Whenever you buy a guidebook, you and your new purchase embark on a romance that lasts until you arrive at your destination.
During this period, the book can do no wrong. It’s your clearest window into a strange place; all its contents are vital and fascinating; every oddly spelled place name sings its own siren song, begging to be included on your itinerary.
Then you arrive, and inspiration is suddenly far less alluring than information. You start to notice your book’s idiosyncrasies: The listed prices are half what they really are; the city maps include only major streets; the prose you thought so clever in the bookstore begins to grate. Midway through your journey, you’ve resolved, once back home, to write the publisher a long, nasty letter.
Many times I’ve had this thought; many more times I’ve heard other travelers resolve the same. So, during a recent journey to Spain, France and Italy, I decided to avoid such entanglements by bringing along two budget guidebooks–Let’s Go “Europe,” granddaddy of European budget guidebooks, and “Mediterranean Europe on a Shoestring,” published by guidebook juggernaut Lonely Planet.
By comparing their contents whenever I needed travel guidance, I could winnow out all the information I needed. And at journey’s end, I’d know which guidebook was superior.
On a purely practical basis, both guidebooks do a fine job of seeing a budget traveler through southern Europe. For major cities, both include exhaustive lists of tourist offices, bus and train stations, laundries, pharmacies and places to sleep. Let’s Go in particular received high marks from Kate Fraser and Matthew Grass, a pair of Australian travelers I met in the Italian seaside town of Riomaggiore.
“The accommodations listed in Let’s Go are really good,” Matthew said. “At the end of the day, all that really matters is having a decent bed to sleep in. You want to find that as soon as you arrive.”
Which is exactly why I prefer Lonely Planet when looking for a room. This isn’t to say Lonely Planet suggests better or cheaper hotels. It just makes them easier to find.
Lonely Planet’s maps geographically pinpoint every accommodation listed. This is crucial. Arriving after nightfall in Genoa, Italy, all I wanted was a bed to flop onto. At these times, such precise information is a godsend.
There’s more to a good guidebook, however, than precise cartography. A guide should also tell you what to expect from a destination before you arrive. Here, Let’s Go shines.
For instance, Lonely Planet introduces Padua, Italy, with this bland report: “The city…offers a rich collection of art treasures, and its many piazzas and arcaded streets are a pleasure to explore.”
Couldn’t that be said of every Italian city?
Let’s Go’s introduction, however, is more pointed: “Brimming with art and student life, Padua is a treasury of strident frescoes, sculpture-lined piazzas, and ethereal nighttime festivals. Art escapes the canvas, covering churches floor to ceiling, while high culture blends with a lively university scene.”
Presumably because they’re all researched by Harvard students, Let’s Go guidebooks take university scenes and night life seriously. For instance, while “Mediterranean Europe on a Shoestring” lists a total of seven pubs, discos and jazz clubs in Paris, Let’s Go “Europe” lists 41.
On the other hand, Let’s Go researchers seem to shy away from physical exercise, which I found maddening. Hoping to explore the mountains of northern Italy, I turned to Let’s Go for information on the Dolomites. There are a few paragraphs about the region’s two largest towns, Trento (which Let’s Go calls “Trent”) and Bolzano, but nothing about the mountains. Lonely Planet, on the other hand, details five small towns in the Dolomites and suggests where to ski and hike.
My Aussie friends Kate and Matt were just as aghast at Let’s Go’s disinclination toward exercise. Following the book’s directions to a hostel in Geneva, Switzerland, they were astounded that the book suggested they catch a bus.
“It was five minutes max on foot,” Kate said, “even for a slow walker.”
Perhaps this is a reflection on the implied reader of Let’s Go: The sedentary American college student headed to Europe for the summer is more interested in night life than wildlife, and would rather his guidebook include plenty of snappy prose than the comprehensive historical data Lonely Planet guides customarily include.
Let’s Go seems to have hit the mark. Just about every young American I met in Europe was carrying Let’s Go “Europe.” This is something else to consider: Following Let’s Go’s suggestions for accommodations, restaurants and nightspots, you’ll never be too far from a gaggle of young wandering Yanks. Which, depending on what you want from your travels, is a bonus or a bane.
I enjoy meeting travelers of every stripe, but I also travel to escape my own culture. So I’d consult Let’s Go “Europe” to learn what a place was like before going, then usually switch to “Mediterranean Europe on a Shoestring” upon arriving.
It was, of course, cumbersome to travel with two thick guidebooks. It was also expensive, as each cost about $25. Truthfully, you can travel successfully with either book, but one will probably better suit your style of travel. When choosing, don’t just consider where you’re going. Consider why.
