After a few epic days, hiking, white water rafting, lake hopping, and waterfall chasing in the Triglav National park, we decided we wanted to see a totally different side of Slovenia. We hit the road, and drove down south, to wine country! Wine country? In Slovenia? “But I’ve never had a Slovenian wine,” you’re thinking. I know! Me neither! Turns out, they make wine, and the grapes are grown on beautiful rolling hills, very Tuscan-esque. We arrived in Dobrovo, an incredibly quaint little village, and home to the largest winery in Slovenia, Klet Brda. We quickly found it, and parked the van in front – it’s time for a wine tasting!
Inside, we went to the little shop and asked about the wine tasting. The young lady, Nina, who worked there was so nice. She explained that the tasting is self led and costs €12, and that people often stay for an hour or hour and a half! We followed her into the tasting room. In the banquet room next door, through a temporary wall, we could hear the chatter of some kind of party. Nina gave us a bit of an overview of the winery and its history, and handed us the tasting notes for each wine. “All ten wines are for sale in the store,” she said. Wait a minute. Ten wines? She smiled and left the room. We found ourselves in the tasting room, on our own, just Michael, me, and ten wines to taste. Ohhhh dear.
The sparkling wines…
We started with the two sparkling wines, served straight out of the bottle. We sat near the big, picture windows, and looked out over the rolling Slovenian hills. Gosh, this countryside is stunning, and so, SO different than the mountainous, rocky, and extreme Triglav National Park from where we just came. As we tasted the sparkling wines, the party in the banquet room next door, sang a Slovenian drinking song! We joined them in raising our glasses and cheers’d each other.
The whites…
We moved onto the whites, the six whites (!), that were served from a machine. Each bottle was connected to two buttons with an icon next to each button — one was a half full wine glass, and one was a full wine glass. Guess which button we chose. We pressed the button once, twice, three times. We read the tasting notes of each wine, and half pretended to follow along. I have never been that good at tasting the notes and nuances in a wine, and today was no different. Sure, after I read notes that the wine smells like kiwis and tastes like wood, the wine smells and tastes just so, but until I read it, it really just smells and tastes like wine. Every time an employee walked through the room, we stuck our noses deep into the glasses and made something up about tannins, the subtleties, and the tones.
The reds…
By the time we moved onto the reds, again served in bottles, we were happily pouring very healthy portions. The first red was delicious, and I opted for a second ‘taste’ before moving onto the last wine. Surely, we thought, those who spend an hour and a half in a tasting room must be crazy people, but, there we were, two and a half hours later, stumbling into the wine shop. We paid for our wine tasting, and bought a few big bottles of our favourite wines. As we left the winery, we knew that after a wine tasting like that, neither of us could drive. The responsible thing to do would be to wait, and so we went for a hilarious, drunken stumble around the vineyards.
We arrived back to the van after an hour or so. There was a big, flat parking lot across the road, and it looked like a decent place to sleep. So, because neither of us was fit to drive, we pushed the van across the road into our perfect little parking spot. The beauty of having your bed with you at all times is that after having way too much wine, you can just fall right into it. Thanks for the epic wine tasting, Slovenia!
If you’re visiting Slovenia, chances are you are going to be in Ljubljana, and if you’re in Ljubljana, chances are you will take a day trip (or maybe a longer trip) to Lake Bled. We weren’t sure if we wanted to go to Bled for two reasons: Lake Bled is very popular among tourists so we expected that it might be really busy, and because of the prolific tourism, we figured that the prices of everything would be way out of our normal daily budget. We really try to avoid ‘tourist traps’ and worried Bled might be just that. That being said, we also really try not to let our dirtbag cheapskate lifestyle get in the way of experiencing everything a country has to offer, so we decided to go! On a Sunday…
We drove in to town and were stopped in standstill traffic. That’s when I realized the day of the week and did a facepalm. We had mapped out a parking lot offering free 2 hour parking on the other side of the lake, but at this rate it would take another two hours to get there! A sign caught Michael’s eye: the coveted, much beloved international sign for ‘campervan parking.’ We turned off the busy road and followed the signs. We came to a parking lot full of vans and RVs — our people! — with a sign posted indicating €10 parking for vans and RVs. Dang! I checked the map again to see if there were any other free parking lots nearby when a couple, maybe my parent’s age, driving a van with a Dutch licence plate, came over to offer us their parking ticket. They had paid for 24 hours and their ticket was good for another six! Score! Thank you, lovely Dutch couple, you’ve made two cheapskate Canadians very happy today.
We threw open the back doors of the van and pulled out our folding bicycles. We unfolded the frames and locked the hinges into place. Let’s hit the road! We quickly found the lake from the parking lot, and it was very clear why Lake Bled is so popular: it’s totally spectacular. The lake is quite small and is surrounded by steep, treed hills and crazy steep cliffs. On one side, the castle of Bled is perched high up on a cliff and in the middle of the lake is an island with a church and a bell tower built in the middle. All around the water is a 6.5km long walking path! We began bicycling. The beginning of the path was very narrow and with all those Sunday lake-goers crowding the path, our ‘bicycling’ ended up as more of a ‘walk alongside a bicycle’, but no bother: the sky was blue, the lake was beautiful — nothing could get us down!
We arrived at the other side of the lake from the town, where we found the trailhead to take us to the viewpoint of Ojstrica (not to be confused with Mala Osojnica!). We locked up the bikes and began our ascent. The way up to the viewpoint is about 600m, from the road, and straight up a hill. The sign told us it should take only 20 minutes. Ok, sign, that seems like a really quick climb, but we’ll take your word for it. We walked up and up. I couldn’t help but be a little sad, for my hair looked so cute and Instagrammable before the climb, and once we reached the top, the sweat had done its worst. From the top of Ojstrica we could see the entire lake, the church island in the middle, the castle of Bled, and in the distance, the peaks of the Julien Alps of Slovenia. Thank goodness for the bench up at the point, for my knees became weak at the majesty of the view. Here we enjoyed the lunch we packed: tuna wraps with cheese, cucumber, corn, and red pepper. We were joined by quite a few other groups of people, but way less than I expected based on the number of people on the walking path around the lake. People came, took pictures, and left. We took multiple pictures for other couples who were trying (and failing!) to capture the view with a selfie, and we had someone take our picture for us. It really was quite the view.
We walked back down, collected our bicycles, and continued on our way. Bled is famous for a few things: the church on the island in the lake, the castle on a cliff, and the real reason we all come to Bled, the Blejska Kremsnita, the Bled cream cake! We found the most perfect, quaintest little cafe, with a killer balcony, and a cream cake that looked unmissable. We ordered a slice to share, and a dark local beer to wash it down: the perfect combination! The cake is not too sweet, but so creamy and delicious. I wouldn’t even call it cake, it’s really just a slice of cream, but well deserved after our bicycle ride, and our 600m climb!
To finish our perfect day around this perfect little lake, I wanted to rent a rowboat and have Michael row me around the church island — how romantic! When we arrived at the boat rental shop however, the romance died. To rent a boat for an hour would cost €20! I was super disappointed, but there was just no way we could justify that, not even for the epic pictures and videos we could take with the drone! We hung our heads and left the shop. But wait! The sky was still perfectly blue, the lake was still incredibly beautiful, nothing could get us down! We continued to cycle along the path until a rope swing caught Michael’s eye! There was nobody around. We pulled over, locked the bikes, and headed down to the water’s edge. Michael changed into his swimmers and took a beautifully long dip in the water. He had a few turns on the rope swing, too. Some good, old fashioned, free fun.
The time on our parking pass was coming to an end, so we bicycled back into town towards the van. We arrived back right as our six hours finished. I’m so glad we came to Bled. I’m so glad we ignored our worries. We were able to have a perfectly cheap day in a super touristy town, find the secret spots off the beaten track, and have a really wonderful time!
Some tips if you’re heading to Bled:
The cake is amazing and you must try it. We went to Caffe Peglez’n where the cake was €4 and a big beer was €3.
How cute is this place?!
Whether or not you have an Instagram account, you really should go to the viewpoint of Ojstrica. Don’t confuse it with the viewpoint Mala Osojnica! That viewpoint is higher, harder to get to and doesn’t have views that are nearly as nice!
Bicycling is a fun way to get around. After the first stretch of path by the casino with all the people wandering about, the path widens and becomes a bit more bicycle-friendly. You can rent bicycles in Bled! Or just walk the path. I imagine if you walked it, you would find even more secret swimming spots with rope swings!
Rent a boat!(?) I read a blog that said they rent for €12-€15, so maybe we just happened to find the most expensive guy. If your travel budget is bigger than ours (let’s face it, everyone’s probably is), then I say splurge for the boat! Maybe even buy the cream cake to go and enjoy it on the middle of the lake! You do you.
We were up and at ‘em at 7am — not a common occurrence these days — and were scarfing down a hearty, hiker’s breakfast, by 7:15. The weather forecast for the day boasted a beautiful, sunny morning, and threatened afternoon thundershowers, hence our early start. Michael made a pot of coffee, and brought it to our French neighbours in the van next door, they had come over last night to ask if we had any weed, and even when we told them no, we ended up chatting for about an hour, Gavin and Tiffany, and their dog, Nina. They too, were up at 7 today to do the hike up to Lago di Sorapis. Last night, we parked in a big meadow under a bridge, next to a waterfall. Sounds idyllic, but the real dream of this spot was that we were a two minute drive from the trailhead!
We pulled up to the start of the hike, where only a handful of other cars were parked, and with a quick check to make sure we didn’t forget anything important, like the gummy bears, we began! The beginning of the trail was nice and easy. It was a bit of a climb, but the shade from the beautiful pine tree forest around us, made it very manageable. We came to a clearing in the trees and for the first time today, caught a view of the valley. Just totally spectacular. The Dolomites are a crazy mountain range. The mountains emerge from the ground as little mounds, and then, huge, flat walls, rocket up to become craggy peaks. The mountains we were looking at were no different, and the valley was wonderfully wide, giving us such a view. It’s views like this that make me want to climb higher and higher — if it’s this good now, imagine what it will be like 800m up!
The path emerged from the forest and we left the shady cover of the trees. Our peaceful, pleasant walk through a forest, became a rocky, sun-drenched, trail with a hefty drop on the one side. We held on to the cables bolted into the rock beside us, to give us some peace of mind about the cliffside, and took it nice and slow. We were directly in the sun at this point, and the sweat really started to roll. Nina’s tongue was dangling out of her mouth, and she was panting away.
We finally reached a fork in the road, with a signpost informing us the lake was only a few metres away. We took a few more steps up the trail, and as we crested the hill, we could see Lago di Sorapis. Oh. My. God. The water in this lake is ‘out of this world’ blue. If you had told me it was radioactive, I would have believed you. The icy, almost opaque turquoise lake was surrounded on three sides by huge, rugged peaks, and with no wind, they were reflected almost perfectly in the water. We stood for a moment, just staring at the view, experiencing what I like to call ‘summit brain’ (the phenomena in which the hiker, after experiencing intense muscle fatigue, great physical exhaustion, and, often, mild dehydration, forgets all of the aforementioned ailments upon reaching the summit of the mountain, or the ‘summit’ of the hike).
We walked a little ways around the lake, in search of the perfect lunch spot. I believed I found it, a big, flat rock protruding out into the water, but when I arrived, I discovered it wasn’t protruding at all, that it was actually surrounded by water. That didn’t stop Gavin! He stepped out to the rock closest to our lunch rock, and without hesitation jumped up, and heaved himself up onto the platform. One by one, we followed suit. Michael first, and then me. I jumped and somehow managed to pull myself up onto the rock. Woohoo! Now we really deserve lunch! I ate my wrap and dipped my feet in to the water below. It’s freezing!
After we enjoyed our lunch (and gummy bears), we continued to walk around the lake. We came to a crystal clear creek and filled our water bottles. Nearby was some leftover snow, the sun hadn’t melted yet. I’m not sure who started it, but someone discovered it was the perfect snow for snowballs. So, like the children that we are, we threw snowballs at each other. We giggled like idiots, as we tossed the snow around.
Then, it was time to go. We stood for a few moments, soaking in the views. Sure, we have photos of this place, but they don’t hold a candle to actually being here. We walked back to the fork in the road, and followed the signpost directing us to the loop. We began the walk down, a terribly steep path. The steps were uncomfortably big, and the sun was still beating down on us. We walked and talked, trying to take our minds off this ridiculous trail we chose, until a few hours later, we reached the bottom of the valley. Michael consulted his phone and the hiking app we use. We were close to the end in time, but not in kilometres. The super steep way down took ages, but we didn’t cover much ground. We walked and walked and walked. Then, when we were only about 5km from the end, we began walking uphill again. What?! Uphill both ways?! I looked at Nina, she looked at me as if to say, “why the F aren’t we home yet?” We stood in the path for a moment, all desperately trying to summon the last morsels of energy from deep down within. I gasped! I ripped open my bag, and fished out the near empty bag of gummy bears at the bottom of my bag. There were four left. We each took one and allowed the sugarto coarse through our veins. Let’s go!Up we went, sweat pouring down our faces. And then, just to top it all off, the skies opened up, and the rain began to fall. I was too exhausted to get out my raincoat, we all were, so we continued in t-shirts as the warm drops fell. I didn’t complain, it was actually quite a welcome relief from the sun.
We arrived at the road, and over the top of just one more hill, I could see the van! Van, sweet van. We drove back to the parking spot under the bridge to share one more meal with Gavin and Tiffany, before we separated ways. What an epic adventure to share with two strangers! The sun, the lake, the views, the company, all of it was spectacular. Yet again, the Dolomites didn’t disappoint.
We were in Lago di Monate, and wanted to get to Lago di Braies/Pragser Wildsee. When we Google Mapped the route, it gave us two options: we could drive through Italy, take the toll roads, and arrive in Braies today, OR, we could take the slow route, drive north to Chur, Switzerland, through Lichtenstein, over to Innsbruck, Austria, and then down to Braies.
There we lay, in the sun, on a pedalo, in the middle of the lake, weighing our options. On one hand, we could wake up in Braies tomorrow! On the other, we could visit our friend, Luca, in Chur, see a country we’ve never seen, go to an original version showing of Solo: a Star Wars story (which, is near impossible to find in Italy) in Innsbruck, Austria, and then drive down through the Dolomites, to Braies. So, on that pedalo, in the sun, in the middle of that lake, we decided to drive to Switzerland.
We drove out of Italy with one last stop to the grocery store. We need beer, meat, cheese, snacks— all the things you can’t get in Switzerland for a reasonable, cheapskate price. Our van was packed with Italy-cheap necessities, and we were on the road. As soon as we drove across the border, the highway was pristine, the cars drove the speed limit, and we were surrounded by beautiful mountains and incredible waterfalls. Welcome to Switzerland.
First country: Switzerland
On our second day in Chur, Switzerland, we woke up early and drove to the Pradaschier Toboggan run! On this day, between 9am and 11am, the tickets were two for one. Michael and I were a little bummed to find out they meant two rides for the price of one, not two adults for the price of one, BUT we decided to go anyway. Luckily, nobody else decided to come to the rollercoaster this day, and so, we were the only three people in the place! We took a chairlift to the top of the hill, which boasted stunning views of the whole valley, and found the top of the toboggan run. This is a 3 kilometre rollercoaster-type ride, that snakes down the hill, and ends back at the bottom of the valley. The toboggan itself is basically a chair that’s connected to the track, and the rider is strapped in with only a seatbelt and controls only the brakes.
One at a time, the rollercoaster operator showed us how to use the brakes, fastened our seatbelts properly, and made sure the coast was clear — of course it was clear, we were the only people there. Luca went first, then Michael, and then it was my turn! The man strapped me in, demonstrated again how the brake lever works, and then I was off! Ahh! The first drop out of the gate was quick! The toboggan flew down the track! I came to the first corner too fast, so pulled on the brakes. As I rounded the corner, I let out a small giggle. I let the brakes go, and my speed picked up again. My hair whipped out behind me, the wind muted my squeals and giggles — I was having the best time! I whizzed above wildflowers, hurtled through alpine meadows, and zipped past the grazing cows with their clanging bells. The smile plastered on my face was unshakeable. When I finally arrived at the bottom, I could see Michael with the camera ready for a picture, and Luca, already half done a cigarette. Was I gone that long? But it felt so fast! It was such a rush! And the best part? We get to go again!
Michael smiled and asked how it was, “AMAZING!” I replied! We walked back to the chairlift and the operator said something in German. Luca replied, and they both laughed. Luca turned to me and explained that the operator was making fun of how slow I went down the hill, “where was she?!” he had joked, “that’s the slowest run I’ve ever seen!” I smiled. I knew I had gone slow, but it felt fast enough for me, and I had so enjoyed myself! So, we sat in the chairlift again, and it whisked us up to the top of the hill. Michael asked if I wanted to go in his toboggan this time, but he would be in charge of the brakes. I knew that meant we would go fast, so I hesitated, but agreed in the end.
Michael climbed in first, and strapped himself in. I sat in between his legs, and strapped my own seatbelt, making sure it was as tight as possible. The rollercoaster operator told me to keep hold of the handle — let’s call it the ‘holy shit handle’ — the whole time. My heart started pounding. “You ready, babe?” Michael asked from behind me. I nodded, but wasn’t actually ready enough to use my words. The gate released and we were off. Immediately, going three times faster than I went on my own. We flew down the hill, flying over the bumps in the track, coming into the corners hot, and exploding out of them. The whole way down I half laughed, half screamed, because I felt half happy, and half utterly terrified. When we arrived at the bottom, my legs were jelly! And the best part? We don’t have to go again!
Second country: Lichtenstein
We hit the road. Google Maps took us north, out of Chur, along the valley, and towards Lichtenstein. One thing I’ve learned about Europe from driving through it, is how the countries seem to be divided by very obvious borders: huge rivers, big hills, or giant mountain ranges. We drove out of the mountain valley, and as we drove out from the shadow of the mammoth peaks that are the Swiss mountains, we saw a “Welcome to Lichtenstein” sign. Within ten minutes of being in Lichtenstein, we saw three archery ranges. Within another ten minutes, we drove past another sign, “Welcome to Austria” and we were back in the mountains, feeling lucky we hadn’t been shot with an arrow.
Third country: Austria
We made it for the original version showing of Solo: A Star Wars Story! It played only one time in the week, in one theatre in Innsbruck — on Tuesdays at 5pm. We were two of the six people in the theatre, and arguably, the most excited. Yay! The next day, we thought we would leave Austria, and finally make our way to Braies. But, something came up…
Last year, when we visited Austria the first time, we did a three day hike through the alps, that finished in a town called Umhausen (you can read the story about that hike here!). The last stretch of the hike was down an enormous staircase next to the biggest waterfall in Austria, Stuibbenfalls. We had seen some folks doing a vía ferrata up the side of the falls, and we decided it would be the coolest activity to do. We realized that Innsbruck is only 45 minutes away from Umhausen, and so, decided to drive there to do the vía ferrata!
Michael found a campground that would rent us the equipment, so we head there. We collected our harnesses, carabiners, and helmets, and walked along the trail to the beginning of the route. The vía ferrata began with a river crossing. One at a time, we clipped to the cable, and slowly made our way across the water. The cables were wobbly, making it hard to clip and unclip our carabiners. I had to ignore the thunderous rumbles of the rushing water below me in order to stay calm!
The route was quite easy after the river crossing. There were some parts of the path that felt more like a hike than a vía ferrata, and we found ourselves doing a lot of it without clipping onto the cables at all. Until the end. We reached the wall next to the waterfall. Stuibbenfalls is 159m (about 521ft) tall. The water erupts from the top of the cliff, bombs down the face, and slaps the rocks along the way. It roared as it passed us. I couldn’t even hear myself think, let alone hear the words coming out of Michael’s mouth. The final step of the vía ferrata was to cross the top of the waterfall. I’ll write that again so you have a second chance to make sure you read it correctly. To end the route, we have to cross the top of the waterfall. Two horizontal cables ran across the precipice, more cables hung between them, and acted like rungs of a ladder turned on its side. A third horizontal cable stretched a little ways above — that was the one we would clip our harnesses to. Michael went first. He clipped onto the top cable, and slowly shuffled across the bottom two. He was a champ! When he reached the halfway point, he posed for a picture, as if it was the most normal place to be, balancing on a lone cable, stretched across a monstrous waterfall, 159m above the ground. It was my turn. I clipped my harness, and I too, slowly shuffled out onto the cable. Immediately, I felt so powerful, like I was on top of the world. I laughed and screamed down the cliff, into the valley below. The water behind me splashed my legs and ankles. When I made it to the other side, I was greeted with a huge kiss from Michael. We did it!
The next morning, I woke up when cow bells began clanging in the distance. I stirred in bed, rolled over and opened my eyes. The clanging bells became louder. And louder. I opened the blackout blinds on the back window, and discovered three cow bums a metre away from the van. Holy shit! Then, a large whump on the side of the van and Michael jolted awake. A cow had banged right into the side of us! I shot out of bed and opened the curtains to the cab, cows there. I opened the blackout blinds over the kitchen counter, cows there. Cows to the sides, cows to the front, cows to the back…we were surrounded! I wonder if the cows think Vinnie is a cow too? I guess all the rust on him could look a bit like cow spots. It was the perfect Austrian alarm clock, and once the cows were finished humping the side of the van, or whatever it was they were doing, we left!
Fourth country: Italy (again)
We finally found Lago di Braies, also known as Pragser Wildsee, aka The Pearl of the Dolomites. The lake is surrounded on all sides by magnificent mountains, and the colour of the water is a deep and beautiful turquoise green.
The place is a bit touristy, with a big chalet hotel, lots of parking space for tour busses, and the almost laughably photogenic rowboats for rent, at a totally laughable price. No bother for us tho, the weather wasn’t all that nice, so we found ourselves walking around the lake alone. We sat at one of the benches, and looked out over the water, up at the towering mountains around us. Phew, life is good. (Check out some videos I took of the lake with my DJI Spark below!).
Our short Google Map route turned into a five day, super exciting detour, that gave us memories we will never forget. Perhaps we shouldn’t always look for the fastest way there. Perhaps sometimes, we should opt for the slow route, the route that may take longer, and could possibly take us places we might not otherwise go. Maybe that’s the lesson here.
Michael and I have been traveling now for 54 weeks, 36 of which have been living and traveling in our van. We’ve been spending a lot of time together. We eat every meal together, we plan activities together, and we spend our downtime together. We have learned a lot about each other too, how grumpy Michael gets if he’s hungry, how emotional I am when I’m tired, and which foods make us gassy — you know, romantic stuff. At the beginning of our trip, when we were in Italy, we went for sushi (yes, you can get something other than pizza and pasta in Italy!). That evening I wore lipstick, and we talked about everything under the sun except plans for our trip. It was lovely! We called it date night. And since then, every three or four weeks, we go on a date night. There are a few rules to date night: I wear lipstick, we go out for dinner, and we don’t talk about poop.
We were in Cannes, France during the International Film Festival (is a sentence I never thought I would say). We found the perfect cheapskate parking spot for the van — free street parking on a side street right off the beach! We found out pretty quickly that it would be near impossible for us to get tickets to see an actual movie, so we spent our days on the beach in the sun, topless tanning, baguette eating, yacht watching, and helicopter spotting. It’s pretty swanky in Cannes on a normal day. Pack in a bunch of celebs, ‘wannabe’ celebs, and ‘I-wanna-see-celebs’ and you’ve got yourself some crazy energy.
I, for one, have never felt poorer in my life. Picture this: we meander down le Croisette, past the exclusive beach clubs with various coloured carpets out front, where the paparazzi snap coveted pictures of models and actors. Then we walk along the main road where shiny black vans with tinted windows pick up and drop off important people at the fanciest hotels. We wander past ritzy cafes, where the espresso costs €3.75, and then down to the golden beach. From here, we can see that the sky over the water is busy with helicopters flying between the yacht helipads and the helipad outside the red carpet theatre, and that the horizon is made up of mega yachts, one of which is painted gold. Then, we turn a corner, climb into our van and pee in a jar. Paparazzi, see me now!
On our last night in Cannes, we went out for a date night. It’s been a year since Michael took me for sushi in Florence. He paid that night, maybe he didn’t realize he’d have to stretch his savings for over a year when he decided to take care of such a big bill. So, on our last evening, a year, almost to the day, later I reciprocated that date. I took Michael for a beautiful meal at L’Assiette Provençale.
Before dinner, we bought a cheap AF bottle of wine at the supermarket, took it down to the beach, and enjoyed it in the sunset. There were lots of people on the beach; couples drinking wine or beer like us, a bunch of young teenagers being goofy in the sand, families soaking up the last minutes of daylight. It was great. We finished our bottle and meandered past the empty red carpet (everyone was inside watching a movie), to the restaurant.
For dinner, we ordered another bottle of wine — this one was much more expensive that the last. I had zucchini risotto to start, duck breast as my main, and the most meringued lemon meringue pie I’ve ever seen. Michael had roast vegetables with candied goat cheese to start, sea bass for his main, and creme brûlée for dessert. It was all so scrumptious.
When we left, the movie was out. The streets were flooded with flashing bulbs and crowd of people. We rushed through the crowd to get where we needed to be: the beach! A few years ago, the Film Festival began showing classic winning movies from festivals past, for free at a makeshift theatre on the main beach. This evening’s movie was Silence of the Lambs! I have never seen it, but it’s obviously a classic, and what cooler place to see it than in Cannes where it debuted? This might have been the fanciest ‘dinner and a movie’ date I’ve ever been on.
I can’t wait to see what Michael does next year to try and top this!
Read about our last date night in Sidi Ifni, Morocco here!
We were on the road to Ait Ben Haddou — a very well known and highly visited kasbah in Morocco. We decided to take a back road, one that tour buses don’t dare drive in fear of donkey traffic (I still can’t believe that’s a real thing that I now consider when planning our driving days), and found that this back road was indeed the scenic route! The view down the valley, the mountains on the other side of the river bed, the surprisingly green riverbanks – it was all totally stunning. We turned a corner and standing majestically in front of us, perched dangerously on a cliff edge, stood a huge kasbah. According to the map, it was not Ait Ben Haddou, but we couldn’t just drive past this place, especially considering that in the car park, there was only one car — with a European license plate — and three camels.
When we stepped out of the van, a Moroccan man wearing a blue deraa, a traditional outfit, approached us. He stunk like cigarettes, his hands were leather, his fingernails were black with dirt, and when he smiled, he revealed just one lonesome brown tooth hanging from his upper gum. In French, with a few English words thrown in, he explained that he would take us to the kasbah. We’ve been burned before with these guys. They tell you they will take you somewhere, they show you the way, or they just walk in front of you, and then when you get there, they demand money, or more money than you offer (we even had a knife pulled on us in Fes because the guy wanted more! But that’s a story for another time). I showed some attitude, and told him we didn’t need a guide. Whether it was the loss in translation, or the fact that he just didn’t care, we found ourselves following him.
He introduced himself as Abdul, and for a man who has only one, brown tooth, he sure smiled a lot. I was still hesitant as we walked through the small streets. I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. I’m just going to say it, I was acting like a bratty child. We turned a corner and Abdul walked over to a closed door. He unlatched it, pushed it open, and motioned for us to follow him inside. He led us down a dark hallway to a large, open room – an old mosque. The little bit of light in the room came from small windows in the ceiling, but even in dim light, we could see the beautiful colours the mosque was painted. Abdul said “very old, not used anymore,” and shook his head. I softened a bit, he had already shown us something we wouldn’t have otherwise seen, maybe this will be good?
We followed Abdul down some steps from the village into the river valley. He took us through the kasbah gardens. Here, he picked beans from the stalk, opened the pod and let us taste them. He picked almonds off the trees, cracked the shells with a rock, and again, had us taste. There were rose bushes, fig trees, pomegranates, and the biggest, possibly oldest olive trees I’ve ever seen. The kasbah was built in the 1200s. I wonder if these olive trees are from then? Is that even possible?!
After a quick tour inside the kasbah, we walked back through the village towards the van. We took a little detour to a house surrounded by a picket fence. Outside, hanging laundry, was a middle-aged woman. She smiled when she saw Abdul and said something in Arabic. A man of the same age appeared from the garden and greeted Abdul. Abdul asked him something. The man looked at us and nodded. Abdul turned to us, “my father, and my mother.” He smiled that lonesome tooth grin, and walked into the garden. He emerged again with a handful of fresh beans. He handed them to me, “for tagine!” he said. We thanked him and his parents — what a kind gesture!
Trigger warning: Please take note that the following part of the story may not be suitable for vegetarians, vegans, and those meat-eaters who prefer to buy their meat from the frozen, faceless section of the grocery store. Audience discretion is advised.
Back at the van, we asked Abdul for a butcher nearby to buy some chicken for our tagine this evening. He nodded and we followed him down the street. We stopped in front of a closed door, and Abdul yelled across the road to some men on the roof of an unfinished building. One came down, crossed the street, introduced himself – Ismail – and unlocked the door in front of us. Inside, at the back of the room, a bunch of chickens were wandering about, eating seeds from the floor. Oh dear. Ismail quickly grabbed one of the squawking birds, and returned to us. “Twenty minutes,” he said and smiled. I smiled at him, looked at the chicken, and then back at him. “Ok!”
Abdul put out a table and chairs for us to wait. A few moments went by and Ismail came back and sat down. He lit up a cigarette and we chatted for a while. He asked about Canada, about how long we have been in Morocco, and if we like it. I wondered if he had given the chicken to someone else to butcher then Michael turned to me and said, “he’s probably draining the chicken right now…” Ismail excused himself again. We sat with Abdul, in silence and waited. When Ismail returned, in his hand was a plastic bag filled with the freshest chicken I’ve ever had. He handed us another bag with a few vegetables and a handful of parsley and rosemary inside, “for the tagine!” he smiled.
Abdul was the loveliest lesson I’ve learned in Morocco. I was so hesitant, so closed off, and immediately expected him to rip us off. Had I allowed my negativity to win, we wouldn’t have seen such a beautiful side of the kasbah, toured the gardens, or enjoyed the fresh beans. We wouldn’t have met Ismail or had the experience we did with the freshest chicken ever. And we wouldn’t have tasted the most delicious tagine we have EVER made. If there is one thing I have learned from traveling, it’s that when you open yourself up to beautiful and wonderful things, beautiful and wonderful things will happen. Just another life lesson learned.
Read about my experience in a Moroccan Hammam here!
And read about some other Moroccan experiences here!
There are so many aspects to Moroccan culture that make it one of a kind: the mint tea, or as the local’s call it, “Berber whiskey”, a mix of green tea, mint, sometimes absinthe leaves, and more sugar than you ever want to see; the weekly souk, a market at which artisans and farmers, from all around the area, ride in on their donkeys and camels, and sell goods; and of course, the tagine, a ceramic cooking dish that was designed to slow cook meat and vegetables over coals (read about my tagine here!). These are a few of my favourite things, and recently, I’ve added a new one to the list: the hammam.
The hammam is a bath house, where locals go to clean and scrub their bodies. I’m not sure of all the ritual and ceremony behind it, where the idea comes from, or even its place in modern day Morocco. What I do know, is that I am a firm believer in the philosophy, try everything once, so I had to try! I was a bit nervous to be honest, people I met along my travels shared total horror stories of the time they went, friends who had gone, expressed how dirty and gross it had been! I’m not one who gets easily grossed out, and I knew I had to try it anyway, no matter what these other travellers had experienced. I called on my new friend Emily, a Canadian who has been living in Morocco, teaching English for two years. She knows the ins and outs of the hammam, and was thrilled to hear I wanted to go!
I said goodbye to Michael as he disappeared through the man’s curtain, and I walked into the women’s side. I paid the entry fee, bought a piece of black soap and a scrubby glove (which you need), and paid for a woman to scrub my entire body from head to toe. I left the change room, and walked through a huge metal door, into a steamy room, covered in white tile from ceiling to floor. Big windows, high up the wall, and opaque with steam, lit the room with a lovely natural glow. The first room was filled with women and children, the second, a few less, and the third, which was not as hot, had only two or three ladies in the corners. We cleaned our area with water, and sat down. I took the black soap, the oily byproduct from the production of argan, and rubbed it over all my skin. We sat, letting it soak into our steam-opened pores.
Two buxom Moroccan women, with huge bosoms, wearing only thin bras, and delicate, slip-like skirts, made their way over to us. The one who knelt down in front of me had deep wrinkles in her forehead and around her mouth — this is not a woman who smiles very often. Under her furrowed brow, I could see that her skin glowed more radiantly than any magazine ad I’d ever seen. She lay me down on the tile floor, donned the scrubby glove, and went to town. It didn’t hurt, but it didn’t necessarily feel nice either. I looked down at the arm she was scrubbing, and saw peeling layers of dead skin, rolling off as the glove went up and down, up and down. She flipped me over and kept scrubbing my back and butt cheeks. She scrubbed every inch of skin, except my ears. She left my ears alone.
She rinsed me off, cracked her version of a smile, and left me there, sitting in the corner, in the middle of a mountain of my own dead skin. Maybe this is the gross part everyone talks about? Then Emily handed me a jar of mud and instructed me to cover my body in it. I did as I was told, and we sat, again, letting the mud soak into our freshly scrubbed bods. We rinsed again, and then rubbed argan oil all over our bodies as our final step. Before we rinsed it off, we gave our area another wash. Dead skin, hair, and mud, this is the part the luxury spas don’t show you.
I loved this experience. How could I not? I experienced a true taste of local Moroccan culture, and my body has never been softer. Plus, it’s the ultimate van life hack. Never again will I pay for a shower at a campground, and settle for a luke warm trickle. I know where I can have a steam and a luxury scrub for peanuts.
On a more personal note,
While I was sitting in the steam, I watched two young girls, maybe 4 or 5, balancing empty buckets on their heads and slowly walking around giggling. Their moms, sisters, aunts, whoever, were all taking turns scrubbing each other with their gloves. The little girls sat down and had their hair washed and their bodies scrubbed. I smiled. These young girls are spending time with normal women with normal bodies, naked! These girls know no taboo of female nudity. All bodies are normal bodies. I remembered all of the self esteem issues I’ve struggled with and all the hate I’ve had for parts of my body that didn’t look the way I thought they should. In Canada, and a lot of other countries I’m sure, I know women who would primp before the hammam, make sure everything was shaved, plucked, tweezed, waxed, tanned, prior to going. There would be women in bathing suits. There would be women who change behind a towel, or in the toilet stall, as to not be seen. There would also be women sizing each other up, silently comparing themselves to the other bodies in the room. I know this to be true because I have been all of these women. I felt very opened in the hammam, safe and protected. It was a beautiful room, full of beautiful people, who might not even realize what a beautiful thing they have in this place.
When we stayed in Marrakech, our hotel was located at the intersection of three totally sketchy alleyways. When we walked through the one to get back to the main street, we agreed that this is the kind of alleyway one is led through on the way to their death by shanking. But as luck would have it, after we walked through shank alley, we came across, not our untimely deaths, but instead, the main street.
Michael loaded up MapsMe* and pinned our route, like breadcrumbs, so we could find our way back through the medina. I figured if we just walked slowly and kept calm, even if we did get lost, it would be ok. Chloe and I turned around as we walked, named each alleyway, and took note of what we saw — the archway to shank alley, the gold squiggly sign above a store, the walk through Calm Alley (where there are surprisingly few people), the big green tiled doorway before we had to turn right. We walked down an alley that sold all knock off clothing. Now, this is good. Clothes for women, who traditionally wear headscarves, full length, long sleeve dresses, often times with a hood, and now, with modern labels. I saw one terry cloth looking dress, grey, to the floor, long sleeve, with a hood, that said “REEBOK” across the chest. Another that said Adidas. Another that said, “I don’t remember days.” Haha! I laughed when we walked past a stall that had a sweater that said, “I’m hapy to met you.” I kind of want to buy it!
Captured by @harvestwithchloe
We left Reebok Alley and found ourselves on a main street with more tourist faces on this one. We walked past a store that sells beautiful wooden boxes, games, statues, and other various wooden things. We walked past another store that sells beautiful tea sets and golden lamps. We walked past multiple shoe stores, and I was excited, I knew I wanted a pair (or two (or ten)) of shoes. I finally walked into one, pointed at the embroidered shoes I loved, and asked the man if they had any in my size. His eyes widened when I told him what size I needed. He couldn’t find the embroidered ones I loved, but he did find a different style in my size. They fit perfectly. I asked again about the embroidered ones. He shook his head. I said, “I have really big feet.” He said, “not really big…. Big, but not really big..” We continued walking. We walked through the main square, past the black cobras being “charmed”, past the monkeys being abused, and past the women doing henna tattoos.
After lunch, we went back to the shoe guy so I could buy my shoes. This, of course, spoiled my bartering game. He knows I have big feet, he knows I have tried shoes on at every other god damn shoe store in the medina, and he knows I am not leaving his stall without shoes. I was able to get him down to a somewhat reasonable price — a black pair and a turquoise pair. Yay!
Then, it was time for rug shopping. We walked into a store and it just felt right. Mohammed, the owner, introduced himself and told us he was here to help. Chloe meant business. She was here to buy everything. They were so helpful. She knew the colours she wanted and the sizes, and they kept pulling rugs out for her. I took pictures of the rugs and Chloe and Michael contemplating which rugs to buy. Michael and I found a cool rug we loved. It is beige with black designs on it. It’s a medium size, so easy to put anywhere, and has no wild colours, so easy to pair with other stuff. Considering we don’t actually have a house, I think we chose the right one. Chloe cleaned up and got everything she wanted. Mohammed is the kind of rug guy I like — no-nonsense, no bartering, just damn good prices, and a damn good experience!
We asked Mohammed if we could climb his wall of carpets. He laughed and let us, “do anything you want,” he said. We had a photoshoot on the rug piles. It was so much fun. Mohammed and his employees just laughed at us. We said farewell, Chloe would go back tomorrow to have Mohammed ship everything to Canada for her — what a guy.
We went around the corner onto Reebok alley. Past the green tiled doorway, right at the gold squiggly sign, through calm alley (where there are surprisingly few people), through the archway to shank alley. Home again home again.
What did we buy?
One rug, 2mx1m: 300dh
Two pairs of leather shoes: 150dh
One wooden game of chess, travel-size: 100dh
One leather belt for Michael: 100dh
No, I did not buy the “Hapy to met you” shirt… but I am full of regret about it.
*MapsMe is a must-have app for travel. It has incredible offline maps, one can use without any sort of internet connection. I highly recommend downloading it. I proudly advocate for this application without any kickback from the company! Check it out here!
Michael and I took a vacation from van life for three weeks. In that time, we met up with my mom and dad in the Canary Islands of Spain. This is a story about the day we went up to the top of the volcano on Tenerife.
We drove up and up along the worst winding road ever. Battling motion sickness, I sat in the front seat, willing my stomach to just chill, and my gag reflex to not overreact. We had driven for about an hour, up so high into the hills, and then into clouds. We couldn’t even see the road 50m in front of us. Cars would seemingly appear out of nowhere, we couldn’t see where the road turned, only when trees stood right in front of us. We drove about 20km/hr the whole way.
And then, just as soon as they appeared, the clouds dispersed! The sky was blue blue blue, and there was not a cloud above us. The ground was dusted with snow, and the farther up we drove, the more snow we saw. We came to a clearing and saw people sledding down small hills. They used body boards as toboggans! I learned a while ago that the El Teide National Park is the most visited national park in Spain, followed by Lanzarote, and then the Picos de Europa. This meant the roads were PACKED! And not wide enough to be so busy. The parking lots were busy with Spanish drivers and people in rental cars, and of course, the snow and ice from yesterday had turned to slush in the heat of the sun today. Dang, it was hectic. We got honked at a bunch of times but we weren’t too bothered. The park was stunning. The volcano, the sky, the surroundings, all of it. You can roll your eyes all you want, silver Subaru, but nothing can get us down.
We arrived at the base of Teide and parked the car. We walked up the gondola station and found the ticket office. We went to the desk and stood behind a family. The lady at the ticket desk give them a really sympathetic look. The family turned around, disappointed, and walked away. When it was my turn, I walked up and said, “you’re sold out, aren’t you?” She nodded with the same sympathy. NOOOOO! We stood nearby and chatted about it. Mom, dad and I stood there, talking about how we didn’t need to go up anyways, that it was just as beautiful down here. Michael, on the other hand, walked over to a different ticket desk. He said he was going to ask about how to buy tickets for another day. He came back with four tickets for the cable car. They were for 4:30pm. What?! Magic Michael!
We went outside to the ticket man and asked if we could use our 4:30 tickets even though it was only 2pm. He nodded and let us go through. WHAT?! This day is magical. This volcano is magical. It wants us to go to the top. The cable car was quick, with a few stomach-in-your-mouth moments along the way. We reached the top and my, oh my. We donned our toques and gloves to fight the biting wind. The view was totally breathtaking. Or it was the altitude that was breathtaking, the volcano is higher than 3000m. We were above the clouds. Like, hundreds of metres above the clouds. The clouds gave us such a bizarre perspective, it was cool. We walked around the observation deck and took pictures. Mom pulled out the sandwiches she made for us and we sat on the wall and ate them while looking out at the whole world.
We took the cable car back down. Toques and gloves off, we walked back to the car. We wanted a close up view of the lava nearby, so we went for a quick walk through some old flow. Lava is so cool, you guys. The road through the park was stunning. More lava, older flows, huge rock formations, crazy colours, my finger on the shutter of my camera was going wild. We were above the clouds, about to go through them, and we stopped for photos. Dang, Earth, you pulled out all the stops today!
Where the F is Beth? 