The Grumps don't win

The Venetians built a church specially-designed for Vivaldi. A pair of 14 year old twins can increase my hope for the future. And the reason cows wear bells is because their horns don’t work. Three of the many things I learned during this year of guiding tours of Europe for Rick Steves.

Not Vivaldi's church. This one's in Paris.

When I look back at the year I feel an overarching gratitude and admiration for the people I got to meet and share a trip with. The feeling glows and warms. And then snags. Because this year had something else too. For the first time in my (admittedly less-than-ancient) guide career, I had a tour member who...I don’t even know how to say it. I would not want them on another of my tours.

Rick Steves offers a tour experience far above the sort of shambling boredom I see on other buses and in clusters of clueless curmudgeons blocking the sidewalks and galleries of Europe. Largely, we just draw a fantastic clientele (thank you, PBS!) but part of the magic is our “No Grumps Policy.” The logic of it always made sense to me; negativity is contagious, and if someone’s not happy, they don’t need to be there bringing everyone else down.

In the Forum you can focus on the sun, or that you're standing in history. Your choice.

But it wasn’t until this year that I witnessed how subtle it can be. No overt tirades, nothing tangible enough to justify removal from the group, but as time went by nothing was ever good enough or worth appreciating, and I never once saw a smile. Several local guides recognized it immediately, but I just chalked it up to botox. But when the evaluations came in, I realized it was much worse than that. People who I know had a fantastic time were complaining about the size of the showers etc. It feels clear to me that if this person hadn’t been in there radiating negativity, those people would have brought home another positive memory instead of gripes about shower stalls.

Negative energy is problematically powerful. I sat with the person for one meal and was considering quitting my job by the time dessert came. At the very least, I was ready to sign off the tour as a loss.

Sure the view, whatever. Ugh, do there have to be so many people?

Then something happened. Perhaps inevitable and undoubtedly wonderful. I talked to other tour members. And was restored. I remember one lady in particular that night, enjoying the unexpected fireworks display the town put on, taking unmitigated pleasure in the light and sound and moment shared with the small beach community. The words are forgotten but I remember the healing power in hearing how much fun she was having, what the tour meant to her, and how grateful she was to be on it. I walked away from that chat ready to sign up for 100 tours on the spot.

It's all about how you....frame it.

Her positivity is reflected in the hundreds of tour members I’ve had, with just the one who bummed me out. That’s magnificent. And beyond that, it’s important. Because in a moment where the worst of us is degrading the Oval Office and contaminating the headlines, it’s good to remember that the vast majority of us are beautiful people. I can expand out to all the innumerable niches of Europe, rock climbing walls of San Francisco, classrooms of the IRC, streets of New Delhi and prayer-soaked hallways of Dharamshala, I can expand to embrace all the environments and moments I found this year and in the cast of thousands I see an incredible panoply of human goodness.

So, though the grumps are out there, the lovers and delighters outnumber them by a degree of magnitude that gives me hope. And I didn’t even tell you about the twins. Humanity is beautiful. And I can’t wait to go back to work.

I think that guy's going to need his own post...

New ancient beauty in Phong Nha, Vietnam

“Sure, Myanmar’s great now, but you should have seen it five years ago!” Budapest ten years ago. Prague twenty years ago. Kathmandu in the 60’s, man, that’s where it was at!

8 Lady Cave. They say it used to be better

You hear this sort of thing a lot in the travel world. Mostly fond affection and glowing nostalgia, but a handful of pessimism thrown in as rank spice (my least favorite of the Spice Girls). The idea persists that everything is gradually getting worse, paved over, trampled and bleached by an overexposure of crowds, marketing, and facebook blahblah.

I get it. I really do. But I don’t believe it. If the primary goal of travel is to widen your perspective and encounter variations of life beyond your domestic norm, then that is eternally available. And the purely physical, singularly esthetic? Is that all going down the drain? McDonald's in the Vatican, spray paint in Yosemite, and garbage everywhere else?

Yes. I mean no! Sorry, pessimism is sneaky. But the world has new beauty to show us. That’s why I rented a motorbike in Vietnam.

Phong Nha Ke-Bang National Park was added to the UNESCO list in 2003, with more of its remarkable caves found since then, particularly Thiên Ðường (Paradise) Cave in 2005 and Son Doong Cave not well-known outside the area until 2009.

I puttered on down to Eight Lady Cave first (can you blame me?) and while respecting the history and sanctity of a place where people died, as a cave it was underwhelming. More of a shallow grotto, now.

But I was happy as an albatross on my two-wheeled partner, so buzzed and swooped over to Paradise Cave. The guy at the hotel estimated I’d need an hour or so in there.

Paradise Cave entry stairs

I don’t wear a watch when I’m not working, but I doubt I was out in under three. A raised boardwalk extends a full kilometer into the cave, modest by Phong Nha standards, but it may have been the slowest, most awe-filled kilometer of my life.

So beautiful. Such an earth church. Walking in the body of the great mother, feeling hippy whether I liked it or not. Still and sacred, undisturbable, equanimity no matter how many jabbering tourists shook the walkway. Some checked their email in there, and still I felt love for all beings.

My eyes readjusted when I birthed myself out of that cave, and found it raining. A benedictory blessing of Earth by Sky, Water falling through leafy Life to land on Soil and me.

Sure, Prague was different 20 years ago, probably better. But Phong Nha wasn’t even on the map yet. So I’m excited to see what’s still in store for the open heart and grateful eyes of the traveler to come.

$3.50 changed (and risked) my life

I was in trouble. Both immediate and longer-reaching. A major part of my life had just shifted, bringing a serious challenge to the way I’d been doing things. Travel, this deep love and part of my life, might never be the same. For about $3.50

Moments like this. Local woman hacking off slivers of a
banana trunk with a machete to feed the buffalo.
How quotidian.

How many long bus rides, watching the undiscovered world out the window, seeing these unlabeled moments of interest blur past, nothing I can do, the driver’s in charge? But now, with the rubbery grip of a rented motorbike twisting its satisfying pull of kinetic energy beneath me, I was the decider. This day in Viet Nam might have changed everything. Would I be able to travel as I used to? Or would every trip have to be evaluated for its accessibility to motorbikes? And I’d need to learn about maintenance, quick.

But anchored in the present moment I had mist on my cheeks as they grinned out wide in a breeze of rice paddies and buffalo patties, the typhoon tingle of land washed for weeks, and I was moving in the world, not past it. The bajillion unknown niches of the nation all available to me, and life was good. I gave it a solid twist, opened her up, pushed that needle higher.

Felt like freedom

You already know this, but traffic laws in most of the world? Nah. In Southeast Asia? Hahaha Yeah, no. You just go. More of a vibe than a formal system, do nothing hasty, no sudden changes of velocity. And I was feeling the flow. Had been for weeks, and now with my own wheels. So I merged onto that road with just a glance at what was coming and what was ahead, cars and people, all manageable. No need for brakes.

But my stubborn American eyes just had to look one more time as I pulled onto the Ho Chi Minh Highway. To see the truck come around the corner in exactly the wrong spot, hidden from my first look but a bit too close now. I gave it more gas, accelerating to get ahead, turning back around, feeling the bike pull faster. That’s when the water buffalo stepped onto the road in front of me.

Now I could pull over for the lady
selling a head in her driveway

No sudden changes of velocity! Physics backed up the native system as my brakes slowed this wheel while combustion accelerated the other, or somesuch kinetic dilemma, and the bike went down, sliding across the pavement, taking me with it among the pretty tinkling shards of my side mirror glass.

You remember that jarred feeling. When you realize something happened? The abstract awareness that the quiet is louder because you were just listening to the crunch of collision? The idle curiosity as you assess your body for bones sticking out, glass sticking in.

REALLY never expected to post this online,
but seems a bit too perfect, taken at the very
beginning of the day. (The buffalo in question
was as big as all those mere cows put together.
I promise.)

I had none of those. Just another bike lying on its side in the maelstrom of Vietnamese motorways, palm a little scraped, mirror shattered. And a very large water buffalo showing me no interest whatsoever as the truck drove past.

I still feel that deep shift, the pull of a motorbike beneath me, tugging me into a different sort of adventure. But maybe I can take it a little slower.

Hue welcomes you

Hue's Dong Ba market

So much rain. Beaded on dragon fruit, dripping off those iconic conical caps, and blending in with the wet scales of freshly caught fish waiting in baskets for today’s buyers. Markets are one of my favorite places to people-watch, and Hue was a pristine example of their beauty, stink, and chaos. I barely had to step outside my hotel to find the first of the street food stalls boiling savory soup over wood fires, around the corner to the kinesthesia of a meat market, and across the river to the biggest sprawl of traditional commerce in Hue (pronounced hwe, sorta hway).

But behind and between those market stalls were the shattered remnants of another city. Hue wasn’t treated as well as Hoi An during the Vietnam War. It’s importance in heavily disputed central Vietnam (just 43 miles from the Demilitarized Zone) ensured that both sides fought obstinately to hold the city. And when the violence of men is involved, the “hold” something is to destroy it.

The centerpiece of Hue is the Imperial City, where the Nguyen Dynasty ruled on the banks of the Perfume River. Massive rampart walls reflected in a moat where flagrant red and orange koi drifted around, waiting for food, a painter, the next dynasty, all of it with equal ichthyal patience.

Ngo Môn, the Noon Gate of Hue's Imperial Citadel

Outside bustled everyday streets with a little extra dignity, but inside the walls meditated the Imperial Citadel where the business of empire flowed down red lacquer hallways and under the upturned eaves of temples. Ponds dappled with typhoon drops, intricate carvings below ornate balustrades, and dragons guarding the rooftops. And in the center, the Forbidden Purple City, where only the emperor, his concubines, and chosen few were allowed, trespass on penalty of death.

This lady made me lunch, going under the
old arch to get me tea, smiling beautifully
(despite the blood-red stain of paan

American bombing destroyed most of those buildings. And mass graves from the Massacre of Hue by the occupying then retreating Viet Cong defiled large areas around the rest. The Tet Offensive. “Offensive” is on the right track, for all war.

But those memories have taken their place in the horde, all of it washed by the typhoon drops that fall like years to wash under the feet of Nowadays. And nowadays in Hue are good. Kids playing soccer on fields where troops once massed. Smiling women under remnant archways cooking banh canh and the various dishes perfected by the palates of emperors. And a grinning boy too shy to take a picture but too interested to look away.

The sights of Hue were beautiful. Its food clearly made an impression. But it was the people who made me love Hue the most. Violence comes through, but smiles come back. And Hue is smiling.

Why you should go to Istanbul

Sultanahmet Camii, aka The Blue Mosque, near where I was walking

“Hello! You walk like an American” said the smiling stranger in Istanbul’s Sultanahmet Square. How was I walking? Having been to the city a few times, I knew where I was going but felt no hurry in the constant beauty of that incredible city. Did this relaxed confidence mark me as an American? What a terribly lovely idea.

It wasn’t the sort of association I would have expected on my first visit, when I arrived rank with trepidation as to how the locals might view my American nationality. But now it wasn’t that surprising, after those nerves had been immediately dispelled by the undeniable hospitality and irresistible kindness of the Turkish people.

It didn’t take long. I remember the students who jumped to help me on my first train ride in from Ataturk Airport, when I didn’t know to transfer at Zeytinburnu. Their eager words and laughter made me feel I was among friends already.

Baklava and cai with my
brother on a later visit

And at the hotel I remember the staff’s good humor and patience as I puzzled through “teşekkür ederim” to say thank you. It’s a phrase I needed a lot, for those who helped me navigate the sections of that incomparable city, the vendors and waiters who brought me Turkey’s delicious cuisine, and for the advice from friends I made on the ferry from Kadiköy to Beşiktaş, crossing back to Europe after a day in Asia.

The phrase was easy by the time I left Selçuk and automatic before I reached Fethiye. Then I learned its Kurdish counterpart in Diyarbakir and used it often as I wandered the beautiful present and past of Mardin and Hasankeyf, then was humbled by the help of a man in Batman. So much more than a superhero chuckle!

People love to ask a traveler where their favorite place is, and I never quite know how to answer. Though Holland and Nepal come to mind quickly, the most common answer I give is Turkey. In its ancient cities and modern comforts, natural beauty and human kindness, Turkey has something wonderful for every visitor. And none of it should be forgotten in the face of the human vileness of these terrorist attacks.

Why is Turkey the target of so much violence? Several answer for this, from modern politics to ethnic history, but one particular reason stands out, essential to remember when it comes to Turkey.

Inside the Hagia Sophia, a church that became a mosque and
is now a museum. Peace and welcome for all.

Turkey represents hope. Established by Ataturk in 1923, Turkey was born a secular nation whose political, religious, social, and economic changes modernized the country and made it a bastion of stability and freedom in a Middle East wracked by war and the dissolution of the Ottoman Empire.

To focus: Turkey was founded as a secular nation in an Muslim region, and with balance and freedom it has thrived. That’s why it’s under attack by Daesh. Because Turkey, with its concrete demonstration of harmony between modern western culture and Islam, is a threat to those small minds who want us to think Islam is somehow at war with Christianity. It shows the lie of those sad souls who want us to think the Middle East is an opponent of the West. It laughs at those who suggest that we brothers and sisters are somehow enemies.

That’s why they’re attacking Turkey.

And that’s why we should keep visiting.

Terrorists want us to stay home and fear. Instead, I choose the many sites and pleasures of visiting Istanbul, from the markets of its Asian shore to the Golden Horn, including Sultanahmet Square where that man, after saying I walked like an American, invited me to çai with him in his carpet shop.

I know, what a cliche, the Turk inviting you to the carpet shop. It is. And it happens. And yes it’s probably a sales pitch. But it’s so much more. He knew I wasn’t going to buy anything, and invited me anyway. We sat and drank tea from tulip glasses and he beamed when I told him I’d visited and loved his hometown to the east. And when his coworker insisted on showing me some samples, including one that was $420, my newest Turkish friend found it hilarious when I told him that 420 is synonymous with marijuana in America.

We were not enemies, that man and I. Nor are America and Turkey. And we should never be enemies, the West and the Middle East. In Turkey you can visit that. You can sit at the table and watch the unity of the human spirit, as currents flow between continents on the historic streets of an incomparable city.

You can even walk like an American and make a man chuckle at pot.

I want to go back to Istanbul.

Yeni Cami, aka The New Mosque, in Istanbul. (More photos on the vagabondurges.com version)