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Spisestedet Feed

When trying to find a place to eat in a new city, the challenge is always finding great value — the best food for a good cost.  That doesn’t mean eating on the cheap, and it doesn’t mean finding the top rated restaurant and eating at a premium.  Instead, it is finding that place that might not be so well known yet and sitting down for an incredible meal.  However, by nature of it being less well known, it is harder to find.  To help in the search, there’s TripAdvisor, there’s Yelp, there’s Google, there’s FourSquare, and many others.  None of them is perfect, but all helpful in their own ways.

Some by luck and some by Lindsey’s great searching powers of the Internets, we stumble upon Spisestedet Feed.  This restaurant is only about 6 months old, it is in the basement level, and although it has already begun to receive some very good reviews, it is relatively unknown.  It was started by two friends in their early twenties looking to become great chefs, and the food they are producing shows that they are serious in this mission.  Starting with the appetizer, the meal was delicious.  From the plating to the taste to the service, the experience was as great.  And because it is still a new restaurant run by young 20-somethings, we really appreciated that it didn’t yet seem too pretentious.  The two of them did the cooking and the serving.  One of the walls had a graffiti mural and the other a hand-drawn timeline of how they hope to reach their dreams.  And for the icing on the cake, the final bill was very reasonable given this whole experience.  There still is and will always be room for improvement, but we are confident that this restaurant is well on its way.

At Feed in Copenhagen

We wish both of these young chefs all the luck in the world!

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Why are the Danes so happy

Since 2012, the UN has been publishing a World Happiness Report.  In the first couple years of its existence, Denmark has claimed the top spot, usually followed closely by other Scandinavian countries.  In 2015, the Danes are still near the top, but they are preceded by Switzerland and Iceland.

As I am with most things as subjective as a happiness rating, I was skeptical (even of the UN’s process) of how this was determined at a country by country level.  When I dig a little deeper, I at least understand what they are trying to get at, but I am still not convinced that something like a country’s happiness can really be measured.  The UN’s World Happiness Report used Subjective Well-Being (which they like to abbreviate as SWB), which accounts for 3 different aspects: cognitive evaluations of one’s life, positive emotions, and negative ones.  According to the World Happiness Report, Denmark’s happiness can be explained by it’s high GDP per capita, its social support, its healthy life expectancy, the people’s freedom to make life choices, overall generosity, and low perceptions of corruption.  But enough about the details here — if you’re actually interested, there is an annual 100-page document called the World Happiness Report.

Okay, so back to why we heard the Danes are so happy.  We almost feel that happiness is the wrong word, and satisfied would be more appropriate.  They are very satisfied.  They think that their government treats its people well, and that the population treats each other well. Taxes are extremely high (among the highest in the world), but people recognize that “free” healthcare, “free” college education, and other social services are not cheap, and they appreciate that their tax dollars are being well spent.  Folks also just seem comfortable in their own shoes.  Around the holidays this year, the biggest term that we kept hearing was Hygge, which is a Danish term for cozy.  I think Danes enjoy just being surrounded by family and friends and enjoying a glass a wine or a cup of tea.  It doesn’t need to be more fancy or more complicated than that.  

But does this actually make them happier than other citizens of other countries?  Neither we nor the Danes are completely convinced of this.  We surveyed many a Dane.  We talked to couples sitting next to us at meals, we talked to bar tenders, we talked to tour guides, and we talked to coffee shop baristas.  The Danes, being satisfied with who and what they are, don’t really need the label that the UN wants to put on them that they are among the happiest people.  On the other hand, I could almost imagine the U.S. making a national holiday if we were ever #1 on that list.  Ironically, this is probably why the Danes are the “happiest” and the Americans are not.

An important lesson here is that happiness is gratefulness for what you have.  It is being satisfied that you are relatively worry free and not in a huge amount of debt because of school or a medical bill.  It is being able to trust each other and trust the government.  Happiness might be simpler than I had originally imagined. 

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2nd day of Christmas

Day 2 begins when two gloggy (that’s a Danish joke) travelers step out for coffee. We walk into the street and are struck by the silence. It’s 7am the day after Christmas in the rain, but still, I’ve never been able to hear the squeak of my sneakers in a city quite like I am along the water in Copenhagen. We duck into our coffee shop. I call it “ours” because even before trying the coffee, we decide to come every morning. The place is cozy. Candles are being lit and it’s empty inside. It smells of baked goods and the barista is welcoming. As we’re scanning the breakfast menu, fresh croissants are pulled out of the oven. Without consulting one another, we order two and sit while she makes our lattes. On a drizzly December day, it’s the kind of place you never want to leave.

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We walk back to our Airbnb, shower, and slowly prepare for the day. Our first stop is  Our Savior Church. Closed for services. Our second stop is Carlsberg brewery. Closed for the second day of Christmas. (Yes, to our surprise, that’s a thing.) Our third stop is the one destination known for running 365 days a year: the Stromma canal tour. It’s heated and covered and we have extra tissues to wipe down the endlessly fogging glass. The hour long tour takes us under 14 bridges and through the canal of Copenhagen. The only time we step out into the rain is to take a picture of the much acclaimed and humorously underwhelming Little Mermaid statue. The city has few claims to fame, and Hans Christen Anderson is a hot ticket. The statue itself is tiny, perched on a rock in the shallow water, given to the city by the Carlsberg brewery, and one of the most commonly cited destinations in the city. After the tour, we head to lunch at a Cheesecake Factory style restaurant. (Mexican? Got it. Italian. Burgers. Sandwiches. Yup.) On the bright side, it opened our eyes to a new area of the city, and even though every other store in the shopping district is closed for the second day of Christmas, we enjoy the journey tucked safely underneath our umbrella and rain jacket. 

We soon find ourselves next at an incredible bar for glogg. It’s a spot our morning barista had recommended to us, open only in the winter and situated on a dock along the canal. It’s crowded, warm, and the definition of what I’d pictured as hygge (Danish cozy).

The Glogg

Exhausted from some combination of jet lag and rain, we rest at our Airbnb before dinner.  As expected of jet-lagged travelers, we sleep through our alarms and our 30-minute snooze turns into a 2-hour deep sleep.  We wouldn’t necessarily call ourselves refreshed upon waking up, but at the same time, we knew we probably needed the sleep.

At the top of many lists of why to visit Copenhagen, we find Ruby, a bar located in the center of town with a living-room-esque atmosphere and excellent bar tenders.  What better way to start our evening than at Ruby.  It lives up to expectation.  Okay, maybe not the best bar in the world as some sites suggested, but very homey, very welcoming, and with delicious cocktails.  We find ourselves comfortable seats at the bar and quickly befriend all of the bartenders.  Trying to find a dinner spot on this second day of Christmas turns out to not be trivial, but luckily, our new friends at Ruby’s are full of suggestions. We end up in a new neighborhood at a place called Falernum.  It’s probably fair to call this place a wine bar given its wine menu was the length of a small novel.  We had some perfectly prepared scallops, mushroom risotto, and a slow-cooked duck to pair with some great wines that they suggested.  On a scale of 0 to 10, where 0 is extremely unlikely and 10 is extremely likely, we would easily give this restaurant a 9 or 10 in terms of how likely we would be to recommend it to a friend or future traveller.  

Although the day started out a bit slow, it being the second day of Christmas and all, we didn’t let that slow us down and feel like we know Copenhagen and its Danes a lot better.

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Copenhagen’s Tivoli Christmas Market

We’ve chosen to spend Christmas this year away from home.  Our works decided to shut down between Christmas and New Years, and we almost felt obligated to find a new place to explore.

We start in Copenhagen.  Arriving in the late morning on Christmas day, we figure out the metro and find our Airbnb in Christianshavn (still figuring out how to pronounce that).  It is a top floor small apartment overlooking a river, some shops, a couple churches, and mostly other residences.  The pictures on airbnb.com definitely made the place look a bit bigger than it actually is, but there is something homey about only having room for a large dorm refrigerator.

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The Danes mostly celebrate Jesus’ birthday on the 24th, which meant we kind of missed Christmas.  However, we were determined to still celebrate.  How better to do this than to venture over to Copenhagen’s Tivoli Christmas Market.  We arrive to over 16,000 lights strung up over and around the Tivoli Market.  We end up inside the market by mistake.  I think there may have been an entrance fee, but after a bathroom stop, we exited the restaurant from a different exit and find ourselves within the walls of the market.  Once inside, we drink glogg (sort of liked mulled wine), hot chocolate, and warm cider.  It’s a bit chilly out, so these warm drinks are quite welcomed.  We pop in handful of stores, admire some nice Christmas ornaments, some nice tchotchkes, and lots of beanies, socks, and gloves.   We were about to leave and realized we’d just saved ourself a pair of entrance fees, so we turned around and decided we shouldn’t leave but instead, we should buy a waffle.

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Around this time, we start to get very tired.  It’s late, but it’s early, but it’s christmas, but it’s Copenhagen, and thus we are a bit confused about the time and our level of energy.  We find a nook at a nearby coffee shop, and doze in and out a little while we snack and sip our caffeine.  We had a made a reservation for 7:30pm for dinner as motivation to stay awake.  We plan to keep that reservation and have about 3 hours to kill until then. What to do?

The first bar we stop in is called Jernbanecafeen.  Even though it’s only about 5pm, this very christmas-decorated dive bar is already full of drunk patrons.  We keep to ourselves on a couple stools in the corner of the bar, when some folks start approaching us (actually approaching the juke box, which is right behind us).  After being a part of a bit of scene and dancing with some of the locals in the bar, we find an opportunity for an Irish exit, and we make our escape.  The next stop is a a very quiet Scottish bar not too far from the first. Here I have a Christmas Tuborg beer, and Lindsey and I strike up another conversation with some locals (and some transplants), but this time everyone is much more sober.  One of them lived in Santa Cruz, California, just down the road from us — small world.  Before leaving, they give us tips of where to go and what to see.

Just making it to dinner at the end of our first day here in Copenhagen is considered a victory.  My energy level dictates that I order a Coca Cola instead of a glass of wine, but the meal is delicious and we talk of plans for the trip to come. 

The night ends with fireworks over the Tivoli Christmas Market, on the edge of which our restaurant sits.  We made it to 9pm and are more than ready to rest to see if we can get onto Danish time by tomorrow.  Day 1, complete.

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Touring Cartagena

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“Your taxi is here!” Olga exclaimed as we quickly decided what to pack for our day trip into Cartagena. Cash, cards, sunscreen, a couple of Cliff bars, both cameras. We came downstairs to find Olga and our driver for the day, Alberto Blanco, stooped over a map bickering over the best sites in the city, plotting our day with a pen and paper.

“Are you on your honeymoon?,” he asked as we cuddled in the backseat, equal parts giddy and anxious about the day’s adventures. Apart from our view of Cartagena in the airport taxi, we’d done almost no research to prepare us for what was ahead.

So we started at the only place to start: the top of the city. “…Si no has subido a la popa, no has vito a Cartagena!” the poster read.  Alberto had taken us under his wing, proudly describing the history and significance of the site. Pointing down toward the city, he explained the day ahead as we oriented ourselves in the heat of Cartagena.

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We ventured back down the steep drive, then up another, landing at Castillo San Felipe de Barajas castle. The audio tour was just 15,000 pesos extra ($5). We were already in a learning mindset, so we splurged, but the headphones hung a half-inch from either ear, making hearing the bombardment of names and dates nearly impossible. (We gave up and read the Wikipedia page instead.) With headphones wrapped around our necks, we stuck our bodies against the cool walls of the tunnels, walking around the castle to capture pictures so that we wouldn’t forget what heat exhaustion threatened to wipe from our memories. (Kinda dramatic, kinda not.)

Alberto swooped us away from the hat vendors (“Don’t buy them here. The price is not fair.”) and into his air-conditioned taxi where he blared jazz music as we drove into the walled city for lunch. Olga had chosen the destination, and we chose platters of chilled rose, ceviche, fish balls, and platters of shrimp served with a coconut rice we had come to love.

Ignoring the suggestion to venture from lunch to the gold museum, we strolled the walled city, popping in and out of air-conditioned stores for reprieve. There was something magic in the liveliness of color set against the suggested safety of the wall.

When we met back up with Alberto, he was eager to show us more, showing us how to sneak in to the most expensive hotel in all of Colombia and introducing us to his mother outside of his childhood home. One of us coaxed the other down from a heat-induced meltdown with the purchase of agua sin gas before Alberto insisted on driving us through the only neighborhood of Cartagena we hadn’t yet seen. We reasoned together that should we move to Cartagena, this is where we’d find our high-rise apartment.

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By 8:00, we were ready to relax over dinner at Carmen where we quickly decided on the extravagant tasting menu with wine pairings. Three hours later, we emerged full, relaxed, and a little bit tipsy. Alberto met us as planned, ready to drive us back to Olga’s, this time with his wife in the front seat. It had started to rain, and they bickered in Spanish about road safety during a rainstorm. “Don’t worry,” he told us. “If we cannot make it back, you will stay at our house. We have an extra bedroom, a bed, it will be for you, no charge.”
We made it back to Olga’s safely, and absolutely exhausted. We tucked ourselves into the mosquito net and drifted to sleep.

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Cartagena’s Olga

We arrived to hotel Playa Manglares under less than optimal circumstances. We had tried to contact the host to arrange a car, but she was unresponsive, leaving us in a taxi. A droopy eyed dog with oversized ears swung back and forth through the impoverished streets of Cartagena. We drifted further and further into nothingness on the only road down Baru. (One of us, who will remain unnamed, was certain that this is how the kidnappings happen). We sat outside a large gate on a call with the son of the hotel owner, describing its dark bamboo wood for reassurance that this was, in fact, the right place and we were safe to enter.

“How did you get here?” Olga exclaimed. “I was so worried! I tried to message you!” It was an enthusiasm that never left her voice for the duration of our two day stay. Rolling our bags to the hammocks, we helped ourselves to a drink at the “trust” bar outside, marking off one cerveza and one blanco vino as we tried to calm ourselves enough to see the paradise we had booked just three days before.

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The property was perfect. Palm trees and fallen coconuts. Untouched sand. White hammocks tied to trees mere steps from the Caribbean water. Light white fabrics moving with even the slightest breeze. But it was also a place that felt more real. Blue tarp to suggest failed construction. Thoughtless knickknacks like a smiling sun wind chime. And a number of workers hacking at thick roots near wheel barrels, a definitive sign that this land is not easy to inhabit. There was an authenticity to this paradise that made it feel more honest. Unlike a forced resort, at this place we could relax without the pressure to be.

Our room was the top floor, open to the elements with a pitched wood ceiling, mosquito net covered bed, and outdoor shower that had only one temperature, turned on and off by a knob shaped like a little bird. Meals were served at a table for six between the rooms and the ocean. They happened when they happened, and were what they were, brought out course by course on a large tray and served on beautiful plates that made even pasta look decadent. A tiny, beaded net covered the fresh juices to keep out flies.

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“I bought this property in 1986,” Olga told us as we waited for our cab one morning. “There was nothing here. Not even a road. If we wanted to come, we had to come by donkey.” She went on to tell us that her husband was diagnosed with liver cancer when their children were older. His treatments cost them everything. They had nothing but a piece of land, and doctors told them that he would soon die. So they decided to come, living in a small camp they’d built on the property. They knew that if something were to happen, that there would be no way to get to a hospital. And they knew that something would happen. So they lived, and they waited. “Ten years went by,” she said, “and we were happy.” She went on. “Then one day we were sitting down, talking. He said something funny, and I laughed. He was always so funny. I closed my eyes for only a moment while I laughed, and then I kept talking. I said something else, but he wasn’t there anymore. He was gone. Just like that.”

We don’t know what you would do in those moments, how your mind or body would react. It’s an aloneness we’ve never experienced.

With a gratitude for time mixed with the hardness incited by loss, Olga finished the guest house she and her husband had been constructing. She makes additions when it feels right and meets each visitor with the same enthusiasm, creating the property we had first entered so tentatively. The juxtaposition of the blue tarp with the flowing white fabrics seemed almost reflective of the great beauty and loss in her own life.

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After we left, she wrote to us. She wished us well on the next part of our trip, thanked us for coming, and noted how nice we are together. “We hope you’ll keep yourhappy for always,” she wrote. We are so grateful to this woman for sharing her home and her story with us. We’ll treasure this honest paradise forever.

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Nicolas, bicycles, graffiti, and Bogota

Nicolas is out of breath, a bit disheveled, and late for our bike tour. He’s what you would expect in Colombia (though it’s difficult for us to judge considering we were also late). When we began the ride, we started to see this character emerge, one far removed from his first impression.

Some parts of the ride were obligatory. The stop at an expensive juice stand just outside the rich part of town, characterized by European architecture. Even the ride through the red light district, which arguably may have made him more uncomfortable than it made us, as this was the only point in which he lost one of us in a crowd. Then there were other moments in which he lit up. The Garbage Museum. “He just has a different way to see life,” he told us before we wandered into a hoarder’s den. (There was some message in there about consumption in a consumer culture.) Tejo. A game in which you drink beers while throwing rocks at a steel disc lined with gun powder. “This is where I like to bring first dates. That way you know she is okay getting her hands muddy… and drinks beer.” The fruit stand and vegetable stand. “You don’t know spicy until you try this pepper.” We thought he was exaggerating. We thought wrong. But the thing that made him beam… graffiti.

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First, a little more about Nicolas. Nicolas is a 26-year-old local that was born and raised in Bogota. His mother and sister are both psychologists, and his father did something business related that was lost in translation when he attempted to explain it to us. He attended university just a couple years back where he majored in visual arts, and today he is part of a city-wide graffiti group called “MAL” painting the walls and buildings of Bogota.

As we pause by many of his graffiti works, Nicolas shares why each was painted. Reasons varied from politics to history to beautification of rougher areas. It is so easy to pass by graffiti and either not notice it or dismiss it as being inferior in some way, but Nicolas’ works and messages had purpose. Riding on his steel-framed, yellow road bike, Nicolas shared stories of how some of his creations came to be. Next to one was a homeless man that Nicolas and his crew had befriended and who would protect the scaffolding overnight when the painters left. In gratitude, MAL provided the homeless man with clothes, food, and more. Stories like these that are just as much a part of the art as the art itself unfortunately usually get lost.

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We feel fortunate to have learned more about Bogota, about graffiti, and about Nicolas in this 5-hour adventure on our first morning in Colombia.

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Drawing and painting 101

I want to be able to draw and paint better than at my current 10-year-old level.  Alas, I have decided to do something about this during this trip to Italy.  I spend some time in the Marche region near the small hillside town of Camerino learning just that.  There are four students including myself trying to improve our artistic abilities.  Our lessons are taught by Caroline and they are interrupted at mealtimes by her husband, Andrea’s excellent multi-course culinary concoctions.  Lunches are completed with delicious cheese plates and a cup of espresso or two, and dinners are wrapped up with a smattering of Italian digestives.  The whole group quickly learns that if offered food or snack, I will rarely, if ever, say no.  I think that their large dog, Spike, is happy to see me go because he will again be receiving better leftovers.

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Their home is located in the true countryside, complete with the strenuous dirt road to get there and the evening appearances of new bugs and critters.  They have a dog, cats, and a chicken, which is not fulfilling its egg laying duties very regularly.  Their two daughters go to school in the nearby town, and there is a very convenient school bus that comes to pick them up and drop them off each day.

Throughout our time, we experiment with several media including sketching with both water-soluble and permanent pens, capturing landscapes with watercolors, and figuring out some painting techniques using acrylics.  My education includes drawing with proper perspective, creating depth through adding shadows, and figuring out a little color theory.  That said, the biggest lesson I learn is that I need to let go and just draw.  I find that the hardest line is always the first one because I am never sure where to start.  Many times, the best thing to do when drawing or painting is to just start.  We paint things around the home as well as go on field trips into the nearby towns to sketch new things and to enjoy some coffee and gelato.  Wherever we go and whatever we are doing, the conversation in the group never lacks.  We joke, we help each other with our painting, and we more generally just share good stories.

I now have grand plans to continue drawing and painting when I return home.  I collected the names of art supply brands and look forward to experimenting more with these art media.  I hope that I continue, but I also fully realize that dedicating vacation time to it and trying to do it after work or on weekends are different animals, but I optimistically plan to at least do some occasionally back in Boston.

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La Finestra sul Lago

I spend two nights at this countryside home, and my bedroom window overlooks a beautiful lake, Lago di Vico, with the many walnut trees that surround it.  When I arrive, the whole family (including the three sizeable dogs) welcomes me.  Soon after, we turn on the soccer match on the television and enjoy a family meal together. Giuseppe, who is just about to start college, is a great translator and we bond over several cups of coffee, a digestive or two, and many games of pool and backgammon.

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The next day, I explore the nearby town of Ronciglione, where I run into a few driving challenges based on the tight and steep roads of the area.  I also make my way around the small lake, stop a couple times for snacks and coffee, and enjoy watching people pick the walnuts.  At first glance, I cannot figure out what everyone is doing, but it soon becomes obvious that people are picking the walnuts off the trees that extend over the fence onto the road.

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The second night, I again enjoy a family meal, this time with a couple of their friends.  The energy in the room is high and the mood is very jovial.  The family guests only speak Italian and so I pick up pieces of the conversation here and there, and occasionally Giuseppe brings me back in.  The food is very traditional Italian cuisine, and as I wrap up my second and last night at this wonderful host, I thank Airbnb for providing the opportunity for me to find such an experience about an hour north of Rome.

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Ciao, Amalfi

After leaving Vico Equense, I drive half the Amalfi Coast and then start climbing until I reach Ravello, a villa-filled town that often overlooks the sea.  I visit a couple of the more famous villas, as I gather this is what is supposed to be done in Ravello, and then I grab a panino in the main piazza before heading onwards to Ronciglione.  The day is a success in terms of weather, my driving, and not getting too lost along the way.

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