The bicycle. To many Americans, it is a fun hunk of recreational metal. To others around the world, it is a vital and necessary means of transport. Slowly, as the industrial nations begin to feel the consequences of the 20^th century marvel that is the automobile, more and more of us are ‘taking to the streets’ on our bikes. I sold my car before I left to travel the world and now that I am back, my two means of transport: bicycle and public transport.

Cities around the United States are finally becoming more bike friendly by making roads more people friendly and not just ‘made for cars.’ Even Google Maps recently added a ‘by bicycle’ option when plotting out directions. I use this often in Chicago.  Google’s Midwest manager of global communications and public affairs said, “Maps have (for the most part) been made for cars. We wanted to make maps for people.”

Google takes into account hills, routes that are better for biking, and neighborhoods.

When I travel, I join up with a bike tour whenever possible. In my opinion, there is no better way to get an overview (and often an ‘otherview,’ seeing off-the-beaten-path sights) of a new city.  Not only is it a more interactive way to get to know a city, if you take one the first few days of your arrival, it helps you get your bearings for the rest of your visit.

Bike tours I’ve taken during my travels over the last several years:

• Chicago — Chicago Cycling Club
• Arizona
• Montreal
• Cotopaxi, Ecuador
• Buenos Aires
• Sydney
• Melbourne
• Vietnam — Intrepid Travel
• Budapest
• Krakow
• Munsterland, Germany
• Berlin — Fat Tire
• Berlin II — Berlin on Bike
• Paris — Fat Tire

Chicago has really beefed up its bicycling resume over the last decade. It doesn’t hurt that “da Mayor” is a cycling fan and has helped push the installation of hundred of more bike racks and the creation of dozens more biking lanes all over the city streets.  And Chicago events like this weekend’s annual Bike the Drive, during which Lake Shore Drive,  the city’s major artery along the lakefront, is closed to all automobile traffic all morning and thousands take to the street to enjoy one of Chicago’s most beautiful drives, really put cycling into the spotlight.

In many parts of Asia, the bicycle is still the formidable and much more affordable vehicle upon which citizens get themselves to and from work.  In no other place to me was this more evident that Vietnam, where bikes outnumber cars about 3 to 1.  Cities in Europe have longtime embraced the bike. In Amsterdam, my Dutch friends happily hopped on their bikes and joined the masses, carrying them everywhere.   My friend, Vibeke, even straddled her ‘chariot’ to get her to a big fancy charity gala cloaked in a dress, heels, and all.   In Sweden, bikes are the norm and my friend Paula glides through the streets with aplomb no matter what the weather.

But no other country, I’ve been to has got it down to a science like France.  Lyon, France began a Vélo’v public bicycle rental program in May 2005.  Vélib’, French for free bicycle or bicycle freedom, is now a mainstay of urban travel across France with tens of thousands of self-service bikes made available throughout the country.  In other French cities like Paris, Toulouse, and several others, these city-wide bike renting systems are now in place allowing you to rent a bike for an hour or the day and return it to any number of stations scattered all around the city. So in essence you can ride a bike to work and leave it at another station and not worry about locking it up or having it stolen. All you need is a credit card and usually the first 30 minutes are free with a deposit or weekly fee. I used the bikes in Lyon and loved it. The system couldn’t be more perfect and organized. I had a free bike and before my 30 minutes were up, I would come across another bike station and could return the bike or even take out a new one for another 30 minutes to return that one somewhere else. Genius!

Even big US city mayors like Michael Bloomberg of New York City and our very own bicycle guy, Mayor Daley have visited the city of lights to check out this innovative program.  If you can, take to the streets and think of your bike as more than a once-a-month recreational pastime. Ride it out to meet friends, ride it to the supermarket (like I did today and stuffed my backpack chock full of fruits and veggies), or ride it to work. You will get their faster than waiting in rush hour traffic, you will save money on gas, and you will feel good.

Some Chicago Bike links:

• City of Chicago Bicycling Program
• Active Transportation Alliance – Chicgoland’s voice for better biking, walking, & transit
• The Chainlink – Chicago Bicyclist Resource
• Chicago Cycling Club — FREE bike tours all over Chicago
• Bike the Drive – Sign up now…takes place May 31^st!
• McDonald’s Cycle Center – One of the country’s largest bike parking facilities
• Wrigley Field Free Bike Valet – Free awesomeness!
• L.A.T.E. Ride – July 10^th/11th
• Boulevard Lakefront Tour –  August 29th
• Chicago Critical Mass – Bikes take over the streets the last Friday of every month
• Bobby’s Bike Hike – City bike tours
• Fork and the Road — Biking AND eating tours!

Every country I visit has its share of amazing local food; fantastic fromage and charcuterie in France, fresh vegetables and layered spices in Vietnam, super fresh, still nearly breathing sushi in Tokyo, overflowing plates of tasty mezze in Greece and Turkey. And then there’s the comforting food of Italy. Perhaps it’s because, as Americans, it is one of the foreign foods that we barely consider foreign. Who didn’t grow up in the United States eating pizza, lasagna, baked ziti, spaghetti Bolognese (pasta with meat sauce) or veal parmigiana?  It seems no matter what your background was, mom always made some kind of Italian meal at least once a week. And if you grew up in or near New York like me, local, first and second generation Italian pizzerias and pasta joints were more common than McDonald’s.  My spot of choice was Frank’s Pizza just a few doors down from my high school job at the local, family-owned (and second generation Italian) video rental store, Image Photo & Video. I could always pop in for lunch for a slice of yummy mushroom or prosciutto pizza. Or maybe some Eggplant parmigiana?

So, as I journeyed my way down the bountiful boot of Italy, I devoured the foods I’ve always eaten, but here with a bit more robust flavors, often times fresher ingredients, and of course, the backdrop of a centuries old piazzas (squares) all adding to the experience.

Torino (Turin)
Italy’s fourth largest city had a major facelift recently thanks to the Winter Olympic Games that were hosted here in 2006.  This capital of the Piedmont Region has had many food innovations, not to mention it’s the home of the ‘little Italian car that could’ – the Fiat (lovingly said to stand for “Fix it Again, Tony”).
Turin is the home of Lavazza Coffee and one of my favorite things on the planet – Nutella. This jar of chocolaty goodness is available at just about every supermarket around the world – and why wouldn’t it be? Who can deny the rich flavors of chocolate and hazelnuts spread on a slice of bread, cracker, or just simply licked off a finger. If you haven’t ever tried it yet then run, don’t walk, to your nearest grocer and buy several jars, because I promise, one won’t be enough.

Turin is also the home of a big culinary movement that is growing fast – Slow Food. In the US, for decades we have wanted nearly everything done fast – our commutes, our meetings, and our meals. Often times, we scarf down some kind of mystery meat on a bun at our desk at lunch…all the while keeping our eyes on the computer screen and one hand placed upon on not so hygienic mouse. Gradually, it seems we are more enjoying the art of dining out with friends and making it last. When was the last time you savored a meal – slowly masticating each tender morsel and taking the time to enjoy the flavors and think about what you are eating? Maybe that’s part of our problem we don’t even think what we shove down our gullets and five minutes later the meal is over and we go about our business.

In 1987, McDonalds began its inevitable expansion into Italy. A few Italian foodies got together to make sure this was not the end as they knew it to the fabulous Italian sit down meal. Carlo Petrinim and some of his foodie friends (neoforchettoni or ‘big forks’) wrote a manifesto which was published in the Italian foodie Culinary Magazine, Gambero Rosso.  LINK They declared that a meal should not be measured by its speed, but by its pure pleasure. From this they founded the soon-to-be world famous Slow Food organization.  Its mission was to reconnect artisanal producers with interested and consumers. And it’s working. Slow food has grown fast. Their membership is close to 100,000 in 50 countries worldwide. And their message of biodiversity, sustainability, and shared food resources is traveling around the world at lightening speed.  Just as they had hoped, the Slow Food movement is growing faster than McDonald’s expansion – at least in the Piedmont Region. There are now about 30 of Ronald’s burger joints, but at least twice as many acclaimed Slow Food restaurants plus the fabulously chic and well-stocked new slow food superstore, Eately. Catchy name, eh? I visited this Whole Foods crossed with an Italian food-lover’s paradise and drooled over the enormous selection of cheeses, meats, breads, pastas, fish, chocolate, and olive oils. Stark white shelves heave with perfectly aligned jars of oily, salty anchovies, a plethora of pestos, tasty tapenades, freshly made pastas, and so much more. But luckily there are cafes sprinkled throughout the store where you can sit down and chow on some of the delights right before your eyes.  And for dessert, of course, there is a gelato stand where part of the proceeds goes to charity.

Parma
This lovely provincial town may be one of the most expensive and richest in all of Italy. Why? Two words: prosciutto and parmigiano. High in the hills of Parma in the Emilia-Romagna Province of Italy amidst the evergreens and snowy mountaintops, live a few hundred producers of what is possibly the world’s most famous ham: prosciutto di Parma. I got a ‘behind the scenes’ tour of one of the local producers, San Nicola, one of the first in Parma to go from a small artisanal family practice to a more industrialized shop trotting out 100,000 legs of prosciutto each year. But don’t let the word “industrialized” fool you, San Nicola is still a family-owned operation employing just 13 folks.   It is among all the other hundreds of shops in the area who together ultimately produce 10 million legs of prosciutto each year – 450,000 of which are exported to the USA.  That’s a lot of ham.

What is prosciutto exactly? Isn’t it simply some cured ham? Well kind of yes…and kind of no. If you ask Luca Baratta, the Manager of Production at San Nicola, he will tell you it is much, much more than that. It is a centuries old tradition that is now regulated by the government in which nearly every aspect of this ham production is regulated and approved.  His factory for the most part feels like a library…a library of meat. Rows and rows of metal shelves with quiet hanging pink legs just waiting, relaxing, and aging in peace. It is super clean and quiet with a handful of workers only seen at the beginning of the assembly line where the fresh legs come in from the local pig farmer. Here they are checked for quality, sorted and stamped with metal seals of approval. From here they are salted, then rinsed and eventually hung to age for anywhere from 16 to 30 months.

For ham to actually be given the regal moniker of Prosciotto di parma it must follow strict guidelines established by the government in 1970 under what is called the D.O.P. – the Denominazione di Origine Protetta (or Parma Ham Consortium). In a country that takes its food very seriously, this is kind of like the food police and you don’t want to mess with them.  The guidelines pertain to many criteria including where the pig came from, how they are raised, what they eat, how they are slaughtered, and of course the actual salting and curing processes.  Every step of the way is checked, monitored, and given a stamp of approval. In fact, in today’s over-marketed world where nearly everything is “new and improved,” “genuine,” and “premium” it is nice to know that the prosciutto governing body forbids these qualifications and others like it. The only words allowed to be used are “boneless” and “sliced,” if that is in fact the case.

Some of the not-so-secret secrets of good prosciutto are the length of time it’s aged and having a thicker layer of fat encasing the meat. Some may seem this as unhealthy, but in the aging process it’s this fat that locks in the moisture and flavor making ham magic happen and ultimately creating some of the best prosciutto I’ve ever had the pleasure of tasking – tender, melt in your mouth deliciousness. Luca says through the process, this food product is actually better and healthier than when it first started.  Perhaps he’s right because it tastes like heaven.

Bologna
No my friends this is not the home of that odd and bland American invention, Baloney. Nor is it home to the U.S. version of spaghetti bolognese. But it is the home of 

alla bolognese …the real deal meat-based sauce with actually very little tomato and never served over spaghetti (a Naples invention), but with the local egg pastas tagliatelle or lasagne. The recipe, issued in 1982 by the Bolognese delegation of Accademia Italiana della Cucina, confines the ingredients to beef, pancetta, onions, carrots, celery, tomato paste, broth, red wine, and (optionally) milk or cream.
Perugia
The original chocolate kiss, the Baci is from here. These hazelnut, chocolate morsels are made by internationally imported chocolatier – Perugina, one of the most successful confectioners in Italy. The company was introduced to the U.S.A at the 1939 World’s Fair in New York, and have since become known for fine chocolate around the world.  And, of course, in this time of mergers and big business, Perugina is now a division of the Swiss Nestlé corporation.

I could go on and on about the specialties from each region: the rich more robust sauces of Calabria and Sicily, the Napolitano Pizza, the secretly sniffed-out truffles of Umbria and so on. But perhaps like me, you are now hungry…so get down to your local farmer’s market for some fresh produce, hit your local Italian market for some fresh pasta (or better yet, learn to make your own), grab some extra virgin olive oil and mangia!

With the proliferation of the internet and WiFi, I have found myself sending a lot less postcards then on former trips. But when you’re on a ‘round the world’ tour like me, you will inevitably have to send some packages home from various countries. I’ve been fortunate to have a few friends visit me while I travel and not only of course is it great to see them, I also benefit by being able to shove some crap into their bag that I no longer need—like some memorabilia I’ve collected or the hiking boots I haven’t worn since the rainforests of South America or the magic walking stick from New Zealand or the conical Asian hat I got in Vietnam. This way they can cart it home for me and I save a ton on postage and mostly am saved from the stress I would suffer by worrying if my precious package would ever make it safely to the shores of ‘Amerika.’ When I could not pawn things off to friends, every few months I’d put a little care package together to send home. I’ve learned that the post offices around the world are as varied as the toilets. And some are just as stinky.

Monteverde, Costa Rica—This was a tiny post office up in the cloud forest with one window and one man. No muss no fuss. Signed, sealed, delivered.

Galapagos Islands—In the middle of an empty beach on an island only inhabited by animals three hours from mainland Ecuador is a ‘post office.’ Well, it’s actually just a wood barrel with a door cut out, but it may actually work better than some real postal systems that I have come across. Here’s the deal: You write a postcard to someone you know (or perhaps a stranger if you are feeling friendly) who lives anywhere in the world. You address it and sign it, but you DON’T put a stamp on it. You leave it there in the barrel. Then you look through the other postcards that have been left in there and take one that is supposed to be ‘sent’ to your country…or a country where you are headed. Once you get to that country you can either hand deliver it if you are near the address or just buy local postage and just send it off. It’s a postal system by the people, for the people. Sounds perfect, but, by the way, has anyone ever received my postcards from here??

Melbourne, Australia—Fairly similar to going to the post office in the US: fill out some forms, pay way too much money, stamp it with some official looking seals and away it goes—all the way around the world and up into another hemisphere. Too efficiently boring to give me anything interesting to write about.

Hong Kong—Here I remember playing ‘musical windows;’ the first window guy said to go to another window across the room. At the second window, they weighed my package and addressed it. Then I had to return to the first window with some kind of receipt which I gave window guy #1. Here I had to pay and he stamped it. Then I returned to finished package the second guy. Got it?

Hanoi, Vietnam—I think I could have sat in this tiny post office (similar to a small bar with some round stools at the windows) all day and never have been served. They certainly didn’t ask me if I needed help and when someone local came in she would literally just shove in front of me at the window and be helped before I was even acknowledged. Before I ‘went postal,’ I finally pushed my way in and was handed, I kid you not, about five different convoluted forms to fill out—each one just about the same as the last. My current address, the recipients address, the address of my second cousin once removed, several lists of what the contents of the box where, the value of each item in Vietnamese Dong, the total weight, etc. I was given two different total costs by two different people. I was not feeling confident about this one and thought I would never see my Vietnamese trinkets and souvenirs ever again…but alas it arrived weeks later intact and unharmed.

Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam—One of the prettiest post offices, it was in a grand old building and kind of looked like an old fashioned train terminal. I had been told ahead of time by fellow travelers that I did not need to scavenge for a box prior to my arrival here. The young man that helped me here was great—he found me a box behind the counter, we put everything in it exactly how I wanted it and he spent the next ten minutes taping it up so good—that the whole box was covered in blue tape and you could not see one speck of brown from the original box color. I filled out one form and paid in cash (only). I noticed that the ‘form process’ was much simpler than in Hanoi—kind of strange considering it is the same country, no? In the end, I made a possibly detrimental decision and chose to save money by sending it ‘sea mail’ as opposed to the modern method of ‘air mail.’ I pictured my sad little package all wet and moldy with crabs and seaweed clinging to it on the decks of some old pirate ship. Four months later it arrived in the US and apparently had no sea creatures in it. Amazing.

Istanbul, Turkey—This was a doozey. There were only five windows at this post office and yet none of them wanted my package. They actually ushered me through the ‘employees only’ door and behind the glass partition that usually must separate postal worker and postal user. I had brought my package unsealed to show its contents. Not only did they not care one iota of what was inside, they did not have me fill out one form at all. No, actually there was one form—it was practically the size of a postage stamp and had three lines on it—one for the sender’s name, one for the recipient’s name, and on the final line they scribbled the word ‘Amerika.’ Doesn’t seem like enough info for an important international parcel, does it? I already did not have a very confident feeling. After finding out my package was going to ‘Amerika’ the postman told me, like nearly every other foreigner I’ve met, ‘America? George Bush bad man.’ I agree, but it gets tiring after a while being a spokesperson for our entire nation and carrying the weight of the American government’s often bad decisions on my shoulders. Plus, at this point, I just wanted to mail my package, not be a diplomat. I actually forced the two Turkish postal workers that were helping me to just take a gander of what was inside my box, just out of habit. Then they haphazardly taped the box shut, took it away, and told me the price as if we were finished.

“What about the address??” I exclaimed.

“Oh yeah, address, address.” The two men said in unison. Then they proceeded to slap on some plain white stickers onto the top of the box where I was to write in the address.

No official stickers. No official cards. The postage meter machine apparently had a maximum of nine lire per sticker so now he had to slap about five different meter stickers all over the top of my box wherever they would fit. Lastly he licked an ‘airmail’ stamp and a “Turkey” sticker and slapped them on as well. By the end of this unofficial process I just about decided I would certainly never see this package or any of its contents again. When the nervous security-crazed U.S. Customs Department sees this crazy looking, hand scrawled box coming from 99% Muslim Turkey…they will probably just blow it up on site.

In actuality, all of my packages traveled half way around the world and have arrived safely. BUT ironically, the postcards I sent out from the most efficient, anal city in the world, Singapore, never made it. Makes you wonder. Maybe Turkey is on to something.

Here are some general tips for you if you decide to send packages from abroad:

1. Bring your passport.
2. Bring cash and lots of it. Many post offices in other parts of the world do not accept credit cards.
3. Bring your package unsealed. Oftentimes for Customs purposes, they will need to look inside (excluding Istanbul) to see what kind of contraband you are actually sending, so be prepared to explain your ‘apocalypse now’ shot glass from Vietnam or the ‘opium pipe’ you picked up for decorative purposes in Phnom Penh. Also be aware that many post offices can provide you with a box and tape it up for you.
4. Bring your patience, sense of humor, and comfortable shoes.
5. Before you go, make a list of what you are sending. This will make it easier to fill out all the forms and keep them all consistent rather than you repeatedly shuffling around the contents of your package (like most guys I know tend to do).
6. Of course, wrap everything breakable very carefully. And then you will inevitably unwrap it and wrap it again after you show it to the postal worker.
7. Don’t mail anything from Singapore.

I have been away from “home” for six months now. But considering the fact that I don’t have a home at the moment (in the literal sense) just makes me feel more ‘at home’ in the world. I seriously can’t believe I’ve been traveling alone for this much time, but I’ve rarely been or felt “alone.” I’ve met so many different and interesting people—other travelers, locals, tour guides, and had so many different and wonderful experiences. Just like in “real life,” I still have to remember to take time to “stop and smell the roses.” Even on this amazing journey it’s still easy to get caught up in the everyday, mundane things and little issues—‘it’s too hot, my suitcase won’t close, there are bugs in my room, blah, blah, blah.’ But then there are the sweet moments of bliss that snap me back into my reality where I just close my eyes and grin.

Yesterday my second Intrepid Travel Tour arrived in the small riverside town of Chau Doc, Vietnam, perched right on the banks of the mighty Mekong River. Tomorrow we will boat down the river and across the border into Cambodia (remember when we called it Kampuchea? The Khmers still do) and straight up the river into the capital, Phnom Penh.

Our final evening in ‘Nam, nine of us got on the backs of some local guys’ motorcycles and got a city tour for a couple of hours as the sun went down on the dusty tiny town. It was great to not be ‘pedaling’ for a change and have the wind in my hair cooling me off as the air here is heavy and hot. We zoomed up the hilltops to a mountain overlook above the town, all the while, kids still calling out ‘hello’ while I got to practice my few Vietnamese words for the very last time (at least for now).

• Xin Chao: Hello
• Chao Em: Hello (to younger kids or girls)
• Chao Anh Hello (to men)
• Chao Chee (to elder women)
• Cam Un: Thank You
• Han Gup Lai: See you Later
• Mot, Hai, Ba, YO!: One, two, three, Cheers!

At the top we had cold beers and chilled out in some hammocks strung out under a thatched roof while the red hazy sun slipped into the smog and below the horizon. This was one of those moments. It was nearly impossible to not notice how good I have it right now.

We hopped back on our motorbikes and whizzed back to town. I made my driver laugh and sing along with me as I butchered my newly learned rendition of the local anthem: “Vietnam, Ho Chi Minh…”

All the way I was laughing and grinning while I thought back on all the great times I had in this sometimes chaotic, sometimes peaceful yin and yang of a country. Han gup lai, Vietnam (See you again…).

With 8 million people in the city, and 3.5 million motorbikes, I assumed Saigon would greet me as loudly and brashly as Hanoi had. But, I actually quite liked it there. It is a bit more modern than Hanoi with taller, newer buildings and more upscale shopping centers. Plus it’s more spread out and, although it’s still bustling and buzzing with people and motorcycles, there seems to be wider, more open sidewalks and green space, allowing for a bit of a breather here and there.

I did a lot of my favorite tourist activity—random strolling around. It was sweltering hot and averaged in the 100s everyday. One of the few tourist sights I visited in Ho Chi Minh City was the War Remnants Museum. The Vietnam War (also known as the Vietnamese Revolution, the Second Indochina War and, in contemporary Vietnam, as the ‘American War’) was a military conflict in present day Vietnam occurring from 1959 to April 30, 1975. It was a successful effort by the Communist Democratic Republic of Vietnam (DRV or North Vietnam) led by Ho Chi Minh and the indigenous National Front for the Liberation of South Vietnam, (also known as the Việt Cộng, or more informally by the American troops as the “Charlie”, “VC” or “Cong”) to impose on Vietnam a communist system, defeating the South Vietnamese Republic of Vietnam (RVN). To a degree, the Vietnam War was a “proxy war” between the U.S. and its Western allies against the Soviet Union and the People’s Republic of China. Nearly 60, 000 American troops died in battle whereas approximately one million Vietnamese troops and two to four million civilians were killed. Another three million Vietnamese were affected by Agent Orange. I had just been born during the last few years of the war and honestly do not recall learning much about it in school.

Much of the museum in Saigon was dedicated to exhibits of photography showing the overall horrors and atrocities of war. Besides the military and civilian casualties, the war claimed more journalists and photographers than ever before. Well, until now. The Iraq war has since surpassed this statistic claiming the most journalists. Of course, since the museum is here in Vietnam, it’s from their perspective, but there’s no denying the enormous amounts of casualties and suffering that the Vietnamese people endured during these years. I found it quite moving. There are photos of torture, photos of the horrible aftermath of chemical warfare—Agent Orange and dioxins that were used by the Americans that caused severe health issues then and to future generations with deformations of newborns from mothers who were affected, and photos of general death and destruction.

At home in the US, a generation of Americans struggled to absorb the lessons of military intervention without clear motives or objectives. Sound familiar? Between 1965 and 1973 the United States spent $120 billion on the war in Vietnam. The war seemed to demonstrate that no power, not even a superpower, has unlimited strength and resources. But perhaps most significantly, the Vietnam War illustrated that political will, as much as material might, is a decisive factor in the outcome of conflicts.

There were also photos of demonstrations from around the world against the war including several from the US. It was good to see some recent photos of US war veterans visiting Vietnam and some speaking out on behalf of Vietnamese victims of Agent Orange. Seeing it all was quite heavy and hard to look at. Historical events like this always beg the question: How could all this death and sadness hope to bring about peace? From the Vietnam War and now to the War in Iraq, it all seems eerily similar. Perhaps many years from now I will find myself in an Iraq War Memorial museum seeing the same senseless images of war.