That’s the amount of foreign-purchased goods which US citizens are allowed to bring into the country duty-free. Unless you find an absolute steal or an item you cannot possibly live without, try not to go above this $800 figure. The next $1000 after the first duty-free $800 will be slapped with a 3% duty. After that, the duty percentage just keeps climbing.

(To my truly frugal traveler readers, I say, please don’t be insulted, as I well know this is akin to telling you, “Don’t spend $20 on that pack of gum.” This $800-limit warning is for all the not-so-frugal travelers who’ve waded in this far out of curiosity – or boredom.)

Right about now would probably be a good time to revisit my earlier Gift-Buying post and Our Cheap Credentials page. Remember why you’re traveling abroad. If you’re like us, you’re not traveling just so you can shop.

But no matter how tightly we hold the purse reins, all of us will buy some things. So how will you know what you’ve spent if you don’t keep records? You won’t. When your flight attendant hands you a customs declaration form on your flight home, it’ll be reconstruction time. Hmm. Now what’s in our luggage that wasn’t when we lifted off two weeks ago? On your form, you’ll be expected to itemize every purchase you are bringing back into the US.

Every? Yes, every. So who’s gonna know? The Customs folks who will welcome you back to the good ole US of A, that’s who. They’ll question you about your form, and they just might decide to have a little look-see for themselves. They also have nifty sniffer dogs who can smell that forgotten clementine (still in your daypack) at 50 feet. Trust me, I know about these things.

Photo by Robert Stolank for NYT
© 2011 The New York Times Company

Frugal traveler that you are, you’ll want to read through this form before you plant your feet on international soil. No sense paying good money for something that the customs troops will confiscate later. If you can’t read the rather fuzzy PDF of the form on the gov’s site, here’s the Cliff’s Notes version. They’re pretty fussy about fresh produce, plants and plant products, soil, meat and meat products, birds and other live animals or animal products. You can see why: they don’t want any more strange critters brought into the US, since we already have plenty.

There are also lots of other no-nos you might want to check out. Hint: don’t ask the antiques dealer trying to sell you an ivory-handled knife if it’ll pass customs. Find out for yourself if it constitutes US Customs banned ivory. If you’re traveling abroad fully intending to buy antiques, do your homework before you go.

Packaged foods are usually permissible, as I’ve brought back oat cakes plenty of times, and they haven’t thrown me into the clink yet. But they did get rather picky about a packet of heather seeds which, after several minutes of rifling through our luggage, they didn’t find – but I later found while unpacking. (Not to worry, Customs Police, we never planted them, and I’d just like it to be noted that I asked hubby NOT to buy them.)

If you’re taking your smart phone, record your purchases on your phone as soon as they’re in your daypack. If you’re journaling each night, use one page to record all the day’s purchases that will end up in your luggage. (Don’t worry about purchases you plan to consume or use up before your return flight.)

It doesn’t matter how you do it, just devise a plan for recording purchases and do it. It also helps to work out the dollar amount from the pound or euro price you paid and record it, as you go. The US Customs Declaration form, after all, asks for dollar values, not pounds or euros.

Due to recent government budget cuts, your US customs experience will be even more fun. Translation: more time waiting in line after your ten-hour fight. Do what you can – declare every item accurately – so that your return flight is less brain-draining and your cattle-chute, customs experience shorter and less stressful.

Your turn. Any customs stories you’d like to share? I’ll bet there are some beauties out there.

If your trip abroad is a very short one, you may not be able to do this. You may have to hoover on even if your brain and body are travel weary. However, if your trip is a little longer – two weeks or more – be okay with taking a vacation from your vacation.

Since our trips usually last around four weeks, we HAVE to take a vacation from our vacation, or we’ll collapse! Sometimes, we need only a morning or afternoon to rejuvenate. Other times, when we’ve had the pedal to the medal a bit too much, we need an entire day.

We read, nap, read some more, eat, nap – the same routine you use here in The States when you tell yourself, “I need a down day.” Over there, it’s even more critical. Our brains can only process so much information, and our bodies can only stand so much exertion (which will almost always be much more than your normal amount of exertion).

Right about now, you may be thinking this sounds like a not-so-frugal habit. After all, a day spent resting is a day spent not sightseeing. This is one of those judgment calls. If you or someone in your party has some physical problems that are affecting mobility, you’re not going to get much out of touring anyway. (Isn’t amazing how sore feet create disinterest – even in things you’re normally passionate about?) Others in your party may have reached a mental saturation point and need a break from all the new information being thrown at them all day long.

I knew we’d reached that point near the end of a four-week trip when we finally toured Edinburgh Castle. Late in the day, as we peered into one of the museums in the castle complex, we simultaneously turned to each other and asked, “Do you care?” “Nope.” So we turned heel to wander aimlessly around the castle grounds, and I thought to myself we have voiced the unspeakable! And I can tell you from plenty more experiences just like it that when you reach this point, very little you see or hear will matter to you.

Best to give it all a break and do everything kind you can think to do for your body and brain SO THAT tomorrow, you’ll be back in form. Then, you will be back on track as a frugal traveler, ready to drain every drop from your touring experiences.

and rarely do they look like pickpockets, as that would be just plain dumb. Since these folks make a robust, tax-free living picking pockets, they definitely are not dumb. Disgusting and despicable, for sure, but not dumb.

Their “work clothes” look just like the rest of the tourists or commuters that are all around you. The more average, the more nondescript they can appear, the better.

It breaks my heart when I hear fellow travelers’ stories of teams working together – one to distract while the other picks pockets. Then there are the traveling friends taken unaware by lone pickpockets who bluster in and out of subway cars quickly* or clumsily bump into their victims on crowded sidewalks. Their MO is either creating a distraction or taking advantage of a distraction created quite innocently by someone else, coupled with a very quick and anonymous egress.

The result is that our friends spent valuable touring time replacing what was stolen, were sometimes just “out” considerable cash, and were edgy and nervous for the rest of their trip. Bummer. In almost every story I can remember, our friends had done something they knew not to do. One laid her purse on a counter in order to help another shopper pick up a pile of sweaters she’d knocked to the floor. The perfect distraction ploy by a pair of pickpockets. Another friend left his credit card in his pocket after buying a ticket rather than taking the time to unobtrusively slip it back into his hidden security belt. Talk about low-hanging fruit.

We’ve never had even a close call, but then we’ve removed the low-hanging fruit. We keep the bulk of our pounds/euros, passports, credit/ATM cards, etc., in security pouches. My husband’s fits around his waist – under his boxers, shirt tail, and Dockers. Mine fits around my neck, hidden by turtlenecks and three or four other layers of warmth on fall trips. During warmer, summer trips, I’ve devised a way to wear mine around my waist, under my undies, shirt tail, and slacks.

My husband’s day pack contains our food for the day, some rain gear, picnic supplies, etc. – nothing that would be a devastating loss, if it were stolen. We have garments with zippered or Velcro pockets (that make noise when being opened) to hold our cell phones (password protected, of course) and the day’s cash. I also have a tiny travel gem of a pack which I wear around my waist (also cross body when we’re out in the country) and where I store some of the above, keeping my hand on it almost all the time when we’re in close quarters.

Now, I ask you, what pickpocket would pass up distracted tourists with shoulder bags and purses loosely dangling off their shoulders, promising-looking bulges in their hip pockets, and hands busy holding shopping bags for a couple of buttoned-up travelers like us? They wouldn’t. They don’t. At least, not so far.

Pickpockets are smart but also just a tad bit lazy. (Otherwise they’d get a real job.) They’re not about to work harder than necessary and increase their chances of being caught when there are plenty of tourists making their job so easy.

If you make their job hard, you’ve increased your chances of bypassing this tourist hazard. By the way, I am not saying they couldn’t pick our pockets clean and yours, too, if they really wanted to. A professional pickpocket makes David Copperfield look like an amateur.

I still stick by my advice to sit back and enjoy the show while taking public transportation, walking on sidewalks, and stopping at pavilions for street buskers’ shows. I’m just advising you don’t become comatose while you’re enjoying the show. Wedge your day pack and packages between your feet and legs while seated. Keep your hands on everything else. Be aware of other “audience members” who seem to be edging awfully close for no good reason – or even for good reason. Move away.

You’ll be fine as long as you remember pickpockets are not stupid criminals; they’re very savvy, successful ones. The proof? They’re seldom caught, meaning, frugal traveler, that you won’t recover what they steal. And that just adds unnecessary and avoidable expense to that trip you’ve anticipated for so long.

Okay. Your turn. Tell us your most harrowing pickpocket story!

*On the Paris Metro, we observed a wild-eyed, gibbering fellow rush onto our car at evening rush hour just before its doors closed. He worked his way down the aisle through packed, standing commuters, blowing and going. He exited at the opposite end’s door at the very next stop. A well-dressed businessman beside us immediately and frantically began patting his pockets, as did the other commuters around us. They recognized the MO. We, still pretty much country bumpkins, just thought he was crazy.

Just so you know, this is the great big exception to the blog post titled, Do not make eye contact. And it’s all based on our Parisian Metro (subway) and RER (train) experiences. We haven’t ridden enough mass transit in the rest of Europe to say that its metro public transportation is as entertaining as Paris’. I suppose some other city’s could be, but I don’t see how. And neither will you, once you’ve finished reading this post.

You’ve no doubt heard about how cheap mass transit is in Europe. But just remember, cheap is a relative term and in our frugal mindset, not an accurate descriptor in this case. Nevertheless, we’re good with the prices we pay for Parisian mass transit because, you see, it comes with free entertainment. Yes! And we all love getting two for the price of one, don’t we? And that, dear traveler, is what you get with your Paris Visite Pass: fast, efficient transportation AND lively, quirky entertainment.

Now, I can’t actually verify this, but I think I’ve figured out why Paris offers this two-fer deal. I think Paris, ever solicitous for its aspiring actors, has devised a method of encouraging and “supporting” them. And a quite clever scheme it is.

Evidently, there’s a central clearing house, perhaps called Le Bureau Central de les Acteurs Amateur (or something very near it). This must be where aspiring Parisian actors go to get their marching orders for the day. No other way to account for all the free and ever-changing entertainment we enjoyed on Paris’ mass transit. And I have to say, they performed admirably, on the whole.

I’m guessing there’s a wink-wink sort of understanding that all tips are to be regarded as tax-free. It’s brilliant. No government or non-profit pays a dime, but wannabe actors and actresses can put in their 10,000 hours (read Outliers by Malcom Gladwell) and make a starving-artist living while they’re honing their craft.

You think I’m making this up? You’re right. I have no clue if there’s such a scheme. But I definitely am not making up the rest of this. What follows are the entertainment highlights from a 19-day, 2006 trip to Paris. Sit back and enjoy.

Our first entertainer was a Charlie-Chaplin-esque fella, slowly walking up and down our Metro car’s center aisle, looking VERY sad and pathetic. A little too pathetic. His acting was overdone, for my taste. He astutely sized us up as English-speakers and wordlessly and ever so gently placed on my knee a little hand-cut piece of paper with his tale of woe – in English. He continued on to every car on our train and then came back through to collect his haul. Alas, no haul from moi since he’d done nothing but be melodramatic, and I don’t tip overdone theatrics.

A day later, we crammed ourselves into a standing-room-only car – face to face with two accordion players and a saxophonist. Talk about in-your-face Parisian music. After a couple of stops, the accordion players granted us all a little mercy (they really weren’t very good) and got off. The sax guy soldiered on, but had kind of lost his heart and faced the door, eking out a few wimpy notes. Eventually he gave up and got off, too. By now, we were beginning to understand this whole entertain-the-masses scheme.

The accordion-sax concert was on the way to Versailles and we found it mildly amusing. We had NO idea what a superior performance was planned for us on our trip from Versailles.

WHAT a performance! WHAT riveting drama! From this point on in our trip, we judged all other metro actors and actresses by her stellar show – and they all came up wanting. If any other actors had thought about poaching on her territory, I’m sure they would’ve quickly given up.

She started off stage, which is the mark of a very clever actress, indeed. Approaching as an angry – make that a very angry – young woman in a mini skirt with a gargantuan piece of rolling luggage, first-aid tape completely covering one thigh, and a couple of forearm crutches, she created a stir before ever boarding our train. She yowled and howled at the male station officials for several minutes before they allowed her through the turnstile. (I guess they knew about Le Bureau Central de les Acteurs Amateur and that they had no choice but to let her into her “workplace.”)

Cussing and fussing, she drug herself, her crutches, and her gorilla-sized luggage up to the second level of our car and started dramatically and loudly relaying a tale of woe to everyone around her. But those savvy Parisians – having read my no-eye-contact blog post, I’m guessing – were having none of it and practiced the no-eye-contact rule.

Eschewing those unappreciative snobs in the balcony, she clunked back down –with her luggage and crutches – to the entry level of the car. That placed her about two feet from where we were sitting in a slightly raised area (think mezzanine level). Now visible to all passengers on the lower below-ground level, all passengers on the upper second level, and all passengers on our mezzanine level, she had shrewdly positioned herself center stage.

What luck. We had front-row mezzanine (almost dress-circle) seats, and we didn’t even pay extra for them!

Fortunately, two young men were already standing on her “stage.” Perfect: unsuspecting fellas who can function as supporting actors without expecting a cut of the tips. (Monologues are hard to do properly, as we shall see.) Striking up a heated argument with the two guys, who thought the whole episode immensely funny, she switched back and forth between French, Spanish, German, and English, haranguing them multilingually. We picked up enough from her four languages to know that “her man had done her wrong,” and let’s just leave it at that.

The two supporting actors eventually tired of such a prima donna and got off the train. Left with no protagonists, she continued her dramatic ranting, trying to make eye contact with all of us in the audience, but we were most uncooperative. She sang a little of the Beatles Help, but had lost her nerve, I think, and gradually began to fizzle out, merely muttering to herself “que rien de bon bâtard.”

She tugged her luggage off at the next stop, tucked her crutches under her arm and strode off, stage right. My drama critic view? Strong start but lacked punch at the finale.

Wow. Wonder who they’ll send us tomorrow??

Someone with not quite the pizazz, as it turned out. Our next performer might have had a better chance if we hadn’t been been spoiled by the angry-four-language gal.

Let me set the stage. Paris was having unseasonably warm weather while we were there, and Paris is notorious for lacking AC. We planned poorly one day and found ourselves competing for seats and standing room with hundreds of Parisian commuters headed for home. Packed like sardines into an unairconditioned Metro car, those commuters had taken every seat, every hand strap, every rail.

Enter a diminutive, 4’10″, senior citizen who hopped onto the car just as the doors were closing. Once on secure footing on her stage, she began loudly and dramatically reciting something in French. A dramatic poem well known to the French, I assumed. Belying her age, she hopped, skipped, and jumped through the center aisle, squeezing between tired, overheated commuters, orating as she went.

It was a tough crowd. They were not appreciative or amused. Heck, we weren’t amused – even though it was free. She left our car, jumped into the next one, and we all heaved a sigh of relief. But wait, she returned (tip-less, no doubt). But on this return trip through, the bounce had gone out of her hopping, skipping, and jumping. She got off at the next stop.

What was she thinking? End of day: tired commuters. Hot day: overheated, cranky commuters. Even angry-four-language gal couldn’t have worked that crowd. And then, bad acting is bad acting, no matter how you slice it.

Comme ci comme ça. Since our Metro pass didn’t include a line item for “entertainment,” we couldn’t very well complain, could we? Besides, we had plenty more exciting performances – more than you have time to read about. So. Did we get our money’s worth? Oh, baby. Did we ever!

*But while you’re enjoying the show, keep an eye out for pickpockets.

If you live on the East Coast or in a major metropolitan area with reliable public transit, you already know this rule of conduct. You can stop reading right here if you like, savvy traveler.

We, however, are mere rubes. We live in the West. We didn’t know this eye contact rule when we first began international traveling. But it isn’t our fault that we’re so backward: we’ve been deprived. Our Denver RTD has been telling us for years how marvelous their system will be. Of course, we don’t have it, will continue to be taxed for what we don’t have, and can’t live long enough to use it if it ever gets built. (Yes, I am annoyed: my frugal nature detests paying repeatedly for something I’ll never receive.)

There. I feel better. Sometimes a good rant just has to be indulged, and it always feels better when you can honestly say “it’s not my fault.”

In our humble experience, this no-eye-contact rule applies more to European mass transit than to Scotland’s – or even England’s. We’ve had delightful conversations with friendly Brits and Scots alike on trains and buses. In Europe? Not so much.

There’s sound logic for this simple rule: you never know just how unhinged the person across the aisle might be. Best not to provoke any hoo-ha that could easily be avoided by simply not looking.

There is, though, one stellar and wonderfully frugal exception to this rule.