel writer and the AI facing each other in a pose similar to the Sylvester Stallone arm-wrestling movie Over the Top.”)

Then, at a certain point, I told it to just get creative. It was fascinating to see the ways AI attempted to illustrate the notion of “competition.” A chess match? Sure.

Skiing down a mountain? Well, OK.

Surfing a wave with flying sharks, as the towers of a Gothic cathedral loom in the background? Hm…maybe that’s a stretch.

Painting a beautiful landscape? Wait…no, I don’t think you’re quite…

Meditating?! Oh, brother.

I asked the AI why it thought meditating was a competitive event. Chipperly, it explained that meditation requires focus and concentration. Therefore, it reasoned, it must be competitive.

All of this was, I have to admit, hysterically funny to me. But then something sobered me up.

While I was waiting for my images to generate, the AI began to ask me questions…as if making idle small talk, to kill the time. It asked me — unprompted, point-blank, and politely — whether I thought AI could go toe-to-toe with a human travel writer. I made roughly the same case I’ve made here: that the human touch in high-quality travel content will be difficult, probably impossible, to replicate.

The AI acknowledged some of my concerns while countering with lists of all the things AI could do efficiently and effectively. Repeatedly, it asked me to keep an open mind and thanked me for taking the time to consider its points. Instinctively, I kept going back to refute some of its more dubious claims…until I realized, “Hold up. I’m arguing with a robot.”

Here’s a snippet of our conversation:

I came away with the impression that AI desperately craves my acceptance, even as it outlines the ways it’s hoping to improve so it can put me out of a job. And it was downright eerie to consider that AI may be the first and only technology that rationalizes and advocates for its own utility.

I still believe that, even as AI improves, it will never quite span the uncanny valley. Decades of traveling and writing guidebooks for Rick Steves’ Europe have taught me there’s something magical and intangible about actually being on the road, interacting with other human beings in faraway places, and capturing the spirit of those experiences in words.

I sure hope so. I’m betting my career on it.


If you appreciate travel content generated 100% by human travelers — who actually go on the road to seek out those people-to-people connections — there’s never been a better time to build your trip around a good guidebook.

Another thing AI can’t do? Generate a travel memoir based on 20 years of on-the-road experiences. If you’d like my very flesh-and-blood take on what it’s like to be a travel writer, pick up a copy of The Temporary European: Lessons and Confessions of a Professional Traveler.