Oh hello. It's Lynn this time. We've been in Bologna for a week now, and though this is a gastronomic capital in Italy, I thought I would make note of some non-food related details.
I'm not sure how much people have used airbnb, but we have been using it almost entirely on this trip, and it has been great to get to know local people. In Bologna, we are staying with a man called Fulvio, who rents two of his three bedrooms to visitors (we are apparently staying in his old son's room, with spiderman books piled on the bookshelf and some kind of martial arts certificate on the wall). He has been very kind, spending time in broken english telling us the top things to see in the city, and offering to help Matt in his quest for an education in pasta. The third room has been empty for most of the week, though for one night a young mother and her son visited from London. Fulvio escorted us all to a restaurant down the street, ordered for us and then left (a bit unexpectedly)... but on our return to the apartment, he gave us some of his freshly baked bread (yum) and liberally shared his bottle of grappa (yech!). Now the bedroom has been reoccupied by a younger Polish guy who seems very nice, and has offered to take us to his favourite trattoria sometime soon.
Most of our time has been occupied by 3 things - eating, walking around the city (between meals) and recuperating back at the apartment. I think the one thing we did pay money for was to take a trip up one of the two medieval towers found in the center of town, for a view over the city. One is shorter and leaning over quite a bit, while the other is twice as high and leaning only slightly. We went up the less leaning one, which involved walking up old wood steps that wrapped around the inside of the tower, up and up. A key to this experience was not looking down, which was harder on the way back down. I don't think Matt felt as daunted as I did, since while I tentatively took it step by step, he plowed his way down with little vaults at the end of each flight.
Now to be lazy I'll just finish with a few things we like about Bologna:
-the food
-the medieval streets and porticoes
-the drivers on the road here seem competent (no observations of hollering/gesturing between cars or ignoring traffic signals)
-there are tons of dogs here and we have seen at LEAST one wiener dog per day
-this is a food topic again but we were also happy to find out that Bologna is known for gelato particularly, so we have been quite willing to sample different ones daily
That's it for now. Today we had a food factory tour complete with a "light lunch" (10 full courses) which Matt will probably post about... but for now we have food hangovers.
Friday, 28 August 2015
Thursday, 27 August 2015
Modena e Il Massimo
Its not every day you run into your idol/chef proprietor of the second best restaurant in the world while searching for said restaurant. Thats pretty much how it went down with Lynn and I yesterday though.
We had decided to take a day trip to Modena in search of the thick syrupy aceto balsamico tradizionale di Modena, to find Massimo Bottura's restaurant, Osteria Francesacana, and to just get out of Bologna for a day.
The train ride was all of 12euros both ways and took less than half an hour; you didn't even have enough time to look at the scenery before you were rolling into the station. Getting downtown was easy enough, but navigating the labyrinthian streets of downtown Modena is a completely different story. After finding the downtown market (where Parmigianno Reggiano and cannoli were purchased) we set out in the general direction of where we thought probably...maybe Osteria Francescana was.
Snaking our way through the streets, peeking down every alley in search of some indicator of a restaurant (there were too many closed for the summer businesses to even mention), we finally spotted a man crouched in an alleyway talking to another man, fingers in his eyes in one of those I am incredibly overtired poses, cook scooting out across the alley in an immaculate white chefs coat. I thought "This may be him, but I'm not sure, he's not wearing any glasses." Then in a sort of bizzarro Superman moment, he put his glasses on, I turned away and said to Lynn, "Holy shit!! That's him!!! That's Massimo Bottura!!!" We then did what any sensible person would do when they had the opportunity of a lifetime to meet their idol and a culinary god: do a complete about-face and walk away.
As I glanced over my shoulder I saw this guy he was talking to snap a quick photo, and in a moment I found myself in front of him spitting out the words "Sei tu Massimo Bottura? (You are you Massimo Bottura?" "Si." "Holy shit. I know youre incredibly busy, but do you mind if we got a picture with you?" "Sure!" We had anticipated one of us (OK Lynn) would be taking the picture, but Chef Bottura called one of his cooks out of the kitchen to do so. I had so many questions, but my mind was still reeling from the experience so much that I just stood there slack jawed, like a dental patient who had been given too much oral anaesthetic. He gave me a cheerful slap and the shoulder and all I could muster was a "Thank you so much!" And we were off. I did peek into the part of the kitchen that backs onto the alley and I dont know what task they were involved in, but there were cooks lined up on either side of 2 or 3 stainless steel tables, cheek to jowl engrossed in undoubtedly some incredibly meticulous mise en place that was going to blow someones mind that evening. He was incredibly kind and probably would have answered any questions I had. As we walked away all I could hear were the Foo FIghters, "There goes my hero, watch him as he goes!"
That evening we ate porcini pan roasted in the way we had enjoyed in a delightful osteria a few days prior. Four weienerdogs were also spotted whilst in Modena, one of whom gave Lynn a little Italian love. My day was complete.
Have I mentioned how much I love Italy?
I think the next post will be Lynn, commenting on all the NON FOOD related experiences we have had.
Til next time.
Ciao tutti!!!
Tuesday, 25 August 2015
Bologna La Grassa
We have been eating a lot of pasta since arriving in Italy - I'm not talking about a couple of portions every few days, I'm talking at least once a day for the past three weeks. So I figured I should probably get to know what has become a very close companion over the last little while.
Today started out like most since we have been in Bologna - wake up sleepily and check Facebook and Instagram, quickly realizing "Oh yeh, no one is up at 3am." Go grab an espresso at the little cafe down the street and either set out to get lost in the maze of streets surrounding Piazza Maggiore or head to a recommended or well known restaurant like a culinary heat seeking missile.
Today had a different purpose though: find a pasticceria or somewhere that makes their own pasta and apply to stage there. First on the list was the place where Thomas McNaughton cut his teeth making pasta, and what is acknowledged one of the best pasta/salumi shops in Bologna. I was daunted by the fact that he had worked there, thinking it would be just as difficult as getting into as a Michelin 3 star for a stage as it had no doubt been popularized throughout the North American cooking underground by McNaughtons mention in his book.
So up the street we walked, me completely oblivious to anything Lynn was saying (sorry), absorbed in my own little world of shortcomings and what-ifs. We walked into the shop, and I turned to the woman at the cash, asking "Avete uno momento?" "Si" I took out my little piece of paper on which I had scrawled my script in Italian. All I could think was "cuoco, cuoco, cuoco", since I was walking down the street a couple of days prior, rehearsing what I would say and proclaimed loudly and proudly "Sono uno cucchiaio profeszionale!" ("I am a professional spoon!"). Someone was smiling down on me, cause I'm pretty sure I said "cuoco". As soon as I got past the line about being a professional cook a wide smile spread across the woman's face; she had obviously been fed this line or something like it about a million times before. She let me finish and pretty much told me they had chefs in the laboratorio for the next week "I can work the week following" I quickly said, remembering to be much more tenacious than I typically am. She quickly flipped through the calender and smiled and told me they could take me. I was drunk with a supershot of adrenaline and the caffeine from the espresso and was fist pumping and ninja kicking all over the place (once we were outside and out of view of the shop)
A celebration was in order, so we stopped at a trattoria we had spotted last night that was crammed with locals. What proceeded was one of the largest shank dishes I have eaten at a restaurant (Stinco e patate al forno) and one of the most filthy schnitzel-esque dishes I have every consumed (Colotetta - a ginormous veal cutlet breaded and fried smothered in a thick butter and parmesan sauce with bits of ham.
That pretty brings us here, to me writing this blog post in the sweltering Italian heat in my tattered skivvies. And I'll just leave you folks with that image to percolate.
Parma on Friday!!!
Ciao tutti!
Until next time.
Today started out like most since we have been in Bologna - wake up sleepily and check Facebook and Instagram, quickly realizing "Oh yeh, no one is up at 3am." Go grab an espresso at the little cafe down the street and either set out to get lost in the maze of streets surrounding Piazza Maggiore or head to a recommended or well known restaurant like a culinary heat seeking missile.
Today had a different purpose though: find a pasticceria or somewhere that makes their own pasta and apply to stage there. First on the list was the place where Thomas McNaughton cut his teeth making pasta, and what is acknowledged one of the best pasta/salumi shops in Bologna. I was daunted by the fact that he had worked there, thinking it would be just as difficult as getting into as a Michelin 3 star for a stage as it had no doubt been popularized throughout the North American cooking underground by McNaughtons mention in his book.
So up the street we walked, me completely oblivious to anything Lynn was saying (sorry), absorbed in my own little world of shortcomings and what-ifs. We walked into the shop, and I turned to the woman at the cash, asking "Avete uno momento?" "Si" I took out my little piece of paper on which I had scrawled my script in Italian. All I could think was "cuoco, cuoco, cuoco", since I was walking down the street a couple of days prior, rehearsing what I would say and proclaimed loudly and proudly "Sono uno cucchiaio profeszionale!" ("I am a professional spoon!"). Someone was smiling down on me, cause I'm pretty sure I said "cuoco". As soon as I got past the line about being a professional cook a wide smile spread across the woman's face; she had obviously been fed this line or something like it about a million times before. She let me finish and pretty much told me they had chefs in the laboratorio for the next week "I can work the week following" I quickly said, remembering to be much more tenacious than I typically am. She quickly flipped through the calender and smiled and told me they could take me. I was drunk with a supershot of adrenaline and the caffeine from the espresso and was fist pumping and ninja kicking all over the place (once we were outside and out of view of the shop)
A celebration was in order, so we stopped at a trattoria we had spotted last night that was crammed with locals. What proceeded was one of the largest shank dishes I have eaten at a restaurant (Stinco e patate al forno) and one of the most filthy schnitzel-esque dishes I have every consumed (Colotetta - a ginormous veal cutlet breaded and fried smothered in a thick butter and parmesan sauce with bits of ham.
That pretty brings us here, to me writing this blog post in the sweltering Italian heat in my tattered skivvies. And I'll just leave you folks with that image to percolate.
Parma on Friday!!!
Ciao tutti!
Until next time.
Mmmmm cured meats and fresh pasta
Stinco e patate al forno
Cotoletta
A solid handle on effective verb, adjective, noun and adverb usage as well as a willingness to post in the buff to near buff are all skills and traits the blogger must possess
Sunday, 23 August 2015
3 For 1 - "We Gotta Get The Hell Outta Dodge"; "Roma La Bella, Roma La Magnifica"; "Bologna La Grassa, Bologna La Sontuosa"
Ok folks, so there has been a lot going on in the past 2 weeks; much of it unexpectedley, yet serendipitously perhaps for the best.
As soon as our Irish friends left the farm there was a very noticeable shift in the way things happened and what was happening - there was much more swearing, in general and at me; more rage was openly displayed and along with it was not uncommon for things to be thrown around in anger; the dogs true "training program" came to light.
I been working in kitchens for a while now and have been sworn at and have even had things thrown at/around me. It wasnt an ideal situation, as this is supposed to be a working HOLIDAY and I had no intention in entering an overly stressful situation, however if he was willing to teach me pasta I figured I could bear it. It was the "training program" that was the straw that broke camel's back. It was flat out abuse of the dogs, and it came to the point where he was comfortable enough to do it right in front of us. It completely broke my heart. I am not one to cry, but I was incredibly close as I witnessed this happening. The dog almost army crawling to him in submission as he called her over, knowing what horrific fate awaited her, him picking her up by her scruff then beating her with an open palm, her not yelping, but more crying and then him literally kicking her into her prison and laughing, The monster was LAUGHING as he went inside, ready to make dinner. Every time I think of this it causes me to recall that scene in Sin City when Marv is at the farm and sees EW's character walking down the stairs and says "Heading down for a snack, and I can guess what kind" - pure terror.
So we hopped a train to Rome the next day to get our heads straight and figure out our next move.
ROME
Prompt arrival - check, hotel - check, lunch spot locked down - check, check.
Our less than 24 hour whirlwind tour of Rome was awesome.We didnt have Rome on the itnerary and I had no interest in going back, until I went back. It is such an astounding city, most of a all to me because it is a modern metropolis built up around the ruins of an ancient city. Its so incredible that you can be walking down a street, you turn the corner and WHAM! The Coliseum (or some other bastion of ancient history)is staring you in the face in all its magnificence and glory. Or you could be walking down a main road and ruins of an ancient arena suddenly pop up beside said road. Or youre walking down a street and an ancient structure has somehow been built into the side of a house/small apartment.
The city is so staggeringly rich in history and culture (food and coffee being my favorite) that one day was not nearly enough. We did our best though. But not until after some lunch.
We tracked down a quaint little trattoria recommended to us by a friend whom is becoming closer and closer to us these days - The Internets. I have a fantasy that we will wander whatever city we are in and fate will have us bump into the most stupendous restaurant in the city. As romantic as this sounds, I'm finding it doesnt really tend to happen unless you have an extended amount of time to track down a promising restaurant.
Lunch was magnificent, beginning with the most iconic of Roman dishes, cacio e pepe followed by rigatoni with oxtail and climaxing with a plate of caramelized onions and lamb heart and liver. The first two dishes were stunners, the cacio e pepe with a very rich flavor with a hit of minerality and punch of pepper; the oxtail a rich sauce containing a very hearty beef stock and lots of tomato. The bread provided (not free of charge in Italia) was quickly put to use to mop up all that scrumptious leftover sauce, Good Lord I could eat just the two of those dishes for the rest of my life. The mixed offal plate was a little much, as it was just a pile of offal with a load of caramelized onions. It couldve used something to cut the richness and some of the livery flavor. Well sated and wined up, we set off into the blazing sun to just wander, something I have become very fond of, as sometimes you DO find a gem of a place, plus it is great to just get off the tourist track and see the actual city.
After hammering back a coffee granita (caffeine to balance the booze - check) and a delightful lemon gelato we were actually on our way. We worked our way through narrow, snaking streets, drinking in the sun, the Italian chatter floating through the air, and the water from the 5 bottles we had stashed in my satchel. A rest at the hotel and Lynn tackling the planning for Bologna and we were back on the road, in search of La Prosciutteria and a delicious sandwich. We arrived, waited and ate. As we were waiting we saw enormous charcuterie boards zooming out of the tiny kitchen and made a quick revision in deciding to geta board instead of sandos. Great meats and cheeses, but the accompaniments were sort of lacking. Sometimes though, the atmosphere makes up for small shortcomings in the food and this place had atmosphere to spare!! It was perfect - a young vibe, loud, and jovial. Everyone in there was having a blast, from the cooks to the people hammering back charcuterie (NO ONE had a sandwich. Maybe its more of a lunch thing)to the people sucking back drinks waiting to get in. Great evening. WIth Bologna to follow the next day
BOLOGNA
Trained in at about 530pm, met our ebullient host and had dinner. We'll just skip to the next day shall we?
Yesterday we arose, got caffeinated and pastried up and set out in search of La Piazza Maggiore, pretty much the city centre. Our very accomodating host gave us detailed instructions on how to get there, things to see and do and of course, places to eat (this IS a research trip for me). We started at what seemed to be a goods and textiles market, scoring a little Italian coffee contraption right off the bat. Bellisimo! We meandered along our route, marvelling at the architecture, the cathedrals and of course the fresh pasta on display!!! After checking out a couple of these pasticerrias I am going to try to score a 3 week stage at one to try and learn all I can about the pasta making process. When in Bologna...learn how to make pasta motherfucker!
We stopped into Tamburini, something like a much larger version of Bottega Nicastro in Ottawa to pick up some meats (read 5) and some cheeses (only 2) for our picnic today. I couldnt help myself from sampling the pristinely white, glistening lardo. It was very salty, porky and buttery. Oh so buttery. I ate more, and more and more. Not too sure how much we have left for the picnic.
After wandering around what I can only assume was food alley, we decided to return home, to rest up for dinner. Not before encountering a live street band, complete with tuba, clarnite, sax and a tiny drumset. Covers performed included the Pink Panther he Tequila Song and the theme song to Austin Powers.
Dinner was at 8 at a little Osteria about 40mins from the house and I was expecting great things, especially after the disastrous dinner from the previous evening.
It did not disappoint. I have gotten to the point where I am relatively confident ordering things in Italian, but for some reason not so at restaurants. Perhaps it is because the server may respond with a comment or question I wont understand. Three glasses of wine quickly dashed any fears I had and I was jabbering away, commenting on the deliciosity of the food left and right.
To start we had a massive platter of pan roasted porcinis, caps removed and fried and stems split and fried. It was a tad undersalted (though I an known to have a bit of a salty palate) but this being a place of no pretense there was salt and pepper readily available. A dash of salt and one of the best dishes Ive ever had was on its way to my belly. It was cooked to perfection, eating and also looking like a piece of meat. There was a grain in the stem, and when you cut into the cap, it looked like a thin chop with a tiny fatcap where the gills of the mushroom connected to the top. Jesus it was good! what was to follow was just as stunning - a ricotta and herbed tortelloni in sage butter.
Christ was it tasty. So opulent, yet not sickeningly rich. The perfect amount of fat and richness and just the right amount of sage; not so much that it was overly sagey, but just enough that it had a strong presence. It didnt need acid. Perfect as it was.
The tagliatelle was delicious, but not as eye poppingly scrumptious as the others. We happily mopped any errant ragu bits that missed the tagliatelle train to Bellyville.
For dessert we had tiramisu and what was described as bread cake. Both were delicious, the tiramisu falling into the "eye poppingly good" category, eclipsed only by the one at North and Navy. We finsished with a complimentary plate of peaches macerated in syrup and mint, which was surprisingly magnificent. The lesson I learned - truly simple food executed perfectly in a comfortable atmosphere is the best food you will ever eat. A meal to remember. Oh yeh and their house wine was incredible too.
Until next post (promise it wont be this long).
Ciao tutti.
As soon as our Irish friends left the farm there was a very noticeable shift in the way things happened and what was happening - there was much more swearing, in general and at me; more rage was openly displayed and along with it was not uncommon for things to be thrown around in anger; the dogs true "training program" came to light.
I been working in kitchens for a while now and have been sworn at and have even had things thrown at/around me. It wasnt an ideal situation, as this is supposed to be a working HOLIDAY and I had no intention in entering an overly stressful situation, however if he was willing to teach me pasta I figured I could bear it. It was the "training program" that was the straw that broke camel's back. It was flat out abuse of the dogs, and it came to the point where he was comfortable enough to do it right in front of us. It completely broke my heart. I am not one to cry, but I was incredibly close as I witnessed this happening. The dog almost army crawling to him in submission as he called her over, knowing what horrific fate awaited her, him picking her up by her scruff then beating her with an open palm, her not yelping, but more crying and then him literally kicking her into her prison and laughing, The monster was LAUGHING as he went inside, ready to make dinner. Every time I think of this it causes me to recall that scene in Sin City when Marv is at the farm and sees EW's character walking down the stairs and says "Heading down for a snack, and I can guess what kind" - pure terror.
So we hopped a train to Rome the next day to get our heads straight and figure out our next move.
ROME
Prompt arrival - check, hotel - check, lunch spot locked down - check, check.
Our less than 24 hour whirlwind tour of Rome was awesome.We didnt have Rome on the itnerary and I had no interest in going back, until I went back. It is such an astounding city, most of a all to me because it is a modern metropolis built up around the ruins of an ancient city. Its so incredible that you can be walking down a street, you turn the corner and WHAM! The Coliseum (or some other bastion of ancient history)is staring you in the face in all its magnificence and glory. Or you could be walking down a main road and ruins of an ancient arena suddenly pop up beside said road. Or youre walking down a street and an ancient structure has somehow been built into the side of a house/small apartment.
The city is so staggeringly rich in history and culture (food and coffee being my favorite) that one day was not nearly enough. We did our best though. But not until after some lunch.
We tracked down a quaint little trattoria recommended to us by a friend whom is becoming closer and closer to us these days - The Internets. I have a fantasy that we will wander whatever city we are in and fate will have us bump into the most stupendous restaurant in the city. As romantic as this sounds, I'm finding it doesnt really tend to happen unless you have an extended amount of time to track down a promising restaurant.
Lunch was magnificent, beginning with the most iconic of Roman dishes, cacio e pepe followed by rigatoni with oxtail and climaxing with a plate of caramelized onions and lamb heart and liver. The first two dishes were stunners, the cacio e pepe with a very rich flavor with a hit of minerality and punch of pepper; the oxtail a rich sauce containing a very hearty beef stock and lots of tomato. The bread provided (not free of charge in Italia) was quickly put to use to mop up all that scrumptious leftover sauce, Good Lord I could eat just the two of those dishes for the rest of my life. The mixed offal plate was a little much, as it was just a pile of offal with a load of caramelized onions. It couldve used something to cut the richness and some of the livery flavor. Well sated and wined up, we set off into the blazing sun to just wander, something I have become very fond of, as sometimes you DO find a gem of a place, plus it is great to just get off the tourist track and see the actual city.
After hammering back a coffee granita (caffeine to balance the booze - check) and a delightful lemon gelato we were actually on our way. We worked our way through narrow, snaking streets, drinking in the sun, the Italian chatter floating through the air, and the water from the 5 bottles we had stashed in my satchel. A rest at the hotel and Lynn tackling the planning for Bologna and we were back on the road, in search of La Prosciutteria and a delicious sandwich. We arrived, waited and ate. As we were waiting we saw enormous charcuterie boards zooming out of the tiny kitchen and made a quick revision in deciding to geta board instead of sandos. Great meats and cheeses, but the accompaniments were sort of lacking. Sometimes though, the atmosphere makes up for small shortcomings in the food and this place had atmosphere to spare!! It was perfect - a young vibe, loud, and jovial. Everyone in there was having a blast, from the cooks to the people hammering back charcuterie (NO ONE had a sandwich. Maybe its more of a lunch thing)to the people sucking back drinks waiting to get in. Great evening. WIth Bologna to follow the next day
BOLOGNA
Trained in at about 530pm, met our ebullient host and had dinner. We'll just skip to the next day shall we?
Yesterday we arose, got caffeinated and pastried up and set out in search of La Piazza Maggiore, pretty much the city centre. Our very accomodating host gave us detailed instructions on how to get there, things to see and do and of course, places to eat (this IS a research trip for me). We started at what seemed to be a goods and textiles market, scoring a little Italian coffee contraption right off the bat. Bellisimo! We meandered along our route, marvelling at the architecture, the cathedrals and of course the fresh pasta on display!!! After checking out a couple of these pasticerrias I am going to try to score a 3 week stage at one to try and learn all I can about the pasta making process. When in Bologna...learn how to make pasta motherfucker!
We stopped into Tamburini, something like a much larger version of Bottega Nicastro in Ottawa to pick up some meats (read 5) and some cheeses (only 2) for our picnic today. I couldnt help myself from sampling the pristinely white, glistening lardo. It was very salty, porky and buttery. Oh so buttery. I ate more, and more and more. Not too sure how much we have left for the picnic.
After wandering around what I can only assume was food alley, we decided to return home, to rest up for dinner. Not before encountering a live street band, complete with tuba, clarnite, sax and a tiny drumset. Covers performed included the Pink Panther he Tequila Song and the theme song to Austin Powers.
Dinner was at 8 at a little Osteria about 40mins from the house and I was expecting great things, especially after the disastrous dinner from the previous evening.
It did not disappoint. I have gotten to the point where I am relatively confident ordering things in Italian, but for some reason not so at restaurants. Perhaps it is because the server may respond with a comment or question I wont understand. Three glasses of wine quickly dashed any fears I had and I was jabbering away, commenting on the deliciosity of the food left and right.
To start we had a massive platter of pan roasted porcinis, caps removed and fried and stems split and fried. It was a tad undersalted (though I an known to have a bit of a salty palate) but this being a place of no pretense there was salt and pepper readily available. A dash of salt and one of the best dishes Ive ever had was on its way to my belly. It was cooked to perfection, eating and also looking like a piece of meat. There was a grain in the stem, and when you cut into the cap, it looked like a thin chop with a tiny fatcap where the gills of the mushroom connected to the top. Jesus it was good! what was to follow was just as stunning - a ricotta and herbed tortelloni in sage butter.
Christ was it tasty. So opulent, yet not sickeningly rich. The perfect amount of fat and richness and just the right amount of sage; not so much that it was overly sagey, but just enough that it had a strong presence. It didnt need acid. Perfect as it was.
The tagliatelle was delicious, but not as eye poppingly scrumptious as the others. We happily mopped any errant ragu bits that missed the tagliatelle train to Bellyville.
For dessert we had tiramisu and what was described as bread cake. Both were delicious, the tiramisu falling into the "eye poppingly good" category, eclipsed only by the one at North and Navy. We finsished with a complimentary plate of peaches macerated in syrup and mint, which was surprisingly magnificent. The lesson I learned - truly simple food executed perfectly in a comfortable atmosphere is the best food you will ever eat. A meal to remember. Oh yeh and their house wine was incredible too.
Until next post (promise it wont be this long).
Ciao tutti.
Wednesday, 12 August 2015
Bonjourno a tutti
We have been in Italy for 4 or so days and it has been an experience. On our day in Naples, we had one goal which was to eat pizza. On the journey from the hotel, we walked through a street market (complete with tiny italian flags draped across the street and street music) and also witnessed a high speed scooter chase with the police. No misfortunes befell us, maybe partly because we had one bag between us that we clutched closely. The pizzeria we found open happens to be one that Bill Clinton made famous (that guy gets around... he also made the hot dog stand in Reykjavik famous) although it was considered top quality by locals before that. And it was! Bufallo mozzarella, tangy tomato sauce and basil, thin but slightly chewy dough, and 500ml of wine for a couple euros to wash it down. Yum yum! We decided as we finished that we would try to catch the 2:10 train to Campobasso (our next destination), which involved power walking to the hotel then station and straight onto the train drenched in sweat. But, we had made it to our last hotel stop before our farm.
The following day was somewhat of a nightmare. We had to spend the morning in Campobasso getting our visa process sorted out. After around 4 hours of running around, getting lost, going back and forth between the police and post office, and not being understood very much, we were told to come back the next day at 9am, and we had to have a letter for the first place we would stay in the region. Argh... we knew we wouldnt have that, since Italians apparently pay taxes on guests (so many dont want to declare them) but they told us to come back anyway (we have 8 days from arriving to sort the issue out one way or another). Following that was an intense thunderstorm with hail. Our introduction to the farm that afternoon was not so great either...
Now we have been at a farm for the last 2 days. At first we were a bit uncertain this was such a great idea. The farmer was standoffish on the first day (we learned later he was hungover from a wedding with 3 hours of sleep), we were given a tiny room with two small cots and one pillow (there are 2 other woofers here... when they leave on friday we get there much nicer digs), and we found out it wasnt the restaurant/culinary experience that was advertised. Since then though, the farmer has grown on us a lot and has also already made bread, pesto, and tomato salad for us, and spent 2+ hours with Matt making fresh pasta with truffles and porticini mushrooms. We have been getting up at dawn (6am) and working until around 10am. After that Giovanni (the farmer) thinks it gets too hot and we have free time. Then maybe later in the day he will sometimes have other small jobs we help with. On the first day, we were fixing some fence along the edge of the property, and today we collected twigs/firewood as he chainsawed some branches apart.
The visa is still an aggravating topic. We wont have a letter of proof of accommodation, so it looks like the visa will fall through. That means we will be missing the third farm and leaving the Schengen zone after 3 months and going to Ireland for the last month instead. We missed our 9am appointment with the police, but Giovanni took us into town this morning to deal with it. Aggravatingly, the office was closed, but we did get the form we are supposed to fill out from the post office. We really hope we dont have to go back AGAIN to submit it, but we may have to. We just want to wipe our hands clean of the whole thing at this point, especially when it means asking Giovanni to drive us. We have been through enough pain trying to get this thing, so we hope dropping it will not have to be painful too.
Oh and there is no wifi here... I am currently on Giovanni's ancient computer. So blog posts will be less often.
Ciao!
The following day was somewhat of a nightmare. We had to spend the morning in Campobasso getting our visa process sorted out. After around 4 hours of running around, getting lost, going back and forth between the police and post office, and not being understood very much, we were told to come back the next day at 9am, and we had to have a letter for the first place we would stay in the region. Argh... we knew we wouldnt have that, since Italians apparently pay taxes on guests (so many dont want to declare them) but they told us to come back anyway (we have 8 days from arriving to sort the issue out one way or another). Following that was an intense thunderstorm with hail. Our introduction to the farm that afternoon was not so great either...
Now we have been at a farm for the last 2 days. At first we were a bit uncertain this was such a great idea. The farmer was standoffish on the first day (we learned later he was hungover from a wedding with 3 hours of sleep), we were given a tiny room with two small cots and one pillow (there are 2 other woofers here... when they leave on friday we get there much nicer digs), and we found out it wasnt the restaurant/culinary experience that was advertised. Since then though, the farmer has grown on us a lot and has also already made bread, pesto, and tomato salad for us, and spent 2+ hours with Matt making fresh pasta with truffles and porticini mushrooms. We have been getting up at dawn (6am) and working until around 10am. After that Giovanni (the farmer) thinks it gets too hot and we have free time. Then maybe later in the day he will sometimes have other small jobs we help with. On the first day, we were fixing some fence along the edge of the property, and today we collected twigs/firewood as he chainsawed some branches apart.
The visa is still an aggravating topic. We wont have a letter of proof of accommodation, so it looks like the visa will fall through. That means we will be missing the third farm and leaving the Schengen zone after 3 months and going to Ireland for the last month instead. We missed our 9am appointment with the police, but Giovanni took us into town this morning to deal with it. Aggravatingly, the office was closed, but we did get the form we are supposed to fill out from the post office. We really hope we dont have to go back AGAIN to submit it, but we may have to. We just want to wipe our hands clean of the whole thing at this point, especially when it means asking Giovanni to drive us. We have been through enough pain trying to get this thing, so we hope dropping it will not have to be painful too.
Oh and there is no wifi here... I am currently on Giovanni's ancient computer. So blog posts will be less often.
Ciao!
Sunday, 9 August 2015
Day 7 continued
Last night was a bit of an experience, so I have decided to give it a short post of its own.
We arrived in Naples around 1030pm and tracked down our bus. The driver was great, as we are very nervous and shaky with our Italian despite having done lessons for the past 4 months; its a very intimidating thing, having to speak someones native tongue to them with such a limited vocabulary.
We waited on the bus for a a few minutes, rehashing the highlights of our Iceland trip and waiting for other passengers. Turns out no one else was coming; the rubes probably taking cabs and being driven around in circles before reaching their destination, the locals doing whatever locals do.
As we cruised through the city, it sounded like we were amongst geese and felt like we were mechanical sardines in a tin; so much honking and congestion. The people on scooters seemed to be the ones who were the most free, dodging and zipping around the cars, letting out the occasional beep beep" of their own. Not in Kansas anymore. Not by a long stretch miei amici.
I pretty much immediately spotted a pizzeria I hoped I could remember the location of the next day. It looked perfect - tiny, white washed, plastic tables and locals, lots of locals, tons of locals, cramming the tables drinking and laughing.
Once we were dropped off at the station the real fun began: finding the hotel. The map made it seem incredibly close and easy to find, but we pretty much went in circles and circles and more circles for around 45mins. Turns out the hotel was about 2 mins away. Ah well, at least we got to see the city. On the way we witnessed someone nearly get bowled over by a car on a crosswalk where the pedestrian has the walk light!! First rule of Naples: there are no rules. Duly noted Naples.
Today is a new day. Time for some exploring.
Ciao!
We arrived in Naples around 1030pm and tracked down our bus. The driver was great, as we are very nervous and shaky with our Italian despite having done lessons for the past 4 months; its a very intimidating thing, having to speak someones native tongue to them with such a limited vocabulary.
We waited on the bus for a a few minutes, rehashing the highlights of our Iceland trip and waiting for other passengers. Turns out no one else was coming; the rubes probably taking cabs and being driven around in circles before reaching their destination, the locals doing whatever locals do.
As we cruised through the city, it sounded like we were amongst geese and felt like we were mechanical sardines in a tin; so much honking and congestion. The people on scooters seemed to be the ones who were the most free, dodging and zipping around the cars, letting out the occasional beep beep" of their own. Not in Kansas anymore. Not by a long stretch miei amici.
I pretty much immediately spotted a pizzeria I hoped I could remember the location of the next day. It looked perfect - tiny, white washed, plastic tables and locals, lots of locals, tons of locals, cramming the tables drinking and laughing.
Once we were dropped off at the station the real fun began: finding the hotel. The map made it seem incredibly close and easy to find, but we pretty much went in circles and circles and more circles for around 45mins. Turns out the hotel was about 2 mins away. Ah well, at least we got to see the city. On the way we witnessed someone nearly get bowled over by a car on a crosswalk where the pedestrian has the walk light!! First rule of Naples: there are no rules. Duly noted Naples.
Today is a new day. Time for some exploring.
Ciao!
Saturday, 8 August 2015
Day 8 - Let The Italian Adventure Begin!!
Airports. Lots of fucking airports.
And my first meal in Paris...at McDonalds.
Tomorrow holds much promise, with a full day in Naples.
And my first meal in Paris...at McDonalds.
Tomorrow holds much promise, with a full day in Naples.
Day 7 - Iceland Adventure Finale
Today started with an incredible spread at the farm we were staying at. Lots of cheeses, local meats, local strawberries and breads, cereals and something I have come to love - sour milk, which seems to be a tangy, thick thick dairy product, usually mixed in with cereals.
Our host Jon and his wife Martina were delightful, regaling us with little known facts about Iceland (Icelandic is more rooted in Gaelic than any Nordic language; the majority of the modern Icelandic population is descended more from the Irish than the Norse; and something about a saga). He also gave us some quick tips about travel in Iceland (do NOT call an Icelandic persons horses ponies; do not expect sheep to move as they are an incredibly stubborn breed) and engaged me (Matt) in a deep conversation about skyr and how it has changed and become much more commercialized to suit modern palates over the years ("I used to eat it from parchment in a little but of milk with sugar...it was much firmer back then").
Their daughter had a little table set up with various items she had knit and was selling (I was shocked when Jon told me his daughter had knit them, and not his wife).
After breakfast Jon strongly encouraged us to explore the lush green mountains that were quite literally in his backyard, pointing out a cave that we failed to locate. It was fun nonetheless, as I was content to just bound around the hills like a sheep, trying to reach one of the low outcroppings before leaving.
A couple of waterfalls and a whole lot of puffin close-ups later we found ourselves back in Reykjavik.
Two hours later we had what I could confidently say was one of the Top 5 meals of my life at Dill Restaurant. Highlights there included a parade of delicious modern Icelandic food, a drying lamb leg hanging in the dining room and just talking with our server whom was the embodiment of service excellence and regional knowledge.
Up at 350am tomorrow. Off to Italia!
Our host Jon and his wife Martina were delightful, regaling us with little known facts about Iceland (Icelandic is more rooted in Gaelic than any Nordic language; the majority of the modern Icelandic population is descended more from the Irish than the Norse; and something about a saga). He also gave us some quick tips about travel in Iceland (do NOT call an Icelandic persons horses ponies; do not expect sheep to move as they are an incredibly stubborn breed) and engaged me (Matt) in a deep conversation about skyr and how it has changed and become much more commercialized to suit modern palates over the years ("I used to eat it from parchment in a little but of milk with sugar...it was much firmer back then").
Their daughter had a little table set up with various items she had knit and was selling (I was shocked when Jon told me his daughter had knit them, and not his wife).
After breakfast Jon strongly encouraged us to explore the lush green mountains that were quite literally in his backyard, pointing out a cave that we failed to locate. It was fun nonetheless, as I was content to just bound around the hills like a sheep, trying to reach one of the low outcroppings before leaving.
A couple of waterfalls and a whole lot of puffin close-ups later we found ourselves back in Reykjavik.
Two hours later we had what I could confidently say was one of the Top 5 meals of my life at Dill Restaurant. Highlights there included a parade of delicious modern Icelandic food, a drying lamb leg hanging in the dining room and just talking with our server whom was the embodiment of service excellence and regional knowledge.
Up at 350am tomorrow. Off to Italia!
Friday, 7 August 2015
Land of Ice
Thursday was probably the day of the trip I (Lynn) was looking to the most. Iceberg day! We got up really early since there was so much to see. The weather on the drive to the iceberg lagoon was as it had been for the last couple days - cold, windy and really rainy, but luckily it was clear by the time we got there. Some unlucky souls the day before were unable to go on the lagoon because of the waves. Phew that wasn't us!
We had a zodiac boat tour booked later in the morning, so until that started we just stared at the lagoon and marvelled. Then we headed to the boat site and suited up into some survival suit type things and lifejackets. Once we were on the boat we headed top speed to the other end (around 7km) to the base of the glacier where the icebergs are born. We floated there for a bit, enough time to hear the loud cracks of ice starting to calve, but 10 seconds too short to witness a chunk of ice crashing into the water. Oh well. Though I didn't witness an ice calving, I was present at the birth of Matt's new favourite joke - "what do you call ice in a bun? An iceberger!" The trip back to the launch site was slower, partly so the tourists could gawk at the icebergs as we drifted pass, and partly because a guy in an empty zodiac had to plow through the icy mush in the water (plus do some donuts) to clear a path for us. The whole trip took an hour and was amazing!
After the boat tour, we still weren't done with icebergs, since from the lagoon a short river carries them out to sea. Along that beach, a lot of the icebergs are smashed up by the waves and scattered all down the shore. So, with that and my camera I had quite a good time exploring up and down. Matt was a good sport taking photos with me and bits of ice, and had to deal with major soakers.
Our second stop of the day was at Skaftafell, where Matt was hoping we could join a glacier walk. However at this point we have entered what seems like a tourist zone, places people can get to from Reykjavik on a day trip. So, all tours were full. That's ok though, since there were lots of hiking trails to explore, including a short hike to a famous waterfall. After reaching that, we carried on to the top of that mountain to get a view of the glacier from above. The whole trip was around 3 hours and definitely worth it, even with the 4 blisters on my feet from earlier in the week.
After a dinner of hot dogs we arrived at our stop for the night, and our favourite of the week. Another farm, near Vik. The mountains in that area are big and very green, and the farm was tucked into a valley. It was also the nicest house we've been to - walls of windows and a deck around the house gave a great view. Though we were really tired, we headed out again for another hour to a famous beach down the road, where Matt caught his first sight of puffins (more later). It's also the beach with basalt columns you can climb and 3 big black columns of rock sticking out of the sea offshore (petrified trolls).
Back to Reykjavik tomorrow!
We had a zodiac boat tour booked later in the morning, so until that started we just stared at the lagoon and marvelled. Then we headed to the boat site and suited up into some survival suit type things and lifejackets. Once we were on the boat we headed top speed to the other end (around 7km) to the base of the glacier where the icebergs are born. We floated there for a bit, enough time to hear the loud cracks of ice starting to calve, but 10 seconds too short to witness a chunk of ice crashing into the water. Oh well. Though I didn't witness an ice calving, I was present at the birth of Matt's new favourite joke - "what do you call ice in a bun? An iceberger!" The trip back to the launch site was slower, partly so the tourists could gawk at the icebergs as we drifted pass, and partly because a guy in an empty zodiac had to plow through the icy mush in the water (plus do some donuts) to clear a path for us. The whole trip took an hour and was amazing!
After the boat tour, we still weren't done with icebergs, since from the lagoon a short river carries them out to sea. Along that beach, a lot of the icebergs are smashed up by the waves and scattered all down the shore. So, with that and my camera I had quite a good time exploring up and down. Matt was a good sport taking photos with me and bits of ice, and had to deal with major soakers.
Our second stop of the day was at Skaftafell, where Matt was hoping we could join a glacier walk. However at this point we have entered what seems like a tourist zone, places people can get to from Reykjavik on a day trip. So, all tours were full. That's ok though, since there were lots of hiking trails to explore, including a short hike to a famous waterfall. After reaching that, we carried on to the top of that mountain to get a view of the glacier from above. The whole trip was around 3 hours and definitely worth it, even with the 4 blisters on my feet from earlier in the week.
After a dinner of hot dogs we arrived at our stop for the night, and our favourite of the week. Another farm, near Vik. The mountains in that area are big and very green, and the farm was tucked into a valley. It was also the nicest house we've been to - walls of windows and a deck around the house gave a great view. Though we were really tired, we headed out again for another hour to a famous beach down the road, where Matt caught his first sight of puffins (more later). It's also the beach with basalt columns you can climb and 3 big black columns of rock sticking out of the sea offshore (petrified trolls).
Back to Reykjavik tomorrow!
Wednesday, 5 August 2015
Iceland The Mighty, Iceland the Strong
The theme today seemed to be nature and what an incredible force it is, in both its ability to astound us with its beauty and chill us to the bone with its raw power and ferocity. But first we eat!
Breakfast that morning consisted of a huge spread that would make even a Caper jealous. It consisted of: cheese, ham salad, granola, sour milk, milk from the farm, cold cuts, SKYR!, crackers, coffee and tea. A good way to start the day. The perfect day to start the day would have been to be sent off by the farmer in his underwear....oh wait. That actually happened. The whole experience at the farm was incredible. The family was more than happy to have us there and treated us more like guests in their house than some rube paying them an inflated price to rent a single room for a night.
Off we zoomed, our bellies full of delicious food and hearts with joy...only to end up at the end of a dead end. Garmin obviously hadnt had her coffee this morning and steered us astray. Back on track we made ou way to the REAL sulphur springs. They were magnificent, albeit stinky, blasting plumes of steam out of the ground, which reached temperatures of up to 200C underground. After a rather long stroll around we decided to set off, in the car reaching a consensus to not follow Ari's advice to take a shortcut he had advised us of which promised to be more scenic than the route we had chosen to take.
Next on the docket was Dettifoss which is the most powerful waterfall in all of Europe. I have never seen Niagra Falls and upon hearing this Lynn confidently proclaimed "This will be the biggest waterfall you have ever seen in your life!"
After traversing a stretch of land on foot that can best be described as moonlike, we ascended over a hill to a roar. Upon descent I saw what was most definitely the greatest display of pure hydro power I have ever seen. It was magnificent and terrifying and completely soaking us head to toe. But I couuldn't move; I was completely mesmerized. Once I managed to peel my feet out of place we made our way back to the car and were back on the road.
Greeted by a thick blanket of fog and a magnificent (insert sarcasm here) dirt road we started our trek around the mountain. After a rather long ascent we rounded a corner to have a valley revealed that was the definition of "breathtaking" replete with the stereotypical heavenly light shining down in the middle of it. I was completely awestruck. We must have spent a good 20 minutes down there. It was heavenly. Shortly after loading back into the car we were ground to a crawl by a small group of sheep who seemed determined to drink al of the water from a puddle in the middle of the road. motorists be damned!! Excessive honking seemed to slightly get them moving, but being approached by the car seemed to turn their leisurely stroll into a gallop more effectively. Sheep averted we continued the journey to the next accommodation, unbound by schedule or light in the day (seeing as how it typically lasts til 930 or 10).
The weather varied throughout the drive, switching from rain to fog to the slightest peak of sun, back to fog then rain again and so on. Our last major stop was a coastal one to watch the waves crash against the shore and a giant column of land. I absolutely love to watch the ocean, not only because it reminds me of home, but because it is a force that demands our respect because of its unbridled power and unpredictability. It is a true force of nature.
We concluded our day by rolling into an inn only to have our car chased by a posse of three dogs (one of whom was a one eyed chihuahua) which was immediately joined by a cat as soon as our feet hit the ground.
After some deeeeelicious Mr Noodles, Facebook, Instagram and this blog post we headed to bed, dreaming of the adventure into the birthing ground of icebergs we were about to undertake when morning came.
Breakfast that morning consisted of a huge spread that would make even a Caper jealous. It consisted of: cheese, ham salad, granola, sour milk, milk from the farm, cold cuts, SKYR!, crackers, coffee and tea. A good way to start the day. The perfect day to start the day would have been to be sent off by the farmer in his underwear....oh wait. That actually happened. The whole experience at the farm was incredible. The family was more than happy to have us there and treated us more like guests in their house than some rube paying them an inflated price to rent a single room for a night.
Off we zoomed, our bellies full of delicious food and hearts with joy...only to end up at the end of a dead end. Garmin obviously hadnt had her coffee this morning and steered us astray. Back on track we made ou way to the REAL sulphur springs. They were magnificent, albeit stinky, blasting plumes of steam out of the ground, which reached temperatures of up to 200C underground. After a rather long stroll around we decided to set off, in the car reaching a consensus to not follow Ari's advice to take a shortcut he had advised us of which promised to be more scenic than the route we had chosen to take.
Next on the docket was Dettifoss which is the most powerful waterfall in all of Europe. I have never seen Niagra Falls and upon hearing this Lynn confidently proclaimed "This will be the biggest waterfall you have ever seen in your life!"
After traversing a stretch of land on foot that can best be described as moonlike, we ascended over a hill to a roar. Upon descent I saw what was most definitely the greatest display of pure hydro power I have ever seen. It was magnificent and terrifying and completely soaking us head to toe. But I couuldn't move; I was completely mesmerized. Once I managed to peel my feet out of place we made our way back to the car and were back on the road.
Greeted by a thick blanket of fog and a magnificent (insert sarcasm here) dirt road we started our trek around the mountain. After a rather long ascent we rounded a corner to have a valley revealed that was the definition of "breathtaking" replete with the stereotypical heavenly light shining down in the middle of it. I was completely awestruck. We must have spent a good 20 minutes down there. It was heavenly. Shortly after loading back into the car we were ground to a crawl by a small group of sheep who seemed determined to drink al of the water from a puddle in the middle of the road. motorists be damned!! Excessive honking seemed to slightly get them moving, but being approached by the car seemed to turn their leisurely stroll into a gallop more effectively. Sheep averted we continued the journey to the next accommodation, unbound by schedule or light in the day (seeing as how it typically lasts til 930 or 10).
The weather varied throughout the drive, switching from rain to fog to the slightest peak of sun, back to fog then rain again and so on. Our last major stop was a coastal one to watch the waves crash against the shore and a giant column of land. I absolutely love to watch the ocean, not only because it reminds me of home, but because it is a force that demands our respect because of its unbridled power and unpredictability. It is a true force of nature.
We concluded our day by rolling into an inn only to have our car chased by a posse of three dogs (one of whom was a one eyed chihuahua) which was immediately joined by a cat as soon as our feet hit the ground.
After some deeeeelicious Mr Noodles, Facebook, Instagram and this blog post we headed to bed, dreaming of the adventure into the birthing ground of icebergs we were about to undertake when morning came.
Day 3 - Iceland The Beautiful
Caffeinated, skyr-ed and ready to go, Lynn, Garmin and myself set out. We had a busy itnerary and not very far to go, so it was a very stress free day. The fact the sun doesnt even begin setting until about 10 or 1030pm here really helps with the whole getting-to-you-destination-before-dark thing and our first stop melted away any pre existing stress made it that much more enjoyable.
We chugged along route 1 which is called The Ring Road (it is the road we will be following for the majority of our time in Iceland) til we hit route 87 near a gorgeous lake called Myvatn. Easy driving, made in the shade. As we drove down the gravel road, weaving through what Lynn has come to call chocolate crumble fields (Willy Wonka would love this place!) we couldnt help but marvel at the abstract beauty of the lava fields, but they would have to wait until later, we were on to more relaxing activities.
As we rounded a corner we could see clouds of steam rising from small crevasses in the earth: the sulphur springs, more on them later. A quick right and another right and we were at our destination: the nature baths. They are pools (as in water that is contained in a rocky, sandy, natural structure; not a lined swimming pool) of geothermally heated water, so there are hot spots and cooler though never cold spots circulating through the pool. There were also giant showers you could meander under while in the pool - one had a wide spray, the other a single spout of water that just hammered your neck and back. No physio for Matt tonight!! Oh and as with everything in Iceland the view was ridiculous. I completely lost track of time, but not temperature as it was screaming out from a large digital display: 9.5C!! Once we hopped out Lynn immediately dashed to her towel and into the changing room while I stood there shivering and waffling between changing or going into this long narrow hot-tub. It seemed to be the popular choice so i hopped in, put my head back, stretched out my legs, closed my eyes and reeeeeeeeeeelaxed. Meditation for the day - check!
The hot tub was pretty neat as well as it was, much the same as the pools, heated geothermically and did not have jets or anything. As relaxed as humanly possible, I hopped out of the hot tub and stared at the railing which is where everyone ties their towels prior to bathing. A great number more seemed to accumulate while I was blissfully taking my time in the hot tub. I stood shivering, staring and perhaps always swearing until I grabbed mine and started towelling off, until I realized it was not mine. Mine was blue, not pink. Whooooops. So I grabbed my BLUE towel and away I went. If you are reading this pink towelled person I am so sorry!
After that we headed to some lava fields (or chocolate crumble fields), Myvatn Lake then on to the airbnb. The airbnb was a little different this time as we were staying with someone deep in the country on their farm. As we rolled up we saw the farmers' son walking across the field in coveralls with purpose in his stride. As soon as we stepped out of the car we were greeted by a dog whom I took to calling Shadow, as I had no idea how to pronounce her real name. We were soon greeted by Ari (the farmer)'s wife who was very friendly and immediately showed us to our room and encouraged us to make ourselves at home and to join her in the kitchen once she returned from picking up a volunteer farmhand. We opted to first observe Ari and his son milk the cows. It was all done by machine with him first washing the teats then hooking up the machines, sucking out the milk, lubing the teats up presumably so they dont dry out, then sending the cows on their way. After two rounds of milking and far too many questions from myself he encouraged us to join his son for feeding the calves, which pretty much consisted of the son tossing a bucket of milk in an elevated trough that had a number of spouts affixed to an artifical teat. Some pictures and romping around in a barn later we returned to the house.
After obligatory Instagramming and Facebooking we made our way to the kitchen table where she was sitting with the newly acquired help from Germany. We sat and talked with Ari, his wife and Phillip the farm helper for a couple of hours. They told us stories about how they came to be farmers (Ari was raised on a farm, his wife married into the farm life and was getting used to it bit by bit) and answered any questions we had about Iceland, complete with anecdotes about asian guests who thought the Northern Lights were a sign of fertility, so as soon as they saw them they dashed inside and (it was assumed) they started humping like bunnies. Then there were the guest swho paid $120 to take a tour to see the Northern Lights, all the while Ari telling them they were stunning over his farm. Turns out, surprise surprise, he was right. We were also treated to a story about the biggest day of the year - the day the sheep are herded off the mountain and shepherded back to their respected farms.
Perfect way to end the night. Buona notte!
We chugged along route 1 which is called The Ring Road (it is the road we will be following for the majority of our time in Iceland) til we hit route 87 near a gorgeous lake called Myvatn. Easy driving, made in the shade. As we drove down the gravel road, weaving through what Lynn has come to call chocolate crumble fields (Willy Wonka would love this place!) we couldnt help but marvel at the abstract beauty of the lava fields, but they would have to wait until later, we were on to more relaxing activities.
As we rounded a corner we could see clouds of steam rising from small crevasses in the earth: the sulphur springs, more on them later. A quick right and another right and we were at our destination: the nature baths. They are pools (as in water that is contained in a rocky, sandy, natural structure; not a lined swimming pool) of geothermally heated water, so there are hot spots and cooler though never cold spots circulating through the pool. There were also giant showers you could meander under while in the pool - one had a wide spray, the other a single spout of water that just hammered your neck and back. No physio for Matt tonight!! Oh and as with everything in Iceland the view was ridiculous. I completely lost track of time, but not temperature as it was screaming out from a large digital display: 9.5C!! Once we hopped out Lynn immediately dashed to her towel and into the changing room while I stood there shivering and waffling between changing or going into this long narrow hot-tub. It seemed to be the popular choice so i hopped in, put my head back, stretched out my legs, closed my eyes and reeeeeeeeeeelaxed. Meditation for the day - check!
The hot tub was pretty neat as well as it was, much the same as the pools, heated geothermically and did not have jets or anything. As relaxed as humanly possible, I hopped out of the hot tub and stared at the railing which is where everyone ties their towels prior to bathing. A great number more seemed to accumulate while I was blissfully taking my time in the hot tub. I stood shivering, staring and perhaps always swearing until I grabbed mine and started towelling off, until I realized it was not mine. Mine was blue, not pink. Whooooops. So I grabbed my BLUE towel and away I went. If you are reading this pink towelled person I am so sorry!
After that we headed to some lava fields (or chocolate crumble fields), Myvatn Lake then on to the airbnb. The airbnb was a little different this time as we were staying with someone deep in the country on their farm. As we rolled up we saw the farmers' son walking across the field in coveralls with purpose in his stride. As soon as we stepped out of the car we were greeted by a dog whom I took to calling Shadow, as I had no idea how to pronounce her real name. We were soon greeted by Ari (the farmer)'s wife who was very friendly and immediately showed us to our room and encouraged us to make ourselves at home and to join her in the kitchen once she returned from picking up a volunteer farmhand. We opted to first observe Ari and his son milk the cows. It was all done by machine with him first washing the teats then hooking up the machines, sucking out the milk, lubing the teats up presumably so they dont dry out, then sending the cows on their way. After two rounds of milking and far too many questions from myself he encouraged us to join his son for feeding the calves, which pretty much consisted of the son tossing a bucket of milk in an elevated trough that had a number of spouts affixed to an artifical teat. Some pictures and romping around in a barn later we returned to the house.
After obligatory Instagramming and Facebooking we made our way to the kitchen table where she was sitting with the newly acquired help from Germany. We sat and talked with Ari, his wife and Phillip the farm helper for a couple of hours. They told us stories about how they came to be farmers (Ari was raised on a farm, his wife married into the farm life and was getting used to it bit by bit) and answered any questions we had about Iceland, complete with anecdotes about asian guests who thought the Northern Lights were a sign of fertility, so as soon as they saw them they dashed inside and (it was assumed) they started humping like bunnies. Then there were the guest swho paid $120 to take a tour to see the Northern Lights, all the while Ari telling them they were stunning over his farm. Turns out, surprise surprise, he was right. We were also treated to a story about the biggest day of the year - the day the sheep are herded off the mountain and shepherded back to their respected farms.
Perfect way to end the night. Buona notte!
Tuesday, 4 August 2015
Day 2 - The adventure continues
Today started out with Lynn in the driver's seat, Garmin in the navigator's seat and I in the sheep-watch seat. It also included a quest for caffeine. Unfortunately all the coffee shops were opening late as it was a bank holiday, Coffee would wait. So we gassed up, got coffee and a away we went!!
A little way along we decided to stop beneath the soaring mountains for a bite of skyr.
To clarify, skyr is well...as our farm hosts tonight put it...skyr. It is made in the same manner as ricotta or German quark only in so far as it is dairy that is brought up to a certain temperature and then has something added to it that encourages curd and whey separation. It is usually made with skim milk and a little of an older batch of skyr is typically added for bacterial culture and to separate curd from whey. It is flavored here much like yogurt, but this is where the similarity ends. Tell an Icelander skyr is pretty much yogurt and I am 95% certain some form of bodily harm will be coming your way. It is thicker than Greek yogurt, but in terms of texture, it would be the most similar. It is also much drier. It's just....skyr.
Our bellies full of skyr and bodies coursing with adrenaline from the coffee and prospect of awesome adventure ahead we set off.
Next stop was at the top of a road located in a massive valley, where there seemed to be only one small cabin at the very bottom of said valley. Bladders emptied and off we went.
The final big stop of the day was a famous waterfall + mountain combo. Like much of the scenery in Iceland it was breathtaking. Pictures will never, ever do the landscapes in this country justice. I dont care how hi res your camera is or what kind of extra doo dads you snap on or how you filter it on Instagram, the natural beauty of this place is unreal and can only be seen to be fully experienced.
Pictures taken, breath recaptured, we set out for the last stop of the day - our airbnb in a tiny village I believe is called Blonduos. Dinner was hot dogs. Though not as tasty as the famous dogs in Reykjavik, they did the trick of filling out tummies.
Unpacked and ready to hit the town we decided it would be a good time for me to learn how to drive standard so I could tackle some of the driving. suffice it to say that it was neither fun nor pretty. There were a lot of swear words, lots of stalling, no getting out of second gear and I am pretty sure we both sustained major whiplash.
Our day concluded with a beautiful seaside walk, me fearing the birds circling overhead, as Lynn had once told me a horror story of her being swarmed by the buggers in Norway. They are called arctic terns. Look them up; apparently they are incredibly territorial. Crisis averted we headed back to the airbnb for sleep and a new day.
A little way along we decided to stop beneath the soaring mountains for a bite of skyr.
To clarify, skyr is well...as our farm hosts tonight put it...skyr. It is made in the same manner as ricotta or German quark only in so far as it is dairy that is brought up to a certain temperature and then has something added to it that encourages curd and whey separation. It is usually made with skim milk and a little of an older batch of skyr is typically added for bacterial culture and to separate curd from whey. It is flavored here much like yogurt, but this is where the similarity ends. Tell an Icelander skyr is pretty much yogurt and I am 95% certain some form of bodily harm will be coming your way. It is thicker than Greek yogurt, but in terms of texture, it would be the most similar. It is also much drier. It's just....skyr.
Our bellies full of skyr and bodies coursing with adrenaline from the coffee and prospect of awesome adventure ahead we set off.
Next stop was at the top of a road located in a massive valley, where there seemed to be only one small cabin at the very bottom of said valley. Bladders emptied and off we went.
The final big stop of the day was a famous waterfall + mountain combo. Like much of the scenery in Iceland it was breathtaking. Pictures will never, ever do the landscapes in this country justice. I dont care how hi res your camera is or what kind of extra doo dads you snap on or how you filter it on Instagram, the natural beauty of this place is unreal and can only be seen to be fully experienced.
Pictures taken, breath recaptured, we set out for the last stop of the day - our airbnb in a tiny village I believe is called Blonduos. Dinner was hot dogs. Though not as tasty as the famous dogs in Reykjavik, they did the trick of filling out tummies.
Unpacked and ready to hit the town we decided it would be a good time for me to learn how to drive standard so I could tackle some of the driving. suffice it to say that it was neither fun nor pretty. There were a lot of swear words, lots of stalling, no getting out of second gear and I am pretty sure we both sustained major whiplash.
Our day concluded with a beautiful seaside walk, me fearing the birds circling overhead, as Lynn had once told me a horror story of her being swarmed by the buggers in Norway. They are called arctic terns. Look them up; apparently they are incredibly territorial. Crisis averted we headed back to the airbnb for sleep and a new day.
Sunday, 2 August 2015
The first day
I guess we'll say the first day started when we arrived at our apartment in Reykjavik - 2am for me and 8am for Matt. I got about 4 hours of sleep, Matt none, but nonetheless we headed out. First stops in the morning included the famous church (which was a minute walk from our place, easy marker), a big flea market, a famous hot dog stand, and the Knitting Association of Iceland shop, where I bought a very expensive hand knit sweater. Our other goal before the afternoon was to find an electronics shop to buy a charger for the gopro, which didn't get packed. That involved a long walk past warehouses and shipyards along the water, but was ultimately a successful trip!
We were met at the flea market by a guy from Cheap Jeep with our car. We were waiting by the hot dog stand when he called to say he arrived, so we stared towards the parking area. "I think I see you" he said. "By the hot dog stand?" "Yes it's you then. I'm right behind you" then BAM we turned around and he was right there. Interesting character.
With the car, we headed out toward Thingvellir, where the North American and european continental plates divide, and also where Iceland's first parliament was. Matt was feeling the 30 or so waking hours at that point, so we poked around a bit while we waited for Silfra snorkelling under the midnight sun. Basically, between the two continental plates is filtered glacial water and some of the clearest water on the planet. And we snorkelled it. The preparation process was a bit brutal, since we had to don dry suits, then wet suits, which snap tight around the wrists and neck, then a tight head sack thing, flippers, mitts and mask. Once in the water we had air pockets trapped inside our suits, so we basically just went limp and floated down the chasm. The water was something like 4C but we only felt it in the hands where water leaked in... and our mouths, which went numb after a couple minutes.Hard to describe without pictures but it was pretty awesome. Finished up with some hot chocolate and cookies, then drove back to Reykjavik with some Iceland radio for company.
I guess we'll say the first day started when we arrived at our apartment in Reykjavik - 2am for me and 8am for Matt. I got about 4 hours of sleep, Matt none, but nonetheless we headed out. First stops in the morning included the famous church (which was a minute walk from our place, easy marker), a big flea market, a famous hot dog stand, and the Knitting Association of Iceland shop, where I bought a very expensive hand knit sweater. Our other goal before the afternoon was to find an electronics shop to buy a charger for the gopro, which didn't get packed. That involved a long walk past warehouses and shipyards along the water, but was ultimately a successful trip!
We were met at the flea market by a guy from Cheap Jeep with our car. We were waiting by the hot dog stand when he called to say he arrived, so we stared towards the parking area. "I think I see you" he said. "By the hot dog stand?" "Yes it's you then. I'm right behind you" then BAM we turned around and he was right there. Interesting character.
With the car, we headed out toward Thingvellir, where the North American and european continental plates divide, and also where Iceland's first parliament was. Matt was feeling the 30 or so waking hours at that point, so we poked around a bit while we waited for Silfra snorkelling under the midnight sun. Basically, between the two continental plates is filtered glacial water and some of the clearest water on the planet. And we snorkelled it. The preparation process was a bit brutal, since we had to don dry suits, then wet suits, which snap tight around the wrists and neck, then a tight head sack thing, flippers, mitts and mask. Once in the water we had air pockets trapped inside our suits, so we basically just went limp and floated down the chasm. The water was something like 4C but we only felt it in the hands where water leaked in... and our mouths, which went numb after a couple minutes.Hard to describe without pictures but it was pretty awesome. Finished up with some hot chocolate and cookies, then drove back to Reykjavik with some Iceland radio for company.
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