Ready, Set, Copenhagen!

We couldn't really understand the warbled voice over the loudspeaker, but context clues told us we'd better watch our heads.  The canal tour of Copenhagen was coming to an end and the final, oldest, lowest bridge cut things pretty close.  These boats were designed for just this moment, to fit through snugly like a coin into a slot.  The sides scratched and bumped a little, but we made it through to the other side.  Canal tour, check.  We had visitors in town this week and they came armed with a handy book filled with Top Tens for Copenhagen.  This wasn't a travel guide, it was a challenge, a game, an adventure that had us whizzing through the city collecting pieces for a figurative jigsaw puzzle called The Complete Copenhagen Experience.

"We're not doing what you guys are doing.  We're here to be tourists.  We have to see all the sights."  Parents have a knack for saying things like that, a declaration that hovers somewhere between judgement and praise.  A little befuddled, I began to think about the difference between what we're doing and decided that it's not all that different.  All tourism is essentially a scavenger hunt.  Maybe our personal top tens don't always include that statue, that tour or that attraction (Amalienborg Palace, Check.  Tivoli Gardens, Check).  Maybe ours are more often eat singed lamb head, try to fit in with the cool kids in such and such neighborhood, spelunk, but we have that list we try to check off nonetheless.  Visiting a foreign country can be a brief stint at trying another life on for size.  So, these Top Tens or To Dos are really just the bucket lists for those lives.  Who knows if you'll ever find yourself back in Copenhagen?

It's often difficult to know where to start in a city, what to focus on, how to crack the local code.  In Copenhagen, the place to start is undoubtedly the bike rental shop.  (Ride Bikes, Check).  We kept ours for three days, using them to get everywhere.  On the bicycles we were invisible, just a part of the two-wheeled traffic.  There was no walking slowly, clutching a map or hopping on and off a big red bus.  It gave our safari an instant sense of adventure and individuality.  It gave our experience of Copenhagen a true feeling of authenticity, just us and the locals signaling and ringing bells with the pedaling commuters.  Anonymity.  Well, until the last few hours of our final day when my father's brakes began to wear down and his arrival at a stop light was announced loudly to the entire city.  The sound can best be described as two donkeys on a rusted seesaw.

 

The canal tour gave us a new perspective on the city.  Places we'd pedaled through, Christianhavn, Nyhavn, looked different from our below-street-level viewpoint.  The buildings rose up around us, boats were parked (and in some cases double and triple parked) along the sides of the canals.  People were out doing post-season work on their vessels, a dog sat next to a deck barbecue.  Inching through narrow bridges and canals is a lot more romantic than squeezing through narrow streets in a bus and there was a great fly-on-the wall feeling about it. 

There were multi-course explorations of New Nordic cuisine (Check), there were cold Carlsberg brews and smørbrød (Check and Check), there were many coffees at many cafes.  This one, Bang & Jensen, was our go to spot in Vesterbro, where our rental apartment was located.  We were excited to bring our guests, to show them this cool place we'd discovered.  As it turns out, the cafe was one of the first to move into the neighborhood, at the helm of its transformation/gentrification from red-light to hip neighborhood.  "It's on the list!" we were informed to mixed emotions.  A small part of us felt like we'd fallen into some sort of trap, the pride in our 'find' stripped from us.  But, then there was a new feeling of pride in our instincts and that we'd led our little team to another victory (Bang & Jensen, Check!).  After 47 countries and 38 capital cities, maybe we've just gotten good at this. 

Restaurant Klubben made its way onto one of the Top Ten lists because of its 'large portions of traditional Danish food.'  Restaurants in tourist guides are always a double edged sword.  Yes, you have a recommendation to go by, but you also run the risk of eating in a room full of other people clutching said guide.  When we walked into Klubben, which was packed on a Thursday evening, my father and his wife, two native New Yorkers, pointed to the counter.  "Takeout.  You know it's a good local joint when there's takeout."  People streamed in past us to grab their orders.  "This is the real deal."  The checkered table cloths, loud groups and enormous platters of meat screamed 'family dinner.'  A tiny old woman whose wrinkled mouth suggested toothlessness served us our homecooked grub with aplumb and we rolled out full and happy.  Another sign of authenticity:  the place was empty by 9:30.  Danes eat early.  Restaurant Klubben, traditional Danish food, stewed pork heart (Check, Check and Check).

Next up, Freetown Christiania, the 40 year old self-governing section of Copenhagen, which is part squat, part utopia.  They have their own health care, currency, school system, post office, constitution.  It is a hippie commune, a haven for the homeless and a 'safe place' for addicts who can no longer function in society.  It is also a community of 850 that rejects capitalism and governs their property ownership and local business in ways that benefit everyone.  We saw only a sliver of the neighborhood, entering through the main gate and immediately being approached by an old man.

'Where it says no photos. Don't take photos.'  (We happen to always follow such rules).  'They will take your camera and smash it,' he repeated emphatically.  'Smash it.'  It ruffled our feathers.  The strong stench of hash, signs saying not to run because it 'causes panic,' and the blocks of resin for sale next to buds and pipes on Pusher Street turned us off from an afternoon family stroll further afield.  It was a shame, because we never really got to the idyllic heart of the place, to the kooky architectural creations, to the fish-filled lake and ecovillage center which inspired the broader sustainability plan for Copenhagen.  We checked Freetown off our list, but barely scratched the surface.  Just how these things go sometimes.

On the other end of the spectrum, but at the center of millions of visitors' plans in Copenhagen, is the little mermaid.  Her head is turned down in a plaintive, somber way, perhaps dreaming of her former fins, perhaps bashful at all the attention.  Like the mannekin pis in Brussels, the diminutive statue is a sort of mascot for a city that can't and shouldn't be quantified by big-ticket items.  In a lot of ways, the mermaid is a perfect Danish icon.  She was given to the city by the Carlsberg family in 1913 and is, of course, the creation of Hans Christian Anderson (arguably the country's most famous son).  The original statue has never been on display, the sculptor's family keeps it somewhere secret and sells authorized copies from their website.  Through her almost 200 year old life on the rock, the little mermaid has been decapitated, blown up, draped in a burqa, painted, sawed at, replaced in parts and altogether.  But maybe it's better not to tell the tourists that.  Then again, so long as its at the top of the lists, I doubt anyone will care.

The Ideas Partnership

"It would be a shame for you not to meet the children!" Elizabeth Gowing had said enthusiastically via email. Twenty-four hours later, we were in the village of Janjevo, surrounded by its youngest citizens. Elizabeth and fellow workers and volunteers of The Ideas Partnership were setting up shop in a rental house in town, which wasn't exactly ready for their arrival. The children began to help carry bedding, dishes, personal affects out of the dining room to turn it the dining room into their summer classroom. The Ideas Partnership was there to get them prepared for and enrolled in school for the very first time this September.  Everything about it excited the kids - the attention, the newness, the promises of games and classes, the foreigners. A group of older residents, all in their 20s plus a confident 15 year old, were there to sign up volunteering. The energy was high, filled with enthusiasm, nerves, expectations, trepidation. Just like the first day of school. This is the world of non-profit organizations, NGOs and Kosovo.

Google search after google search kept leading us to Elizabeth Gowing - known simply as "Elizabeth" throughout Kosovo if our countless interactions with people are any indication. Her articles for Balkan Insight came up while we were looking for homestay options, transportation advice, even for the name of a good gourmet store in Pristina. An English woman who has lived in Kosovo for six years, she's already mastered the art of Kosovar hospitality, putting herself out there so completely as to offer her personal email address in a number of published pieces. Of course, we used it, asking a long string of questions in the hopes that maybe one or two would get answered. What we wound up with was an immediate, lengthy response, a wealth of information and a glimpse of Kosovo that we never, ever would have gotten otherwise. Elizabeth is not just a published memoirist and poet, a journalist and advocate. She's a beekeeper - and upon meeting her, I couldn't refrain from making a lame joke about her being as busy as one.

She is one of three founding members of The Ideas Partnership, an NGO that focuses on helping Kosovans protect their cultural heritage and environment and educate their youngest citizens. There are somewhere around 4,000 non-government organizations (NGOs) registered in Kosovo, but only around 10% are actually active. Still, there are loads of internationals here to work and volunteer and to visit with one of these organizations felt like a truly Kosovar experience. Since The Ideas Partnership is particularly active, there were a lot of options for our involvement - but so little time. Maybe the Sunday Roma language class or the Tuesday evening team-building session? Elizabeth knew that the perfect use of our limited time was to go to Janjevo with them on their maiden voyage. She knew that the children would make the biggest impression on us and that our presence would make the biggest impression on them.

The education program is most likely dearest to her heart, and most demanding of her time. It began in Fushë Kosovë, just 5 kilometers outside of Pristina but a world away. Most big city residents have never visited the town, which shows a level of poverty hard to imagine over foamy machiatos. She said that when photos of the area and the children were shown to some acquaintances in Pristina, they had responded in disbelief, "That's not Kosovo."  The organization's mission, sparked by one little girl's story, was to enroll the Roma, Ashkali and Egyptian children of the town into the local school. This involved working with the kids, their parents and the school system that had not made it all that easy for them. 'Step-up' classes prepared them to be students for the first time, lots of passionate diplomacy worked to change the system to allow entry and extra-help after-school sessions keep the children successfully enrolled. It was - and is - a success, swarming with local and international volunteers. Now, they are copying the model in a brand new town - Janjevo. And we were there on the very first day - on 'ground-breaking,' so to speak. Step-up classes begin this Monday.

Janjevo is historically Croation, so Serbo-Croat speaking volunteer Katarina (from Belgrade) has been laying the groundwork for weeks. She's visited almost every family, trying to get a truthful number of non-school-going children and gauge the reasons. She has met with the town's different leaders - the figureheads of the Albanian, Roma, Muslim and Orthodox communities. In a joint meeting between the Roma leader and the three women we accompanied to Janjevo, he spoke German with Elizabeth, French with Aurelie (an executive director originally from France) and Serbo-Croatian with Katarina. I would have loved to have been a fly on that wall. Something like the conversation at the urinal of the United Nations. Of course, most importantly, Katarina had gotten to know the children themselves. When our van pulled up, they swarmed so closely and banged on the sides so loudly that I felt like a Beatle (or a Bieber or whoever the kids are listening to these days). Katarina! Katarina! they shouted. The Ideas Partnership had officially arrived.

The children were fascinated by us, mostly because we were hanging around idly as the others talked logistics and made introductions.  The boy in the red collar, Cuka, was a charismatic ringleader who used every English word in his arsenal on us.  Photo! Photo! We clicked and showed him. Deleta! Deleta! if his eyes were closed.  Facebook! he said and then wrote down his email for us (and his password, which I assured him I didn't need).  At the end of it all, after saying I had nice eyes and hair, he patted Merlin on the back and said he had a good nose and good teeth.  With a firm handshake, he said the nicest thing of all: You are a good man.  So are you, dude.  So are you.

The children aren't the only ones with potential in Janjevo, the town itself is just waiting to be appreciated.  It used to be a wealthy mining town, but is now mostly abandoned.  They say that only one third of the houses are occupied.  The historic house of Stefan Gjecovi Kryeziu, ethnologist, historian, national hero, has been renovated and is supposedly going to be turned into a museum at some point.  Other houses are simply falling into disrepair as each day passes.  They retain signs of their former luster and the surrounding mountains and lack of modern architecture make the place feel even more magical.  Elizabeth and partners talked about the draw this setting could have for volunteers, how wonderful it would be if they could offer teachers a place to stay in a fixed up traditional house.  The potential for tourism is high and the leaders of the town mentioned their desire for it to Elizabeth, who reported that our presence (as two Americans with cameras) put big smiles on their faces.

While tourism could help the town's economy, we were far from the most important foreigners arriving in Janjevo that day.  Elizabeth, Katarina and Aurelie are doing such important, impressive work.  Economic stimulation is great, but intellectual and creative stimulation of the town's forgotten young people is even better.  We left wishing we had more time to give, more help to offer.  But we are really thankful to have at least been welcomed to tag along for the day - to see The Ideas Partnership at work and all of these wonderful children at play.

Bulgarian Food

This seems like a fine place to start a conversation about Bulgarian food.  Meat triumphantly front and center, but vibrant green salad looming brilliantly in the background.  Like in the rest of Southeastern Europe, grilled and roasted meats are a staple and a signature of Bulgaria's national cuisine.  Pork reigns supreme, but there are plenty of other options.  Since our visit coincided with the last days of spring, lamb was widely available and recommended.  Bulgaria exports lamb throughout the EU, so there is often less available for local consumption outside of the spring season.  This is what we like to call perfect timing.

Bulgarian salads are not content with just playing second fiddle, though, and often demand entire pages of a menu.  You can break almost all of the choices down to a few key ingredients: yogurt, tomato, pepper, egg, eggplant, cabbage, carrot, corn, mushroom and ham.  But the combinations are endless and the herbs, oils and chopping methods employed are always thoughtfully based on the salad at hand.  What you can almost always count on is some crushed walnut on top and a single black olive buttoning it all up.

I'd half convinced myself that Bulgaria was an easy place for a non-meat-eater.  So many vegetables! Meatless guyveche!  But just two nights ago, we met up for an evening of sight-seeing/talking/eating/drinking with our new friend Carolyn.  She has a really great blog called Karolinka In & Around Bulgaria (and if you think she seems funny and charming on that, she's even more so in person).  Anyway, Carolyn came to Bulgaria 4 years ago as a Fulbright Scholar... and a vegetarian.  That is to say, she is no longer one. 

Her reasoning made me realize something about Bulgarian cuisine and the people that eat it. Dining outside the home is treated as a social event, rather than just public nourishment.  I thought back to all of our dinners.  Dishes would often come one at a time in no particular order.  Portions were large.  Service was friendly but slow.  These were hours-long affairs with just the two of us.  I can't even imagine what dinner with friends must be like.  And when said friends have all ordered a lot of meat, to not share would be anti-social and culturally awkward.  It'd be like going to a pub in the UK and saying you don't drink beer. Anyway, this is how one becomes an in-house vegetarian and a social carnivore.  It also helps that Bulgarians happen to know how to cook meat very, very well.

And don't even try to say you're on a gluten-free diet at holiday time!  Bulgarian breadmaking is an artform.  At this house museum in Veliko Tarnovo, breads were displayed with their corresponding celebration or occasion.  There is a special design for the godmother or godfather, the bride or the groom, each individual saint's feast day.  We were never served bread as festive or beautiful as this, but in a restaurant at which homemade bread was available, it was recommended with pride and passion.  I have a feeling that in Bulgaria, a kitchen only becomes a true kitchen once it is filled with the smell of baking bread.

Then, there is tarator (which we've already covered).  I can't go without mentioning it again here. Above we have its thicker relative, snezhanka (Snow White).  This is essentially tarator which has not been watered down - yogurt, cucumber, garlic, dill and walnut.  There are an array of these sorts of salads in Bulgarian cuisine.  Just as the word 'salad' can apply to tuna, egg, crab meat, potato or anything else mixed with mayonnaise in America - yoghurt-based mixtures are made from all of the above and more in Bulgaria.  Ice cream scooped onto plates to start the meal, they are refreshing, simple and delicious. 

To begin the meal, smother the meal and end the meal, there is always cheese.  Another excellent point Carolyn made about the non-sustainability of a completely vegetarian Bulgarian diet (I promise we talked about more than just food) is the abundance of cheese one would have to consume.  There is always mish-mash (a sort of scrambled egg version of a Spanish omelet), but otherwise it will be fried cheese or cheesy gyuveche dishes day and night.  Above is a surprise from a waiter in Arbanassi.  We'd ordered house white wine, which came with slices of apple in the pitcher and he brought us this to go along with it.  Your eyes are not deceiving you - that is a block of cheese fried and then charred on a grill with honey, crushed walnut and golden raisins on top.  It was as good as you'd imagine.

Back on the (Tourist) Farm

We’ve been here before. To Slovenia. It was three years ago, on a whim, after Merlin read something about it in a magazine. It was the first you're-going-where?-country for both of us and we returned home wondering why the heck more people don't go to Slovenia. You’ll have to forgive us if we wind up beginning or ending too many statements with “when we were here in 2008,” but it may happen often. Because as soon as we were about to embark on the country again, we were struck with the desire to recreate our original trip – or at least revisit the places we remembered best, like Tourist Farm Abram.
Agritourism is a big thing in Slovenia with over 300 properties registered as official tourist farms and rated with the apple system. Tourist Farm Abram has three apples (out of four) and is certified “eko” (European for ‘organic’). It has its own solar and wind powered generator. All of these things initially attracted us to Abram, but this time around we really only cared that it was a quirky place that we’d once spent two sort of strange nights, high up (920 meters above sea level) on the Nanos plateau, an extension of the Dinaric Alps. When Luke and Sarah decided to join us for our first couple of days in Slovenia, between a stay in Croatia and a return to Italy, we asked them what they were looking for. “I don’t know, to get somewhere away,” Luke replied. Well, don’t we know just the place!
Now, we couldn’t remember the farm’s name. So, we googled “tourist farm Slovenia bear” (this didn’t work – a map search on the Farm Tourism Association’s website did). You see, they have a bear. Her name is Mitka and she is a personality/gimmick/captive famous throughout Nanos. A café waitress in nearby Vipava exclaimed, “You’ve met our teddy bear!” The woman at the info center/vinoteka two doors down said she was mad at the Abrams about it and wanted to start a collection to free Mitka. She also told us that the family has trouble with Italian tourists who feed the bear on Sundays– and we went home to find a sign on the cage, written only in Italian, expressly stating not to feed the bear.
One thing is for sure, children love/love to stare at Mitka. Two families staying at the farm (this time around– in October 2008, we were alone) had five kids aged 5 – 12 between them. They only took their eyes off of Mitka to take their turn at the slide, conveniently set up near the cage, along with a swingset and seesaw. Tourist Farm Abram is definitely working a kid-friendly angle. Kids, large and small. Luke took his own turn on the slide, opting to go down face first on his stomach. Slowly. It was a trick even Mitka stopped his stir-crazy pacing to watch.
Other farm pets include chickens and goats, with varying degrees of productivity. They are little petting goats and one very funny billy. Last time we were here, there was a pig in a barn, of which we took a very blurry picture. (Oh, the days before blog-ready photos). The goat and the four neon orange lawn chairs were the only additions to the property we could spot. Otherwise, Tourist Farm Abram has remained unchanged. We recognized the older of two brothers who worked there and were on the constant lookout for a teenage girl who resembled the 12 year old who had excitedly shown us her dog and sliding skills.
It’s a twenty minute, steep drive up to the farm, which felt a lot better in our Subaru than it had in our Renault rental. Wending your way up the road, following signs that read "Abram," you are given breathtaking views of the Julian Alps, the forested humps below and its valley carpet. The Dolomites and both the Slovene and Italian coastlines are visible too, if only there were a safe spot to pull to the side of the road and look. Clusters of roofs, each punctuated by a steeple, spot the green landscape here and there. Toward the end of the drive, the trees on both sides of the road arch toward each other overhead, a breathtaking foliage tunnel in Autumn, when we first passed through.

Back then, Momma Abram was sick, so the kitchen was closed and we picnicked in our room. We bought our very first European condiment tube (mayonnaise at a store in Vipava), set it out on our windowsill to refrigerate overnight and found it fallen onto the family's balcony the next morning. We really hoped they didn't remember us as The Mayo Tubers. (I don't like being called a potato, ha!) This time, we got some Slovene home-cooking. The first night it was this platter of fried cheese and chicken cutlets along with mashed potatoes, creamed spinach, salad, vegetable soup and strudel. The second, it was beef brisket on gnocchi (some set aside with mushrooms, for me), salad, lentil soup and custard pie. In the country, indeed.

Gypsy Kitchens: A Hrvatska Cookout

There's been a lot of eating out in Croatia - and a lot of squid. So, we thought it was time to cook for ourselves and our guests - but we just couldn't pull ourselves away from the little cephalopods. Utilizing the barbecue in the backyard of our rental apartment, we decided to grill up some squid and pair them with another Croatian staple, blitva (swiss chard). To put our own spin on things, we decided to stuff the squid with cous-cous and brighten up the blitva a little.
We bought our squid uncleaned from a surly lady at the Opatija fish market. She offered to clean them for us, but didn't seem enthusiastic about doing it, so we decided to give it a try ourselves. It's not a difficult process, but it can be messy and gooey - also, it takes a little while.
There are three things that need to be done when cleaning squid. First, remove the edible tentacles from the base. You can cut them off just below the eyes, or just above where they meet at the head. Make sure to push out the beak from inside the little ring of flesh. Second, pull the head and guts out from inside the tube of meat that hangs behind the eyes. This is also easy: just grab the eyes and pull everything from inside the body. A spoon helps here, to get the last of the gunk from the tip. Third, make an incision at the base of the back, and pull out the backbone. This is difficult to explain, but easy to feel. The backbone is a clear, quill-shaped thing that looks like a plastic leaf. It comes out easily, and is very fun to look at and ponder. Make sure to rinse the rest of the squid well and scrape off as many of the little bumps on the tentacles as you can.

If you buy your squid in America, it's unlikely that you'll have to deal with any of this.
After washing the squid very well, dry them off and toss them in a bowl with olive oil, lemon juice and a little salt, to flavor and tenderize them before cooking.

We grilled the squid over very hot coals for about three minutes per side, until the meat began to firm up and acquire a slight translucence. The skin, in contrast with the flesh underneath it, should char and darken - where it was once almost clear, it should become more solid looking while the body lightens and plumps a little. The cooked squid looks more like a champaign flute than a deflated balloon.
The stuffing could be anything: risotto, ham and cheese (very popular here - my brother Luke had it), rice, polenta... even regular stovetop stuffing, if you want. We used a spicy, saffron broth cous-cous, mostly because it was so easy and quick. We loaded the cooking liquid with olive oil, saffron, red pepper flakes, chili powder, parsley, garlic and sauteed onion.
Aside from cous-cous's fast cooking time, its texture really made it a nice fit. The best way to approach stuffing is: spoon the grain in with one hand and pack it in with the other. Use the thumb and middle finger of your non-spooning hand to pop the squid open just a little and the index finger to press your filling down. We pressed the bottom of the slippery things into the bottom of the pan to keep them upright as we worked. When we cut the protein on our plates, each ring was filled in with our cous-cous, making for a nice, complex, compact bite of food.

Blitva is a very traditional side dish here and we've had our fair share, which made us more excited to make it. Blitva is the Croatian word for swiss chard (or "mangold," as it is translated on many English menus), but really defines its most common preparation: swiss chard, potato, olive oil and garlic. Cooked down into more of a mash it makes a wonderful dairyless alternative to creamed spinach, but we were craving something a little fresher and lighter for our cookout. So, we used equal parts red potatoes (with skin) and carrot, red onion and forewent the garlic - as it was already incorporated into our main course.
The greens should be trimmed, but the leaves shouldn't be completely removed from their stem. It gives the final product a nice crunch and juicy bitterness. Cut them into strips and rinse well. The starches were cubed and boiled together until just tender. It's important to refrain from overcooking, as you want them to stand apart in the final dish as opposed to blend together. Strain, salt and set them aside to let cool. Then, coat the bottom of the pot or pan with olive oil and add in your swiss chard and red onion. Keep it on low heat and cover. Turn the chard over often to make sure the entirety of it steams uniformly enough and, when you have the consistency you want, add in your potato and carrots, salt, pepper and a spicy paprika. A few stirs and you're ready to take it off the heat and let cool. Everything you're working with will lose its color and really break down texture-wise if you overdo it. Better to err on the undercooked side.
It wouldn't be a true Hrvatska grill plate without čevapčiči, minced meat sausages, which look, smell and taste like breakfast sausages and were easily found at the grocery store. We grilled them as they came - a sheet of connected rods - and only cut them apart after cooking. Just today, we saw an English translation of čevapčiči that read "grilled Hamburger sticks," which is about right. The squid should be eaten before cooling down, it only gets chewier as it sits longer. As soon as our plates were filled, they were devoured. So, we apologize for not having a more artful shot.

Foodies Flock

Between the cities of Rijeka and Opatija - technically a part of the latter - is the small town of Volosko. It's an old fishing village which consists of not much more than a small harbor on the Preluka Bay and a few stairs leading steeply up to a cluster of labyrinthian streets. While it's apparently a primo windsurfing and sailing location, we heard about it because of its restaurant scene. "Foodies flock to Volosko," we were told via guide book.
People eat late here. So, we arrived at around 7:30 to find the daytime activities still in full swing. The scene felt much more local than Opatija, from where we'd walked. Merlin's brother, Luke, and Luke's girlfriend, Sarah, were in tow, having just met up with us after a whirlwind journey from Seattle to Switzerland to Italy to Croatia. We were feeling celebratory and indulgent and waited until the sun set a little to sit down for a nice meal and a bottle of wine (or two).
There are about five restaurants right on the water and then a few more tucked away into corners of town. Tables are set up just about everywhere they can be, coexisting with the non-restaurant-related motions of the harbor. It all feels very relaxed. While decor ranged from sleek to maritime to tavern, there was a general theme of fresh seafood, focused preparation and congenial service. At Plavi Podrum, on an indulgent whim, we decided to opt for the degustation menu. It didn't matter that our food was more dressed up than we were, a dollop of foam on my scallops and a heat-distressed tank top on me.
The village's fishing traditions can still be felt, not just tasted. Each time we walk over to Volosko, there are people with fishing rods. Lights twinkle at night, strung up on nets and boats are heavy with equipment. At Konoba Tramerka, we were shown a big plate of the day's catch. There was no menu aside from this display of ingredients and a quick run down of preparations. Everything was served family-style (which was apropos) and the meal was ordered one course at a time. This style of dining, choosing food as you move through the evening, reminded us of our time in Italy. As did the ricotta custard for dessert.
Sadly, we didn't take any pictures of our food. It's something we only realized the morning after each meal. You see, Volosko lulls you into a completely relaxed mood - like eating this well is just a normal part of your life. Kids sold seashells while their parents said hello to their neighbor, passing by on a motorcycle, between bites of seafood risotto. We were extra happy to have Luke and Sarah at our table, helping us to more truly relish in the good food/good friends atmosphere of dining a la Volosko.

That Audrey Hepburn Movie

This was the view out of our apartment window on our Roman Holiday. There seem to be hundreds of this shot on our camera cards; dawn, dusk, morning, afternoon, night. If you stuck your head out from the balcony and looked to the right, you could see the Coliseum at the end of a long narrow street.

For about a week now, ever since my mother arrived in Venice and spotted her first Italian fountain, she's broken into the chorus of "Three Coins in the Fountain" every now and then. I felt bad about not getting the 1954 film reference, until I looked it up and found that it was about "three American girls looking for love in Rome" and starred nobody special. Being as we weren't going to scoot around on a Vespa, get our haircut or try our first cigarette like Ms. Hepburn in that far superior movie, we figured we might as well go down to Trevi Fountain and each throw a coin in. It was fairly mobbed with tourists, but still really beautiful. Barely anyone was talking in a collective attempt to listen to the water rush.

My mother's coin-wish must have come true, because the next day she fell in love. With this sandwich. Two hours after enjoying one at lunch, she already wished she had bought another for dinner. The selection at this cafe was pretty impressive, squash blossoms, sauteed spinach, shrimp, really colorful, inventive combinations filled the premade selections, piled up behind the counter. Mom's was eggplant, some breaded, some not, with mozzerella and prosciutto on olive bread. She asked them only to 'panini' it halfway, so that the eggplant would retain some of that refreshing, cold gushiness.

It's definitely not peak tourist season here right now and the vendors and photo-opp guys around the Coliseum mostly sat around reading the newspaper, looking up to shout out things like "You can pay with a kiss!" every now and then. I'm not sure if that's the most savvy business proposition, but most of the poor guys are dressed up like Ben Hur outfitted by Ricky's, so they've gotta brighten their day somehow. Snacks available for sale included roasted chestnuts and fresh coconut water. Next to the Berlusconi and Pope Benedict bobbleheads were lions and Santa Claus.

In an effort to see something by Michaelangelo before mom left Italy, we headed over to the Cordonata, a staircase he designed leading up to 'capital hill.' We walked up and down the empty staircase looking for the staircase. It couldn't possibly be it, we figured, because there weren't any tourists. On our way back home, a hoard of school children filled the stairs and we realized our mistake. We tried to get a picture with as few people in it as possible.

We decided to walk along and across the Tiber River to find the Porta Portese flea market. We figured, if we were going to contend with a crowd, it may as well be haggling old ladies instead of international undergrads. The walk was beautiful, but the market didn't appear to be running on the other side. Nonetheless, it was nice to see a more local side of things and a different sort of ruin before turning back to cross Monti toward home.

Another type of crowd altogether met us in the streets, the very beginning of a nationwide labor union strike. Apparently, it went on to cripple cities all through the country for at least twenty-four hours. Subway operators, government workers, airline attendants, basically everyone except for school employees took part in it. Luckily, it all appeared to settle before we delivered my sun-kissed and sandwich-full mother to the airport back home.

For the record, our Roman Holiday did include a photo shoot at the Bocca dela Verita. Something we only remembered after seeing a calendar featuring a movie still of Gregory Peck with his hand "bit off." We waltzed right in, waited for two people in front of us, then nerded it up like true tourists. As we walked out, a tour bus unloaded and a line formed around the block. Perfect timing.