Where would you go for one day? One week? One month? Forever?

"So where would you go back to right now, if you could?" 

I hear this nearly every time I'm in a social setting and mention my Not-So-Grand Tour. It's a fair question, always a good conversation-continuer (especially for someone like me who is always eager to compare travel notes). Anthony's comment on my last post reminded me of my problems replying to the query, though--I don't have a single good answer. 

I respond, "How long do I have? A night? A week? A month? Forever?"

Because there are some cities where it's just flat-out dull to be a tourist: not a lot of big, flashy sites or official Things To Do. They're just filled with normal people doing normal, everyday things. In a word: boring. Lookin' at you, Brussels.

And yet Brussels also has a discreet weird/surreal streak (visit the Magritte museum and you'll see what I mean) and a disarming sense of unease with itself--a historic city where much of the history has been demolished; a French-speaking city in a Dutch-speaking region of a famously conflicted country--that I find compelling and even enchanting. I can imagine living there--it seems like an interesting place to grow into, a taste one acquires. A place to settle down. Just not to visit for a couple of days. 

As it happens, though Brussels is also where I'd go for just one night, because it's home to one of the best bars I've ever visited, Delirium Tremens. Total tourist trap, but there seemed to be plenty of locals there, and even though the place is huge, it's compartmentalized in such a way that it always feels intimate. Best of all, it a genial, conversational atmosphere like I've never seen--the place buzzed with energy but wasn't loud and didn't feel like an obnoxious "scene." I've talked a lot about the tourist trail as the crossroads of the world, and this is a classic example. (Lee, care to chime in about this?)

So here's my list (as of this moment, though it changes often) of Where I'd Go Back To Right Now: 

One night: Brussels. With Lee and/or other friends, though I think it's best shared with just a few people. We'd go to Delirium Tremens and then stumble through the Grand Place very late at night, and sit on those cobblestones with the ghosts of that historic space dancing around us. There might also be some waffles and chocolate involved.

Grand Place at night. Pretty sweet, yes?

One week: Berlin. Because it's another confusing, conflicted, historically rich city. Even though we were there for four days, I feel like I didn't see any of it. 

One month: Madrid. Part of it is that I really want to master Spanish. I know just barely enough to get by, more or less, but I'd love to master the language. But I also just feel in love with the people, the food, the architecture, the general vibrant but not frenzied spirit of place. It's a culture I'd like to get to know more. At the same time, though, Madrid feels like someone I might date for ages but know, in my heart of hearts, that I would never want to marry--there's an attraction, to be sure, but that underlying mutual sense of ease and understanding and belonging just won't ever come. Madrid would be a great extended fling. So would Rome. Or Paris. All so charming and beautiful and fun and achingly chic. Six months, definitely. An amazing six months, to be sure. Maybe a year. More than that, though? I'm not certain.

To live: Brussels or Amsterdam. I guess there's just something so intoxicatingly romantic about living on a canal, and Amsterdam feels like more of a Real City than Venice. I loved the Jordaan neighborhood, slightly removed from the tourist center, quieter and funkier than the more popular areas (I don't need to go back to Damrak ever, thanks). It may not have the intrinsically attractive aesthetics and world-capital energy of Rome, Paris, and Madrid, but I'm more than okay with that. And Brussels ... well, as above, there's just an ineffable weirdness to the city that I find completely alluring. It seems like an artistic, intelligent, subtly witty and semi-neurotic kind of place. Again, not first-glance beautiful by any means, but subtle charming all the same. As I said, a place to grow into, bit by bit, but--I'm guessing--more than worth the effort. Ultimately, Amsterdam and Brussels both just feel like cities with the right combination of grit and beauty; they're cultured but not pretentious. I felt grounded and at peace in some intangible way.

Plus, Brussels has some great patisseries, which counts for a lot in my book. Beer, bakeries, historic buildings, low-key-but-convivial vibe. Done. I'm happy.

So. Anyone else want to play along? One day, one week, one month, and/or for the rest of your life. Where would you go? (Anywhere, not just in Europe.)

New title, new design, same me

Some housekeeping. So you might have noticed something. Like this blog's new title and new design. Both now thirty-eight percent lighter and cheerier and lower cholesterol.

(If you're viewing this in Google Reader or some other RSS feed thing, you'll have to click through to see what I'm talking about.)

The new title--Europe on Five Wrong Turns a Day--reflects what I think, maybe, possibly (ask me later) is the final title of the actual book. It's more tangible, more accurate, more funny this way, yes? Yes. Good. I'm glad you agree. Oh, and, yes, I'm aware the that the domain name and the new title are different. Working on it--trying to get it so that all of the old links still work and such, before I transfer to a new domain name.

Content-wise, the blog will stay more or less the same: quips, rants, stories, and general commentary on travel topics, particularly those relating to:

1. unexpected angles and insights on tourism and the beaten path, because there's usually a hidden story behind the cliche; 
2. guidebooks and travel apps and how we get informed when we plan our journeys; and 
3. the history and evolution of tourism in the last generation. 

I may also start posting about other things more often. We'll see. Honestly, until the book comes out next year, posting is probably going to be pretty light. But if you want any posts about anything, by all means, holler (doug@douglasmack.net).

Wow, that's a lot of boring behind-the-scenes stuff. To bring us back on-topic, I leave you with the full version of the photo I used for the new header. It's from something I stumbled across in Paris when I was lost, the Parade for Sex and Beer. At least, I think that's what it was. I don't know. I couldn't figure it out and I rather enjoyed the mystery of the bizarre spectacle, so I didn't ask anyone.

This is why it's so awesome to be lost: you accidentally stumble upon this sort of thing.

Long live the handwritten letter: an aerogram template for you

1. Aerograms are awesome, if you still remember what they are. 
I love aerograms--or aérogrammes, if you want to sound sophisticated-slash-French. Alas, they're dying out. The United States Postal Service doesn't sell them anymore; neither do many other postal services around the world. Every time I type the word aerogram, my computer puts a little wavy red line below it. That's not a real word, dummy, it says. To which I reply, in my best just-turned-30-so-feeling-curmudgeonly voice, Add to dictionary, you ignorant youngster.

2. Maybe I should back up and explain.
In fact, I may already lost a few of you, as I would if I were talking about rotary phones or sextants. What's he talking about? Think of it as the stationery version of Ikea's flat-pack furniture: it looks like a standard sheet of paper, fold here, fold there, and now your letter is its own envelope. Correspondence meets origami--a neat trick, one that adds an extra layer of intimacy and interactivity that you'll never experience with e-mail or text messages. As Evan Rail put in an aerogram-appreciation essay on World Hum a while back:

Unlike an electronic message, writing an aerogram is an incredibly tactile way to communicate. In reading it, not only are you holding something that your correspondent also once held, but you are allowing your eyes to be guided by the curves and lines that person created—where the writer’s hand once dipped and swept, the reader’s eye then follows. 

3. They look like this (the top one is semi-unfolded):

My parents wrote a LOT of aerograms to each other during my mom's 1967 Grand Tour.
These are just a tiny fraction of the full stash.

4. Now go make your own.
But! Before we go getting all nostalgic and wistful--or start looking for an iPhone app that generates a holographic aerogram-opening effect whenever you receive a new e-mail message--allow me to intervene and offer you your very own easy-to-use aerogram template, set up to print on a standard (well, for Americans) letter-size sheet of paper. Unfolded, it looks like this:

Click on the image for the full-size PDF version.

Some assembly required, but that's the fun. Basically, you cut off those gray corners and then fold it up; instructions included in the upper right corner of the sheet.

Download the full-size (8.5" x 11"), high-resolution, ready-to-print PDF via Google Docs right over here. (UPDATE: If you have problems printing that version, try this this one instead, with an added bonus aerogram design on the second page.) For the full effect, print it on a flimsy blue paper.

5. Long live the aerogram! Long live the handwritten letter! Send lots! 
Send one to me, even! My address is over there in the sidebar to the left. If you do, I promise to write back.

A guidebook for the forgotten tourists

This article from the Times is several months old, but new to me:

For almost three decades beginning in 1936, many African-American travelers relied on a booklet to help them decide where they could comfortably eat, sleep, buy gas, find a tailor or beauty parlor, shop on a honeymoon to Niagara Falls, or go out at night. In 1949, when the guide was 80 pages, there were five recommended hotels in Atlanta. In Cheyenne, Wyo., the Barbeque Inn was the place to stay.

The story also provides an interesting example of guidebook as snapshot of a particular historic and cultural moment--because they are, in a sense, a how-to manual for everyday life, they can provide all kinds of unvarnished insights into the cultural norms of an era ... for better or for worse. In this case, the Times headline gets at the underlying story: "The Open Road Wasn’t Quite Open to All." Read the whole article here.

On a related note, one interesting thing I learned in my book research was that, even through the 1950s and 1960s, there was a strong tradition of middle class African-American tourists traveling to Europe not just to see the sites but because they knew they would encounter less racism, and be able to travel more freely, across the Atlantic. For more on that ... you'll just have to wait a year for the book (and then turn to the Vienna chapter). Or check out Christopher Endy's Cold War Holidays.

Questions, answers, alpacas, graphs ...

Hello to everyone who got here from my Q&A with travel writer Alexis Grant on her blog. Thanks for stopping by.

And if you haven't read it, well, head over there and see what I said. Topics include how I got my book deal, why I think writing voice is so important, the joys of the beaten path (but of course), the graph that guided my entire writing process, and alpacas riding unicycles. Kind of. Well, they're mentioned, anyway.

Go. Read.

Not-So-Flattering Views of Famous Places: Berlin edition

Lee and I took a walking tour of central Berlin, which started near the Brandenburg Gate, on the former East Berlin side. Our meeting point: a Starbucks. Right next door to the Museum Kennedy.

The plaza on the east side of the Brandenburg Gate feels like just another European central square, teeming with tourists and street performers and souvenir-vendors (in this case, a guy dressed as a WWII Russian soldier, selling WWII-related trinkets; you can see him the the second photo below) and random costumed characters of unknown significance. It's a classic example of Berlin's split personality and seeming inability to decide if it wants visitors to focus on the memorials and museums and reminders of the city's tangled, sometimes-terrible history ... or just to overload on the standard tourist schlock.

Some not-so-flattering photos of the Gate and the adjacent plaza:

And here's another interesting photo of Berlin. See the odd line of cobblestones cutting through the parking lot and running into the Marriott?

Or rather, in this small version of the photo, see the orange arrow in the lower left corner? Okay, now see the thing it's pointing to, the thing that looks like it could maybe possibly be a line of cobblestones? Just trust me: that's what it is.

That's the former line of the Berlin Wall.

The European Tourist Trap Finals

In honor of tonight's NCAA men's basketball championship game, I present to you a different sort of bracket: the European Tourist Trap Finals, featuring head-to-head match-ups between the finest-slash-tawdriest the Old World has to offer. Click for the large version.

Here's a close-up of one of the regions:

Round-by-round recaps:

First round

Over in the Art (Or Something) Region, two major favorites faced off in our very first match-up: Michelangelo's David, always a solid contender, versus press darling Mona Lisa. All that recent attention must have gotten to Mona Lisa's head, though, because she just couldn't stand up to the valiant war hero, though it was a close match-up. Meanwhile, tabloid star Manneken Pis had his way with oft-ridiculed Glockenspiel, making the most of the crude-but-innovative form that got him here in the first place.

Hofbrauhaus was the early favorite over in Food & Booze, and it played the part in its first-round challenge against Alt-Berliner Biersalon. This one was never close—Hofbrauhaus just has a deeper bench and a huge advantage in the intangibles: the tubas, the lederhosen, even the sports drinks. Casa Botin also lived up to its reputation, stopping stuffy Parisian comer Le Grand Colbert; this one turned pretty quickly into Death in the Afternoon, as the Spaniard was unstoppable.

Among the Big Ol' Monuments, many expected an impressive run from Checkpoint Charlie, on the strength of having overcome so much adversity in recent years. The Colosseum had other plans in mind, however, and showed off its gladiator spirit in the win; it also seemed to be carrying the extra weight of an entire city, as the Spanish Steps and Trevi Fountain both fell in enormous upsets in earlier rounds. The Italians had less luck in the other regional match-up, however, with Florence's Duomo falling to late French resistance and the Eiffel Tower's deceptively intricate efforts.

Finally, in the Public Space Region, Vienna's Prater couldn't take advantage of its towering star in the middle—the rest of the team looked like a bunch of clowns and carnies, to be honest—and fell hard to Montmartre. And in an intriguing contest between two waterway-based public spaces, Amsterdam's Red Light District made all kinds of questionable decisions, basically rolling right over and submitting to Venice's Grand Canal.

Second Round

The action resumed with a classic David-versus-Urinating-Toddler contest. Advantage: the Wee Whizzer, Manneken Pis, although he had continued foul trouble throughout. In a huge upset, Casa Botin beat out Hofbrauhaus, which many had expected to go all the way. Casa Botin credits its age and experience, as well as its cuchinillos. The monument showdown featured two of the biggest names out there, with the Colosseum cracking quite a bit as time wore on but barely eking out the victory over the Eiffel Tower, which too many times squandered its height advantage by failing to elevate quickly. Montmartre continued its strong run, and though its match-up with the Grand Canal featured several highlight-reel shots, the Parisians had the upper hand.

Semi-Finals

Man-oh-Manneken Pis!! The “irreverent little chap” just kept surprising us with his cheeky play and jaw-dropping creativity and ability to do anything and everything—this kid seems to wear all kinds of hats, and wear them well. Casa Botin superfan Ernest Hemingway had to be escorted from the premises mid-way through the competition for reasons unknown. Solid-but-not-flashy Montmartre kept doing well for itself in the other semifinal, showing off its own spunk and standing proud like a quiet but sacred city on a hill. A powerful showing.

Final
Parisian stalwart Montmartre had the best stuff in the end, starting with a solid foundation, a great outlook, and overwhelming crowd support. Manneken Pis ran out of his supply of tricks, but returns a hero nonetheless. He'll be back, no doubt, although someone really needs to help him fix his dribbling problems.

On that note, thank you all for being a part of this amazing competition, and we'll see you next time on the beaten path!