So you’ve got a weekend in the Eternal City, and no idea how you’re supposed to cram it all in. There’s just too much. The Imperial ruins of Rome and Christian history alone could fill an entire week of sunrise to sundown sightseeing. And we haven’t even started talking about art, gastronomy, fashion and simply wandering for the love of exploring small neighbourhoods.

If this is your first visit to Rome, you really should start with the big draws. Yes, it’s touristy. Yes, it’s Tokyo-subway-crowded. Yes, everyone else is doing it too. But the hype is justified. You can’t leave Rome without having seen these important landmarks of our collective past.

So save the small undiscovered neighbourhoods for your next visit. And don’t worry, you will come back. It’s impossible not to, because you’ll be well and truly hooked. As the saying goes, all roads really do lead to Rome.

We’ve agreed on the broad plan. But that still leaves you with the logistical challenge of fitting the highlights into 3 short days.

Here are a few tips and a sample itinerary to make planning your Roman Holiday a breeze.

Day One—Iconic Sights and Important Art

I based myself at a small B&B near the Villa Borghese. It’s just outside the centre so you can escape the tourist hordes and tourist prices, but you’re still within walking distance of just about everything. It’s also a heck of a lot quieter at night.

I like to begin my acquaintance with any new city by seeing it up close and on foot. Start day one by grabbing a map and taking a walk—it’s the best way to get oriented. If you’re staying in the same region as I did, simply follow the wall over to the Piazza di Spagna and the Spanish Steps, where you can make like Audrey Hepburn and Gregory Peck in Roman Holiday.

Next, take a wander through a life of luxury by window shopping the Via Condotti. Be sure to explore the side streets too. You need deep pockets and a Swiss bank account to fill your closet here, but the further away you get from Condotti, the more the prices creep down. Take a stroll, get some inspiration, and wander up to the Piazza del Popolo.

Finally, make your way back towards Villa Borghese, and give yourself time to walk through the park. It’s a beautiful shady escape from the traffic right in the midst of the city. You must buy a ticket for the Borghese Gallery online before you go. Then just show up with your printout at the appointed time and breeze right in.

Don’t miss Bernini’s incredible sculptures: Apollo and Daphne, David, Pluto and Proserpina, and Truth Unveiled by Time are all housed here. You’ll also find paintings by Titian, Rubens, Caravaggio and Raphael.

That’s a hell of a lot of wandering for one day. You’d better grab something to eat. If you’re staying in the Villa Borghese area, take a late supper at La Pentolaccia (38 via Flavia). The food is good and the service is excellent. Splash out and treat yourself to a nice bottle of wine. What the hell—you’re in Rome!

Day Two—Exploring God’s Treasure Chest

You’re switching countries today, but don’t worry, you won’t even have to leave Rome. Just hop on the metro and make your way to Vatican City, the world’s smallest independent nation.

Everyone gets off at the Ottaviano stop. Stay in your seat, watch them crowd out the door and smile at their backs. You’re gonna continue for one more stop and save yourself a bit of effort. Jump out at Cipro, look for a steep set of steps at the end of Via Vittor Pisani, climb to the top and hang a left. That’ll take you right to the entrance of the Vatican Museum.

Again, book your ticket online and save yourself hours of sunscorched waiting in line. Be warned: the Vatican Museum is packed to the rafters with tourists as well as art. You’ll spend much of your time being swept down long galleries by an inattentive mob of people—most annoying of which are the organized tour groups with yellow flags and a tendency to shove. Scope out the floor plan ahead of time and decide which treasures you want to concentrate on most.

That’s right. You could never hope to see the entire vast collection in a day. Those Popes accumulated an incredible pile of loot while they were busy preaching poverty and looking after the poor. You’ll be absolutely inundated with Greek and Roman sculpture, Egyptian antiquities, Etruscan remains, galleries of ancient maps and tapestries, and modern and classical painting. Oh, and some religious artifacts too.

Don’t miss and the School of Athens by Raphael, the Group of the Laocoon, The River Nile, and the Sistine Chapel.

If you picked up an audio guide, you’ll have to return to the main entrance to hand it in and pick up your ID (or your wife if you left her as collateral). Then exit and follow the wall around to St. Peter’s Square. If you didn’t rent an audio guide, you can sneak out the tour group exit from the Sistine Chapel, which takes you directly to St. Peter’s square without the long detour.

Spend some time soaking up the sun and taking in the view before making your way into St. Peter’s Basilica. You’ll have to line up again to pass through security, but it usually doesn’t take that long.

On the day of my visit, an elderly Dutch couple filled the wait by talking about a visit they’d made here 20 years ago. As we neared the entrance, the man caught sight of a row of airport-style metal detectors.

“What are they doing?” he asked.

“Scanning for atheists,” I said. It was the first thing that came out of my mouth.

He looked uneasy and turned away, so I continued. “Yeah, that machine up there actually x-ray’s your soul. I’m sure they’ll see that mine’s withered and black. Maybe they’ll turn me away.”

We saw that couple again while taking an aperitif near the Piazza Barberini. They looked the other way as we walked past, and took a great interest in deciphering the menu.

Okay, let’s get back on topic. Spend a little time exploring St. Peter’s Basilica. It really is a beautiful building, especially when the afternoon light slants down from the dome. And you don’t have to be religious to appreciate it.

From there, walk straight down Via della Conciliazione, and grab a gelato on the way to bolster your strength. Castel Sant’ Angelo is on your left a couple blocks ahead. If you spent several hours in the Vatican Museum like I did, your feet are probably screaming blue murder by now. Grab a taxi back to your hotel. Or if you’ve still got some gas in your tank, cross the Tiber by the Pont Sant’ Angelo and have a wander down Via d. Governo Vecchio.

It’s a beautiful winding street of small shops and restaurants, and you could easily pass an afternoon examining their wares. Keep an eye on your map, and edge your way over towards the Piazza Navona. Cut across and you’ll end up at the Pantheon. The Trevi Fountain is in this neighborhood too. But don’t worry if the stolen treasures of the Popes completely wore you out—you can always walk over this way tomorrow.

If you’re staying near the Villa Borghese, grab a pizza and a cold beer at the Pizzeria San Marco (via Sardegna, 38/D). You won’t go wrong with their selection, and it’s a popular place with the locals as well.

Day 3—Wandering The Ancient World

You’re doing a bit more time-traveling today. Throw on your toga, lace up those sandals, and hop a subway for the concentrated remains of ancient Rome.

Get out at Colosseo station, but don’t go in the Colosseum right away. Follow the broad two-lane street towards the Capitoline Hill instead, and purchase your ticket at the entrance to the Forum. It’ll get you in to both places, and the line is usually much shorter down there.

Spend a few hours exploring the Forum and Palatine Hill. And rent the audio guide—it’s worth it. The clips contain a lot of information, so grab a seat on a stone as you reach each “station” and make sure you’ve got plenty of time. Reading about this place back home isn’t the same as listening to an explanation while standing in front of the real thing.

When you’ve finished with the Forum, walk back over to the Colosseum. The upper levels are open and you’re free to wander at will. But if you want to see the subterranean chambers beneath the arena floor you’ll have to join one of the organized tours.

You’re probably hungry enough to eat a hippo by now, so wander back towards the Capitoline Hill and keep your eyes to the right. As you round that one section of wall you’ll see a pile of pizza, pasta and sandwich joints where you can grab a quick bite. If you’re craving something different and have a bit more money to spend, the Argentine restaurant on that first block of Via Cavour makes a nice sit down lunch.

End your day by walking past the Forum entrance and up the winding road to the Capitoline Hill. You don’t want to miss the Musei Capitolini. They’ve got some important items here, including the bronze statue of the wolf suckling Romulus and Remus and marble sculptures of The Dying Gaul, Cupid and Psyche, and the Capitoline Venus.

That’s probably all you’ll have time for today. If you’re totally knackered, grab a taxi back to your hotel because the metro’s a long way away. If you’re still up for a stroll or you’re extremely stubborn about spending money, walk back through winding streets and broad Roman boulevards, and keep a close eye on your map. No doubt you’ll find some supper along the way.

Got An Extra Day?

Got an extra day? Great! There’s plenty more to see and do. But if you’re all museum-ed out, why not visit some of the continent’s top Eurocool shops?

The area around via Condotti is expensive, but it’s a great place to window shop and get some inspiration. When you’re actually ready to pull out your wallet, cross the Tiber and walk the length of Via Cola di Rienzo. It’s full of clothing stores and shoe shops, and it’s where both locals and visitors go to get their fashion fix.

So there you have it. A manic 3 day weekend in one of Europe’s coolest and most historic cities. I agree, it isn’t nearly enough time to take it all in. But hey, it’s a start. And if you tossed a coin into the Trevi Fountain, legend has it you’ll be back.

All photos ©Tomoko Goto 2012

Deep in the rock beneath the bastions of Valletta lies a forgotten World War Two site. The museum is called Lascaris War Rooms, and it’s a “must visit” attraction if you come to Malta.

Lascaris was the top secret centralized war headquarters for the entire air defense of Malta. Builders tunneled into the rock beneath the Upper Barracca Gardens by expanding an old communications tunnel from the time of the Knights of St. John. And they built it so well that the ventilation system—made of metal scavenged from sunken and damaged ships in the Grand Harbour—still functions today.

This tiny island was one of the most heavily bombed places in Europe, suffering 3,340 air raids over a 3 year span—often multiple times per day. It would have been much worse, if not for the brilliant air defense system housed in Lascaris.

The underground operations room coordinated data from all of the 6 radar stations on the island, and plotted aircraft positions on an enormous map table, updated by radio every 5 minutes. Anti-aircraft gun operations were directed from here in combination with fighter sorties by the British RAF.

Malta was such an important point because it was right on the Axis supply line between Italy and North Africa, and knocking out this tiny island would clear one of the obstacles facing the Nazi General Rommel’s campaign.

Despite it’s strategic importance, the island’s RAF crews and resources were stretched to the limit. In the most desperate phase of the conflict, planners at Lascaris devised a brilliant system of rotation for the 6 available flight wings, so they always had planes in the air for round the clock coverage. Enemy pilots who visited Malta after the war said they couldn’t understand “how they always knew we were coming”, or “how they had so many resources”. In reality, the RAF in Malta had fewer than 60 aircraft, many kept together with cannibalized spare parts, compared to the force of several thousand Nazi planes that flew constant bombing sorties from Sicily.

The brilliance of the air defense system is probably what impressed me most about the story of Lascaris. The simple but effective systems they devised to turn a severely disadvantaged underdog scenario into stubborn victory is tremendously inspiring. And walking through these tunnels in person brings those efforts to life.

Later, when the tide of war had turned, Lascaris was used as the command centre for the planning of Operation Husky: the Allied invasion of Sicily. General Alexander, the American General Eisenhower, and Admiral Cunningham all worked from this bunker during the initial stages of the operation. And the original wall map from the invasion is still in place.

Sicily fell in a very short time, and Allied attacks shifted north to the area around Naples. The headquarters moved with them. The war in Malta was effectively over at that point, and the civilian population could begin to rebuild.

The Lascaris War Rooms continued to be used after the war by the NATO Southern Mediterranean Naval HQ, until NATO shifted its southern Mediterranean operations to Italy and these tunnels that were once the centre of so much then faded into the crumbling dust of obscurity.

The site is being restored by Fondazzjoni Wirt Artna (the Malta Heritage Trust), which took possession in 2009. They run an excellent tour of the Lascaris War Rooms, and their knowledgeable guides bring the Second World War to life through vivid stories told on location. I highly recommend a visit.

Malta is a largely Catholic island, and the rhythms of religion influence the cycles of life here, just as they have for centuries.

One of the biggest events of the calendar year is Easter. For those of you unfamiliar with Christian traditions, Easter commemorates the time when Jesus Christ was crucified, died and rose from the dead.

Christians celebrate this event because they believe Christ died to redeem them of their sins. That may or may not be your cup of tea. Personally, I’m just in it for the Cadbury eggs. But you can still enjoy the island’s Easter traditions whether or not you believe Christ existed, or that he was the son of god.

The village I’m living in holds one of the largest Good Friday processions on the island. Hundreds of people are involved, and the costumes are really incredible. It starts with early Biblical characters and leads up to the story of the passion of Christ. The events of Christ’s final hours are illustrated with massive traditional floats, carried by 8 people who quite literally stagger beneath the weight of their responsibilities. And when I say “procession” I’m not talking about your typical small town parade. The stream of participants shuffled past for over 2 hours!

It’s incredibly rare to see tourists in this village. But they sure bussed ‘em in for Good Friday last weekend!

Despite the festivity, this is a solemn occasion. Black banners draped the streets. Two marching bands played funeral dirges. And participants walked the route in mourning.

I posted some photos below, to give you a feel for what it’s like to spend Easter weekend in a traditional village in the Mediterranean. If you ever get the chance, it’s worth checking out.

Ramses the Great -- scourge of Moses -- represents Egypt...

What Biblical scene is complete without a shepherd...?

Some of these floats are hundreds of years old...

The Roman costumes were my favourite of the bunch...

Why hello Roman ladies...!

I've gotta get myself one of those Centurion outfits!

A local man in the role of one of the two thieves...

Penitents stagger beneath the weight...

All images © Tomoko Goto, 2012.

I’ve got “top ten” lists on the brain these days…

I thought it’d be fun to dredge through the foggy corners of my memory, brush aside the cobwebs, and post a list of my top 10 favourite cities, taken from 25 years of travel.

Number One aside, I didn’t post this list in any particular order. Each place is unique and has some individual character that can’t be compared with the others. But a list of ten has gotta have numbers. The arrangement is purely arbitrary.

These are ten urban places where I’ve enjoyed spending time. I only visited a few of them once but they left a lasting impression. Others are cities I go back to year after year.

10. Stockholm (Sweden)

I’ve been to Sweden several times, but only had the chance to wander Stockholm once. It’s an island city threaded by waterways, with graceful apartment blocks in Strandvägen, and the narrow streets of Gamla Stan that smell like the sea. The people carry something of that sea clean freshness as well. They’re neatly dressed, optimistic, cheerful, and sophisticated.

Stockholm’s an incredibly beautiful city when the sun is shining. Though I wouldn’t necessarily want to go there in winter, when steam smokes from the grilles and everyone’s dressed in European grey.

9. Mostar (Bosnia & Hercegovina)

The medieval city of Mostar sums up everything that’s wonderful about the Balkans. The white of it’s bridge as it spans the Neretva River in a steep graceful arch. The otherworldly turquoise of the river itself, flowing smooth and strong through the valley below. The mix of Eastern and Western influences on the two sides of the river, as demonstrated by the people, the buildings, the religions and customs. And that incredible boney spine of mountain that provides a backdrop so beautiful you’d swear it was fake.

Mostar is a city to wander through. And a place where the views can mesmerize you for weeks.

8. Belfast (Northern Ireland)

Belfast is a highly walkable city. While I was there I saw the same people over and over. Its nighttime streets were quiet, but I only had to open the door of a random pub to find it packed to the rafters with welcome and good cheer.

In Ireland, the pub is your living room away from home. It’s where you go for quiet conversation with friends—friends who probably know your entire family. It’s where you find home-cooked food like lamb shank and champ (mashed potatoes with cabbage and onions chopped in), for a reasonable price. And it’s where I went to sit in a warm corner to write. Such places inspired me because I could listen to the language of the Irish, whose everyday speech is molded by Gaelic rhythms. That poetry provided a cadence to my prose: Articles by Guinness.

I closed my eyes for a moment to savour the bitter, iron tartness that’s almost like dried blood. And I set my glass carefully on a coaster and turned to the lady seated next to me. “My grandmother was born in County Antrim, just north of here,” I said. “She told me that when she was a little girl she was diagnosed with an iron deficiency. Her doctor prescribed a glass of Guinness each day.”

I thought this was hilarious, but she saw nothing strange in it. “Aye, indeed,” she replied, sipping a glass of ice water. “When I was a wee lass the doctor would prescribe a little whiskey for the measles. That’ll bring the rash out, sure enough.”

Struck by the wisdom of such an approach, I made a discreet entry in my notebook to secure a prescription for the liquor store upon my return home.

7. Avignon (France)

“The heart of [Provence] is Avignon,” Lawrence Durrell wrote, “with its honey-coloured, rose-faded walls and machicolated towers rising steeply from a country dusted silver with olives.” The city was the geographical focal point of his five novel Avignon Quintet, and I spent several days there tracking down locations from the books for a magazine feature.

In the evenings I sat with friends at a quiet café in the Place Crillon, where we whiled away the evening over several bottles of Tavel rosé, a favourite of Durrell’s, which he described as “that magnificent topaz-coloured wine”, and we read passages from the Quintet, immersing ourselves in his world.

I only went there once. But Avignon’s a city I’ve always wanted to go back to.

6. Ulaanbaatar (Mongolia)

Twelve years ago, Ulaanbaatar was a crumbling concrete monument to post-Soviet ugliness. Unimaginative square buildings on a grid-plan street centered on the flat grey expanse of Sukbataar Square. On the outskirts, the stacks of a coal-fired central heating plant puffed grey smog and radiated enormous Dr. Octopus pipe-tentacles that arched over roads and burrowed underground to bring the clanking illusion of winter warmth to concrete housing blocks. Ger suburbs clustered around the outskirts of the city, enclosed by rickety scrap wood palisades. And beyond that last fringe of civilization were the green rolling hills and the endless blue sky.

UB was mostly a city I got stuck in while waiting for others to share a jeep to the Gobi or the west. But I kinda liked its shabbiness. It had a frontier feel. A sense that I was sitting on the edge of a continental emptiness.

Mongolia remains the best place I’ve ever been. In my memories it stands for freedom, wandering, and self-contained sufficiency. And it’s a place where the only possible answer to “where are you going” is “…over there.”

5. Paris (France)

What can I say about Paris that hasn’t been said before? There are so many layers of this city to explore. Gastronomy. History. Vast art collections. A pulsing fashion scene. Walkable neighborhoods. The banks of the Seine. And best of all, a literary tradition that sparked some of the most important minds to write in English, from Fitzgerald and Hemingway’s Lost Generation to the starvation-addled wanderings of Henry Miller. And don’t even get me started on French literature!

Paris is one of those cities where I intend to rent a flat and devote at least a year to serious exploration. It almost demands to be lived in.

4. Ljubljana (Slovenia)

This beautiful old city on the Ljubljanica River is one of the true gems of Europe. The centre is small and easily walkable. There are shops and cafes and cultural events. And it’s simply a pleasant place to while away the time.

During my longest stay in the city, I had the use of a friend’s apartment just off Prešeren Square. They were away for the weekend and I was on my own. I had a regular cafe on the square where I would sip coffee and cream every morning, reading a little and watching the pretty girls walk by. And I had another cafe further down river where I wrote each afternoon. Once when I was possessed by a particularly strong train of thought, I completely forgot my coffee and scribbled long after dark. The waitress brought out a candle and quietly slipped it onto my table.

Ljubljana was the city that introduced me to European cafe culture. Until then, I’d only traveled the third world fringes of the map. Slovenia provided a civilizing influence. Ljubljana’s a city with many happy memories for me.

3. New York (USA)

New York isn’t the U.S., no more than Tokyo is Japan. It has a character all its own.

I first visited the Big Apple right after university, while working for a temp agency that took inventories of furniture in office buildings. It was a terrible job and the pay barely gave me enough to eat. But hey, I got two trips to New York out of it. We stayed right in the middle of Manhattan, and when we weren’t working manic 15 hour days I could wander the streets and soak up the life.

I’m headed back again this year, on what will likely be my only North American trip of 2012. Food, culture, fashion, museums, and more crazy characters than you could fill an asylum with—New York has it all!

2. Valletta (Malta)

The capital of Malta is one of the most dramatically positioned cities in all of Europe. It’s a small, walkable grid of narrow streets on a fortified peninsula high above the Grand Harbour. It’s blessed by year-round Mediterranean sun, and surrounded by translucent waters.

Valletta is absolutely steeped in history, from the time of the Knights to the Second World War. To walk among it’s venerable stones is to sink hundreds of years into the past. That’s where I go when I need a break from my desk, to sip cappucino in the sun at Cafe Cordina, or to read a book on a bench in the Lower Barakka Gardens as crisp white sails cut across the harbour far below.

1. Tokyo (Japan)

Tokyo’s one of those cities I find myself going back to again and again.

I lived on its western edge for two years in my twenties, in that railway zone where the crazy electronic maze of Shinjuku and the quiet mountains of Okutama where about the same distance away.

Tokyo’s got some of the best food on the planet. Live sumo in Ryogoku. Layers of history. Outstanding museums. Leading edge fashion. And some of the strangest hidden corners I’ve encountered anywhere on the planet. No matter how many times I go back to Tokyo, I always uncover something new.

So there you have it. My Road Wisdom Top 10 Cities.

What are YOUR favourite cities, and why? Please share them with me in the comments below. I’m always looking for new places to explore.

It’s been nearly a year since I packed up my books and moved to a small island in the Mediterranean.

It was a goal I set 8 years before, after reading Lawrence Durrell and island hopping the Adriatic. I was attracted to something in the landscape: those dry stony islands, the wind in the olive trees, the quality of light, and the pure clarity of Poseidon’s translucent domain. It took me 8 long years to alter the course of my life enough to make that goal a reality. But I didn’t waver. And one year ago I hopped a flight to a country I’d never been to, and spent a few days searching for a rental house. Three weeks after that I left Canada for good.

It isn’t the first time I’ve changed countries or even continents on a whim. And as in any expat life, I expected to find a lot of good along with some bad.

I thought I’d take a moment to share with you the best and the worst things about this island life.

Five Things I Love About Living on an Island in the Mediterranean

1) The climate

It’s early March, and I’m reading on my roof deck in just a pair of shorts. It was like that right until mid-December. And the rainy winter only lasted a couple months. Sure, these old stone houses get cold as a crypt. But they’re made for the heat. That’s what I get most of the year. In summer it doesn’t rain at all. I look up from my courtyard to see day after day of clear blue sky. And I’ve got a permanent tan.

2) The sea

There’s an incredible sheltered cove just 5 minutes away; the perfect place for a swim. There are cafe’s where I can sit and drink coffee or an aperitif and watch the swell of the wine dark sea. There are the shifting winds that dictate the weather, each with its own name and story. There are yachts and sailboats passing through, freighters from far off lands, and ferries that journey to closer places.

The sea permeates every aspect of life here. Just as it always has.

3) History and Myth

This part of the world is the source of so many of our myths, and the site of so many historical events. Ulysses sailed here. The Phoenicians roamed the waves. Crusaders built fortifications and shaped the villages and towns. And prehistoric man even left his mark in the form of ancient temples that pre-date Stonehenge. I love reading about these times and then going out to walk through scenes where history played itself out. And I love living in a 400 year old house, surrounded by antiques, with a courtyard and roof deck and old stone walls that inspire me to write.

4) Location

While getting off an island means flying or taking a boat, this is an ideal location for flights throughout Europe and the Middle East. And it’s a great jumping off point for Africa. For a travel writer, it’s tough to find a better base that combines access to new experiences with the ideal climate and landscape for reading and work.

5) The Food

While the local cuisine leaves a lot to be desired—it’s far too sweet for my taste—the year round access to fresh food is incredible. Things are seasonal here, like they used to be when I was a kid. The vegetables are fresh, crisp and packed with flavour. They aren’t soaked in pesticides or genetically modified. It’s the opposite of the bland wax-covered veggies we got back in Canada, trucked up from the southern United States or Mexico. We buy fresh veggies in the plaza around the corner, from a vendor with a small truck. What he doesn’t grow in his own small plots is brought in from the neighbouring island. The butcher shop is right beside the vegetable vendor. The bakery is just down the street. And eggs are produced locally, right here in this village. I’ve even found some rather good local wine. And of course, bottles from Italy and France are easily available.

Okay, I admit it. That might sound like a small slice of paradise. And I stop to count my blessings every single day. But not everything about island life is idyllic. It’s crowded here, densely populated and with too many cars—though I’m lucky enough to live in a quiet, traditional village far away from the tourist resorts. People still use the streets as a garbage can. And there isn’t much choice when it comes to foreign foods. I love the Mediterranean cuisine, but I do miss Vietnamese pho, Japanese food, Thai and Indian.

No place is perfect, and honesty demands shining a light on the bad as well as the good. Here are the things I still can’t seem to adjust to…

Five Things I Hate About Living on an Island in the Mediterranean

1) The Drivers

This place has the worst drivers in Europe—bar none. I’ve gotten used to the complete lack of traffic rules, the free-for-all of roundabouts, and the inability of drivers to keep their car in one lane. But there’s a deeper underlying aspect that I find harder to accept, and people’s behaviour behind the wheel is just an expression of it. There’s a lack of personal responsibility in a lot of things here. If someone’s in a position to serve you—in an office, ticket booth or shop, for example—they think nothing of making you wait. They avoid eye contact and simply ignore you until they feel like doing their job. But turn the tables and make them wait, and you’ll see people lose their minds with impatience. I think that’s why they try to overtake in a bicycle lane, or shove their front bumper around other cars when the slightest gap presents itself, rather than wait their turn. Not everyone on the island acts this way. But it does seem to be a common trait throughout many of these Mediterranean countries.

On the other hand, that lack of personal responsibility can work to your advantage when dealing with officials, permits or regulations. The key is to find that one person who can solve your problem. And when you don’t want to do something, simply shrug like they do and ignore the issue completely. All you have to do is make it inconvenient or difficult or too much work to deal with you, and you’ll be left alone. You can’t get away with stuff like that in an overly regimented country. And it really can make life easier. So I ignore the irritable side as best I can and capitalize on the rest.

2) Petards

This may be the stupidest and most annoying “custom” I’ve ever encountered in my travels. Petards are not fireworks. There’s no beautiful display of colours or patterns. They’re simply enormous explosives that make an incredible amount of noise. They shake the house. They frighten pets. And they drive tinnitus sufferers out of the island during festival season. Enthusiasts of this idiotic, wasteful, noise-polluting “tradition” blow these things off first thing in the morning, at noon, and for several straight hours in the evening. It’s a fusillade that sounds like a second world war aerial bombardment. It hurls you out of bed in the morning, and it blots coherent thoughts from your head at night.

Each village has it’s own petard factory, and people light these dumb things off season after season, in broad daylight. I still can’t believe anyone would get excited enough about these things to set an alarm, roll out of bed early, and sit in a field waiting for the church bell to strike 8 so they can get started. Only someone with an incredible tolerance for repetitive things could possibly take any delight in it. As several of my local friends told me, “This is a hobby for the uneducated and unintelligent.” But don’t say that to a petard enthusiast! They fly into a rage when you suggest “their hobby” is an imposition on other people—much like the smoker who fights for their “right” to light up, polluting the air of everyone else in the room. Unlike the other points on my list, I can’t think of a single positive spin to put on petards. To those annoying individuals who blast these things off all summer long: I hope you go deaf, and I curse you with a lifetime of tinnitus, bad breath, pounding headaches and shingles.

3) The Cost of Things

Island geography inevitably means things cost more than they do in other places, simply because they must be shipped in. Rent is affordable here, at least compared to Toronto. Food is reasonably cheap, and good wine is found in plenty. But things like electronics are expensive. Clothing costs more than the same item in other parts of Europe. And I have to order all my books online. But hey, that’s a small price to pay for living in the middle of the Mediterranean.

You know what? I’ve been staring at this screen for nearly an hour, but I can’t come up with two more negative things. The balance is tipped firmly in the positive. And apart from those fucking petards, the other negative things really aren’t that terrible. They’re just different ways of organizing a life.

I don’t know how long I’ll end up living on the island before setting out for some new geography or culture. Five years at least, maybe a little more. And it’ll probably pass as quickly as the first year here did.

Living on a Mediterranean island may not necessarily be your cup of tea. But I bet there’s a landscape or culture or climate that speaks to you. A place where you feel most alive and in touch with your muse. I want you to know that you really can go to that place and carve out a life there. Our time is too short to do anything else.

Have you ever lived as an expat? Did you leave your country of origin to try life somewhere else? Do you move from country to country and use the world as your playground? Please share YOUR experiences in the comments below. I’d love to hear about them.

Yeah, this post was inspired by one of those dumb internet memes. I saw it on someone’s blog and thought it might be fun.

Why?

We’ve been traveling together for a while now, but apart from the obvious stuff like books, music and traveler’s tales, we really don’t know that much about each other. That’s a bit strange, considering how long we’ve shared the road.

Road friendships develop in compressed time. In a week you can reach a depth of familiarity that would take a year under normal circumstances. Maybe it’s because time is limited: we’re more open, more willing to share, and less afraid of judgement. Relationship development is a process of mutual self-disclosure, after all.

So here goes… 25 random things about myself, scribbled down as they occurred to me today…

1.  I hate calling people on the phone. It takes me days to get around to it. I don’t receive many calls either. Three people in the world have my phone number.

2.  I played the lead role of Robin Hood in the school play in 6th grade. I did a bunch of other theatre stuff in high school too, including improv.

3.  I spent nearly 20 years training in Bujinkan Budo Taijutsu. Every day. And I earned two black belts in these arts. It taught me more than university ever did. Travel—taking that knowledge out into the world—taught me the rest.

4.  I can’t stand to be around people who pretend to be something they’re not. And I will not be associated with them. Most of all, I can’t stand someone who lies to him or herself.

5.  I got kicked out of school a lot and was totally expelled in the 10th grade. Mostly because I hated being told what to do.

6.  My favorite film stars are Humphrey Bogart and Audrey Hepburn. I’ve watched their films more times than I can count. I don’t really watch any current films, and I’m completely out of touch with anything that’s happened in Hollywood since the mid ’90’s.

7.  I’m a slow person to get to know, but I’m absolutely loyal to my friends. That’s my strongest trait. The opposite is also true. When someone has done something to hurt or betray me, I shut that person out of my life. I become completely indifferent to them, and I never have anything to do with them again.

8.  Two television shows shaped my early teenage years: MacGyver and Moonlighting. To me the greatest thing about MacGyver was that he had all these outdoor skills—on one show he was skydiving, on another he was flying a hang glider and mountain climbing. It inspired me to want to learn those things too. And I also respected the fact that MacGyver was intelligent and made being smart cool. I took chemistry and physics in high school because of it (I didn’t learn anything fun, but that’s another story). Moonlighting made up for MacGyver’s lack of cool in many other areas. David Addison was quick witted, funny, and he had great taste in music. Put them together and you have two sides of the ideal personality. At least in high school.

9.  Compliments make me uncomfortable. I don’t know why.

10.  My friend Joe Wilson once said, “You may be the most HONEST person I know.”  It makes me uncomfortable to hear that (see Number 9 above), but I guess it’s true.

11.  The first concert I ever went to was Honeymoon Suite. The most recent concert was The Church.

12.  I hate getting up in the morning. I have to set the alarm to get up by 9.

13.  I’ve sometimes had people come up to me and say “thank you so much, you changed my life” because of my fitness work. I don’t feel all warm and fuzzy inside when this happens. In fact, I feel nothing. Not because I’m not happy for this person. But because I didn’t do anything—THEY did. They found the discipline, will and determination to make changes in their life. They don’t need me or anyone else to lead them. It makes me uncomfortable to have that “teacher” or “guru” status projected on me. They should be shining that light on themselves. THEY are the heroes of their own life story.

14.  At the same time, I am happy when someone tells me that something I wrote in a blog or travel article inspired them to make a change in their life, or take a journey they were afraid to set out on. Because I remember all those people who told me I couldn’t do it.

15.  On more than one occasion during my “starving artist” years, I was down to the last $15 in my wallet. That was all the money I had in the world. Rather than hoard it, I went out and bought the best bottle of wine I could afford. I was poor, but I didn’t have to be miserable. Sure enough, an opportunity showed up the next day.

16.  The real message behind everything I write is that you can create the life of your choice. You can live in any way you see fit, no matter how many people call you a fool or tell you otherwise. There’s nothing wrong with following even your most outrageous dreams. You only get one life and in the end, YOU are the one who has to look back on it and evaluate it. You can do it. I know it’s possible, because I’m doing it. Don’t accept the shit that they sell ya. Follow your own path.

17.  The first thing I ever won was a Max Headroom sweatshirt. I won it as part of a draw after mailing in a bunch of those old rubber Coca-Cola bottle cap liners.

18.  I went out and got a paper route in 6th grade because I wanted to buy a stereo and needed the money. I had a lot of part time and summer jobs after that, including pumping gas, planting trees, pruning Christmas trees at a Christmas tree farm, cutting lawns, shoveling snow, painting houses, and working as a carpenter’s assistant.

19.  I spent several years of my life volunteering in an organization where I defended and enforced the “party line,” and I was harsh with people who couldn’t meet those standards or who questioned them. This is something I’m not proud of. In hindsight, I was wrong to defend it and they were right to question it.

20.  I had braces on my teeth for 3 years, from 8th to 10th grade. I refused to wear those elastic things during the day because I couldn’t speak properly and it made me feel stupid. My orthodontist decided to make each tightening adjustment two cranks instead of one to force me to give in. We fought a war of attrition for the entire 3 years, and every time he adjusted my braces it hurt so bad I couldn’t eat for 3 days. Not even ice cream. But I never gave in.

21.  I suck at math, and I sometimes count on my fingers when doing simple sums. What the hell, I can’t be good at everything can I?

22.  Related to Number 4 above: I feel very strongly that it’s unforgivable to exaggerate or lie about one’s travel stories. Either do it or don’t. There’s no shame in either choice. But don’t pretend that you did.

23.  I can’t stand rap music, reality TV, or watching sports on the telly. The only sport I enjoy watching is sumo. I got hooked on it when I lived in Japan.

24.  I’ve got an extremely good memory for stories and incidents, and I remember the details of our exploits better than any of my friends. I write because I hate the thought of all those stories and memories just fading away.

25.  I have a major weakness for Cadbury Eggs. Some are filled with delicious caramel. And the original Creme Egg is filled with a lovely whipped white that surrounds the rich yellow of that magical faux-yolk. Both are lovingly encased in a protective shell of thick chocolate that provides a satisfying crunch even as it reveals the delicate frothy treasure within. Like gold or the convenient alibi of a sprig of mistletoe, Cadbury Eggs are a highly valued commodity because they’re only available once each year.

So there you go. Lots of trivia, lots of secrets, and a few serious things thrown in for reflection.

How about you? Got something you’d like to share with me? Post your “25 Things” in the comments below. I’d love to get to know you better.

I’d like to share one of my favourite poems with you today. It’s something I keep tucked into the back pocket of my notebook anytime I go on the road.

First, some context…

I’m a big reader of the classics. Apart from travel literature and history I read very little current writing, and almost no current fiction. There are just so many books out there, and I know I can barely scratch the surface of them in my lifetime. I’m not interested in a flash in the pan, or vapid pop culture. I want to draw on those ideas that still resonate with us after centuries of discussion, those writers who have stood the test of time.

I think The Odyssey is one of the greatest travel stories ever told. It’s got adventure, Mediterranean landscapes, strange customs and sexual intrigue with exotic women. And it’s the sort of story you can keep coming back to over and over because it just never gets old.

This poem by Cavafy—the poet of Alexandria—is named for Ithaka, home island of Odysseus, the hero of the Odyssey. I like it because it sums up the nature of travel. But it also sums up a life.

Ithaka by Constantine P. Cavafy

As you set out for Ithaka
hope your road is a long one,
full of adventure, full of discovery.
Laistrygonians, Cyclops,
angry Poseidon—don’t be afraid of them:
you’ll never find the things like that on your way
as long as you keep thoughts raised high,
as long as a rare excitement
stirs your spirit and your body.
Laistrygonians, Cyclops,
wild Poseidon—you won’t encounter them
unless you bring them along inside your soul,
unless your soul sets them up in front of you.

Hope your road is a long one.
May there be many summer mornings when,
with what pleasure, what joy,
you enter harbors you’re seeing for the first time;
may you stop at Phoenician trading stations
to buy fine things,
mother of pearl and coral, amber and ebony.
sensual perfume of every kind—
as many sensual perfumes as you can;
and may you visit many Egyptian cities
to learn and go on learning from their scholars.

Keep Ithaka always in your mind.
Arriving there is what you’re destined for.
But don’t hurry the journey at all.
Better if it lasts for years,
so you’re old by the time you reach the island,
wealthy with all you’ve gained on the way,
not expecting Ithaka to make you rich.

Ithaka gave you the marvelous journey.
Without her you wouldn’t have set out.
She has nothing left to give you now.

And if you find her poor, Ithaka won’t have fooled you.
Wise as you will have become, so full of experience,
you’ll have understood by then what these Ithakas mean.

The journey of Odysseus tells us that, no matter how bad it gets, this too will pass. There will be low points—watching your companions get eaten by a Cyclops, for example. And high points—seven years locked in the erotic embrace of an insatiable nymph. Oh, and worlds of knowledge and wonderful places, of course. Both types of experience are transient. We should live them each to the fullest.

And as for “Are we there yet?”, if you find yourself asking that question, then you’re probably on the wrong path.

We need those destinations to keep us going. To give us a route, to give our voyage a shape. But in the end it doesn’t matter if you never reach your Ithaca, or if your El Dorado was just a myth.

It’s the journey that mattered. Ithaca is just a state of mind.

A journey through Wales is a walk through the landscape of my childhood imagination. It was like traveling through the fragments of dreams barely remembered, with a constant haze of deja vu hovering just over my shoulder.

My friends and I were driving to the town of Hay-on-Wye, site of a famous literary festival and home to more used bookstores than any other place on the planet. Conversation naturally shifted to books, and that’s when Detective John Wake pulled another one of his conjuring tricks.

“Did you guys know Baskerville Hall is in Wales?”

I nearly slammed on the brakes, and I heard photographer Simon Vaughan’s jaw hit the back seat and bounce off.

“Yeah, it’s only a few miles from here. We can go if you like.”

Simon and I were both avid fans of Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes stories, and the Hound of the Baskervilles scared the bejesus out of me the first time I read it. Wales was proving to be one bizarre surprise after another.

It didn’t take long to locate the gate. As we pulled in the long winding drive and made our way towards the manor house, Simon spotted a man walking a little white Yorkshire Terrier.

“My god, it’s the hound!” he cried, and a fit of giggling nearly sent us careening into a field of sheep.

Baskerville Hall has been transformed into a hotel, but the atmosphere could have been copied from the book. The coat of arms above the door showed a hound’s head with a spear driven through it, and blood dripping from the end. Inside, the massive double staircase and cavernous entry hall were true to Conan Doyle’s description.

The author knew the Baskervilles well, and was a regular visitor to the house. He’d heard the family legend and built what is perhaps his darkest Sherlock Holmes tale around it. But the novel was actually set on Dartmoor in Devon—in England’s West Country.

“I’ve heard two different stories to explain it,” John said. “One was that the family asked him not to set it here because they didn’t want notoriety and uninvited guests.”

“If that’s the case, then why use their name?” I asked.

“Exactly,” he said. “It’s not very plausible. The other story, which I believe, is that Conan Doyle’s editors advised him to move the location to England because no reader would be interested in a story set in Wales.” He turned to Simon and said with a wink, “Another example of you English stealing our stories for your own use.”

I think the truth might have had more to do with landscape. Baskerville Hall was imposing but it didn’t lack warmth, and the rolling green beauty of the Welsh hills was the farthest thing one could imagine from murder and evil deeds. At least, it looked that way from the front…

A caretaker tipped us off to a cluster of graves on a forested hill behind the Hall. One of the older stones read: “Our well loved little doggie, Died 23rd January 1838.” Could this be the grave of the dreaded hound?

Even by day the forest cast a strange gloom. The hillside was alive with shadows, and the emptiness of the path tickled our backs with phantom eyes as we crouched beside the little circle of stones. At night this would feel like a very different place.

The three of us vowed to return here next year to investigate the legend—and to read The Hound of the Baskervilles in the very house that inspired it. By night, of course, with the wind moaning low and a sound in the forest of footsteps coming closer…

(Read the whole story in “Camelot Uncovered” Outpost Magazine Winter 2010 / 2011, or on my Articles page)

One of the most interesting things about living in the Mediterranean is the culture of the aperitif and digestif.

Every country seems to have its own version. And exploring them is part of the fun of the region’s “slow food” culture.

The traveler side of me loves the stories behind these drinks, and their unique pedigree. The fitness enthusiast side is curious about one simple question: do they work? Is there any scientific truth to the tradition?

Do aperitifs and digestifs really work?

First, let’s take a look at how they stack up…

An aperitif is served before a meal to stimulate the appetite. This category includes drinks like vermouth from France, fino from Spain, and an entire range of “bitters” such as Aperol, Averna and Campari from Italy, to name just a few.

Enjoy these aperitifs before dinner...

A digestif is served after a meal to aid digestion. In the digestif category, France rules the “prestige” market with cognac and armagnac. Other categories include pomace brandies (like Italian grappa and French vieux marc), fruit brandies, bitter herbal digestifs, fortified wines (port and madeira), and sweet liqueurs (such as Grand Marnier, Drambuie, and various irish creams).

Every Mediterranean country also has it’s own anise-based drink. The main difference being whether you sip it before a meal—pastis in France, arak in the Middle East, raki in Turkey—or after: sambuca in Italy and ouzo in Greece.

So what’s the scoop?

When it comes to firing up those taste buds, the bitter category of aperitifs wins hands-down. Bitter spirits were originally created for medicinal purposes, and were produced by doctors, apothecaries and monks to ease stomach complaints. Like any great medicine, the “cure” soon became a “preventative”, and that’s when they entered the wider beverage arena.

The low alcohol content of these concoctions is meant to relax the diner and stimulate the senses rather than deliver an unwanted knockout punch. And the bitter medicinal herbs they contain encourage the release of digestive juices.

The goal, after all, is to elevate the meal rather than blunt your senses to the range of wonderful foods you’re about to consume. It’s all about taking your time.

...and sample these digestifs after dinner.

Contrary to popular belief, cocktails and other strong mixed drinks are not especially suited to stimulating the appetite, and hence do not make the best aperitifs. Their typically high alcohol content and strong flavours tend to overpower and dominate rather than prepare your palate for the delicacies to come. Better save those for the occasional press reception or after work wind down.

And what of that other bookend to a Mediterranean meal, the noble digestif?

Taking a liqueur after a meal is thought to aid digestion due to it’s alcohol content, and there’s some truth to the tradition. Alcohol stimulates the stomach’s production of the enzyme pepsin and increases secretions of the pancreas and gall bladder. Herb based digestifs work best at this, and ingredients like caraway, fennel and savory are thought to be especially beneficial for the digestive system. So congratulations Jaegermeister, Chartreuse and Fernet Branca—you win.

And what of other categories of digestif? Much to my surprise, drinks like brandy and whiskey have an adverse effect on digestion. [...cue the sad trombone...wah wah waaaahhhhh...] I guess I’ll have to reserve those glasses of armagnac for nightcaps with a book…

So there you have it. It seems there really is some factual basis behind this wonderful Mediterranean tradition.

I encourage you to get out there and give them a try. Even better—taste them “on location” while admiring the landscapes that brought us these excellent drinks.

Aperitifs and Digestifs—A Mediterranean Tradition

I’ve got a short video to share with you today. Ever wonder which piece of geography qualifies as the worst smelling place on the planet? Well, I found it…

I really wish I could make this video scratch and sniff. You can’t fully appreciate this place unless you’ve had it seared into your nose.

Enjoy!