Tour Guiding

Originally published on Vagablogging. Direct link here.

This week I returned from a month and a half overseas working as a tour guide, helping to lead two different groups on an epic Best-of-Europe grand tour. The experience was a new one for me; after years of exploring the continent’s cobbled backstreets and ancient cities as a solo travel writer, I found myself with the unique opportunity of being a guide for one of America’s most well-respected touring companies.

A couple of concerns dogged me as I flew over the Arctic Circle, the plane making its slow path from my home base of Seattle to the tour departure point of Amsterdam. Questions like, how would I be able to handle a large group as we steam across the continent day in and day out? And, how will the mechanics of moving groups from one site to the other in an efficient way? But these concerns paled next to the most significant challenge: Helping the scores of American travelers connect to the history and culture of the places they came so far to experience.

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Staring out my window at the endless expanse of the north Atlantic, I began to feel the weight of the responsibility settle into my gut. How do I curate this experience for our flock? I’d always done it for myself just fine; teaching others how to appreciate the richness of Europe was something I’d never needed to do beyond my writing. It was easy enough to crank out articles about the places I’d visited and about the treasures—the food, the history, the people, all the things that make up the culture—those places had to offer. Would I be able to help our travelers connect to them and appreciate them in the same way that I did?

The teaching I’d done before—giving free travel talks at public libraries to would-be travelers who were interested in learning how to create their own independent European adventure—was indispensable. The classes I’d taught had given me a sense of what tickled a traveler’s fancy and what common-sense issues they worried about. This gave me the advantage of being able to anticipate questions and concerns, sometime before the group members even knew they had them.

The true challenge was facilitating the tour member’s experience of the culture. It was in trying to cast new food experiences as a part of good travel, as “sightseeing for your palate”. It was in helping them fend off museum overload by urging them to see the art of the Louvre and the Accademia with their hearts rather than their mind.

It was in not rushing through another “check the box” locale (don’t rush through St. Mark’s square, I counseled, just take your time and find your own way to relate to the space). And it was in fending off cathedral overload by teaching that architecture was art we walk through—art that took generations of devoted believers and craftsman to create—rather than just another drafty old building.

Finally I kept the old teacher’s maxim close to my heart: “The task of the teacher is to honor the integrity of fact while at the same time igniting the student’s imagination.”

Over the course of the following weeks I’d work on striking that balance, always trying to bring long-ago stories and long-dead people to Technicolor life. Success for the tour guide also means the tourists returning home knowing that the struggles, the tragedies and triumphs of those who inhabited the majestic castles and cobbled city streets so long ago set the stage for the world as we know it today.

The trick to achieving that was helping them forge an emotional connection to the events a given site had witnessed; that its history was not just a collection of faceless dates and facts, but human beings with hopes and dreams who lived in similarly dramatic times of war, economic uncertainty and dramatic social change. Those folks tried to make the best of it, and somehow got through it. We can too.

But more than just the appreciation of history, it’s the appreciation of the culture that really informs a successful travel experience. My hope is that the tour members came away with a renewed perspective on how Europe’s endlessly varied tapestry of cultures, while wonderfully diverse, are similar to our own in the most fundamentally human ways.

If you ever find yourself in the trying but satisfying role as tour guide, I think you’ll find that those lessons are your tour members’ best souvenirs.

A Taste of Alsace

Tucked amongst the rolling green vineyards at the foot of  Northeastern France’s Vosges Mountains, a collection of immaculately preserved little villages hide five centuries’ worth of history and expert wine making in their colorful Renaissance-era half-timbers. Dotting Alsace’s rural Route du Vin—the loop that ties together some of France’s best vineyards—marvelously authentic villages like Riquewihr, Kayserberg, Eguisheim, and Hunawihr have happily defied the onslaught of time.

village in rural Alsace, France

village in rural Alsace, France

Long beloved by wine enthusiasts and vacationing French, the cobble-stoned hamlets have become known to tourists worldwide who flock to soak up the authentic old-world cuteness—and sample their excellent vino.

The almost perfect preservation of the villages is in itself a minor miracle. The region, not far from the French-German border, has for centuries found itself the object of a tug-of-war by Europe’s two great imperial powers. The Germans believed their rightful territory extended to the mountains, while the French considered the Rhine to be the natural border. The picturesque territory—with its mellow Alsatian plain spilling out from the Vosges Mountains and renowned for its grapes since Roman times—was tussled over by diplomats and kings from the early middle ages onward.

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As a result of centuries of boarder-moving depending on which country had won the latest struggle, the region developed a fascinating hybridized culture. It was reflected in the language (Alsatian is a peculiar dialect) and the cuisine (the savory French dishes carries elements of the hearty Germanic fare). It’s not usual to see street signs bearing both a French and a German name; most of the signs date from the time when their national affiliation was constantly in flux. The residents of the villages, many of them vintners, consider themselves Alsatian first and Frenchmen—or occasionally Germans—a distant second.

Despite the political drama, the region prospered during a medieval boom in its wine industry. The resulting wealth led to many of the beautiful structures that stand today. The photogenic villages—crammed with wine shops, galleries, bakeries and stay-a-while cafés—look similar but have their subtle differences.

Tiny Kayserberg boasts a historic hometown hero—Nobel Prize winner Dr. Albert Schweitzer, famous for his humanitarian efforts in Africa, was born here in 1875. In addition to the notable local, the town also has an ancient church holding a historic 1518 altarpiece. Its proximity to the vineyard-blanketed hills and a looming castle in the hills makes it popular with the hiking set.

 

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A little further along the winding Route du Vin is the cute-as-can-be hamlet of Eguisheim. The closest village to regional city Colmar, Eguisheim’s Hansel-and-Gretel aesthetic exerts a powerful pull on romantics. The collection of brightly painted medieval houses—some more charmingly ramshackle than others—make meandering down its winding alleyways a treat.

Hunawihr has a gorgeous Renaissance-era church in addition to its collection of cute half-timbered dwellings. Riquewihr is another gem. Boasting a magnificent medieval bell tower, a museum and fine cafés, it crams historic and culinary treats into its confines.

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That is not to say the area was untouched by the tumult of the twentieth century. In fact, the region so used to being a political pawn found itself as the battleground in a profoundly important military event. As the New Years’ Day 1945 glowed pink at sunrise, German forces unleashed a surprise attack in the Vosges Mountains, sweeping down into the sleeping Alsatian plain. The region’s villagers were unknowingly in the middle of Operation Nordwind, Hitler’s last offensive of World War Two.

Ferocious fighting ensued over the course of several weeks in subzero temperatures. Allied and German vehicles alike became bogged down in the snow and mud while savage combat tore apart ancient towns like Bennwihr. In the sorts of random twists of fate that occur in war, the villages of Riquewihr, Kayserberg, Eguisheim, and Hunawihr were left unscathed while unlucky Bennwihr was almost completely destroyed by the dueling armies.

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Despite the early pummeling, the Allies rallied and by February had reclaimed the vineyards, villages and mountains from the Germans. The failed offensive decimated much of Hitler’s remaining forces, and the Allies penetrated Germany not long after. Once again quiet settled upon the region and the villagers went back to making their wine as they had for centuries. Post-war tourists discovered the area’s charm and the resulting boon encouraged locals to keep their communities just as previous generations had—clean and quaint.

Now the villages welcome wine enthusiasts and romantics alike to be enchanted by their cobbled lanes, medieval wine cellars, and colorful Renaissance houses. Sample some of the local product and wander the winding back alleys with your camera before lounging at a café. The villages are full of hardworking folks who are happy to share their little slice of history with any traveler interested enough to seek it out.

Introducing travelers to Europe’s riches

This summer I’ll be spending several weeks helping to guide travelers through Europe’s best sights. A dream job to be sure, but the stakes are high; the task of introducing people to the richness of Europe can be a heavy burden. Being in charge of a group’s travel safety and general exposure to the rich cultural treasures of any place is a daunting responsibility.

I adore this French village in Alsace region.

I adore this French village in Alsace region.

Curating a group’s travel experience is not for the faint of heart. The question is always how best to introduce people to the buzzing urban intensity of Rome, the humid, decadent decay of Venice and the vertigo-inducing heights of the chilly Swiss Alps. One person’s death march through the hot, crowded streets of Florence is another’s carnival of once-in-a-lifetime Renaissance sights. On the other hand, consider that same tour member’s restless boredom in an ancient half-timbered German hamlet. It’s another’s perfect medieval village vacation under the shadow of a ruined castle looming in the hills above.

The main task of any good tour guide is, of course, to help people connect to the history, the people and the culture of the place they’ve come so far to see. And different people connect to the culture in different ways. Some come for the food, while others could care less about the cuisine scene. Some just want to take in the sights, while still others need every historical detail you can offer them. One tour member’s Michelangelo is another’s gelato; it’s not right or wrong. It’s just different, because people are different.

A good guide can gently expose a conservative American mom to the permissive hedonism of canal-laced Amsterdam, and inspire her to think about the Dutch culture’s success in keeping drug abuse and teen pregnancy to record lows compared to our nation’s sad stats. Or bring the history of an otherwise lifeless site to life through a well-rendered story detailing the intense human drama it witnessed. The same guide can introduce the tired, indifferent sightseer to the majesty of the Louvre and the Uffizi Gallery, and walk out with a convert to the flashy, fleshy vividness of Renaissance humanist art.

So the tour guide’s other main challenge, then, is to help one connect to the place in their own way, on their terms. In other words, help them find what they’re looking for—and sometimes what they didn’t know they were looking for. Some come for enlightenment and some come for a good time. There is no reason they can’t leave with both, their bag filled with insights and fun memories that will last a lifetime.