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Destination: Germany

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Vielen Dank, Mutti! And viel Glück, Deutschland!

I woke up this morning in Berlin to catch my flight home to the USA. And when I stepped out the door of my Prenzlauer Berg apartment, I saw a long line of people stretching down the block. It’s Election Day, and today the Germans choose who will succeed Angela Merkel after 16 years as Chancellor.

As I leave Europe, after two long years of dreaming of being back here, I find it especially poignant that my last few days coincide with the end of Merkel’s rule. I remember traveling here when she was first elected in 2004, and worrying that she would take Germany in a conservative, regressive direction. Instead she is, almost without contest, the most successful and respected Chancellor Germany has had since Reunification. She’s broadly supported and appreciated by all political stripes, at home and abroad, for the sensible stability she brought this country. Her nickname, “Mutti” — “Mom” — smacks of sexism, but the Germans intend it as a very high compliment. Mutti helped them feel safe, cared for, and seen over her 16 years in the Chancellery.

And as I return to the United States, I’m especially sad to say Auf Wiedersehen to Mutti, because I feel like the era she represents — of reasonable, consensus, centrist rule — is a dinosaur. In my own country, the political discourse has been hijacked by the fringe on both sides of the political spectrum. The same thing is happening across Europe; over the last few years, I’ve seen country after country that I love — Hungary, Poland, Slovenia — opt for extremism instead of centrist cooperation. I often think that if only the USA could find its own Angela Merkel, we might somehow make our way out of our current mess. But she’s one of those generational figures that don’t grow on trees. Joe Biden has attempted this, but the headwinds are fierce.

In order to avoid the perception that this is a partisan post, let me stress that Merkel leads the dominant conservative party of Germany (though they have a multi-party system, so Merkel’s CDU is effectively the moderate conservatives — think the GOP before Trump, along the lines of John McCain and Mitt Romney). Imagine if Elizabeth Warren were somehow a Republican, and you’re getting the idea.

Even my most progressive friends in Berlin, begrudgingly, speak admiringly of Merkel’s gift for sensible governance. One of them even bumped into Mutti once in the local supermarket; she shops and cooks for herself, and enjoys showing up to buy groceries unannounced. The biggest complaint Berlin’s liberals can register is that she has allowed leftist policies (such as legal same-sex marriage) to be implemented, then implicitly gets the credit for them.

She certainly has some detractors — including those who say she’s not done enough, fast enough, to protect the environment (again, shades of Joe Biden). But even progressives can’t deny that she’s leaving a Germany with a huge and affluent middle class, an elevated status on the world stage, and a more diverse populace than ever (with 25 percent of Germans having at least one parent who was born abroad).

In fact, one of Angela Merkel’s signature achievements was a “bleeding-heart” humanitarian one, when during the 2015 refugee crisis she invited over one million migrants to take shelter in Germany. This did not come without growing pains. But Merkel’s continued popularity suggests that the Germans agree with her vision to be a compassionate society and a moral leader for the world. Imagine: going from der Führer to die Mutti, from gas chambers to safe harbors, in just 70 years. There are many reasons for this incremental evolution — in fact, I’ve spent this visit to Berlin trying to understand how it happened — but it’s clear that Merkel represents the culmination of that transformation.

And, as a scientist herself, Merkel was the perfect person to lead Germany through the COVID pandemic. Traveling here, I find a remarkably high awareness and understanding of the science and adoption of masking, testing, and other mitigation measures. They understand the stakes, and what works, because their Mutti explained it to them, with patience, reason, and a compelling compassion. One of my friends was grousing that “only” 73 percent of Germans are fully vaccinated. When I expressed envy at this extraordinarily high (by American standards) figure, he ranted a bit longer about how it should be at least in the 80s, if not the 90s! This is a country whose leader has encouraged them to set a very high bar.

Merkel is not term limited, and many suspect that if she ran for another term, she could make it an even 20 years (if not longer). She is the first Chancellor to leave office voluntarily. But, like George Washington before her, she has the wisdom to recognize when the time comes to step aside for fresh leadership.

The German word for “vote” is wählen — “choose.” For 16 years, the Germans have chosen centrist leadership that is confident yet reasonable, compassionate but not wishy-washy, strong but not strongarm. Now they are faced with a variety of potential successors, and everything I’m hearing is that each one appears more flawed than the last. In fact, virtually anyone would be flawed when compared to the combination of attributes that Merkel has brought to the Chancellery. Each one of my Berlin friends offered a different prediction as to the outcome of today’s vote, but all of them clearly felt that anyone who wins will be a downgrade. (One of them told me that, in a recent poll, the top vote-getter was “none of the above” — obviously a stand-in for a hypothetical Mutti fifth term.)

Merkel herself has joked this week about who will fill her shoes, by pointing out how (literally) small those shoes are. Of course, even this joke revealed precisely the opposite: that her pragmatic humility is one of the many traits that make her darn near irreplaceable.

As I get on my plane back to the USA, and Germany votes to say goodbye to their Mutti, we’re both heading to a place of uncertainty, frustration, and fear. I wish all of us good luck weathering our second pandemic winter. And I can only hope that each country eventually finds its own Angela Merkel to show them the way.

Vielen dank, Mutti! And viel Glück, Deutschland.

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What It’s Like to Travel in Europe During COVID

“Cameron! You must tell Americans what it’s truly like to travel here right now.”

This was the plea from Isabella, who runs a stunning countryside hotel in most beautiful corner of Tuscany. Isabella is frustrated because she designed her business for American guests. And even though she’s been able to pivot to a mostly European clientele, she’s eager for her American friends to return. Unfortunately, the mixed messages about traveling in Europe have given many of her guests pause. And now quite a few, who booked weeks or months ago, are getting cold feet and cancelling.

Some of those people have good reason to postpone; perhaps they’re immunocompromised, or they know themselves enough to recognize that they lack the flexibility to travel during uncertain times. But others are overreacting to attention-grabbing, misleading news reports of “travel bans,” worst-case nightmare scenarios, and headachy red tape.

Fear looms large in the American imagination, so it’s not surprising that many American travelers are skittish. I understand. The week before I left, in late August, the news was full of vague yet alarming rumors that the European Union was about to “ban” non-essential American travelers. Spoiler alert: That did not happen. And, speaking only for myself, I can report that I’ve been struck by how normal it feels to be traveling in Europe again.

OK, not “normal” — but new normal. Social-distancing, temperature-checks, masking-indoors, showing-your-vaccine-card-to-enter-a-restaurant kind of normal. Being fully vaccinated and taking all of the reasonable precautions, I feel safe, or at least as “safe” as anyone can these days. I feel at least as safe as I do at home, which is safe enough to not have nightmares anymore. In the abstract, traveling in Europe sounds frightening and stressful; in practice, it’s just fine. Not just fine. Wonderful.

Previously, I posted about how I rationalized traveling to Europe during a pandemic; and about the many steps I took to plan and prepare for travel during these strange times. This post is a bit more freewheeling: It’s simply a report on what it’s like to be an American traveling in Europe during (we hope) the late stages of the COVID-19 pandemic.

Landing in Europe once again, all those mundane little European quirks came rushing back: the bizarre plumbing — complicated shower knobs and enigmatic washer/dryers that should come with an instruction manual; the secondhand smoke at outdoor cafés; the frustration of paying for a meal with your credit card, then trying to scare up a few coins for the tip; the little basket of warm, hard-boiled eggs at the breakfast buffet, instead of scrambled or fried. Some of these are good things. Others not so much. But at least they are all Europe. And in a weird way, I missed all of them, even the parts I don’t particularly like.

Especially while traveling, every cough and sneeze I hear in public sounds amplified. Late summer is turning to fall, and reliably balmy weather is transitioning to warm days and chilly nights. As cold-and-flu season approaches, everyone’s got a tickle in their throat. And I am more aware than ever of how Europeans aren’t as careful about covering coughs and sneezes as we Americans are. I’ve always noticed this — there’s a kind of European pragmatism that figures you’re going to get sick at some point, so why fight it? But it’s jarring in the age of COVID.

As my wife and I enjoyed an outdoor lunch on our first day in Europe, the adorable towheaded twins from Germany at the next table took turns coughing violently into the air, as Mom and Dad looked on proudly. We nudged our table a few inches farther away and dubbed the duo “KOVID Karl and KOVID Kristoff.” A couple of weeks later, walking to my train in Prague’s station, I saw a guy pull down his mask just in time to expel a juicy sneeze into the air.

There are far fewer American travelers in Europe right now, and — for various reasons — there are virtually no travelers at all from China, India, Great Britain, Australia, New Zealand, and many other places. And yet, being here has been a severe hit to my American traveler’s narcissism, because I’m seeing how easily we’ve been replaced. European tourists, who might normally prefer to travel to North America or Asia, instead are vacationing closer to home. On the trails of the Julian Alps, the trattoria terraces of Tuscany, the beaches of the Cinque Terre, and the cobbles of Prague, I find myself surrounded by Germans, Swiss, Dutch, French, and so on.

Some places are downright crowded. I had trouble finding parking during a midday visit to the Tuscan hill town of Montepulciano, and I had to reserve dinner ahead each night I was in the Cinque Terre. In fact, the crowds have been one of the biggest surprises of my trip. While nowhere near as busy as the peak year of 2019, Europe is far from empty. If you’re thinking, “Now is a great time to go to Europe to avoid the crowds”… you’re already too late. It’s less crowded, sure, but it’s not uncrowded.

That said, it is enjoyable being in places that feel more local than they have in many years. One chilly, early-autumn Sunday afternoon in Prague, strolling along the Charles Bridge, I realized with a start that the majority of my fellow promenaders were speaking Czech. On past visits, I’ve walked the entire length of that bridge, utterly clogged with humanity, without hearing a single syllable of the local language.

From there I headed up to Prague Castle, which is typically overstuffed with obnoxious tour groups, and found I had the place largely to myself. It was eerie…almost lonesome.

This shift in the demographics of travelers has also brought about a big change in traffic patterns. Those intra-European tourists are not flying or taking trains or buses; most are driving — just as road trips became the go-to American vacation in 2020. This has led to some serious traffic jams on major freeways and in parking lots (like what I found in Montepulciano). Instead of one big bus carrying 50 people, you have 20 or 25 individual cars. One friend in Slovenia — which is right on the way between Austria and Czechia in the north, and Croatia and Italy in the south — termed 2021 the “Summer of Carmageddon.”

Through the pandemic, I’ve been mightily worried about my favorite small businesses in Europe. Now here, I’m seeing that most have survived, sometimes in a slightly different form. A few restaurants have retooled; as in the US, there’s more and better outdoor seating than before. Some savvy businesses took advantage of the closure to finally do some long-overdue renovation work. Hotels and restaurants that were once filled with Americans (like Isabella’s place) are now a microcosm of the EU. In some cases, this has required the business owner to make some changes to become more Euro-friendly. I’m wondering whether they might decide that they prefer to diversify, with both European and American clientele, and never go back to exactly how they did things before.

I am meeting a smattering of Americans over here, and I have to say, they’ve mostly been great travelers. These are clearly people who love travel so much, that, like me, they weren’t willing to wait six more months to get back. I’m not bumping into many novices on the road. It must be a miserable time to be a European pickpocket: All of the easy marks are scared at home.

Meanwhile, everyone’s already thinking ahead to 2022: Assuming all goes well, Europeans will presumably go back to overseas vacations, clearing the way for Americans to return. But what if the Europeans decide to stay closer to home, too? Will we be stacking two huge demographics of travelers on top of each other? And one big question I’ve heard again and again is this: When will the Chinese tour groups return? (Many Europeans see these groups as having been a breaking point in terms of excessive crowds, and wouldn’t mind if they held off a bit longer — let’s say 2023, or why not 2024? — to allow capacity to ramp up again.)

In general, I can’t shake the sense that traveling right now is a test run for 2022. Europe is ironing out the wrinkles in anticipation of what many expect will be a huge rebound year. While there are no guarantees, it certainly feels like traveling in Europe next year — in some form — will be a go. In fact, several of my European friends (especially ones in not-long-ago-overwhelmed places like the Cinque Terre and Prague) expressed concern that next year could bring bigger crowds than ever.

Of course, what I’m experiencing is a moment in time; things are constantly changing. For example, just two days after I landed in Italy, the country implemented a testing requirement for arriving visitors. In most places, these changes are speed bumps, not insurmountable hurdles. “Test in, show your vaccine card, test out. Simple!” Isabella explained, with an elegant simplicity. And, ultimately, it really is simple. I don’t know about you, but spending an hour getting a COVID test strikes me as a remarkably minor hassle for the privilege of basking in Tuscan splendor or hiking the Cinque Terre for a few days.

And what about COVID?

When it comes to pandemic measures, I see how Europeans are handling things in ways that are subtly different from the American approach, but those “little” differences add up to a huge impact.

First and foremost is simply a matter of worldview. My impression, at least among my friends and acquaintances, is that we Americans are either completely terrified of COVID, or willfully oblivious to it (even venturing so far as to call it a “hoax”). The Europeans I’m interacting with have found a middle path: pragmatism. They are soberly aware of the risks and, consequently, willing to put up with commonsense, public-health regulations…and then getting on with life. They are realistic but not frightened; cautious but not cowed. Frankly, being among Europeans through this crisis is refreshing, and inspiring.

In general, on the ground here in Europe, I feel far more comfortable than I do back home. Vaccination rates are high (and increasing); cases are low (if rising); hospitals are not overwhelmed, as they are in many parts of the USA. Overall, masking compliance is extremely high. On the few occasions when I dined indoors in Italy, I felt a wave of relief upon being asked to show my vaccination card to enter. While not a guarantee of safety, it brings peace of mind knowing that every single person in the room with me is also vaccinated.

Of course, Europe is far from monolithic. And, while each country has its own vaccination rates, caseloads, and quirky regulations, it’s been interesting to see how things vary from place to place. My sample size is small — just four countries — but broad enough to notice nuances. While the general rules are the same, they are implemented differently: In Slovenia, I noticed people sanitizing their hands like crazy when entering shops, while in Italy it’s all about the masks.

And Germany is extremely specific that people must wear FFP2 masks (the European equivalent of an N95 or KN95). Here’s a typical sign, from a restaurant in Berlin:

It says: “Inside with test; outside without. From this point, only with an FFP2 mask or a surgical mask, over mouth and nose.”

Meanwhile, the Czech Republic (where reported cases are low… suspiciously low?) feels a bit like the USA before the Delta surge: masking “requirements” are loose, and I found I was often the only person in line at the coffee shop who bothered to put on a mask. On my train from Prague to Berlin, the guy across the aisle (who was Czech) pulled his mask under his chin soon after boarding, and punctuated the four-hour trip with coughs.

As we sat together inside a crowded Prague café, in which nobody was masked, a Czech friend told me that technically, you do need to have proof of vaccination, a negative test, or proof of recovery from COVID in the last six months to dine inside. However, through some strange bureaucratic loophole, people who work at restaurants are not allowed to check your vaccination status; this is left to government officials who, in theory, can show up at any time for a surprise inspection. She heavily insinuated that these inspections are vanishingly rare. (To be honest, I’m a bit worried about a winter surge in Prague compared to places like Italy or Germany, where restrictions are being taken with grave seriousness.)

And yet, the Czechs are applying their sharp, sarcastic sense of humor even to this crisis. Here are a few new cakes I noticed at a dessert shop:

A few things are universal, though: Old social distancing stickers on the floor are completely ignored by everyone. And every European seems to have picked up the same style: When not in use, a mask is worn around the elbow or bicep. (I just stick mine in my back pocket, but maybe the European way is more sanitary — for airing out the mask — in addition to being quite fashionable.)

Another European trend that impresses me: the widespread availability of testing, both more substantial PCR lab tests and rapid antigen tests. Popup testing centers are set up everywhere. I have some Czech friends with kids too young to get vaccinated. If the kids want to go to the movies or the swimming pool, they simply stop off for a rapid antigen test on the way there. I was told that in Czechia, each citizen is entitled to two free PCR tests and two free antigen tests per month; Germany has similar subsidies. Imagine being able to run out for a fast, free test on the way to Grandma’s house. Many experts believe this is an important tool that the USA simply isn’t using.

In general, Europe is focused on what, in some countries, are called the “Three G’s”: vaccination, recovery, or testing. (In German, it’s geimpft, genesen, getestet.) In other words, if you’re not vaccinated; if you haven’t recovered from COVID within the last six months; or if you haven’t recently tested negative…then you’re not welcome to fully participate in society. As Isabella might say, “Simple!”

Being in Europe, it’s even more apparent to me than ever how the American response to COVID has fallen apart on virtually every dimension. Many in our society resist masking, and refuse to take vaccines that have been proven safe and effective. We have no uniform way to verify someone’s vaccination status, and even if we did, there are few broad-based policies to ensure that only vaccinated people can share an indoor space (this is mostly left to private business owners). And testing — which could at least provide some safeguard to compensate for those other lapses — is hard to access, time-consuming, and expensive.

Being here, I can’t shake the sense that Europe is figuring this out better than we are. And the numbers bear that out: So far, 680,000 Americans have died of COVID, in a country of 330 million people; that’s one in every 485 Americans. Meanwhile, the European Union, with 445 million people, has lost 765,000 people, a ratio of one per 580. We and Europe are fighting the same battle, with the same weapons. But the implementation is different, and so is the result.

I’ve been asked (mainly by fellow Americans staying at home) whether Europeans really want me here. Based on my highly personal and anecdotal experience, I can say I’ve been universally welcomed with open arms. In the end, most European countries do want (vaccinated, considerate) American travelers. They rely on us for their income. And they simply miss us.

Throughout this trip, I’ve been seeing lots of dear friends around Europe whose way of life revolves around travel. They’ve been patient long enough, and they are thrilled beyond measure to see American travelers again.

In Italy’s Cinque Terre, I had dinner at a restaurant with a famously entertaining waiter — a huge personality who cracks jokes constantly, wears funny hats that he changes between courses, and makes friends with each night’s diners. He thanked me graciously for coming back to Italy, and he spoke from the heart about how much he’s missed us Americans. “This is my stage,” he explained, sweeping his hand across the cozy terrace of tables overlooking the Ligurian Sea. But he hasn’t just missed his audience; he’s missed those precious connections he gets to make, night after night, with people from all over the globe…those moments where our huge, scary, cruel world feels just a bit smaller, softer, and friendlier.

Traveling right now is not for everybody: the skittish, the vulnerable, and the inflexible may do well to wait a bit longer. But for hardy independent travelers who are willing to assume the risk that comes with doing anything these days, Europe is as richly rewarding as ever.

That said, many of my European friends predict that they’re not quite out of the woods. The looming possibility that Americans could (temporarily) be asked to stay home again for a while — or even that certain countries may have a winter lockdown — is on everyone’s mind. Several have told me that  I chose the perfect time to visit (September): While weather is still good enough for outdoor dining, but crowds are less than July and August, when Europeans on holiday flooded popular places. They expect that when people move inside for the winter, just as last year, cases will rise. And they’ve watched with concern the huge spike in the US and elsewhere resulting from the Delta variant — which, so far, appears not to have fully reached many parts of Europe. The big question is whether their high vaccination rates, masking compliance, and testing availability will be enough to forestall a big winter surge. I imagine the answer will be mixed, on a country-by-country basis. Stay tuned.

Even if things do get worse again, I’m hopeful that they will rebound by spring. Europe is getting the hiccups out of the system for “traveling and enjoying life during COVID.” And even if you are choosing to wait until 2022 (or 2023), eventually you’ll reap the benefits of what’s going on here now.

In the end, nobody (including me) wants to go out on a limb and say, “It’s safe to go to Europe — go ahead!” That is still an individual decision, which comes with risk. But in my case, I’m glad I made the choice I did. And, once again, I just have to say it: It feels very, very good to be back in Europe.

 

UPDATE, October 5: I’ve now been home from Europe for over a week. And I am happier than ever that I made the decision to go. In the end, it was less “unpredictable” than I expected: I assumed that I’d need to make several adjustments to my plans along the way, as conditions evolved. As it turns out, my itinerary came off exactly as I’d planned it, to the minute. Who knew?

I did have to take a COVID test before re-entering the United States, as required by US law. So, two days before my flight, I stopped by one of the many popup testing centers in my Berlin neighborhood — less than a 10-minute walk from my rental apartment. There was no wait, and I was in and out in a matter of minutes. (The only hitch came when I filled out the online form on my phone and paid the €40 testing fee with a credit card. “Oh no! You didn’t need to do that,” the clerk told me. “The government recently changed the policy. Now the test is free, even for foreigners. I’ll refund your money.”) Ten minutes later, I got an email with my official test result — negative — which I showed when I checked in for my flight. Test in, test out, simple!

Again, there are ample good reasons not to travel to Europe right now. But fear is not one of them. Nothing in life comes without risk. As we move into the late/post-COVID era, I suspect we’ll all need to get a little more comfortable with accurately assessing risk, and then making an informed decision about what we do and don’t do. It’s easy to say in hindsight, but in my particular case, this trip was absolutely worth the risk.

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Europe’s 10 Best Markets

What traveler doesn’t love a great European market? There are few better windows into local life than rubbing shoulders with shoppers, browsing stands piled high with colorful produce, nibbling on street munchies, and being fully immersed in the sights, sounds, and smells of the local community.

Over half a lifetime of traveling around Europe, I’ve been collecting my favorite market experiences for travelers — where you can glean some insights into local culture and cuisine, and browse for a good, local, quality meal. This is a mix of old-school covered markets, trendier food halls, and sprawling, open-air markets that take over an entire neighborhood or town. I’ve heavily skewed my suggestions to foodie options, where you’ll find dishes that are creative and interesting (rather than just fill-the-tank), while still being affordable. Happy browsing!

10. Mercado de San Miguel, Madrid, Spain

Madrid's Mercado de San Miguel

Just steps from the grand Plaza Mayor, in the heart of Spain’s capital, sits this 1915 erector-set market hall. Fully remodeled in 2009, today it’s a bustling showcase of edible Spain. Squeezing between the crowds, you’ll find only the best jamón ibérico (air-cured ham), Manchego and other artisanal Spanish cheeses, powerfully piquant skewered pickles and olives (banderillas), delectable pastries, little skillets of paella, tinned fish and seafood, brochetas (meat or seafood skewers) grilled to order, smoked salmon, sweet vermouths from around Spain, croquetas with various fillings, Mexican dishes from a Michelin-star chef, and robust Rioja wines. It’s a culinary tour of Spain, under one roof.

9. Östermalms Saluhall, Stockholm, Sweden

A classic. Anchoring Stockholm’s posh Östermalm neighborhood, this market hall is simply elegant. Handsome, hand-carved wooden stalls display just-so piles of produce, stacked as if posing for a still-life. The wares here feel…curated. Composed. With Scandinavian precision. There aren’t many bargains in this pricey city, but the Östermalms Saluhall is fun to browse for a high-end picnic, or to settle into a market eatery for a quality deli plate, a delicately composed salad, a sticky Scandinavian sweet roll, a splurgy seafood dish, a gourmet smørrebrød (open-face sandwich), a delectable handmade praline, or a selection of Lebanese small plates. Note: The food hall is undergoing a makeover through 2020; in the meantime, the vendors have set up temporary digs nearby.

8. Markthalle Neun, Berlin, Germany

Berlin’s Kreuzberg district is home to its most cutting-edge, engaging culinary scene — and Markhalle Neun is its flagship. Tucked in a workaday neighborhood away from the tourist sights, it fills a beautifully restored 19th-century hall with greengrocers, cheesemongers, butchers, fishmongers, florists, and bakers, all with an appropriately Berlin-hipster vibe. Meanwhile, food stands sell Berlin classics like Buletten (meatballs), Stolle (open-faced sandwiches), Brezel (big doughy pretzels), and Currywurst — but also Italian pastas, French crêpes, Turkish deli meats, Spanish tapas, and even BBQ from the USA. Markhalle Neun scores bonus points for its many special events (listed at www.markthalleneun.de), including its Saturday farmers market and its “Street Food Thursday” — a beloved institution for Berliners seeking a trendy yet affordable dinner.

7. Mercato Centrale, Florence, Italy

For years, I’d peek tentatively inside this cavernous market hall in the center of Florence, which felt dark and foreboding. With tattered stalls and piles of garbage out front, it felt like it hadn’t changed since the days of Vittorio Emanuele II. Then, in 2014, they converted the top floor into a high-end food circus. Just walk past the still-grubby produce stalls on the main floor, and hike up the stairs to a world of Italian taste treats: hand-rolled pastas, prizewinning prosciutto, massive steaks cooked so rare they still moo, melt-in-your-mouth panini, gourmet burgers made from Tuscany’s prized Chianina beef, rotisserie chicken, big juicy wads of mozzarella di bufala, handheld flatbread sandwiches called trapizzini, big slabs of rustic pizza, tender stewed beef cheeks, truffle-infused oils and pâtés, the rustic Tuscan bread soup called ribollita, deep-fried tasties,  cannoli and other Sicilian sugar bombs, and high-end tripe sandwiches (a Florentine classic!). Travelers smart enough to escape the tourist-gouging restaurants on the main drag retreat to this upper level — like pigeons in the rafters — to take a break from intense Renaissance sightseeing with pretty much any Italian taste treat they can imagine. Tuscany is home to many foodie finds — but this is one of the best.

6. Belvarosi Piac, Budapest, Hungary

In Budapest, tourists flock to the Great Market Hall, an elegant palace of produce built around the turn of the 20th century. And you really do have to see the Great Market Hall. But don’t eat there — the “local”-seeming food counters upstairs specialize in ripping off naive tourists. Instead, head to a different, smaller, and far more authentic neighborhood market hall, also right in the city center (a couple of minutes’ walk from the Parliament): the Belvarosi Piac on Hold Street. In an atmospheric Industrial Age space that feels like the Great Market Hall’s little sibling, producers occupy the ground floor, while the upstairs is ringed by tempting high end-yet-affordable food stands: massive schnitzels at Buja Diszno(k), gourmet sausage at Lakatos Műhely, Russian grub at Moszkvatér (named for the since-rechristened “Moscow Square”), gourmet burgers at Kandalló, Thai-style khao man gai (poached chicken in garlicky sauce), and updated Hungarian classics at A Séf Utcaja. Anchoring the space, down on the main floor, is Stand 25 Bisztró. Here, celebrity chefs Szabina Szulló and Tamás Széll artfully fuse Hungarian classics with international influences (or is it the other way around?). While not cheap by market hall standards, Stand 25 a bargain for a Michelin-caliber lunch in a memorable setting (lunch only, plus dinner Friday and Saturday, book ahead).

5. Ballarò Market, Palermo

The Sicilian capital has some of the best, most vivid street markets in all of Europe. And the granddaddy of them all is Ballarò — seedy, chaotic, bewildering, and invigorating. Come here to jostle with Sicilians who verbally arm-wrestle for the best deals on the best ingredients. The vendors — continuing a tradition that supposedly dates back to Arab rule — warble their sales pitches with an otherworldly cadence, demanding the attention of passersby. Giant slabs of pink tuna perch on marble counters, like cadavers ready to be dissected. Produce stands overflow with vivid-purple eggplants, long, skinny Sicilian zucchini, and tomatoes that actually taste like tomatoes. Best of all, scattered throughout this multi-block span of barely controlled chaos are a wide variety of tempting street food stands, selling greasy napkins topped with dirt-cheap taste treats for every level of adventurous eaters — from arancine (deep-fried rice balls) and sfincioni (“Sicilian pizza”) to pani ca’ meusa (spleen sandwich) and polpo bollito (tiny boiled octopus, eaten whole). (For a complete rundown, check out my post on Palermo’s street food.) Go ahead, dive in — this is what real travelers live for.

4. Mathallen, Oslo, Norway

I love Oslo. But I’ve rarely found a memorable meal tucked among the dreary, blocky downtown core along Karl Johans Gate. However, just north of downtown runs the Akers River Valley, where the city has redeveloped a former wasteland of red-brick factories and warehouses into a lively people zone. Its centerpiece is Mathallen (“Food Hall”), filling the scavenged brick skeleton of a 19th-century factory. Norwegians recognize the limitations of their cuisine. And so, in addition to stands selling fresh, whole-grain bread (at Smelt Ostesmørbrød) sweet and savory pies (at Mildrids Kjøkken), and farm-fresh geitost cheese (at Ost & Sånt), you can nibble tapas, pastas, sushi, tacos and tequila, pizza, Asian street food,  gourmet ice cream, and much more. Ringing the outside of the market are a variety of industrial-mod, higher-end eateries. I skipped the fried chicken and “global tapas,” and went a bit more traditional at Vulkanfisk, serving up affordable-for-Oslo, elegantly presented, fresh seafood (the garlic-sautéed scampi were a flavor bomb). Anytime I’m in Oslo at mealtime, I come up with an excuse to head up the Akers River to Mathallen.

3. Maltby Street Market Rope Walk, London

One summer, my wife and I rented an apartment in London for a week and checked out a different market each day. And at the end of the trip, the Maltby Street Rope Walk emerged as our favorite (every Saturday and Sunday). Tucked along a vintage brick railroad trestle, far from any tourist attractions (roughly across the Thames from the Tower of London), it’s an explosion of foodie energy. Beyond the hole-in-the-wall eateries, wine bars, taprooms, and Mozambique-style burger bars squeezed into the arches under the train tracks, the weekend market adds a world of pop-up food stands: grilled sandwiches oozing with tangy English cheese; little slices of rye bread mounted with melt-in-your-mouth Scottish salmon; slabs of grass-fed, dry-aged, rare-grilled hanger steaks; wild variations on Scotch eggs; Middle Eastern flatbreads with savory toppings; German-style sausages; gyoza steamed in wicker baskets; and a mouthwatering array of gooey brownies. For a more traditional “market hall,” it’s hard to beat London’s famous Borough Market. The funky Camden Market sprawls through a yellow-brick wonderland of old industrial buildings. The Portobello Road Market charms Notting Hill fans. And the Broadway Market feels like ground zero for East London’s hipster baby boom. But if I had to pick just one market that incapsulates cutting-edge London…it’s Rope Walk.

2. Mercado da Ribeira/Time Out Market, Lisbon, Portugal

My favorite European market hall has a split personality. One-half of the market is as classic as they come: traditional, rough-and-tumble vendors selling fragrant herbs, plump produce, and an aquarium’s worth of fish. It’s ragtag, ramshackle, and trapped in the 1950s, with rickety wooden stalls, puddles pooling on cracked tile floors, petticoat-clad grannies selling rough bunches of herbs, and Old World scales with dials that spin imprecisely as if digital were never invented. On its own, this market hall is endearing enough to earn an “honorable mention” on this list. But from there, you can step through a door into La Ribera’s other half: a sleek, futuristic, top-of-the-line, Time Out-themed culinary wonderland (opened in 2014). The two dozen eateries here include stands operated by five marquee, Michelin-rated Portuguese celebrity chefs selling affordably price tastes of their favorite dishes. You’ll also find smaller stands bursting with a variety of local and international meals: the beloved Portuguese steak sandwich called prego, croquetes with fillings both traditional and creative, bacalhau (rehydrated salt-dried cod), fresh-baked pasteis de nata and other pastries, Japanese-fusion dishes highlighting the long-forgotten influence of early Portuguese traders, traditional cheeses and charcuterie, catch-of-the-day, quality steaks, gourmet burgers, artful sushi, and crispy pizzas. Rounding out the scene are a well-stocked wine shop, a place to stock up on conserves (tinned fish with colorful wrappers), and a branch of A Vida Portugesa (a classy vendor of Portuguese-themed products, gifts, and keepsakes that tempt even non-shoppers).  Whether for a meal or a one-stop-shop to stock up on all things Portuguese, Mercado da Ribeira is a winner.

1.  Market Day, Sarlat, France

Sarlat’s street market is hard to top. It’s the refined yin to Palermo’s gritty yang. Twice weekly — on Wednesday mornings, and all day Saturdays — the pristine, lemony-sandstone streets of one of France’s finest towns become a big outdoor shopping mall. Locals pour in from the countryside to browse the stalls, reconnect with their favorite vendors, and bump into old friends. You’ll find baked goods, fresh meat, duck-in-a-can (confit de canard), giant wheels of rustic mountain cheese, tiny pyramids of fine gourmet cheese, nuts and dried fruits, explosively flavorful olives, mammoth chunks of nougat, snail shells prefilled for escargot, fruitcake sold by weight, a rainbow of preserves, salamis and sausages of every shape and size, and whatever produce is in season. When the noon bell tolls, the vendors begin packing up, and the shoppers scramble for café tables that catch just the right mélange of sun and shade. This is where the second phase of the Market Day ritual kicks in: taking some time to nurse a cup of coffee with someone you haven’t seen in a while. It’s all so simple…so sophisticated…so smart. If you won’t be in Sarlat, you can enjoy similar market days all over France; every community has its own, but popular ones include Uzès (in Provence), Beaune (in Burgundy), and several in Parisian neighborhoods. But Sarlat is the one that has left me with the warmest memories of an ideal market experience.

What’s your favorite market in Europe?

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2019 Discovery: Berlin’s Kreuzberg, Germany

Crowds got you down? This post is part of a series of 10 European Discoveries for 2019 — off-the-beaten-path gems where you can escape the tourist rut and find a corner of Europe all your own.

Kreuzberg has long been known as Berlin’s “Turkish immigrant neighborhood.” But it’s also so much more. Once surrounded on three sides by the Berlin Wall — ground zero for squatters, draft dodgers, punks, and protesters — Kreuzberg is now at the vanguard of Berlin gentrification. Wall? What wall?

Chasing down leads for our Rick Steves Berlin guidebook, I discovered that Kreuzberg is made up of many micro-neighborhoods called Kieze, each with its own distinct personality. Ride the U-Bahn to Kottbusser Tor (“Kotti” to Berliners) on a Tuesday or Friday and stroll to the riverside Turkish Market, a commotion of sights, sounds, and smells reminiscent of an Istanbul bazaar: vibrant rugs, piles of olives, aromatic teas, and sizzling food carts, along with everyday items like clothes and kitchenware. From there, simply explore.

Just across the canal, the Graefekiez lives at the perfect intersection of foodie, yuppie, and affordable; the nearby Paul-Lincke-Ufer embankment is home to some of Berlin’s most cutting-edge restaurants. A few blocks away, Markthalle Neun is Berlin’s super-trendy food hall, with stalls selling gourmet tapas, tofu sandwiches, and Berlin-style meatballs (Buletten). The Bergmannkiez features a swanky shopping zone, a lively market hall, and famous Gemüse Kebab and Currywurst stands with lines around the block. And the Wrangelkiez is jammed with creative bars and restaurants, from microbrews to traditional Georgian food.

You could have a fun and varied visit to Berlin without ever leaving Kreuzberg.

The second edition of our Rick Steves Berlin guidebook — hot off the press —includes a brand-new self-guided walking tour of Kreuzberg.

For nine more suggestions on where to get away from the crowds, check out my 10 European Discoveries for 2019.

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Digging Deeper in Berlin

Spending time in Berlin (working on our new Rick Steves Berlin guidebook), I enjoyed getting to know several Berliners. And what really struck me is that almost none of them was originally from Berlin…and each one had a different story of how they came here. They also all spoke fondly about their loyalty to their own little micro-neighborhood, or Kiez. And they all expressed concern about Berlin’s recent surge in gentrification, which is changing the character of various Kieze virtually overnight.

Hearing all of these observations, I came to realize that the city-state of Berlin is practically its own organism. Like London, Paris, New York City, or other multiethnic, cosmopolitan cities, Berlin has its own strong and unique culture that’s distinct from the rest of the country. I wrote up these two new sections for Rick Steves Berlin, which ponder intriguing aspects of Berlin’s unique makeup. While people rely on guidebooks mostly for tips on where to eat, where to sleep, and what to see, at Rick Steves’ Europe we also like to provide readers with cultural context. I hope you enjoy this sneak-preview excerpt of our newest book (which hits bookshelves in September):

Berlin’s Kiez Culture

Berliners have a strong sense of community. They manage this in a big city by enjoying a strong neighborhood identity. Your neighborhood is called your Kiez (“keets”). This doesn’t refer to a large swath of the city (like Prenzlauer Berg or Kreuzberg), but a microscopic sub-sub-sub-neighborhood. A Kiez can be just a few blocks, barely big enough to contain a smattering of key services (grocery store, school, park), and typically named for a major street or square. People tend to live lives very focused on their Kiez, and rarely stray. Some Berliners venture to other Kieze only when entertaining out-of-town visitors.

Each Kiez has its own personality — but things are definitely in flux. As a traditionally low-rent district, once surrounded on three sides by the Berlin Wall, Kreuzberg used to be thought of as being home to two types of people: draft-dodging, alternative-lifestyle German squatters and hardworking, lower-middle-class Turkish immigrants. And to an extent, you’ll still see both groups in Kreuzberg. However, over the last decade or so, several Kreuzberg Kieze have gone through a predictable life cycle of gentrification: Artists and hipsters, lured by the Kiez’s low rents and ramshackle funkiness, move in. They open up gourmet ramen shops and fair-trade coffee houses, stoking a buzz. As these areas become hip and desirable, rents increase — often forcing out long-time residents and ultimately changing the face of the Kiez.

As you talk to Berliners, you’ll learn that these issues of class, gentrification, and socioeconomic stratification are a huge preoccupation. Some make a hobby of chasing the latest trendy neighborhoods around town before they “go mainstream.” Others grow disgruntled at having to move farther and farther from the center, priced out by über-rich yuppies. Throughout its history, Berlin has been a city in transition. And, I imagine, for just as long, the local pastime has been complaining about those changes…and today is no exception.

The Many Faces of Berlin

Like any cosmopolitan city, Berlin has relatively few born-and-bred “original Berliners” — many of the people you meet here aren’t from Berlin, or even from Germany. As you get to know the locals, you’ll come to understand Berlin’s melting pot.

Many Berliners are “internal expats” from elsewhere in Germany. The first wave of these came to West Berlin back when the Wall was up — lured by draft deferments and tax breaks designed to keep this little outpost of the West vital. West Berlin became home to an edgy combination of granola peaceniks and tattooed-and-pierced punks, squatters, and graffiti artists. Still others came to West Berlin for business.

A second wave of “internal expats” arrived immediately after the Wall fell — when East Berliners flocked to the West, abandoning their homes. East Berlin in 1990 enjoyed an “anything goes” anarchy that attracted German artists, students, recent graduates, and unattached singles eager to live on their own terms. This was the heyday for squatting in — and eventually renovating — abandoned apartments.

A third wave of expats — both from inside and outside of Germany — came in the 2000s and 2010s, as Berlin put behind the chaos of reunification and blossomed as a 21st-century cultural capital and all-around cool place to live. You’ll meet many Americans and Brits who came to Berlin as backpackers, fell in love with the place, and decided to stick around. One told me, “People move to Berlin when they want to live in an exciting, international city but can’t afford London.”

And, of course, Berlin is also home to a vast number of immigrants and refugees from the Middle East and North Africa. In the post-WWII years, with a decimated population, West Germany needed help rebuilding. Through the 1960s and 1970s, the government invited Gastarbeiter (“guest workers”) from poorer nations to live and work in Germany. With approximately 200,000 residents of Turkish descent, Berlin is considered the largest “Turkish city” outside of Turkey. These families — some now in their second or third generation — are an integral part of Berlin society.

More recently, refugees have formed another strand of Berlin’s cultural tapestry. In 2015, Chancellor Angela Merkel offered asylum to people fleeing war-torn Syria — and 1.1 million took her up on it, in that year alone. While many have since resettled elsewhere, hundreds of thousands remain in Germany. Syrian Berliners have opened Middle Eastern bakeries and restaurants, and the Pergamon Museum actively recruits Syrians as tour guides — allowing them to proudly show off the masterpieces of their homeland’s ancient culture.

If you really want to understand Berlin…take the time to get to know some Berliners. And be sure to ask about their own personal story. You’ll never hear the same one twice.