Alex on Sardinia by Road

We left Sardinia at seven o’clock this morning via the Olbia/Costa Smeralda airport, and tonight I am writing on the balcony of a cheap hotel in Naples.  I loved Sardinia.  The people are friendly; the food is great; and they have my new favorite flag. 

The biggest tip I would offer someone visiting the island is, “rent a car!”  Yes, it is a little expensive compared to the bus/train option, but all the best beaches, the best walks, and the best food that we found were inaccessible by any other means.  Basically, I don’t think public transportation is really an option if you want to have control of your days.  As a bonus, driving in Sardinia is really easy and since there seem to be no traffic cops on the island’s winding roads, you are always in an unofficial race with the locals, who are perfectly willing to swerve into oncoming traffic in order to pass you. 

I think we discovered Sardinia’s charms on our second day.  We left our hotel in Quartucciu on a mission to find a beach, our little white Smart Car buzzing down the road while the Sardinians in their normal and mostly road-worthy cars fly by like we are standing still.   Anyone who has rented a Smart Car knows that this is par for the course; 50 miles an hour feels like 80, and 80 is probably not possible. 

This time there was another reason for our slow speed. Sardinia is one of the few places in Europe where you can find the Greater Flamingo, and these beautiful pink and white birds hang out in the marshes right next to the highway outside Cagliari. 

I imagine there is a point where you get used to the pink flamingos, and you stop looking at them, but I am not there yet.  You can try to stop and take pictures on the side of the highway, but if that is not picturesque enough for you, keep on going out to Chia Laguna where the birds flock to the still water in a more peaceful setting.

We drove on to Pula, a little beach town much like other beach towns except for the bakery (pasticceria) that makes dynamite ammaretti and .  The plan was to visit the sea turtle sanctuary just down the road in Nora, but no dice.  (Insider tip: The sanctuary seems to have no internet presence aside from a mention in a NYT article, but they are open to visitors Friday-Sunday.)

The best part about driving in Sardinia is that your day will never be wasted unless you choose to waste it.  My advice: follow the signs for “Spiaggia”, and you can’t go wrong.  You may have to hike a bit or drive your rented SmartCar down roads better suited to 4-wheelers and mountain goats, but the end of the road never disappoints.

Nest stop was Dorgali, a small village in the province of Nuoro, slightly inland from Cala Gonone and the Gulf of Orosei.  The town has a sort of industrial and rough around the edges feel and for a moment I questioned our choice of location.  However, we had no trouble at all (unless you count the little boy I found trying to lift my tiny car off the ground by the wheel-well), and the town turned out to be a very old, very cool maze of tiny streets, and shops.

Also Nuoro is regarded as the best area in Sardinia for food, and based on my limited sampling, I would back that up.   We followed Anthony Bourdain’s suggestion and had a meal of truly epic proportions at Su Gologone.  There is some debate about how this restaurant stacks up (has it become a tourist trap now?), but if you like meat, pasta, and homemade cheese, this place is pretty doggone good.

I had high hopes for Sardinia, and I was not in the least disappointed.  However, Costa Smeralda was kind of a zero for me.  The Emerald Coast is one of those “playgrounds for the rich and famous” with all that entails, and I imagine that in July you might find yourself catching some rays next to models, athletes, and, if you are really lucky, Silvio Berlusconi. 

There is no denying that Costa Smeralda is beautiful, but here is the catch: the rest of the country is equally beautiful and still retains the charm of a place that time forgot at least for now. 

How to live in a castle...even if you're broke.

I’ve gotten a few emails asking how on earth I managed to find myself house sitting a castle in France for a month.   

Within the lines of the emails I’ve received, the subtext is clear.  “I know she is as broke as I am.  We’ve just gotten out of school, and I’m barely able to pay rent on my crappy apartment let alone take an international trip.  Is she selling drugs or what?”  I hear you, and trust me…I would have the same questions too. 

First, a bit of background. 

I’ve just finished up year one of graduate school.  Like most students, my education has come at a high price.  As a result, hundreds of dollars in loan payments go out each month.  Such payments are causing me to rethink whether or not finishing graduate school is even worth it…but I digress. 

About six months ago, I got it in my head that I was absolutely not going to finish school if I didn’t find a way to pay for it with scholarships.  I made the decision to take a semester off and apply for everything I was eligible for.  After one ridiculous Fulbright application (nope, that didn’t work out) and a handful of minor scholarships, I’ve come to realize that grad school funding is a hell of a lot harder to come by than undergrad funding.  Subsequently, I have found myself without money for school and five months of time on my hands. 

Instead of spending my time immediately filling out loan applications and running back to New Zealand to start classes, I decided to take the time to actually decide if this is the right decision for me, or if I was just doing what is expected of me by society.  Amidst all of my “what in the hell am I going to do with my life” inner turmoil, I let my mind wander to travel. 

Deep in a pinterest black hole one afternoon, I found a link to workaway.info.com.  I was surprised that I had never heard of it before but even more surprised at what I found.  A few thousand “hosts” had set up advertisements for an exchange: 5 hours of work Monday through Friday in exchange for accommodation and food.  Uh, come again?!  Accommodation is the single most expensive part of traveling, so I was intrigued.

After a few hours clicking from country to country, I realized that a person could realistically take an entire year off and only pay for transportation and miscellaneous travel expenses.  I admit, I was skeptical because the site charged a fee, but after a few days of researching I decided to pay the $40 it required. 

The process to apply for each workaway is straightforward.  First, you build a profile so you can essentially sell yourself, your skills, and your personality to the hosts.  After building a profile, you choose a set up you’re interested in and send a message to the host.  In two days, I sent out 31 emails.  I realize this is a bit excessive, but I was on a mission okay?  A few days passed, and nothing.  But then finally, like little beams of joy, the emails started coming in. 

In total, I received about 15 emails to my 31 sent.  Granted, I was applying for mostly European countries, which I assume, are some of the most popular.  One host sent over a two-page questionnaire that basically amounted to an email interview.  Another workaway just asked for possible dates.  After just two emails, a two-week time period was set and we were booked. 

While it does require a bit of effort to research, contact, and arrange a workaway, it is absolutely worth it.  What would have been a month long trip at best has now turned into almost five. 

While the workaways I chose have not provided all our meals, they have provided incredible accommodation as well as pocket money, a very nice vehicle, and access to bicycles. 

While working in the garden yesterday, a Canadian workawayer and her husband told me  “these experiences absolutely can’t be bought.”  They’re in their late fifties and can certainly afford to spend the nights in hotels.  Even so, they’re choosing to use this site to enhance their time away from home.  And you know what, I think they’re right.  The four hours I spend gardening in the morning here in Bormes les Mimosa are exceptional.  The air smells like orange blossoms, the spring sun is shining, and I’m delightfully tired at the end of every day.  Not to mention I can eat all the French bread and cheese I want without feeling guilty. 

Anyone who has spent large amounts of time parked in front of a computer can attest to the fact that there is almost nothing less satisfying than sending out emails day in and day out.  Here, there is a tangible result to every day of work as well as a sense of real satisfaction.  The only trouble with workaway – if makes you realize that you never really have to go back to the way you used to live, but that is a whole different conversation altogether.  

Bormes Les Mimosa

Have you ever been to a place that smells like honey and oranges?  I’m not talking a trip to the orange aisle of the grocery store here…I’m talking about a place where the air smells so sweet it almost tastes like sugar.  Bormes les Mimosa is such a place.  Tucked away in the south of France, it is picturesque and lovely.  Underneath the tiffany blue sky are terra cotta roofs and a deep blue ocean dotted with sailboats for miles.  Grape vines and orange trees frame the porch, which creates a symphony of color in every direction. 

We spent the morning gardening in a private garden that should seriously consider charging admission.  There are flowers for days here, and just about every kind of herb you can imagine.  The mint is a bushy wonder, just waiting to be harvested and turned into a mojito.  And did you know bay leaves grow to be the size of your head? 

We’re staying in a converted greenhouse for the next two weeks.  The walls are glass, but it’s been turned into a fully functional space.  We’ve got a bathroom complete with a composting toilet (Alex is not a fan), a double bed, a kitchen, and only a few garden worms to deal with inside.  

Steps from the greenhouse sits a garden…and we’re allowed to take snips of spinach, snap peas, potatoes, onions, tomatoes, eggplant…all to our heart’s content.  Just this afternoon I grabbed some fresh green lettuce for a sandwich.  Could this be Heaven?  Three kilometers from Bormes les Mimosa is Lavandou, a beach town that smells like salt, water, and moules frites.

I’m amazed that after having spent just one day here, it is my absolute favorite part of France.  That being said, I already miss the puppies Pushkin and Pavlova!!  While I contemplated stealing them, I decided that customs might prove to be problematic….

Have you ever been to the south of France?  If so, send over some tips – this is completely new to me!!  

Gathering Dinner in Meslay Du Maine

I love going to the grocery store in France.  Walking down the aisles is pure pleasure, so I always allow time to give things a good look. 

 A few days ago, I stumbled on Speculoos.  It tastes like ground up cookies in the form of peanut butter (upon further research, I’ve found it gets sold at Trader Joes…NOT GOOD!).  It’s been three days since I picked up this jar, and it’s more than half gone.  Apparently there are over 500 calories per 100 grams.  Gotta keep the energy up for working outside!

 The applesauce is unbelievable.  Most of it has no sugar, and it comes in flavors like vanilla and apricot (don’t get that, but I’m into it).  Even so, it’s fantastic. 

Now check out this pudding aisle.  That’s right, an entire refrigerator section devoted to nothing but pudding.  The other side, nothing but yogurt.  Seems excessive, no?  I mean seriously, how much pudding could one person eat?  Judging by the popularity of the aisle, the French love it. 

 If pudding isn’t your thing, why don’t you take a walk down one of the two long cheese aisles? 

 You like mustard?  There’s an ENTIRE aisle devoted to it. 

If you’re feeling like keeping it healthy, head to the veggie section.   In search of corn on the cob one afternoon, I noticed there was absolutely none to be had.  No frozen corn, no fresh corn, and certainly no canned corn.  I asked a friend here, what gives?  She explained to me that the French certainly would not eat something like corn. “It is for the animals you see, and the people of France are not animals.”  You know, she has a point…if it’s used to fatten up cows, maybe we shouldn’t be chowing down on it so often? 

Just down the street from the grocery store sits a gorgeous butcher and bakery.  The croissants are always beautiful, and the tartes are a feast for the eyes.  

The butcher has some interesting creatures inside, but if you like things a bit fresher just take a walk outside.  There is almost always a fruit and veggie market going on somewhere near (oftentimes out of a truck), but faint of heart beware. 

Those bunnies, they aren’t being sold as pets.  Neither are the chickens, ducks, geese, or little goats either.  

After the bunny I had been petting got snatched up by a particularly gruff woman buying him for dinner, I may have even gotten a bit weepy.  “There’s no crying at the market!” Alex informed me, so I sucked it up and decided to people watch instead of bunny watch.  After seeing a kid lick his lips and point to a handsome duck, I decided I had had enough (and decided not to eat meat for what ended up being two weeks). 

While it’s sad to snuggle bunnies about to be sold for dinner, it’s not all bad to have that sort of connection with the food you eat.  A large part of society has lost that connection, as well as true understanding of where the food eaten on a daily basis comes from.  In small town France however, young children look up at their parents and lick their lips as they choose a duck, rabbit, or even a goat for dinner.  And maybe that’s not the worst thing.  

Eating Our Way Through Melbourne

I have this friend named Holly.  She is a resident bad ass.  To give you an idea of just how awesome she is, try this on for size - she finished the IRON MAN just a few weeks ago.  I can barely run a mile.

Holly went skate boarding after work today and accidentally did this.  

Most people's reaction - tears, yells, freak outs...but oh no, not Holly.  She's as tough as nails.  In honor of Holly's fall, I thought I'd send out a throwback from a trip we took together...just to cheer her up :)

Almost a year ago, Holly and I took a trip to Melbourne, Australia.  We ate to our heart's content, had girl talk for days, took long walks in a city we did not know, and got to stay in a penthouse in the middle of the city FO FREE!  Every single cent (and then some) of the money we saved was spent at the Lululemon Outlet (which happened to be about 2 blocks from our place) and at a chocolate shop (Mecca) called Koko Black.  It is there that I discovered my love of salted caramel chocolate.  

So here's a little throwback from our trip - hope you feel better Ollie!

Koko Black, Melbourne

See, she's tough AND pretty.  

Melbourne is the food capital of the world.  This is a bold statement.  Especially coming from someone who has been to New Orleans.  And Rome.  While Adolfo's on Frenchman Street remains at the center of my heart (two words - ocean sauce), Melbourne offered up treasures in food I did not see comin.  

Like any smart tourists, Holly and I gleaned our dining information from the locals.  It turns out one can become good friends with said locals by spending an excessive amount of money at their place of business.  (Holly, Lululemon cough cough).  Okay, I joined in on the fun.  A few hundred dollars later, I'm officially on the Lululemon train - please go buy their sports-bra (another life changer) - but that's another post entirely.

While Holly was trying on her mountains of clothes, I struck up a friendship with a lovely young lady in a highlighter yellow shirt who seemed very excited about a discussion concerning food. 

I've come to find that you can trust these ultra fit people when it comes to food.  If you can weed out the sissies on weird diets who eat too much quinoa and not enough ice cream, they're a real wealth of knowledge.  Another clue, they tell you the names of actual dishes instead of the names of places.  "BEST espresso martini of my life.  Expensive as shit, but so worth it."  These are the people you want to seek out.  Holly and I left Lulu with an iphone list of places to visit - and trust me, we wasted no time.  Within minutes we were seated at Moat, an underground bar that reminded me very much of The Library in Wellington.  It had this sort of cigar lounge feel to it, something I really love.  Unfortunately, we had to sit and drink for a while before we could be served any food.  Shucks.

Round 1 - Moat http://themoat.com.au/Welcome.html

They aren't on the menu anymore, but the first dish was these gorgeous meatballs topped with a rich velvety tomato sauce and parmesan shavings.  We licked the bowl.  Next, potted prawns with butter, shaved fennel, lemon zest and spices.  Finally, carpaccio of green mountain veal crusted in fennel pollen with caperberries, pink grapefruit segments, preserved lemon butter.  There was probably some wine tucked in that meal too...

 Carpaccio of green mountain veal crusted in fennel pollen with caperberries, pink grapefruit segments, and preserved lemon butter - Moat, Melbourne

Potted prawns with butter, shaved fennel, lemon zest, and spices - Moat, Melbourne

Round 2 (aka Dinner #2 on the same night - that's how we roll) - Panama  http://www.thepanama.com.au/

Upon arriving at this off the beaten path gem, there was a couple screaming at each other in the street in front.  The lady half of this couple started throwin punches at which point the gentleman ran into the street and almost got hit by a moving bus.  Yep, we had found another great place.

This time, we mixed it up a bit with zucchini flowers stuffed with two cheeses, roasted red peppers, tomato, chilli and capers.  We also had this amazing ceviche and chestnut cake, but neither are on the menu anymore.  Trust me, they were gorgeous. 

 Chestnut cake - Panama Dining Room, Melbourne

 Zucchini flowers stuffed with two cheeses, roasted red peppers, tomato, chili, and capers - Panama Dining Room, Melbourne

Ceviche, Panama Dining Room - Melbourne

Round 3 - Polly Cocktail Lounge http://www.pollybar.com.au/

Bourbon Butter - Makers, PB, Butterscotch Schnapps, Frangellico, Cream
Espresso Martini  - Wyborowa Vodka, Vanilla Liquer, Coffe Liquer, Espresso

After a very full day of eating, shopping, and exploring, it was time for bed.  We didn't even make it past 10 pm.  Amateur hour.  Don't worry, we were up bright and early and ready to do it again the next day - a day that led us to the best places yet.

Aspro Ble deserves a billboard.  A book, a chapter in the Bible.  I don't know, something.  It's incredible.  The food made me want to board a plane to Positano and lay amongst the whitewashed houses with all the goats.  It's just beautiful.  Lamb souvlaki, sagaki, calamari and prawn wontons with a lemon caper sauce, baklava, and loukoumades.  

 Lamb souvlaki - Aspro Ble, Melbourne

 Sagaki with confit dates and cherries - Aspro Ble, Melbourne

 Calamari and prawn dumplings with lemon caper sauce - Aspro Ble, Melbourne

 Loukoumades - Aspro Ble, Melbourne

At the end of this meal, I was beggin the good lord for mercy, because I did not think I could stand up from the chair. I used to think I didn't like baklava.  When Holly ordered, I rolled my eyes in my head and thought "What is this, The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants?  Amateur hour over here!"  I was wrong.  This baklava changed my life with every. single. bite.  I can't even talk about it anymore.

Baklava - Aspro Ble, Melbourne

And finally, with the blessing of the great Annie Bergman, I visited her old stomping groups.  Lygon Street in Carlton.  For those of you who have never heard of it, imagine a street that smells of tomatoes and basil.  A street full of italians and greeks all calling out for your business.  "Basta! Basta! This is the one for you!"

An old Italian man stopped us as we were walking by.  "What does this sound like to you?  What kind of music ees dis?" "Um, I think that's techno.  Definitely techno."  "See son, I told you this was techno!  Absolute trash."  "Ladies, would you like a CD?"  And along we went. Next door down -  "You stop in here for lunch, we give you 30% off your whole bill."  We continue walking, drawn down the street by the promise of that one hidden gem.  Unlike yesterday, we came to Lygon Street unarmed with our arsenal of local knowledge, trusting that the wind would blow us in the right direction.  (I ended up asking a lady at a kitchen store where to go.  I couldn't risk it, but don't tell Holly).  To Tiamo we go.  I knew when we got there that this was the place.  San Pellegrino in glass, the magic arrives.  It is in the form of a truffle and mushroom handmade tortellini.  

With the eggplant and chicken parmigiana, absolute and utter nirvana.  I was never sure what that naked baby was swimming after in the blue water, but I've finally found it.  It is Tiamo chicken parmigiana.  It is Aspro Ble Baklava.  It is here, in Melbourne, the greatest food city in the world.