Munich, Je t'aime

During the past decade and a half, the trips I've taken have tended to be for magazine stories.

- ALEX HALBERSTADT

I love to travel, but as a New Yorker living on a writer's income, I figure it makes more sense to do it on someone else's dime and stay in nicer places than I could afford otherwise. The downside is that these trips don't feel like vacations, or even particularly restful: My time tends to be taken up with interviews, overly elaborate meals eaten (or tasted) in the company of chefs and winemakers, weeks when I sometimes stay in four hotels, and (gratefully infrequent) run-ins with publicists. I've gone years without taking an actual vacation, when all I want is to hole up in a beach town in the Yucatán and do nothing all day except read by the Windex-blue water of the Caribbean and eat shrimp ceviche washed down with two or three cold Carta Blancas.

Not so long ago, I both loved and resented these writing trips, but eventually came to appreciate that they lent my travel shape, purpose, and depth. Rather than wander from one guidebook attraction to another, I have people to see, places to visit, and locals to take me to do the things that are genuinely worth doing. I've learned how to pack enough for a two-week trip into my cheap Samsonite hardside suitcase (which has somehow lasted more than two decades), how to find a good dentist in Moldova, and how to renew a passport in 24 hours. I've also discovered a foolproof way of finding the best places to eat in an unfamiliar city: On your first night there, go to a good restaurant, sit at the counter or a bar, chat up the bartender or preferably the chef, and as the night winds down, ask where they like to eat. This gambit should have you covered for a week, and it works as reliably in Sapporo as it does in Denver.