Category: Europe

Water dripped on our heads – not from rain – but from air conditioners that hung precariously above as we made our way from our apartment into the historical center. It was hot, a little muggy, but not near what it could be in the summer, we were told.

We walked mapless, taking turns deciding which street to explore next. The historical centre is not big but it’s dense with massive architecture. Our first impression – being genuinely wowed by it – was a complete surprise to us.

Arriving with a clean slate, we knew not that its name meant City of Joy or that it also has been called Little Paris. The architecture, albeit much of it in a state of decay, stunned us repeatedly. Baroque, neoclassical, communist, even art deco structures are scattered around the center. And many carry the illustrious title of “Palace” – Palace of Post, even the Palace of Phone – but most notably, there is the Palace of the Parliament.

All other buildings pale in comparison to what was formally called “The People’s House”, not only in Bucharest, but nearly on the planet. We explored just a fraction of the colossal building and holder of many records: longest carpet in the world, largest chandelier in the world, largest administrative building in the world. From the extensive front balcony we faced the longest boulevard in the world, named the “Victory of Socialism”, 4 meters longer than Paris’ Champs Élysées.

Although we are still barely scratching the surface of understanding the plight of Eastern Europe prior to the fall of communism, this building is emblematic and of little wonder. Typical elements of communist architecture hold true: it is monstrous in size, impersonal in colour, and an overall abuse of material and space that should have been used to help the people. One fifth of the center was demolished to make room, including displacing people from 30,000 homes, shoving them into what were called “matchbox houses” in the suburbs. The Palace stands as 340,000 m2 of glorious glut that fed the megalomaniac leader Nicolae Ceausescu, while Romanians were starved in the process to fund it.

It is a phenomenal scar, its entire removal debated when the crazed Communist dictator was killed during the Romanian Revolution in 1989. It remains but many rooms sit empty. And since then, the country has been in a state of recovery.

Back outside, while much of the city does crumble from neglect, construction projects are also plenty. Romania is a country on the upswing (one of the fastest growing economies in the EU), but you won’t hear that from many Europeans. It is oft disregarded as a land of grabby gypsies and hill-billies, outsiders are totally ignorant to the youthful vibrancy and so much more that exists in Bucharest. Think Berlin before it’s ultra-hip status became a fact known worldwide.

The city is brimming. It is not a perfect place by any means, many locals carry negativity about the state of their country and the appeal of others, but as a curious traveler drawn to those places not often talked about, it was a wonder to me that this place isn’t more often talked about.

This city has so much potential, I repeated to myself often. But for what? To be cleaner, better constructed, to be more alluring for the camera-toting masses?

But then it might lose its natural appeal, its gritty yet compelling exterior, its visible scars – those which make Bucharest more authentic and livable than some of its prettier European counterparts. Maybe it is the view of this naive tourist who had but a week to spend there, but it feels like a city on the move and a city that you want to be a part of, if only so that you can say “I knew it first.” Like an indie band discovered before everyone else.

After every outing we would return to our renovated apartment in one of those dilapidated Soviet-style concrete buildings, stepping gingerly into the rickety elevator and holding our breath as it began its climb to the 7th floor. Once inside, I opened the window to the smell of unseen flowers. Melodies from unseen instruments drifted up from the music school nearby.

where we stayed

Do not let the rickety elevator fool you, we had a great modern apartment just on the outskirts of the historical center. Bucharest is very affordable compared to other European capitals, and the center bursts with great restaurants and lively nightlife (for those that are up for that sort of thing).

Love comes with its share of problems.

It’s as true in travel as it is between humans. One particular problem I’ve had before is letting my love for one place distort my view of another. Leaving our beloved Turkey for a weekend in Greece, for example, I unintentionally arrived with slight prejudice and expected to not enjoy it. (I was proven wrong.)

It’s a human weakness, that of unjust comparison, and as much as I try not to consciously let it guide my feelings when exploring, it still happens. I’m not perfect. And I wonder, on reflection now, if my love and adoration of Brasov is what caused me to feel completely indifferent about our time in Sighisoara.

It’s really incredibly pretty with colorful streets, uneven cobblestones to playfully manoeuver, a walled historic center, lofty towers and thousands of years of history.

Is Sighisoara too pretty? Too perfectly presented? (Is that a thing?)

My judgment was perhaps clouded by other loves, or maybe we spent too much time there and got a little bored.This, I realize now, is probably a classic case of it’s-not-you-it’s-me.

(So I’ll just shut up and let Pete take over the post showing you how gorgeous it really is.)

Where to Stay in Sighisoara

We loved our stay at Pensiune Citadela Sighisoara, with a view of the famed clock tower out our window. However, we recommend asking for a room that is not on the top floor, as the slanted roof really reduces the space in the room. Also, we stayed for four nights and, as mentioned above, got a little bored. It is a tiny city; two nights there would have been plenty.

Last year, I was teased by it. This year, I found myself right in the middle of it. And quite literally, too, the morning that the Girona flower festival was to begin, our threesome drug our bags through the old city from one apartment to the next. Being one of the top reasons to visit Girona, the flower festival messed with our plans to stay in one place the entire time. We dodged flower admirers with cameras as we careened the twisty streets to get us to our new impermanent home.

And we didn’t realize until we were handed the keys, but we were checking into an apartment with the best view in the city. We were right over the top of Sant Feliu Basilica, the stairs of which would host the opening performance that very evening and a DJ dance party every evening after. While the required move seemed an annoyance at first, we then couldn’t believe how lucky we were.

From our vantage point, we watched flower enthusiasts take over the city. We watched them file over the Sant Feliu bridge and spread out in all directions in search of the over 130 displays in every corner of the old city. This view offered us an advantage – we knew exactly when to time our own explorations.

how to do it

The Flower Festival transforms the city every May and dates all the way back to 1954. For more tips on seeing the festival, see this post by Ottsworld.

I get this place.

Well, as much as anyone can after a brief visit, but there are certain things that only people who come from tiny and remote corners of the world will ever understand. Like the fact that everyone knows most everyone, and thus your business is everybody’s business. Or that even though you may grow up feeling bored and isolated and ache to leave, once you do, there is sometimes a very strong draw to return to that isolation. Or, in the case of the Faroe Islands, the longing for the unspoilt beauty of these islands that are truly unique in the world.

I completely understand the draw. The strong connection with nature, the sense of community that cannot be found in bigger centres, even certain unique flavours that cannot be get elsewhere. It is a common story to hear of Faroese who had left at one point (as most do for further education) but also believing they were bound for bigger things than what could be offered in their home archipelago. Yet years later, they just knew they had to return.

The islands were calling them back.

For hundreds of years, the Faroese isolation was amplified by periods of repressive Danish rule. Trading monopolies were harsh and long stood in the way of development.

Fun fact about Denmark: the Islands still remain under the country’s realm, and the relationship has been complicated. One that saw the Dane’s attempt to stymie Faroese culture and remove their language, yet at other times provide assistance in bolstering the economy and quality of life. A majority voted for independence in the 1940s, but the referendum was shot down by the Danish government because not enough people were deemed to have participated. The desire for independence has ebbed and flowed.

Many are wary of the loss of monetary support, but others are sure they could thrive without due to the strong fishing industry. The population has been steadily just under 50,000, although many speak about the deficit of 2,000 women (which is a lot as a percentage). Some are going abroad to find a spouse and other cultures are cautiously being welcomed, although indigenous Faroese people still sit at well over 90% of the whole.

For newcomers, it would be a tough integration. The rough and ever-changing weather, the rugged terrain, the isolation, the unique cuisine. With a steady supply of lamb and the tradition of wind-drying it in special slotted shacks, the fermented results have been called “the taste of the Faroes”. For many, it is their taste of home. (For me, it is a taste I hope to forget.)

But the rewards would be overwhelming for the right people. Because we can defiantly say that there is no place in the world that we’ve been to as beautiful or as beguiling.

And as career explorers drawn to remote areas and the stories of the people within, there are just so many to be heard here.For one, there is the small island of Koltur, where two families once lived. These families did not get along, and although they were the only two on the island, they did not speak to each other. This feud went on for so long that they could no longer remember what they were even fighting about. They have both since left, and the island is set to become a national park.

And then there is the Patursson family who have inhabited the most important cultural centre on the islands, a farmhouse in the village of Kirkjubøur, for no less than 18 centuries.

They are sheep farmers but over the years have also produced nationalist leaders and writers, a world-renowned artist, and the first feminist of the Faroes. They graciously open their doors to tourists, and we were so pleased to sit for tea with Johannes, the current head of family. In a room blanketed in relics and framed photographs of forefathers and mothers, he talked of changes to farming practices and carefully of his thoughts on independence. We spoke often of the word “balance” – of tourism and nature, of old ways and new. There were so many more things I wanted to ask of him, but was too shy to during our brief meeting.

We touched on the future of his family and the farmhouse, of the interesting position for every child as they are raised there, aware of the historical and cultural significance of the unbroken family presence since 1550. But what of their own ambitions? Well, the farmhouse will stay with us for at least another 20 years while I am here, Johannes shrugged, releasing the semblance of any pressure.

As a cavalier outsider, wooed by the adventures to be had among the 18 islands, it is easy to say that I would gladly take up such a place in history and adore the life presented. I’d savour every fleck of rugged scenery and indulge in the solitude. I’d put myself in charge of the biennial mowing of the traditional grass roof and only use goats. I’d wear nothing but chunky wool sweaters I knit myself, walk the craggy shores daily, and use the silence to finally learn how to really write. Maybe I’d even develop a taste for fermented lamb. Pete could come too.

But that’s easy to say, harder to do. Because I get this place. It is isolated, remote, and with a terrain that is a challenge for the truest of adventurers. It will always be confronting for some yet alluring for others.

I can already feel the islands calling me back too.

where we stayed

As our upcoming stories from the Faroes are a mix of all the places we visited, we present all of our accommodations here. Note that it is almost entirely possible to base yourself in the capital of Tórshavn and visit most places in day trips.

tórshavn

Although not quite near the center of the capital, the Hotel Føroyar is in a really great location just off the main highway, the perfect base for making day trips. The restaurant onsite was also recently voted as the best in the Nordic countries.

gjógv

The Gjáargarður Guesthouse is basic but very clean and comfortable (and basically the only place to stay in the area). The food served on site is also really good.

vágar (airport)

Basic but clean and comfortable, the Hotel Vágar right near the airport and perfect for catching early morning flights.

So goes our nomadic lifestyle cycle – travel like mad, settle and work, travel like mad – that after our almost three-week road trip around New Zealand, we found ourselves in desperate need of a settle and work segment. With two weeks to spare in Europe before returning to North America, we finally turned our attention to a country that we’ve always longed for but never ventured to: Portugal. We had lofty plans to work hard/play hard but found the work taking over. We made it out to explore only a couple of times and never strayed very far. (For goodness sake, we didn’t even take a port tour in Porto.) Pete managed to carve out a few photo walks, but I often only emerged from behind my laptop to eat.

We are not food bloggers or critics, and when I say that a pork cheek tasted like a well-spiced hot dog, that is as far as my culinary descriptive skills go. As such, we rarely search for a story about food in a new place, but in Porto, a food story found us.

We learned that it was all about SANDWICHES!

Where to Find the Best Portuguese Sandwich in Porto

“Just eat the damn sandwich,” Pete said as I sat snarling at the plate in front of me. We were a few days into our stay and all of my cravings for mountainous plates of grilled veggies were going unsatisfied. After three weeks of camping food, I was in dire need. But restaurant menus were lined with carbs and meat, and the salads were uninspired. Pete had clearly grown tired of my complaining and barked to just eat what was in front of me.

It was a dinner plate heaping with everything I didn’t need: a pile of shoestring french fries cascaded over a rather sorry and simple-looking sandwich. On its way home, it had gotten a bit squished; the streaky brown steak could be seen spilling out one side, melted cheese another. The aroma, however, had me salivating. After popping a couple of perfectly soft but outwardly crispy fries in my mouth, I managed to get a handle on the sandwich underneath. I shot Pete one last snarl and then took a bite.

Please excuse my language (remember, I’m not a food blogger, so descriptive words fail me), but it was the best f***ing sandwich I’ve ever eaten.

It was simple: marinated steak grilled to a perfect pink on a soft floury bun with aioli and melted cheese. Every bite melted away on my tongue in a burst of delicate spices. And each was followed by a low guttural moan of pure pleasure. (Sorry, is that TMI? Probably. But it’s the truth.)

This wasn’t an anomaly in Portugal as we soon found out that sandwiches are the specialty. From then on, there was less growling about the calories being consumed as we instead decided to embrace it. Sandwiches became our quest. We would work all day and venture out to discover Portugal’s second-biggest city via sandwich shops. (We’d worry about the few extra pounds later.)

And this is what we found.

Dona Maria Pregaria

Dona Maria Pregaria shall henceforth be known as the producer of all the guttural moans (the photo of two sandwiches near the top is the culprit). Order its namesake (the Dona Maria sandwich) to experience all of the goodness. It’s marinated medium-rare grilled steak served on a soft bun topped with aioli and melted cheese. Pete would try a couple of others, but none would compare.

Conga

They don’t look the most appetizing, but the secret to Conga’s famous bifana sandwich is the sauce. It’s all seasoned pork, all bread, and then a savoury, juicy sauce that soaks in. It should be eaten immediately while hot and the crust on the bread still has some crunch. And, for only two euros each on takeout, this is an insanely valued and memorable meal.

And not surprisingly, insanely delicious bifanas can also be found in Lisbon.

Flor des Congregados

Close to Conga and a little more upscale, this restaurant also offers the bifana, but it is not quite as good as Conga (despite the fact that there is also a thin slice of tasty ham included). But if you are in the mood for a pork cheek that tastes like a well-spiced hot dog, this is also where you can find it.

Francesinha at Cafe Ceuta

This would be the day that we would try the Francesinha. Afraid we would have a post-meal heart attack, we fasted for the morning in anticipation of trying it. The Francesinha is a famous Portuguese sandwich and a monstrous thing to boot. It’s also known as the mother of all Porto sandwiches. When eating it, it should be approached with caution. It contains cured ham, two different kinds of sausage and steak slapped between thick sliced bread, then smothered in melted cheese. We’re not done yet. It’s then served in a thick tomato and beer sauce.

Each restaurant has its own secret sauce, and each person’s preference for sauce varies. We found this one tasty, if a bit excruciating overall. The verdict: Well, we finished every last bite and walked out of the restaurant to tell the tale. Truth be told, it would probably be the last Francesinha I would eat, but I’m glad I had the chance to try it.

The best thing about our stop at Cafe Ceuta was the staff who enthusiastically spoke about the history of the sandwich in the city. Actually, that can be said about many restaurant staff we met on our quest – so many were very excited to talk about their food.

Sins Sandwich

The name says it all, right? Although this one had spinach in it (there’s the veggies we were looking for!), this is actually Pete’s sandwich and I went with the goat cheese burger instead. Mistake.

Stick with the sandwich.

Our love for train travel is enduring. It is certainly our very favourite thing about traveling in Europe. Watching cultures and countries change before our eyes as we cross landscapes and borders is not possible in the vast expanse of North America. It feels indulgent to be able to do so when we cross the Atlantic.

Add in legendary mountain views and exquisite service and we’ve tipped into the super indulgent category, and that’s what we found on our most recent train journey in Switzerland aboard the Glacier Express in Excellence Class. Connecting the mountain towns of Zermatt and St. Moritz with several stops in between, this 291km journey takes just under eight hours. That length of journey may seem excruciating to some, but for us, it was a blissful way to spend a whole day full of lots of out-of-window gazing (especially given that the deluxe panoramic windows gave wide angles of the scenery). And being spoiled with a five-course meal and open bar certainly added to the joy.

The route crosses over 291 bridges and through 91 tunnels as it makes its way between the Engadin Valley and the Matterhorn. Along the journey we saw green grass and green water, rolled through the Rhine Gorge (dubbed the “Grand Canyon of Switzerland), and climbed high through mountains, with the train track splitting white blankets of snow. We climbed to just over 2,000m via the Oberalp Pass, where we made an unscheduled but fortunate stop while waiting for a train to pass from the other direction. This highest point of the trip was also a highlight given the unseasonable warmth and beauty of the bluebird skies against the stark white snow.

We were rarely without food and drink in front of us. Seven different snacks and meal courses (including a lot of specific Swiss food) kept us nourished, much of which contained ingredients that were sourced along the route. And we’re still talking about the tomato and apricot chutney that accompanied the cheese plate.

Our only complaint was that they were sometimes ill-timed with the best of the scenery (Pete’s soup got a little cold as he stood at the open window to get photos). But in all honesty, this probably would have been a problem no matter the schedule given that his butt was rarely in his seat.

We spent several days lovin’ on each of St. Moritz and Zermatt, and our trip on the Glacier Express in Excellence Class was the perfect connector – both literally and figuratively. This Window to the Alps was exactly that, showing us sights in the Swiss mountains that we otherwise would not have seen, with luxury unlike any other train trip we’ve ever had.

how to do it

The train runs year-round from Zermatt to St. Moritz with several stops in between.

The Excellence Class is the newest offering and is available as an add-on to a valid first-class ticket.