In summer, I flew from Istanbul's Ataturk Airport to Tehran's Khomeini Airport to film a public-television show on Iran. ("Rick Steves' Iran" will air on PBS throughout the USA in mid-January.) For an American, it was eye-opening from the first moment. When the pilot said, "We're taking this plane to Tehran," nobody was alarmed.

The wide-body jet was filled with well-off Iranian people. Although their features were different from mine, they dressed and acted just like me. As so often happens when I travel, I was struck by how people are so similar the world over. I wished the big decision-makers of our world weren't shielded from opportunities to share an economy cabin with people like this.

Two young Iranian parents smiled at me, showing mock desperation as their little boy and girl eagerly dragged them into a shop famous for its pistachio ice-cream sandwiches. Around the corner, filling the side of a 15-story building, a government-sponsored propaganda mural showed a perverted American flag, with skulls for stars and falling bombs for stripes.

That bizarre mixture — of saber-rattling politics alongside the personal warmth of individual locals — is what struck me on my recent 12-day trip to Iran to film a public-television show. (“Rick Steves’ Iran" will air on PBS throughout the USA in mid-January.) I found Iran to be perhaps the most misunderstood and fascinating land I’ve ever visited. And I learned a lot.

Traveling through Iran to film a public-television show, "Rick Steves' Iran" (which will air on PBS throughout the USA in mid-January), I quickly filled up my notebook with quirky observations. One moment, I saw propaganda murals encouraging young men to walk into the blazing sunset of martyrdom. The next, a woman in a bookstore served me cookies while I browsed through the books, admiring one in particular. Then, when I was about to leave without buying anything, she gave me the book for free.

While English is the second language on many signs, the squiggly local script looked like Arabic to me. I quickly learned that it's actually Farsi. Iranians are Persian. Persians are not Arabs, and they don't speak Arabic — they speak Farsi. This Persian/Arab difference is a very important distinction to the people of Iran. My film crew and I heard over and over again, "We are not Arabs!"

Iceland’s remote location and harsh climate aren’t exactly welcoming. But its striking scenery, draped with glaciers and punctuated by craggy peaks and steamy geysers — coupled with Icelandair’s fare incentives — make this destination increasingly attractive to adventurous travelers.

Icelandair tempts visitors with good fares to Europe and free stopovers, which I took advantage of on my way from Europe back to the US recently. Besides touring the capital city, Reykjavik — where 60 percent of Iceland’s 317,000 citizens live — I took time to explore the more isolated areas. The country’s interior is basically uninhabited, but its perimeter is encircled by an 850-mile-long Ring Road, also known as Route 1. This road — not completed until 1974 — makes it possible to visit the country’s more remote geological oddities.

My business focuses on Europe, but occasionally other countries lure me away. In 2005, I accepted an invitation to go to San Salvador, the capital of El Salvador, for the 25th anniversary of the assassination of Archbishop Oscar Romero.

I was raised to be proud of Nathan Hale and Patrick Henry and Ethan Allen — those American patriots who wished they had more than one life to give for their country. In my travels, I've learned that people like those heroes are a dime a dozen on this planet. Recognizing that is not unpatriotic — it's simply true. Every country and ethnicity has its own Nathan Hales, and as I travel, I gain empathy for struggling people by learning about their own heroes.

While Europe is my passion and the focus of my work, Latin America has long held a fascination for me. I took my first trip to the region (to both Nicaragua and El Salvador) in 1988, during El Salvador's civil war. I returned to both countries in 1991, after the war ended, and again to El Salvador in 2005. Here are some impressions I brought back from my most recent visit last Christmas.

Five years ago, when working on my Travel as a Political Act book in El Salvador, I visited Beatriz, a proud and hardworking single mother. She was struggling to raise two daughters with dignity in the squalor that results from structural poverty. On this trip, I wanted to get an update on Beatriz and her family since they had been prominently featured in my book. She still lived in her modest home in the capital city of San Salvador — a single cinderblock room with a dirt floor. From the tin roof overhead to the hardscrabble chicken roaming the dusty yard, it seemed unchanged after five years.