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Rick Steves’ Travel Blog

Here you can browse through my blog posts prior to February 2022. Currently I'm sharing my travel experiences, candid opinions, and what's on my mind solely on my Facebook page. — Rick

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Economic Crisis in Britain? Bingo!

As in the States, people in Britain have been trained by the media to talk about “The Crisis.” For 10 days, all I saw was Britain at play. But the metabolism of tourism is certainly down. It’s sad to see lively cultural events like the medieval folk banquet in Ruthin (North Wales) and the sheep shows (Ewe-phoria in North Wales and the Cockermouth Lakeland Sheep and Sheepdog show near Keswick) fall on hard times. All three were major sights in my guidebook. And now all three are gone or dramatically reduced.

For 20 years, I’ve built my North Wales coverage in part around the medieval banquet at Ruthin Castle. But they recently reduced the schedule to just two a month, making it more difficult for my readers to take part in the festivities. Driving into Ruthin, I intended to cut the town entirely from my guidebook. I was on edge, moody, as if I was about to commit a violent act. I was mad that the town would drop the one thing that put it on travelers’ map. I was going to kill it.

But as soon as I entered my good old Ruthin — and saw the funky half-timbered pubs, the humble fountain, the cheap but beloved WWI monument, the home where Cynthia Lennon lived after John left her, the church with the never-locked wrought-iron gate where everything is in Welsh, and the views down cobbled lanes leading directly into forested hills — I lost my nerve and knew I’d have to keep it in my book. Even with the reduced schedule of the banquet — the wenches playing harps, the noble lord telling Irish jokes, and the rotund voices of Welshmen and -women raising the rafters of the castle dining hall to the delight of tourists from around the world — I couldn’t cut Ruthin entirely. I scaled my coverage down, but kept the city.

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The new attraction for me — perhaps a sign of the times — was not the medieval folk banquet, but the panache that Christopher and Gavin (a big-city couple) have brought their adopted hometown with their artful guesthouse and restaurant. They’re gay, artsy, and flamboyant — a little dicey when they first came to this rural town. But within a couple of years, they and their restaurant were established. In fact, Gavin was actually mayor (actually, “president of the town council”). Today when locals want the best meal in town, they go to the Manorhaus, and are served by Gavin and Christopher.

Culture doesn’t always hit you with a goofy stage show. Especially these days, you need to look harder to find culture in action. Anyone can point you to a great ruined castle or a fine restaurant. But how do we see the culture in action for today’s residents…not tourists? It’s tough. In Conwy (North Wales), I found it in a Bingo Palace. Here’s the new entry for my guidebook:

Conwy’s former cinema is now the Bingo Palace, where nearly every evening people who are very serious about their bingo gather. Visitors simply fill out a free membership card and buy in. Don’t show up after 19:15, because you can’t start late. As the woman calls numbers with her mesmerizing tune (“eight and seven…eighty-seven…all the twos…twenty-two, only five…number five”), intense old ladies who dress up to go play blot their numbers. The tension breaks each time someone calls, “Line!” It’s keyed in with a national game, so someone can really win big. Note: As posted, “If you bring your own teabag, you’ll still have to pay 40p” (joining the game costs £7-14 depending on the evening, Thu-Tue 18:00-22:00, closed Wed, across from Castle Hotel on High Street).

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Travel Tip: Take a Hike

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I just spent 10 days in a car exploring Britain. I forgot to note the mileage, but I started in London, scoured the Cotswolds, toured North Wales, and then drove up north to the Windermere Lake District (near Keswick), before returning to London. Total cost for diesel: £120 (about $185).

For the first time, I really took time to hike in the Cotswolds and the Lake District. And when I think back on the highlights of the last 10 days, those hikes were it. Nothing too demanding — just hiking through farmland from Stow-on-the-Wold through the Slaughters to Bourton-on-the-Water and back in the Cotswolds; and up along Catbells, high above the lake called Derwentwater in the Lake District.

The point: I can’t imagine a better way to spend three hours in a day. Every day has three hours to spare. What else is so important between 4 o’clock and dinnertime? With these walks, I take home vivid memories.

In the Cotswolds: farms in action viewed from behind, ducks rudely butt-up in millponds, rabbits popping up in fields like some video game challenge, ancient wind-sculpted trees, wet and slippery kissing gates, and slender slate church spires marking distant villages where a hot cuppa tea awaits.

In the Lake District, I struggled up and over Catbells — a ridge walk I’ve recommended for years (and felt guilty having never actually hiked). The weather almost kept me in. But I was glad I ventured out — the wind “blowing the cobwebs out” (as my B&B host warned) once atop Catbells ridge, the comedic baa-ing of sheep, being the stick figure on the ridge for those observing from distant farms or boats on the lake…as others have always been the stick figures for me.

And, oh, the joy of a pub after a good hike. Studying the light on ruddy faces while sipping the local brew in a pub has always been part of the magic of travel in Britain. When your face is weather-stung and your legs ache happily with accomplishment, the pub ambience sparkles even better.

About the weather: In Britain, you don’t wait for the weather to get good. Blustery weather is part of the scene. Consider it a blessing. The majority of “bad weather” comes with broken spells of brightness. Don’t get greedy — you wish for and are thankful for brightness, not sunshine. As they say here, there’s no bad weather…just inappropriate clothing. And if you’re in a hiking area and your clothing is inappropriate, your B&B host can likely loan you a heavy coat (along with the best local map).

Hiking along the ridge, with the weather — like a dark army — storming overhead, the wind buffeting in my ears, my camera bulging but dry under my coat, and a commanding 360-degree lakes view…makes me want to turn cartwheels.

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Notes from a Parisian Wine-Tasting

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Olivier Magny, a young sommelier, gathers tourists in a royal French wine cellar a block from the Louvre. Two crude lamps hang under a rustic vault. Before us, sparkling empty glasses await an impressive array of fine French wines. As we drink, Olivier gives us a wonderful commentary. I’m no wine expert and would never claim to be, but I learned a lot. Here’s what I gleaned (from my rough notes):

White wine should be clear…if not, it’s Spanish.

Acidity is like salt. It gives wine character. “Legs,” a.k.a. “tears,” indicates how much sugar is in the wine. Dry wine has fewer legs; sweet wine has more and faster-running legs.

Americans need to break out of their four favorite words to describe the taste of wine: “dry, sweet, fruity, oaky.” When you sip a little wine and then suck air in, it exaggerates the character. You’re not making it better, but bringing out its flavors, so that it’s easier to identify the characteristics of that particular wine.

The Champagne region defended its name and therefore has a strong image today. The Chablis region did not, so winegrowers outside of France used the name and made it cheaply. Today the real Chablis is better than its reputation.

Terroir (pronounced “tehr-wah”) is a uniquely French concept. The French don’t call a wine by the grape’s name. Two wines can be made of the same grape, but be of very different character because of their terroir. A real Chablis made from the Chardonnay grape is better than Chardonnays made elsewhere because of its terroir. Terroir is “somewhere-ness,” a combination of the macro- and microclimate, soil, geology, and culture (the accumulated experience of the people and their craft).

Grapevines are creepers, with roots going through the topsoil and into the geology deep down. The roots are commonly 150 feet long and deep. While topsoil can be influenced by the vintner, the deep geology cannot; and this gives the wine a distinct character. The French do not allow irrigation, thus forcing the grapes to search deep for water.

Riesling works well both in the Alsace and in Russia. A French Alsatian vintner was offered big money to make wine in Russia. He refused, saying, “Here, I have the privilege of being from somewhere.”

There are two basic kinds of wine in this world: that of big growers and that of little growers. Big business works better for wine in places like Argentina and Australia (where 90 percent of the wine is made by three companies). Most French wine is still made by thousands of small, independent, and passionate vintners.

The French are not enthusiastic about oak barrels. A French vintner went to a wine conference in California, where the wine is shaped by oak barrels. When pressed to comment on California wines, he said, “I don’t like oak shaping my wine. When I drink Californian wine, I feel like I’m kissing Pinocchio.” (Actually, he had a more graphic way of describing it.) Without the focus on oak-barrel aging, and because of the business environment that encourages small outfits, French wine is lighter and more diverse.

Because of global climate change, wine in general is sweeter these days. A grape can’t be harvested properly until it’s both sweet enough and the tannins are right. This used to happen at about the same time. But lately the grapes are sweet enough many days before the tannin level is ready. Consequently, when the tannins are right and the grapes can be harvested, they are sweeter than is optimal. Before, the average wine was 11 percent alcohol; now it’s 13 percent.

The average French bottle sells for €3.60 (about $4.50). Bordeaux makes half of all French wine; that’s more than all the wine produced in the US. Everyone wants Bordeaux Grand Cru, and that demand drives up the price. That’s why Bordeaux, while very good, is overpriced. Burgundy makes only 3 percent of French wine. Because of its reputation and the demand, it is overpriced as well.

Back when rooms were cooler, the idea that red wine is best drunk at room temperature was established. But room temperature is higher now than it used to be. Consequently, many restaurants serve their reds too warm. It’s perfectly acceptable to ask for it to be chilled. Five or ten minutes in the fridge, and it’ll be just right.

People like their cars and dishwashers made in Germany, not in France. And they want their wines French, not German. Since World War II, the French have lifted their glasses and — after bottoms-up — said, “That’s one thing the Germans won’t take from us.”

Generally, in France you’ll get light wines in the north, and big, full-bodied wines in the south (where it’s sunnier). Big name (e.g., Bordeaux, Burgundy) means big price. Small name (e.g., Languedoc, Sud-Ouest) means potentially better value. Languedoc can be a great value for a big syrah. A high-end Languedoc costs less than a low-end Bordeaux. Of the thousand different grapes that make good wine, 10 are famous. Break out and experiment.

Merci, Olivier! (For more on his Paris wine-tastings, see www.o-chateau.com.)

Santé!

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Three Dinners on Hydra

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To commemorate the Smithsonian Presents Travels with Rick Steves magazine — now on sale online, and at newsstands nationwide — Rick is blogging about the 20 top destinations featured in that issue. One of those destinations is the Greek isle of Hydra.

The island of Hydra is made-to-order for relaxing…and that means eating, long and well. Greek food — so simple, but oh so good — tastes even better in the convivial mom-and-pop tavernas that seem to be a Greek island specialty. On Hydra, I have three favorites. They’re so delicious and so different, it almost makes it worth stretching a two-night stay to three nights to be able to dine at one each evening. I’m just wrapping up a visit to Hydra to update my guidebook, and I made a point to stop in at each of these.

Taverna Leonidas, which feels like a cross between a history museum and a friendly local home, has been around so long it doesn’t need (and doesn’t have) a sign out front…everyone just seems to know where it is. The island’s oldest and most traditional taverna was the hangout for sponge-divers a century ago. Today, former New Yorkers Leonidas and Panagiota, who returned to Hydra in 1993 to take over the family business, enjoy feeding guests as if they’re family. Diners call in the morning to discuss what main dish they’d like. Then Leonidas and Panagiota shop and prepare a great meal. When I filmed a TV show about Hydra, I found these two almost too eager-to-please: We’d arranged ahead of time to film dinner here. When we showed up, we found that they’d closed the place down just for us. Unfortunately, empty restaurants make for bad TV; we’d rather be surrounded by other diners. And so we filmed an intimate dinner…just Leonidas, Panagiota, my producer Simon, and me. But the food and company was so wonderful, it was good TV after all.

Taverna Gitoniko — which Hydriots simply call “Manolis and Christina” for its warm and kindly owners — is an Hydra institution. Offering wonderful hospitality, delicious food, and a delightful rooftop garden, this tricky-to-find taverna is worth seeking out for a memorable meal. Visitors climb up a staircase to a vine-covered terrace nestled above the rooftops of Hydra. Christina is a great cook — everything is good. My Greek-island M.O. works perfectly here: Order a variety of starters to sample as many different dishes as possible.

My favorite way to cap any Hydra day is to follow the coastal path to the rustic, picturesque village of Kaminia, which hides behind the headland from Hydra town. Kaminia’s pocket-sized harbor shelters the community’s fishing boats, and on the bluff just above is Kodylenia’s Taverna. Owner Dimitris takes his own boat out early in the morning to buy the day’s best catch directly from the fishermen, before they even come back to port. Here, with a glass of ouzo and some munchies, as the sun slowly sinks into the Saronic Gulf and boats become silhouettes, you can drink to the beauties of a Greek isle escape.

I hope you’ve enjoyed revisiting 20 of my favorite destinations this summer. The Smithsonian magazine covering these 20 places is just finishing its run on the newsstands. Good news: It sold great. It seems that, just like travelers on Hydra have an appetite for that perfect Greek taverna meal, travelers back home hunger for tales of faraway places. Thanks for joining me.

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Tallinn: I Cut the Forest

Tallinn, the capital of Estonia, is the only part of the former USSR that I include in my guidebooks and TV series. I put it in our Scandinavia guidebook because I love it — it’s so easy to reach from Helsinki (ferries leave hourly, it’s a 2-hour ride, no visas, and they’ll be on the euro in just a few months), and it provides a great contrast to the rest of Nordic Europe.

The Old Town — with the best-preserved medieval center in all of Nordic Europe — is quite comfortable now. In fact, it’s almost too comfortable. It’s Muzak hell: Billy Joel melodies done à  la Kenny G are everywhere. At the same time, there’s an edge I really like. I ate dinner under rusty barbed-wire lampshades in the first pub to open after communism fell.

Its Russian-ness sharpens Tallinn’s edge. Estonia is one-third Russian — a leftover from when the Soviet Union planted Russians here in an attempt to do to Estonia what China is doing to Tibet. While China is succeeding, Russia did not dilute Estonia into oblivion. Today Estonia is strong — but with a tough Russian minority that resists assimilation. Strolling through the Russian market, you feel tension. They are clearly the poor minority. And young Russian men can often make me uncomfortable. Their lives are tough. As I was passing a group of young Russians with heads nearly shaved bald, one of their phones rang. His ringtone was the sound of gunshots.

On my visit last year, I was charmed by the Estonian tradition of burying loved ones in forests. Wandering in a dense pine forest with well-cared-for tombs scattered all around, I thought this would be great for our TV show, and included it in our script.

This year, I returned with a script that read, “You feel the connection to their land and heritage at the forested Estonian cemeteries. Estonia is a thickly forested country and, for many, they see trees as almost spiritual.” Then I planned for my guide to say, as he’d told me last year, “This is our forest cemetery. Since ancient pagan times, we Estonians have buried our loved ones with the trees. We are people of the trees. This is one way we are still connected with our pagan past…still uniquely Estonian.” But it felt a little forced. While he could say it to one tourist, looking into a TV camera, he hedged and squirmed. I decided to leave it out of the show.

Still, we ended up with a great new show called “Tallinn and Helsinki: Baltic Sisters.” As I figured last year, each one is not substantial enough to make a blockbuster script individually, but a show split between these two fascinating cities is very full and strong.

Finishing our work in Estonia, we wrapped the last show of our new series. It’ll air this October.