North of the Wall

Hey everybody,

This was by far the most expensive vacation I've ever planned.  By. Far. First off, it's Sweden. Secondly, it'd been almost 3 years since Dawn and I took a vacation together so budget went out the window in favor of checking every box on the wishlist.  Dog sledding and snowmobiling? Yes.  Fancy spa hotel?  Of course.  One night in a designer treehouse?  Why not?  And of course we'll be able to see the northern lights, right?  Right?

Well it didn't work out quite as planned. 

• According to my calculations, during our 19 days in Sweden and Italy we spent approximately 22 unnecessary hours in various airports due to flight delays or cancellations.  
• I jumped through hoops to make reservations and spent a large chunk of change on a fancy dinner in Stockholm that seemed to consist of 96.4832% salt.  Dawn and I must have drunk a gallon of water each that night and we both felt sick.
• There was not enough snow in northern Sweden in December for us to go snowshoeing, or snowmobiling, or dogsledding, or even to visit reindeer since the herders require a certain snow depth before they can round them up for their winter grazing.  Most of the activities we had booked were cancelled.  Thanks a lot climate change!
• It did, however, decide to snow fairly heavily the entire week that we were in the north which gave us approximately a 0% chance of seeing any semblance of any lights, much less the northern ones.
• Dawn got sick with some kind of flu or sinus infection on day 3 of the trip and was unable to shake it until well after we got home.  
• We never got fully over the jetlag.  We kept waking up between 4 and 5 AM every damn night for almost two weeks regardless of when we went to sleep.  I have no idea why... maybe because it got dark at 2PM.

What's there to write about then?  Did we actually do anything while we were there?  Why am I even writing this?  Well, the aforementioned climate change was a hot topic.  That was the subject that was top of mind with everyone we spoke with in northern Sweden.  We flew from Stockholm to Gallivare in the heart of "Lapland" which is a name given by the Swedes to the area but known as Sapmi to the indigenous Sami people. When we landed, Dawn said to me that it looked like we were "North of the Wall" which if you're a Game of Thrones fan you'll understand.

The impact of a later snowfall on a populace that is so closely tied both directly and indirectly to seasonal cycles and the environment is the first thing anyone wants to talk to you about.  Most years they would have expected half a meter of snow by the time we were there.  Late snow means late herding of reindeer, which means less winter grazing time.  Lennart (our host at Sapmi Nature camp) explained that for many Sami people reindeer are like currency and any threat to reindeer wellbeing directly affects their livelihood and primary food source.  Add the impact of other human enterprises like hydroelectric dams and extensive forestry on top of that and it's been putting the Sami way of life at risk for decades.  The old growth forests are dwindling, and the efforts of the forestry industry to replace them with new growth does nothing for the ecosystem.  Reindeer and moose need mature forest for foraging, so the moose actually end up eating the newly planted trees for sustenance.  What's the forestry industry's answer to that?  Shoot the moose, of course!  If you happen to lease your land from the forestry industry, they give you quotas for how many moose you have to shoot depending on how many acres you have.  So you shoot the moose because the forestry people tell you to and then what happens?  The moose become endangered and, on top of that, the bears now start eating your reindeer (the aforementioned currency and Sami man's best friend) because there aren't enough moose to feed the bear population.

Lennart also talked to us about the more direct threats to their culture, things like forced assimilation (Lennart's dad was forcibly sent to a Swedish boarding school), no political representation for the Sami people (a Sami parliament with no real legislative authority), and a lot of other anecdotes that sounded very familiar to anyone who's familiar with how indigenous cultures are treated by dominant cultures.  If any of you have been following the stories out of Canada about the religious schools that were forced upon the indigenous people you'll find many parallels.

We stayed in a "glamping" lavvu, which is a large teepee tent with a pellet stove, comfortable bed and an incinerating toilet named Cinderella.  It was light at 9AM and dark by 2PM although we never got to really see the sun, just shades of gray.  I went for a hike on a frozen river which is something I'd never done before.  We ate gooseberries, smoked trout, moose that had been killed and butchered by Lennart himself, and some really, really salty reindeer meat that Lennart assured me was delicious when dipped in your coffee.  Ugh.

After Gallivare we headed to Harads where we stayed at Arctic Bath for a few nights, a fancy spa/hotel with fancy fine dining and fancy cabins directly on the Lule river.  They immediately informed us that all our planned activities for each day had been cancelled except for one.  I suppose that was a sort of blessing in disguise since Dawn spent most of the next few days sick in bed.  Luckily, we had downloaded the full season of Great British Baking Show.  This is the week where it decided to start snowing, of course, which meant a 0% chance of clear skies or anything resembling night-time lights.  The highlight of the stay for me was the chance to have a 0° C plunge in the cold water pool in the center of the spa.  They keep the water from freezing by using hydro jets to keep it moving around.  I did the whole hot/cold sauna-to-cold plunge three times and it felt like thousands of tiny needles piercing your skin at the same time but in a good way.  5 stars, would recommend.  We did stay one night at the famous Treehotel in a treehouse called "The Cube" which required a 15 minute walk in a snowstorm to reach.  Thanks to my expert planning we arrived at 5PM and had to leave at 8AM to catch a flight so we never got to see our treehouse in the daylight.

During the approximately three hours of clear sky and good health we enjoyed in the north we managed to go ice fishing with Micke Suorra.  Micke is a wilderness guide and expert moose caller who owns a private lake he uses for ice fishing.  He also thought I was Randy Couture, which of course I am.  Micke is a talker and he likes to laugh which helped make this outing the most pleasant few hours of our time in the north.  Dawn and I caught 12 arctic char between us, one of which we kept to bring back to the hotel restaurant so they could make it for our lunch.  After fishing, we sat in Micke's lakeside cabin by a fire where he made us grilled cheese and reindeer sandwiches and told us a lot of stories.  Like Lennart, Micke is of Sami descent and has a lot of "feelings" about the forestry industry.  He has a minimum number of five moose that he is supposed to kill every year to continue to keep the lease on his land, and that number is determined by the forestry officials.  Micke told them that he would kill one moose because that is sufficient to feed his family over the winter and he would kill no more than that and that was that.  A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

We bookended our trip to northern Sweden with a few days in Stockholm, mostly staying in Gamla Stan (Old Town).   The Christmas market was in full swing on Saturdays right in front of the Nobel museum, with stalls selling all sorts of Xmas goodies from Glogg to bear jerky to cloudberry jam.  We got a recipe for delicious beet soup, ate Swedish pastries with hot chocolate, tried Swedish meatballs at a small café, and had yet another fancy dinner at a Michelin star place where every plate was beautiful but extremely salty.  After spending that kind of dough you don't want to be lying awake in bed feeling thirsty and bloated for 4 hours.  I may be off the fancy dinners for a while.

The last part of the trip was visiting family in Italy.  I hadn't seen my dad in three years since I brought Covid back from Italy to the United States "12 Monkeys" style.  He's looking pretty good for an old man although he's still eating too much.  My stepmom told us that they had to take him to the emergency room because he got sick after eating too many mushrooms at a dinner party.  She said something something "two kilos" which is 4.5 pounds but that seems almost impossible.  My dad's rebuttal: "They were fresh porcini."  Then he shrugged and went back to reading his newspaper.  Enough said.

Our last couple of nights in Italy were spent with my cousin Andrea and his wife Caterina at their Casapaletti Country House B&B about an hour outside of Torino in northwest Italy.  They have a beautiful villa with a fantastic view of the surrounding valley.  And a hot tub.  It had snowed the day before we arrived so everything was covered in a light layer of white.  The way Andrea operates when he takes you on a tour is that everything he does is an excuse for either eating or drinking something interesting.  We visited several local wineries where he buys wine for his B&B, usually featuring the local specialty of Grignolino as well as other favorites from Piemonte (like Barolo).  We ate fresh pasta with goat ragu and rare Piemontese beef at a truck stop.  We sampled cheeses that Andrea picked up from a local farm.  We visited a winery that featured a several hundred year old wine cellar called an "Infernot" that has been carved out of stone.  It was the only sunny day that we enjoyed in our almost three week vacation and it was not a bad way to end things.  

Nobody is going to feel sorry for you when you take five weeks off work and spend three weeks traveling in Europe.  Nevertheless, I don't think either one of us would say this was the most enjoyable or most relaxing vacation we've taken.  As time passes, though, the difficulties will turn into good stories.  Everything sounds more hilarious in a two-sentence quip versus when you're actually living it.  I do remember discovering the beauty of the stark contrast of grays and whites on display in the grim north of Sweden.  I got to take my frozen plunge.  We learned about the Sami people while staying in a cozy fancy tent. We ate a lot of good food.  I caught fish for the first time ever and got to eat it.  I saw my family for the first time in three years.  It was also the first time in three years that Dawn and I took a vacation together.  What's to complain about?

Here's a link to the photo album:  North of the Wall

Take 'er easy,

Dave

Blød Indeni

 Hey everybody,

When Marcellus said "Something is rotten in the state of Denmark" I believe he was referring to Woods, who had not done laundry in 8 days by the time I met him in Copenhagen.  You see, Woods had spent 4 weeks cycling around Denmark and was in desperate need of a washing machine.  Lucky for him, the Airbnb where we stayed in Nyhavn was supplied with a washer/dryer, although the residents had left a wet load of laundry in said washer.  

Mustang or Pinto?  You decide.

Why Denmark?  That's where Woods was. I invited myself. I suppose I owe you more of an explanation since, you know, you're reading this.  Let's talk about my buddy Woods first.  We've been friends for 41 years.  His mom used to babysit my brother and me after school sometimes after we moved to the US from Italy. Woods and I were in the same grade at the same elementary school but I'd say we didn't really start hanging out a ton until high school.  That's when woods had the faux skater haircut and the faux Ford Mustang.  Then came college, where he, Felix, Kit and I all cut a lot of classes to play video games commuted to school, then after college Woods was my first roommate at Scotchhollow apartments.  I remember many nights listening to Santana and playing Jetmoto on the Playstation.  I introduced Woods to Campari (you're welcome).  I can't remember how many nights I came home from work to see him planted in front of the tv watching the movie "Heat" and staring off into the distance.  I gave Woods and Tiff the worst best man speech ever for which I have apologized both in real life and many, many times in my head.  They still chose me as the godfather to Tabitha for some reason that I'll never understand.   Woods is and has been a great friend that I've been lucky to have.  He's been working full-time since he was 17, so when the opportunity of a sabbatical from his job presented itself he jumped at the opportunity to combine two of his passions:  cycling and travel.  I think he told me it was going to be all across Scandinavia but then, you know, Covid, so it ended up as 4 weeks in Denmark.  As I mentioned earlier I invited myself.  Of course, I wasn't going to do any sort of rigorous cycling on short-notice with no training (I learned that lesson from the trek in Nepal), but a week at the tail end in Copenhagen eating and drinking sounded pretty good to me.

It was strange to say the least to be at an airport and excited to get on a plane after the last couple of years.  Half of the booths and restaurants at the SFO international terminal are closed and everyone is wearing a mask.  Masks are mandatory on the flight as well, which isn't as bad as it sounds except I had a bit of chafing behind my ears after the 10 hour flight.  Every other seat is empty unless you're traveling with other people.  Other than that, it was much the same as always.  When I arrived in Copenhagen it was 8am on a Saturday so the streets were largely empty.  I like walking around a city in the early morning to get a feel for it without the distraction of people.  My first impressions of central Copenhagen were that it smells like the sea, it's very clean and it's very bike/pedestrian friendly.

Woods and I checked into an Airbnb in Nyhavn near the harbor that was owned by an opera singer and had extremely wonky floors.  It gave the appearance that we had somehow surprised the hosts by showing up... there was the aforementioned laundry in the washer and a full load of clean dishes in the dishwasher.  We spent most of day 1 wandering around Copenhagen, having some pastries, taking the water taxi around town, buying snacks at a convenience store, and ending up at Broens street food for dinner.  I introduced Woods to the Negroni (you're welcome again).  I would also advise you to never, ever, ever eat Kim's pork cracklings if you're in Denmark.  Let's just say they didn't sit well.

The first half of day 2 was spent dealing with the aftermath of said pork cracklings, but we did salvage the second half of the day walking around town and taking the ferry to Reffen street food.  This is an outdoor street food park with probably 30-40 stalls plus a few bars.  There was a stage with a band playing Danish retro pop with hooks that wormed their way into my brain and I am still humming two weeks later.  Please please please whatever you do never listen to Blød Indeni by Thøger Dixgaard.  It will haunt your dreams.  Okay, you should listen to it.  I don't want to be alone in my struggle.  Here you go:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-MSCF_Ayrg4

Woods signed us up for a Danish pastry class that ended up being taught by a French guy named Frederic Terrible.  It's okay though... he's been living in Denmark for 30 years and he used a lot of butter.  A lot.  Of.  Butter.  We learned how to make four different kinds of pastries using the same dough as a base, and it was a lot easier process than I imagined.  Happy to share the recipes with you if you're interested.  The downside of taking a class from a French pastry chef is that it's a French pastry chef.  He would come around and look at your twists and say "that's fine" then point out three things that are wrong with it and then say "but that's fine."  You could see the sweat forming on his brow from the internal struggle that was waging within him:  His knowledge that we are beginners and not professionals and he should be patient battling against the fact that we are fucking up his pastries.  Ultimately the former prevailed but it was a near thing.  Consider this a wholehearted endorsement of the class though... I wouldn't want to learn from some jackass who gives us a participation ribbon for cranking out shitty pastries.

Travelers returning to the US need to have a negative Covid test within 3 days of departure so that was our next stop.  There is an extremely well-organized testing station set up in central Copenhagen where they set up a large tent in a square outside a church with a ton of health workers.  We were in and out of there in 10 minutes.  Note:  Woods was *extremely* nervous about the test.  Denmark has completely opened up, as in zero social distancing, masks only on public transport, all restaurants and bars are fully open, etc.  It was great but it definitely played on Woods' anxiety brain.  This is a guy who would need 2-3 hours blocked off to mentally prepare for work when he was stocking the milk box at the grocery store.  Anyhow, nothing to worry about we were both in the clear.  We then took a harbor tour on a boat piloted by Sebastian who showed us the architectural highlights with backstories and emphasized to us that there are two things that are important to the Danes:  Water (as in bodies of water) and enjoying different types of food.

The next day we took the train to Roskilde for perhaps one of the best museums I've ever visited:  The Viking Boat Museum.  I feel that "museum" is a bit of a misnomer given that there are actual woodworkers building actual Viking boats using tools and techniques from 1000 years ago.  It's a living exhibit.  Woods and I roamed around the shipyard and ended up talking to one of the woodworker/docents for 10-15 minutes about the process, techniques, how he got into it, etc.  The Vikings had all sorts of complicated ways of making their boats seaworthy and watertight using horsehair and tar between planks, and when Woods and I expressed amazement at this our new friend reminded us that they had already been building boats for 9000 years by this point.  The boat they were currently working on would take 5 years to build since they are only able to work on it during the summer season.  They have already built five other replica boats, one of which was sailed/rowed from Copenhagen to Dublin and back in 2007-2008.  Our buddy told us that he initially started out studying forestry but got into shipbuilding during his studies.  In Denmark they pay you a salary while you go to vocational school so there was no downside for him to pivot his career.  The whole concept of the museum was founded when they discovered a bunch of Viking boats that had been scuttled in an apparent attempt to block access to the fjord.  They pieced them back together back in the 1960s in order to learn about how they were crafted and built, and they are still on display at the museum.  It wasn't a good day for sailing but Woods and I jumped into one of the Viking boats and were able to spend an hour rowing out into the fjord to experience what it was like to get out on the water.  I was surprised at how little resistance the oars offered in the water but that was by design.  The Vikings wanted folks to be able to row for extended periods and not burn themselves out quickly.  Those guys were out on the water for weeks!

That evening was our fancy dinner at Kokkeriet in Copenhagen.  If you want a synopsis of what that was like, I think you can get a general idea by watching this:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SkaL4qHKwzA .  I will admit that fine dining is a long way from my backpacking days, but when you compress 6 months of travel down to one week you end up with a bit more disposable income.  Besides, in all the years we've known each other Woods and I have never traveled together or had a fancy meal.  So he deserved it.  Our waiter was Luca from Croatia and we were lucky enough to be in the restaurant on a Tuesday which is the testing night.  What that means that is in addition to your regular menu they give you four additional plates and ask for your feedback on them.  I will let the math and the pictures do the talking by adding up one amuse-bouche, 9 courses, 4 tasters and 8 wine pairings.  We did not get an early start the next day.  I will close this by saying it was the second-best fine dining experience I've ever had after Vinkeles in Amsterdam.

Our last touristy trip was to Helsingor, also known as Elsinore which is where Hamlet takes place.  Kronborg castle is its name, and it lies along the Danish coast a stone's throw from Sweden.  Visitors have almost complete access to the castle inside and out.  Many of the rooms have been set up and decorated with furniture and art from the appropriate periods, and there are multilingual blurbs that describe each room and its function.  You can visit the chapel and even the casements underground where folks would hide out during a siege.  There are quite a few hat-tips to Hamlet, especially the plays and movies that have been recorded on location.  You can walk all around the grounds including along a short beach where you can set foot in the Baltic sea.

Overall I had a great time hanging out with a great friend in a great country.  I'd highly recommend a trip to Denmark as I think would Woods, and his opinion should count more than mine given that he spent a total of five weeks there.  A few random observations for you:

• At first I thought that tanning salons were a thing in Denmark but after a few days I realized that there are just a lot of tan Danes.  I don't know if they tan easily or spend a lot of time outdoors or both.
• Danes speak such good English.  I don't mean just vocabulary but also slang and colloquialisms.  I never had to stretch myself beyond "hi" and "tak".
• People are fit but not as tall as I thought they would be.  Why did I think they would be tall?  I don't know.
• I never withdrew any cash in my 6 days in Denmark.  I paid for everything with my credit card.
• There are almost no Covid restrictions other than on public transport and at the airport.  Everything seemed back to normal, including the crowds.
• Architecture in Copenhagen is striking.  I'd call it modern without being oppressive or pretentious.
• It is super easy to walk everywhere, and the bike infrastructure is amazing.  There are two separate sidewalks in central Copenhangen:  one for bicycles and a raised one for pedestrians.  Both are well-marked and you will be punished if you make the mistake of walking on the bicycle path.
• There are a surprising number of hornets in Copenhagen.

Welp, at least I got one trip under my belt this year.  I'd like to go somewhere in the latter half as well but we'll see.  These are crazy times.  Hope you're all keeping safe and sane.

Here's a link to the photo album.  Enjoy!  https://photos.app.goo.gl/2y37gMpePmbpz6qa6

Take 'er easy,

Dave

The Coronegroni Vacation

Hey everybody,

Well... this is something. For those of you that may not have known, Dawn and I were in Italy from mid-February to early March.  Yes, that Italy. Usually the first thing that I think of when I return from a vacation is where I'm going to have my next vacation, but now I'm just wondering *when* I'm going to have my next vacation. I'm not quite sure what to say about our three weeks in Europe during that particular moment in time.  I was so happy to just get away from work and the house, and it was the first time in 2.5 years that Dawn and I were able to take a vacation together.  I'd been wanting to see my family, and to see my brother Stefano and his family's B&B outside of Lucca.  I'd been wanting to see Carnevale again and share that experience with Dawn.  I'd been wanting to go to Napoli and see Pompeii.   I'd been wanting to finally visit Prague.  We did all those things and yet it was... weird.

You don't expect the backdrop of your vacation to be the buildup of a global pandemic.  When we first arrived in Italy,  there were comments and discussions about Coronavirus, but folks were treating it more as a punch line to a joke than anything else.  We had our temperature screened when we landed but it was more of a laugh than anything else. Carnevale went on as it always does, the weather posing more of a threat to festivities than any virus.  We took the train to Napoli to meet Mark, visited Pompeii, ate real pizza and drank real espresso. Day by day, though, the news got worse and worse.  On the train ride back from Napoli, the screens flashed periodic updates on Coronavirus safety.  We commiserated with Stefano that this was all overblown and it would hurt their nascent B&B business.  At first, the authorities encouraged people not to overreact or panic.  A few days later, entire villages in the north were being shut down and put into quarantine.  By the end of our second week there, my niece's school was closed and the B&B's bookings had dried up.  We questioned whether we would be let into the Czech Republic for our trip to Prague, or if we would be let back into Italy if we left.  Italian hospitals in the north began to fill up.  Older people started dying.  By the time our last few days of vacation rolled around, Dawn and I worried that our flight would be among those cancelled and that we would be stuck abroad on lockdown for who knows how long.  What began with ridicule turned to concern and then to anxiety, not only for us but for the whole country it seemed.  It was not exactly a backdrop for the relaxing vacation we'd hoped for, but in spite of the circumstances we tried to make the most of it.

With my brother Stefano at Carnevale

One of the reasons we decided on a February trip was so Dawn could experience Carnevale and we didn't miss out on that.  Patrizia (my stepmom) dug a couple of costumes out of boxes so we could join the 80,000 people wandering along Viareggio's seaside promenade; eating, drinking, singing and dancing while gazing at 4-story mechanized papier-mache floats making their way down the street.  It's truly a unique experience that takes place over four weeks before lent, with five days dedicated to parades and with different parts of the city throwing nighttime parties throughout.  It's very difficult to describe the spectacle in pictures, so I posted as many videos as seem reasonable.  Still, the scale, the choreography, the exuberance and the general air of happiness are impossible to capture in a digital medium.  We went to the parades twice, bookended around our trip to Napoli so that Mark could also experience Carnevale.  We saw fireworks, we drank, we danced, we ate cuttlefish and chard risotto, and Mark and I ended up in a mosh pit during a punk/ska performance of Viareggio carnevale songs.

Pizzas at Da Michele

Right, so I said Napoli.  Within an hour of arriving we ate pizza at Da Michele and saw a dead body in the street.  The next morning we had a legit Neapolitan espresso so that completed the Napoli trifecta.  Mark is in love with this city and has been there half a dozen times.  It's easy to understand why, with its mix of history, beauty, grittiness and wonderful food... not to mention the ruins of Pompeii.  We stayed with Luigi at the Palazzo Bevilacqua where we were provided with fresh pastries every morning like sfogliatelle and baba.  We took the funicular up to Castel Sant' Angelo for views of the bay and the entire city then roamed along the Spanish quarter.  Napoli is a dirty city, with piles of garbage, lots of soot and plenty of dog poop to go around.  Did I mention the dead body?  Anyhow, there is so much to offer that you can get past all that, and I haven't even talked about Pompeii yet.  My love for ancient cities is well-documented (see Ephesus, Rome, etc.), and Pompeii was no different.  Nothing I'm going to write here is going to do a better job describing this marvel than what you will find through a cursory search on the internet, so I'm just going to say that modern-day humans are arrogant morons.  We think anything before computers was the dark ages, yet here is a city from almost 2000 years ago that had everything any human being would need to live a fulfilling life.

After returning to Viareggio and once Carnevale was over, Dawn and I retreated for a few days into the countryside to stay at La Casa di Alice, my family's B&B located outside of Lucca.  Yes, this is the part where I shill for my family.  I'm not even going to say anything... I'll include links to Tripadvisor and Booking.com reviews and you can judge for yourself.  If you want to spend a couple of days hiking, biking or just relaxing in the Tuscan hills you should check it out.  15 minutes to Lucca, 15 minutes to the beach, beautiful views and excellent food.  No, Stefano will not bake a pizza for you in his wood-burning oven.  Family only.

Before heading to Prague, my cousin forwarded me an article that they were taking special care to screen travelers coming from Italy.  We thought our flight might be cancelled, but our experience was quite the opposite.  After landing we didn't even have our temperature checked, we were simply handed a flyer that described the symptoms and that was it.  At times I enjoy being contrary, but in this instance I'm going to join the chorus and say that Prague should be visited.  Prague gives Paris a run for its money for most beautifully lit city by night.  We stayed in the old town and walked everywhere we wanted to go.  People were friendly, English is spoken everywhere and prices are reasonable.  We lucked out with crystal clear skies, which we took advantage of by climbing to the top of Petrin Tower for 360 degree hilltop views of the entire city.  We strolled through Prague Castle which was still surprisingly crowded, though I can't imagine how late February crowds compare to those at the peak of summer.  The food and beer were excellent and three days went by too quickly.  We spent the better part of a day touring the Jewish quarter, its striking/spooky/jagged cemetery and several synagogues.  When I sit down to write these stories, I always think about how to make something enjoyable to read through humor, or sarcasm, or relating an anecdote.  None of that applies here, so I'll only say that if you go to Prague you need to visit the Jewish quarter and see the names on the Pinkas synagogue walls.   Nobody enjoys putting themselves through an experience that can be emotionally turbulent, but there are events in history that should never and can never be forgotten. Put yourself through it to remember, and take something back with you as a keepsake.  I bought a small clay golem.

Our last few days were spent in Viareggio with family, enjoying their company and their food while fighting low-level anxiety about the heightening of this pandemic.  We watched a few parody videos about how the news had exaggerated the threat, but there was a more serious edge than there had been when we arrived.  Over 25% of flights were cancelled the week we departed, and Italy went on lockdown only 3 days after we left.  We weren't sure what to expect going through customs in San Francisco, but the officer seemed more concerned about whether or not I was accurately cataloguing the gifts I had brought back than the fact that we had just returned from a virus hotspot.  He did not even ask us where we flew in from... we volunteered that information.  We were waved through without checking our temperature or any further instructions, and took it upon ourselves to self-quarantine for two weeks.

Folks, before I leave you I'd like to talk about the greatest cocktail ever invented:  the Negroni.  The hipsters got a hold of it a few years ago so chances are you already know what it is, for better or for worse.  Viareggio is the home of the first ever Negroni club (Club del Negroni) and bar, where they make over a dozen variations of the cocktail as well as Negroni-based dinners.  As huge fans of this drink, Dawn and I made a point to visit this strangely artistic hole-in-the wall, and if you're ever in Viareggio you should too.  The owners are more than happy to wax poetic about their unsuccessful attempts at launching clubs all over the world, and to share their experiences creating all sorts of Negroni concoctions (try the Negroni beer).  While in Prague, we stumbled upon another "Negroni club" which, while lacking the charm of the original, still served Negroni which, honestly, is the bare minimum required to operate a Negroni club.  Good enough for us.  We also capped off our vacation with a housemade Negroni provided by Il Bresci (my dad).  Whatever it lacked in flavor was made up for in enthusiasm.  By the way, through extensive research I have determined that the best Negroni is made with Dutch Courage gin and Cocchi vermouth with a couple of dashes of orange bitters.

I hope the pictures are as fun for you to view as they were for us to snap (see link below to album).  Also, thank you moms for watching the dogs!

https://photos.app.goo.gl/FpJ7Ebn8xdWhbb2C9

Take 'er easy,
Dave

Epilogue:  I am writing this in early July and I just received the results from a blood test.  Sure enough I have Covid antibodies although strangely Dawn's results came back negative.  Can't say that I'm too surprised about testing positive... we were in Italy for 3 weeks and went to a party with 80,000 people.  When we left in mid-February, Covid was more of a shoulder shrug than an exclamation point. Now we know better and I consider myself lucky that I'm healthy and lucky that my family is doing fine.  This disease has killed and will kill a lot of people.  Wear your fucking mask please.

Ice Baths in the Jungle

Hey everybody,

I'm on a streak of Central American countries the last few years.  Dawn again couldn't join me so I had to pick somewhere relatively closeby.  I was trying to figure out where to go when my buddy Julian said "Why don't you look for a Wim Hof method class?"  I'd been practicing the WHM for a couple of years before all this life business happened with the new job and the house which someday I will write about and yes I will call that post "The Money Pit."  Anyhow, the timing was that there was a WHM retreat in Costa Rica in early August.  So I signed up and immediately got a phone call from the trainer telling me to start taking daily cold showers and hiking 3x/week for at least 45 minutes.  Oh, and bring a headlamp and boots (for snakes).

I was on the fence about whether or not to rent a car given that I was traveling alone.  It turned out to be a good decision because it's the rainy season and I'd have the autonomy to travel on my own schedule.  When picked up my Suzuki Jimny 4x4, the rental guy had four pieces of advice:  Drive defensively, don't offer the cops a bribe if they pull you over, don't try to drive through a river, and use Waze because there are no addresses in Costa Rica (!).

I spent my first few days in Uvita, a small village in the southwest corner of CR right on the Pacific coast.  The area around Uvita is known for whale watching and surfing, although there are much better waves for the latter farther north.  Given that it was rainy season, the town was relatively desolate which suited me just fine.  The only time I ever saw people was at restaurants or when I went on a whale watching boat tour.  The Marino Ballena national park is an aquatic area off the shore of Uvita that is known as a migration stop for Humpback whales.  We saw several whales and their calves swimming a few dozen feet from our boat.  The boat dropped me off on a small offshore island named Whale's Tail which is connected by a sand bridge to the mainland during low tide.

It rained during most of my stay in Uvita which suited me just fine.  The best time to be on a beach is during a rainstorm because you get it all to yourself.  It's magical.  Besides, tropical rain isn't really rain anyway.  It's showering with your clothes on.  I will also take a brief interlude to dispense unsolicited travel advice:  If you're going to bring board shorts/swim trunks on your trip, make sure to try them on before you go.  Apparently I've put on a few pounds in the last 5 years, so I was sporting a wicked muffin top while fighting to keep the velcro fly from flying open every time I hit a wave.  The sun finally decided to make an appearance on my last morning in Uvita, giving me a glimpse of the entirety of the gorgeous coastline and beach bookended by cliffs.  I can imagine what it's like in high season, but on this day there were only a few folks out for a stroll and a small surfing class in the whitewash.

Costa Ricans are known as "ticos" and their national slogan is "Pura Vida" which, as far as slogans go, is quite good.  You hear it announced over the airplane loudspeaker as you land and it's plastered on advertisements all over the airport.  I wasn't sure if it was some kind of marketing, although folks did occasionally use it as a greeting.  Especially surfers.

After Uvita it was a couple hours drive south nearly on the border with Panama to the location of the WHM retreat; a sustainable treehouse community called Finca Bellavista.  I had zero idea what to expect either from the location or from the retreat itself.  It took about 15 minutes of offroad 4-wheeling to get to the site of the Finca in the midst of the southern jungle of Costa Rica, and it was more beautifult than I imagined.  Finca Bellavista sits on 600 acres of rainforest with a river, waterfall, organic garden, hiking trails, monkeys, sloths, tropical birds and snakes.  And bugs.  The base camp is a large wooden building where folks hang out and meals are served, and there is a little rancho on the side with a large deck and a covered space for yoga and happy hour drinks.  The treehouses themselves are all privately owned but centrally managed, and our particular treehouse was owned by Ian, the WHM instructor leading the retreat.

It turns out only three of us signed up for the retreat:  me, a Bulgarian/Israeli guy named Yati who's been living in Costa Rica for 14 years, and Wallace, a 71-year old retiree from Beaufort, South Carolina.  Quite an eclectic mix.  The retreat itself was a fantastic experience.  We had a regular routine of waking up at 5AM, which is really fucking early, except that's when the sun comes out in Costa Rica and the entire jungle around you wakes up.  Maybe someone can explain to me why, if Costa Rica is parallel with Florida, it is two hours behind the eastern time zone.  Anyhow, it was a 45 minute hike down from the treehouse to the base camp, where we'd start off the day with intense breath work.  We did five cycles of deep breathing and retention, each day with a different focus.  The breath work is what got me hooked into the WHM in the first place, because I discovered I can use these techniques for relaxation, for energy, or to simply connect with your body.  After the breath work, Ian would take us through a very relaxing guided meditation, and lastly, the ice bath.  When I mention ice baths and cold showers that's usually when people tune out anything I have to say about the WHM.  If you've never been in an ice bath, you should try it.  The key is to learn to relax and breathe normally when your body is telling you to get the fuck out.  If you can learn to go with it, the feeling can become quite pleasant.  It will give you more energy than 10 cups of coffee.  There's quite a bit of information on the web on the benefits of ice baths (cardiovascular health, reduced inflammation, brown fat production) but it's the internet so take it with a grain of salt.  All I know is that it feels great... usually when it's over but still!  An ice bath in Costa Rica, however, requires one of the Finca employees to drive to a nearby town and pick up over 200 lbs of ice each day.  Every day after this cycle had been completed I felt amazing.  I learned quite a few new breath techniques that I'd love to share.  If you're interested I'd be happy to talk you through them next time I see you.

In the mornings and afternoons we'd go on hikes up the river to the waterfall, where you could lie on a rock and let the water rush over you.  We'd try more breathing exercises with pushups, including once where we performed breath work in a downpour on a deck overlooking the canopy of the jungle.  One day we drove up into the hills because Yati insisted that he could find magic mushrooms if we could get to a cow pasture (no luck).  I forgot to mention that Yati is also a natural medicine specialist.  He showed us a natural coagulant called Dragon's Blood made out of tree sap that you can use to form a pellicle over cuts and bites.  He also somehow talked me into putting some kind of local honey in my eyes after insisting it would clear up my vision.  The ensuing 10 minutes of nonstop crying could broadly be described as "clearing my vision" so technically he was correct.

There were a few other tourists staying at the Finca, although we mostly talked to the staff and volunteers who worked there.  The volunteers are mostly backpackers who exchange work (clerical, manual, teaching yoga, etc.) for a place to stay.  The intersection of people who are willing to travel to Costa Rica for a WHM retreat and backpackery volunteers produces interesting topics of conversation, including (but not limited to):

• Nutrition
• Physical and Mental health
• Natural medicine and remedies
• GMOs
• Microdosing psilocybin
• Mass hypnosis
• Vibration levels
• Mind control
• Vaccines being used for pacification
• Fluoride being used for pacification
• Tooth fillings being used for pacification
• Alien abductions
• Reptilians

I've been in a pretty square routine the last few years and it's nice to be reminded that there are multiple ways you can choose to live your life.  I didn't agree with (or even understand) some of the subjects that folks were talking about, but I enjoyed listening to the different perspectives.  That being said, if someone had mentioned "flat earth" I would have lost my shit.

I needed that retreat.  After four days in the jungle I felt more relaxed and energized than I have in a very long time.  My retreat companions were wonderful company, and I especially connected with Yati.  Some folks just have a good vibe about them.  After saying goodbye to my new friends, I had one more day before needing to head home so I decided to stay in Dominical, a small surf town a bit north of Uvita.  While this little town is easily walkable in less than 20 minutes, it contains many shops, restaurant and bars on the way to its renowned surf beach.   It even has its own microbrewery, Fuego Brew Co, that produces fairly decent beers.  I spent a couple of afternoon hours on the beach watching the surfers, and decided screw it I'm surfing too.  That excursion lasted approximately 30 minutes and mostly consisted of me popping up and then flying off a surfboard into the whitewash.  I got up once, and that's enough to say I've surfed in Costa Rica.

Overall, I loved Costa Rica and would be happy to return.  People are friendly, it's easy to get around, the food is good, I ate a lot of ceviche, the landscape is beautiful, the beaches are beautiful, the Pacific is surprisingly warm, and there are a ton of things to do.  I'd like to come back with Dawn someday and see more of this country.

Coming back home was a bit of a culture shock after I was able to detach so completely, and I thought I should try to get my thoughts into words quickly before I lost them.  I'm no longer on Facebook so this story may not make it out to all the folks that might be interested.  Feel free to share this with whomever you think would enjoy it on your preferred social media platform.

Without further ado, to view the photos click on this link:
https://photos.app.goo.gl/w3XGUHf2uvD974628

Take 'er easy,
Dave

Velia Leoni (April 1, 1916 – January 14, 2019)

Hey everybody,

This isn't a travel story, but it's kind of an amazing story anyway.  My grandma passed away a few weeks ago and to say she had a remarkable 102 years on earth is a bit of an understatement.  I'm going to let the text of my mom's eulogy speak for itself.

Take 'er easy,
Dave

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In 1912, my mother’s nineteen-year-old parents Giulio Bertolucci and Assida Baldini were married in Viareggio, Italy. (Our native Viareggio is a Tuscan coastal town of beach resorts, fisherman, merchant marines and famous for its winter Carnival).

Like many contemporaries, my grandparents decided to come to America to improve their lives.  My mother’s mother had a brother and uncle in San Francisco, so they came to the city by the bay, infamous Barbary Coast and all. They settled, of course, in the Italian neighborhood.

In 1913, Nonno Giulio and Nonna Assida welcomed baby Raffaello and on April 1, 1916 my mother was born in San Mateo close to here on Delaware Street (near San Mateo High School). At that time, my grandfather, a masonry contractor was working on the Carolands Mansion in Hillsborough.

When she was 2, Velia survived the devastating Spanish Flu pandemic.

The family moved back to San Francisco and survived WWI.

My grandparents worked long hours with the goal of returning home, so my mother and uncle were cared for by English-speaking nuns at a day-care center. As a result, when Velia was 3 and her family returned to Italy, she only spoke very broken Italian.

When she got to Viareggio, Velia was teased mercilessly. That experience marked her for life, so much so that she resolved to learn the language of any place where she might find herself.
Velia grew up with many of her first cousins in the same apartment building.

Little Velia was a tomboy. She was strong and fast.  She tried to play with her brother and the other boys. She often heard, “Go away, you’re a girl!” The few times they did let her play, she beat them.

Velia was generous.  She often gave up her small allowance to her beloved Raffaellino so he could go to the movies. She knew her brother dreamed of becoming a silent film director.

My grandmother loved to tell this story: When Velia was in 5th grade in Viareggio, my grandmother heard a knock at the door.  She opened the door, surprised to see my mother standing there with her 5th grade teacher (who had been my mother’s teacher for 5 long years).  The teacher said, “There is one month left before elementary school ends.  She’s smart, she’s graduating.  Just keep her home.  I can’t deal with this anymore!”

Sadly, loss was a recurrent theme in Velia’s life: When Velia was 11, she lost her only brother, who was 14, to peritonitis. Velia also mourned the deaths of young uncles and an aunt.
Velia’s first cousins became brothers and sisters to her, a feeling she maintained all her life.  She is the last of her first cousins to pass away.

As a teenager, Velia lived in Nice, France where my grandparents owned an Italian restaurant.  Those were her happiest childhood memories.  As she had resolved earlier, she quickly learned French and got up at 4:00 am to go to the market and buy fresh ingredients for the restaurant.
Velia also lived in Corsica, Sicily and Sardinia during the time my grandfather co-owned a wholesale produce business.

At 17 Velia helped at her uncle’s produce store in Viareggio.  Across the street was the Leoni Pharmacy. Velia met Angelo Leoni (better known to family and friends as “Gioli” and as Babbo – Tuscan for Dad – to us). He was the love of her life.

As in Romeo and Juliet, our Babbo’s wealthy family fought against this relationship for 5 years and tried everything to break them apart. Despite their efforts, there was something about Velia my dad could not resist. They married in April 1939 and moved to Venice, another of my mom’s favorite places, where life was very good for a brief time until WWII erupted.

My father went off to a war that Italians predicted would last for only two weeks. My parents went south to the region of Puglia where my father was stationed until a pregnant Velia went back to Viareggio with her parents because they thought they’d be safer there.  Wrong.
They soon had to abandon Nazi-occupied Viareggio and seek refuge in the nearby village of Bozzano. There, in her 7th month of pregnancy, she gave birth to twin girls, Margherita and Elisa. The only available medical help was a midwife and one, very old doctor.  The first baby died at 10 days old and the second at 12 days old.

Shortly thereafter, my father was taken prisoner by the Germans and swept off to a Polish labor camp. Hitler refused to declare Italians as prisoners of war, so the Geneva Convention rules did not apply. We can only imagine what took place at those camps. While trying to survive the bombings and invasions in Italy herself, Velia did not know for 16 months whether her husband was alive or dead.

Thankfully, my father returned home after the war 100 lbs lighter and in terrible condition but he was alive! They had another baby girl in 1946. Elisa caught pneumonia at six months and died. I was the 4th daughter.

In 1950 in Velia’s early 30s my parents followed my grandfather to the US hoping to make a better life for us. Though educated, my mother and father spoke no English. She learned English but never lost her accent.

They settled in the Bay Area and later my little sister Sirenetta was born at Mills Hospital in San Mateo.

They had a dream of returning to Italy that never came true.
My father became a U.S. citizen. He and my mom were proud to be in America. They never missed voting in an election. They loved celebrating Thanksgiving and the 4th of July.

Our home was open and welcoming. When it came time to set the table, we would routinely ask, “For how many people?” 20 guests were not uncommon on the weekends, eating great food, drinking Italian wine and often singing and dancing.
Velia and her mother were gourmet cooks, so people were deliciously surprised, especially at the Holidays where Tuscan traditions were maintained and preparations took days.  Everything, even bread was fresh and from scratch and the magic was in each and every detail.

In Velia’s later years, she won several awards for her home-made vinegar.

She was very intuitive and smart.  She was genuinely curious about people. And the woman could talk like no one else I’ve ever known.

Velia talked to everyone, from relatives to the mail carrier, our teachers, neighbors or complete strangers and remembered the smallest details about their lives.

She was thin skinned and never forgot if she felt offended by what someone said or did.  There was a “Velia List” if you know what I mean.  I was on it often.  Some of you were too.
When she spoke to others, however, she had no filters. How many times did we think, “I can’t believe what she just said!?!!”

Our parents worked very hard at several endeavors: For a few years, they owned “Leoni Imports” on Burlingame Avenue.  However, my father’s post-war life was scarred by frequent bouts of ill health.  My mother had many health challenges as well. She was famous for going to doctors regularly. Some became family friends.

After all she’d been through, depression, anxiety and fear were her frequent companions.

Velia was a very strict and protective mother, partly because she feared what might happen to us.

I had been living in Italy for 11 years when my father passed away in March of 1980. In September of that year, my sons and I moved back to Burlingame to be with my mother and sister.

Grief for my father was strong with Velia but she told us repeatedly she got through it thanks to the company of her little grandsons David and Angelo Bresci who were the lights of her life to the end.  In fact, Sirenetta and I became invisible: My sister and I could be in a room and our mom would totally ignore us in a rush to hug her grandsons. We knew where we stood and that was alright.

I was required to travel extensively for work.  I was only able to do so because I knew my sons had a second home, would be well-taken-care-of and had someone who’d watch them like a hawk!

Although dementia marred her last years, Velia continued to socialize, eat her healthy Italian diet and frequently visit all her doctors who were amazed at her physical strength and health.

She was tenacious, spirited, ornery and the most determined person I have known.

For Velia, it was family first. She had a real soft spot for my husband John.  She immediately loved his children Julie and David and David’s wife Mai.  She was especially thrilled by little Maddie who blessed our family with her presence 2 ½ years ago.  Velia and Maddie were fascinated with each other.

She lovingly welcomed my son Dave’s girlfriend Dawn into our family.

Velia considered friends extended family. Many of you felt that love.

Even in her last few years, as her dementia increased, our mother enjoyed being with family and friends, eating good food and, of course, talking.  Towards the end, she even started singing.
I am comforted by and proud of the fact that I produced her two most wonderful and cherished gifts.  Nothing lit up her eyes and made her as proud as her adored grandsons Dave and Angelo.

I want to honor and thank my sister, Sirenetta. Some of you have dealt with dementia and Alzheimer’s.  It takes unbelievable devotion, love, strength and patience to confront that terrible affliction. Sirenetta was lovingly there for my mom 24/7.  She is our hero!

Addio e grazie, Mamma.  Stai tranquilla.

What you've heard about El Salvador is probably wrong

Hey everybody,

Nine times out of ten when I told someone that I was going to be taking a trip to El Salvador they would say "That's the murder capital of the world!"  They made it sound like I'd be airlifted into a green zone where I would have to duck and cover to make our way from the airport to the nearest safe house.  No one said anything to the effect of "It's going to be super chill borderline boring and you might be the only foreign tourists there.  And you will eat a shitload of pupusas."  Which is more or less what happened.

I met Rich at the airport in San Salvador.  He flew in from Toronto and we managed to coordinate well enough that our flights landed within 20 minutes of each other.  As we exited the airport and were slammed by a wave of tropical heat, we noticed there were no bullets flying overhead or bodies lying in the street.  Just a big crowd of people waiting for their loved ones and cab drivers jostling for fares.  We got a ride from a guy named Milton who lived in the U.S. for 12 years but then was deported back to El Salvador.  "Lawyer was no good."

Our first couple of days in El Salvador we stayed at Playa El Tunco which loosely translates to Pig Beach. We arrived at 9PM on a Saturday night to complete party madness.  We saw a handful of backpackers along the two or three walking streets in the small village, but the partygoers were mostly Salvadoreans who came down to spend the weekend from San Salvador.  Multiple open-air bars were blasting music out into the streets, beers were a dollar, drunk people were roaming the streets, and Rich and I wondered if we'd be able to deal with this chaos for three more days.

El Tunco

Our fears were unfounded.  I wouldn't say El Tunco was completely deserted the following day but it did inspire us to begin our "Where is everybody?" montage that you'll see in the photo album.  Our daily routine largely involved finding the best pupusas in town and then... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ .  On our third day we found a guide to take us to the nearby Tamanique waterfalls which happen to grace the cover of Moon's guide to El Salvador.  Our guide was Johnny, a local kid who works freelance as a guide and as a carpenter.  I should note here that any conversation I'll describe in this post involves me speaking Spanish with somebody else so they should all have approximately 674 asterisks. 

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I've had the above paragraphs written in draft form for about 4 months.  For some reason I haven't been able to bring myself to finish so I'm going to just write a couple more paragraphs and send it out.  Maybe it's work, or the house money pit, or other life stuff, or I'm not the writer I used to be, or maybe part of it is that El Salvador didn't really hold many exciting adventures for me and Rich.  After the second day, we started taking selfies at every locale or restaurant where we were the only tourists... and there were many.

I guess the things that really stick out to me about El Salvador are how relaxed it was.  The food was good, the landscape was beautiful, and the people were really kind.  When we were at the Tamanique waterfall we saw an entire family of 10 climb down to the base of the falls, from grandmother to baby.  They laid out a lunch spread for themselves, then proceeded to make lunch plates for both Rich and me.  That memory of kindness and generosity will stick with me for a long time.

Family lunch on the right

We visited a coffee farm that's running on equipment that's more than 100 years old, where we discovered that it's acceptable to export up to 12% "bad" beans to the United States but Italy will only accept up to 2%.  We stayed in a hill town where we were kept awake by howling dogs, fireworks and chickens.  We visited Mayan ruins.  In Santa Ana we were propositioned by prostitutes a block from our hostel on the way back from another delicious pupusa dinner.  We hiked a volcano.  We went to a speakeasy bar that could only be identified by the color of the door.  And that was pretty much it.

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Pictures here: https://photos.app.goo.gl/KHEp9dNmNHq2aVCb9

Anyhow, I'm off Facebook for the usual reasons so if you'd like to be notified of these posts please remember to subscribe.

Take 'er easy,
Dave

Spleen Sandwich

Hey everybody,

It's taking me a lot longer to write these posts than it used to and I'm not sure why.  Long gone are the days where I lived a life of leisure so maybe that's why.  At dinner the other night I told my buddy Ronnie that I'm going to be starting a new job at the end of the month and he said "You work?  I thought you just traveled around and made beer."  Come on man... I have a job.  I can't travel full-time like Ralf and even he earns travel money buy undergoing medical trials.

Okay back to the topic at hand:  Our trip to Sicily.  I don't recommend taking the ferry from Malta to Sicily for the simple reason that it leaves at 6 AM.  When we told the owner of the hotel in Valletta that we were taking the ferry she scrunched up her face and said "Why aren't you flying?  It's cheaper and faster and you don't have to get up early."  Then once we actually got on the ferry Dawn and I ended up sleeping for most of the time anyway.  So much for the romance of the sea.

I was assured by a company called Siracusa Taxi that a gentleman would be waiting for us at the port in Sicily with my name printed out in bold letters on A4 paper.  When someone is so specific with their directions that they tell you the format of paper they will be using there really is no reason to doubt whether they'll show up... until they don't actually show up.  8 rings into the phone call I heard a groggy voice answer and ask who this is.  I said it's the people who he's supposed to be picking up at the port.  He mumbled something about car trouble then hung up.  This led directly to my first-ever review on TripAdvisor.

Luckily we were found another phone number for a local cab company and within twenty minutes were on our way to Siracusa and, more specifically, Ortigia. If you're not familiar with the history of Siracusa (Syracuse) you should read up on it if you have a chance.  There are stories that stretch back to 600 BC and beyond about not only Siracusa but all of Sicily.  Its central location in the Mediterranean Sea made it a strategic point of interest for Greeks, Romans, Carthaginians, Byzantines... you name it.  Ortigia is a small island off the southeast coast which can aptly be described as Siracusa's old town.  There are warrens of narrow streets leading to larger walking boulevards with beautiful architecture and a coast side ring road with beautiful views of the sea.  It's fairly touristy but with enough quiet alleyways so you feel like you can get away from everything except the construction noise.  As our B&B host Renato said, "Ortigia is old.  Things break."  Speaking of old, we met Mark in Ortigia (he's going to love that one).  Plus Lee, Anna and their daughter future MMA champion Indi so we had the gang all together for our week in Sicily.

Wine tasting in Ragusa

Our first destination outside of Siracusa was the hilltop city of Ragusa.  Lee and Anna's main goal for the week was to give Indi as much beach time as possible so we dropped them off on the coast as the rest of us drove a couple of hours into the hills and mountains of southeastern Sicily.  Ragusa Ibla (the old town) is a UNESCO world heritage site with a dramatic skyline and wide walking streets snaking from a large central cathedral.  It was strangely quiet and tourist-free in mid afternoon which was a nice change from Ortigia.  After lunch we dove into some wine tasting of various types of Nero D'Avola which is the typical varietal from that area of Sicily and one of my favorites.  Spending the afternoon sitting around with a group of friends eating gelato and drinking wine... things could be worse.  On the drive back we decided to stop by the town of Noto even though when I mentioned it to Renato he shrugged his shoulders and said, "Eh... it's just one street," and it turns out he was right.  We spent more time driving around town trying to find parking than we did walking down the main promenade.  Sure it had some nice architecture and a strikingly frescoed cathedral but that description probably fits half the towns in Italy.

Having a rental car is both a curse and a blessing.  You have the freedom to go just about anywhere but you also feel like you have to make your vehicular investment worthwhile.  We spent about five hours in the car the next day but it was completely worth it to visit Mount Etna and, to a lesser extent, Taormina.  Honestly, I just can't get enough volcanoes in my life.  Mountains of fire and gas filled with a sort of primal rage that could erupt at any moment.  Like Stefano.  Maybe what I'm feeling is a brotherly bond with volcanoes.

Dawn on a crater's edge

About halfway up Etna there's a base camp at Rifugio Sapienza comprised of a surprisingly huge car park packed with tour buses, restaurants, food stalls and souvenir shops.  From there Mark, Dawn and I took a wonky 15-minute tram ride up to the 2600 meter mark of the mountain after which you can hike the rest of the way.  We didn't have enough time to hike all the way up to the top of Etna but we did climb up one of the nearby craters.  It was windy and frigid but we had a beautiful clear view all the way out to Sicily's eastern coast.  The terrain shifted constantly between black ash and rust-colored rock contrasting with a bright blue sky.  The temps were well below 10 degrees Celsius due to the wind chill.   Once you dropped a bit into the crater the temperature actually became quite warm as we were shielded from the wind heated up by steam emanating from under the rocks.

After making our way back down the volcano it was an hour drive to the ancient resort town of Taormina, then another twenty minutes looping back around the labyrinthine roads because of one wrong turn.  Some of you may have heard of Taormina since it is arguably Sicily's most famous resort town and the site of a recent G7 summit.  The town itself sits in a small bowl directly atop the Mediterranean that looks like it was chiseled right out of the cliff side.  I'm not sure how these ancient builders decided on the sites where they were going to found new cities.  Did smooth, flat valleys just become too easy so they decided they needed more of a challenge?  Or maybe they just said screw it, the view is awesome, we'll figure out how to make it work later.  Anyhow whatever they did it seems to have worked because it is a beautiful village that is deservedly a tourist hotspot although it's been transformed into more of an outdoor shopping mall with an asterisk denoting its history.  It was absolutely packed.  Dawn and I ducked out to seek refuge inside the old Greek Amphitheater and I'm pretty sure that was the first time I've ever gone *inside* a tourist attraction to get *away* from tourists.  It was absolutely worthwhile on its own though considering that it's still a functioning venue after over 2000 years of use.  We were treated to a dramatic skyline and unobstructed 270-degree views of the sea over the cliffside from almost everywhere in the theater.  On our way out we saw a foot-long cannolo at a gelato place which will likely end up being my enduring memory of Taormina.

Valley of the Temples

The following day we said goodbye to Ortigia but not before visiting the central cathedral which was actually built on top of an ancient temple of Athena from 500 BCE.  While the rest of the crew headed directly to Palermo, Dawn, Mark and I decided to take a few hours on a long detour to southwest Sicily to visit the Valle dei Templi in Agrigento.  Now I know that you all know how much I love these ancient cities from how I gushed in my last post about the megaliths in Malta but I'm telling you there is nothing like the feeling that you're traveling through history.  Valle dei Templi was much larger than I anticipated (at least a couple of miles across) and it felt like you were walking through the streets of ancient Agrigentum.  There were actually 200K inhabitants in the ancient city compared to only 70K that currently live in Agrigento.  The massive temples are largely well-preserved with the Temple of Concordia being the best of the bunch, although it's difficult to beat the experience of 360-degree views from the Temple of Juno.  Throughout the park you can see depictions of the placement of houses and how the temples loomed over each of the neighborhoods.  The ruins of a necropolis are clearly visible along the main walking route along with other statues and monuments.  The photos will do a better job of explaining than I ever will.  Mark was absolutely glowing in archaeology heaven.  It was difficult to tear ourselves away from that place but a leisurely drive through the Sicilian countryside and along its turquoise coast proved a pleasant respite before the chaos of Palermo.

Mmm... spleen

Rich struck the jackpot and found us a four-bedroom rental in the center of the old town with a rooftop terrace.  The next morning I embarked with Dawn, Rich and Cari on a Palermo street food tour led by a very passionate local named Giorgio.  In Palermo it's an everyday tradition for locals to dine on cheap street bites costing no more than a couple of Euros.  The different types of street food are intimately associated with the varied history of Palermo; a mixture of Middle Eastern, African and Italian influences.  Many of the different types of street food, especially those featuring offal, grew out of the need for the poor to incorporate fats and proteins into their diets.  After stopping at a small gastronomia featuring various croquettes, focaccine, arancini and pizzette, we headed to one of Palermo's three main markets:  Il Capo.  The first thing Giorgio had us try from a street cart was frittola which is mostly fried veal innards.  There's a couple of different ways you can try it but the most typical is to have the vendor dig them out of the cart by hand and slap them into your hand with a piece of paper.  He then squeezes some lemon and pepper and you're off to the races.  It reminded me a lot of tripe, which I also love.  We then moved over to the fishmonger where we ended up buying three whole fish to cook back at the house for dinner and a fresh seafood salad.  Giorgio then brought us to a wine shop to advise us on a few bottles to have with dinner.  He initially refused to help us select any sort of red wine since we had just bought fish so we had to promise him that we absolutely would not drink the red wine with the fish.  Next on the tour was a personal highlight for me:  Panino con Milza, also known as Spleen Sandwich.  It's actually a combination of boiled spleen and liver that is then deep fried and slapped into a bread roll.  Magical.  The last stop on the tour was Cafe Stagnitta where they roast their own coffee, craft their own gelato and make housemade granita (shaved ice).  The almond granita was spectacular which is why Dawn and I returned three days in a row.  In the evening we took full advantage of the kitchen and rooftop deck by putting together a massive feast which, predictably for this crowd, devolved into a drunken shit show.

Waking up with a crippling hangover was not part of my original genius plan to surprise Dawn on her birthday.  Luckily my surprise plan did not involve anything more than riding along the Sicilian coast for a few hours on a gommone (rubber dinghy).  We drove to the nearby beach town of Mondello where we met our guide Luigi, a chubby, affable local whose services I would recommend to anyone traveling to Palermo (see Boat Service Mondello on TripAdvisor).  He also recommended the best espresso I had in Sicily which is also worth a side trip to Mondello on its own.  Anyhow, the boat tour lasted three hours along crystal clear water on the northeastern Sicilian coast.  Luigi took us inside a cave to go swimming then over to the small resort town then over to Sferracavallo where we ran into a couple of his buddies that were diving for "minchia di mare" which can be translated from Sicilian as "sea dick".  I guess if you want to be pedantic we can refer to them by their actual name of sea cucumbers and they can sell in Asian markets for a boatload of money.  We then zoomed around the strangely named Isola delle Femmine (Women's Island) which was populated only by seagulls before heading back to Mondello for lunch.  We spent the rest of the afternoon strolling around Palermo visiting a couple of old churches and, of course, stopping for a granita.  Rich and Cari kindly provided a birthday cake and then we went out for a celebratory dinner to cap off a memorable day (I hope).

 The next day marked the end of our Sicilian adventure and unfortunately when we had to say goodbye to our friends.  What is it about last days that makes them linger so slowly, with moments stretching longer than they should until a sudden rush to leave at the end?  Maybe that's how they get processed in my mind.  I was sorry to leave the gang but solid in the knowledge that I'd see them again in the next year or two.  After all, Rich and I have a streak to maintain.

I would absolutely return to Sicily in a heartbeat.  The countryside is beautiful, the food and wine are good, the water is fantastic and we only scratched the surface on its history.  Vacation time is limited, though, so next stop:  Rome and then a few days in Tuscany with the Brescis.  Without further ado, here are the Sicilian pics (you might have to click the caption under the photo below):

Spleen Sandwich

Take 'er easy,
Dave