How not to be a terrible tourist: What Europeans want travelers to know

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Laura King | (TNS) Los Angeles Times

AMSTERDAM — Travel can be exhilarating or awful, and like it or not, we all leave footprints. Of course, some tourists tread more heavily than others, leaving residents swearing, slack-jawed or just shaking their heads.

In this busy European travel season, here are some things tourism professionals and local people would like you to know, so you won’t be that tourist.

Buy locally made items

“Don’t just purchase cheap souvenirs,” said Lony Scharenborg, who manages a merchants’ association for Amsterdam’s Nine Little Streets, a picturesque shopping area in the canal district.

“Remember that the people who live here need their bakeries and their grocery stores. Pick up something from there.”

You’re a guest, so act like it

“A city is not only monuments and marbles; it is people,” said Giovanni Andrea Martini, a City Council member in Venice.

“Show respect and coexist.”

In another overburdened destination, Emma Martin of Spain’s Turisme de Barcelona also said a little consideration goes a long way. She urged visitors to think of themselves as “temporary but integral” citizens.

During big events, consider an alternative locale

In Paris this summer, plenty of locals fled the Olympics influx, while some travelers deferred their visits or found last-minute bargains.

Another example: Scotland’s historic capital of Edinburgh is even more jam-packed than usual during the Festival Fringe in August, but Malcolm Roughead, chief executive of VisitScotland, points out that lesser-known parts of the country are “filled with hidden gems.” The moral: Whenever possible, get off the beaten track.

Think sustainability, especially with transportation

“Choose sustainable options if you can — come by train, use an electric vehicle, use public transport when in the city, use a bicycle,” said Charel van Dam, marketing director for the Netherlands Board of Tourism and Conventions. “Stay longer in the same place — less movement is always better.”

In every big European city, and in many smaller ones, there are travel apps to help you avoid bottlenecks.

Be curious — and friendly

“I’m happy when people ask me about cheese — but very happy when they ask me about other things, about life here!” said Spyros Chalikias, 39, who works in a tourism-focused cheese shop in central Amsterdam.

When you can see you’re part of the problem …

“If you see that huge line at that TikTok place, think of the impact in a tiny street, and maybe take your business elsewhere,” said Scharenborg.

Try to help local causes

German tourist Manuela Pietsch, 52, from Heidelberg, attended a recital in Amsterdam’s Westerkerk, a 17th century church, with her voluntary donation earmarked to help with restoration of its historic Duyschot organ. “It makes me feel good to be part of this,” she said. “And it was a wonderful recital!”

In many European destinations, history is painful

“Yes, you can mention the war,” said Jan Katzmarczyk, who has been conducting walking tours in Berlin for 13 years, including of many notorious Nazi sites. He urges visitors to be direct in their queries, but not accusatory toward the current generation. “We’ll take the blame, but not the shame,” said Katzmarczyk, pointing out that virtually all of Germany’s wartime leaders are long dead.

No, it’s not like home

That’s why you’re traveling! So bear in mind: There won’t be air conditioning everywhere, especially in smaller and older European hotels. Carry small coins for public restrooms (although many will let you use a credit card for the tiny charge).

Many restaurants may expect you to order bottled water instead of providing a free glass of tap water. Ice may be hard to come by. Brush up on tipping etiquette, which varies from one European country to another — although tips are almost always less than is expected in the U.S.

Adapt! As in, bring a plug adapter to charge your devices

USB sockets are a relative rarity, especially in older accommodations, and chances are slim the hotel will have an adapter to lend you.

“I can’t tell you how often Americans ask,” said the receptionist at one moderately priced Paris hotel, who did not want her name used because her employer wouldn’t approve. “Sometimes I want to say, ‘Oh, yes — let me just go out back and pluck one off the tree where they grow.’”

Don’t take things out on service workers

They’re trying to do their jobs and help you. Try to work with them and find solutions for that canceled flight or overbooked hotel. Document what happened — save texts, emails and proof of payment. When it’s all over, write a calm note, and chances are pretty good that the airline or cruise line or tour operator will try to make it up to you.

Leave the obvious jokes alone

If a particular place name sounds hilarious to English speakers, you can bet local people are tired of having that pointed out by giggling visitors.

And don’t do pretend German accents, said Katzmarczyk — “It sounds mostly terrible.”

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©2024 Los Angeles Times. Visit latimes.com. Distributed by Tribune Content Agency, LLC.

Sweet corn is summer’s sweetest season

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Meredith Deeds | Star Tribune (TNS)

Come midsummer, you’ll find sweet corn on my dinner table almost every night of the week. And one of my favorite ways to serve it is in a bowl of soup.

You don’t have to do much to get a decent bowl of corn soup at the peak of corn season. Each kernel is packed full of flavor and bursting with sweetness. Still, if you take an extra step or two, you can take that decent bowl and turn it into a memorable summer soup.

It’s really all about extracting as much flavor as you can from the corn, and what many cooks overlook is the cobs. If you are cutting those kernels off the cob and tossing them into the trash, you’re missing out on a ton of corny goodness.

First, after you’ve cut the corn off the cobs, it’s important to scrape the cobs with the back of a knife to get every bit of corn pulp and corn milk out of them.

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For this week’s Creamy Corn and Poblano Soup, the cobs are simmered with the broth, combining it with the corn kernels and pulp and puréeing in a blender. Simmering the cobs doesn’t take much time, but it definitely dials up the flavor.

Once the corn is puréed, I like to pass it through a sieve for an extra-smooth texture, but if you like your soup on the more rustic side, you can skip this step.

I add cream to this soup which, admittedly, gives it an ultra-creaminess that borders on decadent. If you’d like to keep your soup on the leaner side, you can substitute the cream with more broth.

What takes this soup over the top are the garnishes. Roasted poblano chiles are diced and scattered over the top, along with crumbled queso fresco, a mild Mexican cheese, and crispy tortilla strips.

If you want to add a little protein in the form of shredded, cooked chicken, you certainly can, but I find this soup rich and satisfying on its own.

Creamy Corn and Poblano Soup

Serves 4 to 6.

Sweet corn, puréed into a smooth soup and topped with roasted chiles, salty queso fresco and crispy tortilla strips, is simple to make but sure to impress. From Meredith Deeds.

5 ears of corn, kernels cut off of cobs, cobs reserved
3 c. vegetable broth
2 medium poblano peppers
1 tbsp. olive oil
1 medium onion, chopped
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 to 2 serrano chiles minced
1 tbsp. cornstarch
1 c. heavy cream
1 tbsp. lime juice
1 tsp. salt
Queso fresco, as garnish
Crispy tortilla strips, as garnish
Lime wedges

Directions

Scrape the corn cobs with the back of a knife to remove any corn pulp. Set pulp aside and cut cobs in half crosswise. In a large saucepan, combine corn cobs and broth and bring to a boil over medium heat. Reduce heat to low and simmer for 20 minutes. Remove from heat and set aside.

Meanwhile, roast the poblanos over an open flame or 4 inches below a broiler, turning regularly until blistered and blackened all over, about 5 minutes for an open flame, about 10 minutes for the broiler. Place in a bowl and cover with plastic wrap. Let sit for 5 minutes.

When the chiles are cool enough to handle, rub the blackened skin off with a paper towel. Pull out the stem and seed pod. Rinse the chile flesh to remove bits of skin and seeds. Cut into ¼-inch pieces and set aside.

Heat the oil in a 5-quart Dutch oven over medium heat. Add the onion and cook until just starting to brown, about 6 minutes. Add the garlic and serrano and cook 1 minute more. Use a slotted spoon to transfer to a food processor or blender; set the pan aside. Add the corn kernels, corn pulp, cornstarch and corn cob broth and process to a smooth purée.

Place a fine mesh strainer over the Dutch oven and pass the soup through the strainer. Bring soup to a simmer over medium heat. Immediately reduce heat to low and cook, stirring occasionally, for 10 minutes. Stir in the cream and salt and cook, stirring, until hot, about 3 minutes. Stir in lime juice. Taste and add more salt or lime juice, if necessary.

Ladle into serving bowls and garnish with poblano, queso fresco and crispy tortilla strips. Serve with lime wedges on the side.

Meredith Deeds is a cookbook author and food writer from Edina. Reach her at meredithdeeds@gmail.com. Follow her on Instagram ­at @meredithdeeds.

©2024 StarTribune. Visit at startribune.com. Distributed by Tribune Content Agency, LLC.

‘Sugarcane’ delves into horrific past at Indigenous boarding school

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Moira Macdonald | (TNS) The Seattle Times

SEATTLE — Growing up, spending time on the Canim Lake Band (Tsq̓éscen̓ First Nation) reserve with his extended family in British Columbia, Julian Brave NoiseCat would hear stories. They were horrifying, unspeakable stories about what happened to babies at St. Joseph’s Mission in Williams Lake, B.C., one of many residential schools that North American governments once forced Native children to attend for purposes of assimilation.

“I honestly dismissed those stories as sort of rez legends,” NoiseCat said, in a Zoom interview in mid-August. “It sounded too grisly to be true.” He learned much later that “not only were those stories true,” but he believes his father to be the only known survivor of a pattern of infanticide at the school. Their story is part of a history of abuse, at St. Joseph’s and numerous other Native boarding schools.

NoiseCat, a writer, filmmaker and Salish historian who now lives in Bremerton, made a film with co-director Emily Kassie about those true stories. The documentary “Sugarcane” poignantly grapples with the hellish legacy of St. Joseph’s — and the recent discovery, in 2021, of evidence of unmarked graves around the school. The film is the winner of a special jury prize at SIFF last spring and multiple awards at other film festivals.

There were once hundreds of boarding schools for Native children in North America, housing thousands of children taken from their homes beginning in the early 1800s — including at least 17 schools in Washington state. The schools were government-funded, but many were operated by religious groups — in the case of St. Joseph’s, the Catholic congregation of the Missionary Oblates of Mary Immaculate. In recent years, more light has been shone on what those schools really were: places designed to eradicate Indigenous culture, where physical and sexual abuse of children was common. In a 2024 report commissioned by Interior Secretary Deb Haaland, Bryan Newland, assistant secretary for Indian affairs, wrote “ … these institutions are not just part of our past. Their legacy reaches us today, and is reflected in the wounds people continue to experience in communities across the United States.”

Kassie and NoiseCat have known each other since their first journalism jobs at the Huffington Post a decade ago, but this is their first film collaboration. It was initiated by Kassie, who felt “pulled and drawn” to this story after hearing of the discovery of the graves in 2021. A film on this topic, she thought, would be a perfect combination of their skills — “myself coming from a visual journalism and documentary practice, Julian being an incredible writer, thinker and historian of Indigenous life in North America.” She had no idea that NoiseCat’s family had a direct connection to the school in Williams Lake — and NoiseCat was startled to hear that “out of 139 [Native residential schools] in Canada, Em happened to choose the one school where, as you know, this story was essential to my existence.”

NoiseCat said he didn’t know a lot about the residential schools growing up; on a few occasions, he “mustered the courage” to ask his grandmother about St. Joseph’s, but she never went into much detail. (In the film, NoiseCat’s grandmother says, through tears, “I went through a lot.”) Eventually he learned that his father was born there, under unthinkable circumstances. Among the unforgettable scenes in “Sugarcane” are many of NoiseCat and his father, Ed Archie NoiseCat, quietly facing their family story together.

Other stories intersect in the film, most notably that of former Williams Lake First Nation Chief Rick Gilbert, a St. Joseph’s survivor and devout Catholic who traveled to the Vatican in 2022, hoping to find some resolution after learning, through DNA analysis, that his father was a priest. “We were initially drawn to his story because of this really strong tension he had between his faith and his spirituality and his community and the church and trying to figure out who he really was,” Kassie said. “What was really remarkable about his journey is that he was able, in what ended up being the last year of his life, to face his darkest truths and free himself in many ways before he passed into the next world.”

Gilbert died of cancer in 2023, before he could see the finished film. NoiseCat said, “What he did was the most courageous thing I’ve ever seen anybody do in my life.”

“Sugarcane” will be touring Indigenous reservations across the U.S. and Canada in the coming months. “We would love this film to reach every single Indigenous community on the continent if we could,” NoiseCat said. It has already screened in Williams Lake, with many members of NoiseCat’s family and tribe present. Though initially nervous about showing the film to people so closely connected to it, NoiseCat said the screening was a great success: “People were incredibly moved. … There were lots of prayers, lots of love and hugs and warmth.”

Now that “Sugarcane” is out in the world, NoiseCat feels that it may help others heal, as it did for him. For most of his life, he said, he’s lived far from Canim Lake, and “this documentary in a lot of ways brought me home, brought me back to my dad, back to the community, leading me to begin to speak my language more often, taking on certain ceremonial commitments in the life of our nation and community, and it led me to think about my role as a storyteller. … I think that in a way, Em and this documentary called me to what I needed to do, not just as a director and as a film producer but as a full human being at this moment of reckoning.”

While the Catholic Church has not made any kind of response to the film thus far, Kassie said, “we’re eager and hopeful that they will see the film.” NoiseCat said he would welcome a response, but that ultimately, healing needs to happen elsewhere.

“There are so many stories like my father’s, like Rick’s. Ultimately, the places where I think we can find real healing are not going to probably be in the church or the empty words of politicians. It‘ll be in the places where we live, in our homes and families and our cultures and our languages, all of those things that were nearly broken by the residential schools, but still remain.”

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(“Sugarcane” opens Friday at select theaters.)

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©2024 The Seattle Times. Visit seattletimes.com. Distributed by Tribune Content Agency, LLC.

Traveling to die: The latest form of medical tourism

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Debby Waldman | (TNS) KFF Health News

In the 18 months after Francine Milano was diagnosed with a recurrence of the ovarian cancer she thought she’d beaten 20 years ago, she traveled twice from her home in Pennsylvania to Vermont. She went not to ski, hike, or leaf-peep, but to arrange to die.

“I really wanted to take control over how I left this world,” said the 61-year-old who lives in Lancaster. “I decided that this was an option for me.”

Dying with medical assistance wasn’t an option when Milano learned in early 2023 that her disease was incurable. At that point, she would have had to travel to Switzerland — or live in the District of Columbia or one of the 10 states where medical aid in dying was legal.

But Vermont lifted its residency requirement in May 2023, followed by Oregon two months later. (Montana effectively allows aid in dying through a 2009 court decision, but that ruling doesn’t spell out rules around residency. And though New York and California recently considered legislation that would allow out-of-staters to secure aid in dying, neither provision passed.)

Despite the limited options and the challenges — such as finding doctors in a new state, figuring out where to die, and traveling when too sick to walk to the next room, let alone climb into a car — dozens have made the trek to the two states that have opened their doors to terminally ill nonresidents seeking aid in dying.

At least 26 people have traveled to Vermont to die, representing nearly 25% of the reported assisted deaths in the state from May 2023 through this June, according to the Vermont Department of Health. In Oregon, 23 out-of-state residents died using medical assistance in 2023, just over 6% of the state total, according to the Oregon Health Authority.

Oncologist Charles Blanke, whose clinic in Portland is devoted to end-of-life care, said he thinks that Oregon’s total is likely an undercount and he expects the numbers to grow. Over the past year, he said, he’s seen two to four out-of-state patients a week — about one-quarter of his practice — and fielded calls from across the U.S., including New York, the Carolinas, Florida, and “tons from Texas.” But just because patients are willing to travel doesn’t mean it’s easy or that they get their desired outcome.

“The law is pretty strict about what has to be done,” Blanke said.

As in other states that allow what some call physician-assisted death or assisted suicide, Oregon and Vermont require patients to be assessed by two doctors. Patients must have less than six months to live, be mentally and cognitively sound, and be physically able to ingest the drugs to end their lives. Charts and records must be reviewed in the state; neglecting to do so constitutes practicing medicine out of state, which violates medical licensing requirements. For the same reason, the patients must be in the state for the initial exam, when they request the drugs, and when they ingest them.

State legislatures impose those restrictions as safeguards — to balance the rights of patients seeking aid in dying with a legislative imperative not to pass laws that are harmful to anyone, said Peg Sandeen, CEO of the group Death With Dignity. Like many aid-in-dying advocates, however, she said such rules create undue burdens for people who are already suffering.

Diana Barnard, a Vermont palliative care physician, said some patients cannot even come for their appointments. “They end up being sick or not feeling like traveling, so there’s rescheduling involved,” she said. “It’s asking people to use a significant part of their energy to come here when they really deserve to have the option closer to home.”

Those opposed to aid in dying include religious groups that say taking a life is immoral, and medical practitioners who argue their job is to make people more comfortable at the end of life, not to end the life itself.

Anthropologist Anita Hannig, who interviewed dozens of terminally ill patients while researching her 2022 book, “The Day I Die: The Untold Story of Assisted Dying in America,” said she doesn’t expect federal legislation to settle the issue anytime soon. As the Supreme Court did with abortion in 2022, it ruled assisted dying to be a states’ rights issue in 1997.

During the 2023-24 legislative sessions, 19 states (including Milano’s home state of Pennsylvania) considered aid-in-dying legislation, according to the advocacy group Compassion & Choices. Delaware was the sole state to pass it, but the governor has yet to act on it.

Sandeen said that many states initially pass restrictive laws — requiring 21-day wait times and psychiatric evaluations, for instance — only to eventually repeal provisions that prove unduly onerous. That makes her optimistic that more states will eventually follow Vermont and Oregon, she said.

Milano would have preferred to travel to neighboring New Jersey, where aid in dying has been legal since 2019, but its residency requirement made that a nonstarter. And though Oregon has more providers than the largely rural state of Vermont, Milano opted for the nine-hour car ride to Burlington because it was less physically and financially draining than a cross-country trip.

Francine Milano with her husband, Kris Brackin. She would’ve preferred to travel from her home in Pennsylvania to neighboring New Jersey for medical aid in dying, but it is allowed there only for state residents. Instead she has arranged to die in Vermont, one of two states that explicitly allow medical aid in dying for nonresidents. (Eric Harkleroad/KFF Health News/TNS)

The logistics were key because Milano knew she’d have to return. When she traveled to Vermont in May 2023 with her husband and her brother, she wasn’t near death. She figured that the next time she was in Vermont, it would be to request the medication. Then she’d have to wait 15 days to receive it.

The waiting period is standard to ensure that a person has what Barnard calls “thoughtful time to contemplate the decision,” although she said most have done that long before. Some states have shortened the period or, like Oregon, have a waiver option.

That waiting period can be hard on patients, on top of being away from their health care team, home, and family. Blanke said he has seen as many as 25 relatives attend the death of an Oregon resident, but out-of-staters usually bring only one person. And while finding a place to die can be a problem for Oregonians who are in care homes or hospitals that prohibit aid in dying, it’s especially challenging for nonresidents.

When Oregon lifted its residency requirement, Blanke advertised on Craigslist and used the results to compile a list of short-term accommodations, including Airbnbs, willing to allow patients to die there. Nonprofits in states with aid-in-dying laws also maintain such lists, Sandeen said.

Milano hasn’t gotten to the point where she needs to find a place to take the meds and end her life. In fact, because she had a relatively healthy year after her first trip to Vermont, she let her six-month approval period lapse.

In June, though, she headed back to open another six-month window. This time, she went with a girlfriend who has a camper van. They drove six hours to cross the state border, stopping at a playground and gift shop before sitting in a parking lot where Milano had a Zoom appointment with her doctors rather than driving three more hours to Burlington to meet in person.

“I don’t know if they do GPS tracking or IP address kind of stuff, but I would have been afraid not to be honest,” she said.

That’s not all that scares her. She worries she’ll be too sick to return to Vermont when she is ready to die. And, even if she can get there, she wonders whether she’ll have the courage to take the medication. About one-third of people approved for assisted death don’t follow through, Blanke said. For them, it’s often enough to know they have the meds — the control — to end their lives when they want.

Milano said she is grateful she has that power now while she’s still healthy enough to travel and enjoy life. “I just wish more people had the option,” she said.

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(KFF Health News is a national newsroom that produces in-depth journalism about health issues and is one of the core operating programs of KFF — the independent source for health policy research, polling and journalism.)

©2024 KFF Health News. Distributed by Tribune Content Agency, LLC.