Lesson #2: Eating in the Czech

There are a lot of rules to follow when eating in the Czech. J was reading them to me as we waited for our first dinner in Prague. According to the Lonely Planet: 'only a barbarian would begin a meal without first saying "dobru chut" (bon appetit)' and 'the first drink of the evening must be accompanied by "na zdravi" (cheers) and its bad manners to talk while eating because you don't want to distract people while they are enjoying their food....  Prague

tap water (as labelled on the menu) cost an extra $1.50; bread that is delivered to your table (even if you don't order it) is then charged to your bill; and beer is listed by some out-of-the-ordinary number that is indirectly related to the alcohol percentage in the beer, but not solely or accurately stating the actual alcohol percentage of the beer. Weird, isn't it? Anyway, lots of things to remember.

Our receptionist suggested we try 'Cafe Louvre', as it was her favourite. Plus, it was across the street- and I was hungry! The atmosphere was amazing. Huge windows overlooked the street from the second floor seating, sparkly chandeliers hung low and big mirrors reflected the light around the room. Victorian style trim and wallpaper gave the space an undeniable elegance and with the antique cash register on the counter, I felt like I was walking into a different time.

We ordered traditional Czech dishes. J got fried cheese dumplings in a mushroom sauce and I ordered chicken breast in a roasted red-pepper sauce with spaetzle (a yellow, thick, delightful pasta). The plates were attractively arranged and both the food (including the Prague tap water and bread) were delicious. In the middle of our meal a very old lady came over to our table came over to our table and gave me a great big hug. She didn't speak a lick of English, but from what I gathered she was from Dubrovnik and I was from either Germany, England or the Netherlands. She seemed very happy that we were here and I was happy that she was happy (and also because I was eating delicious food). J said he had smiled at her a few times over the course of our supper... maybe that's why she wanted to talk/hug!

Sadly, and as expected, I had filled up on the (not) free bread, and only finished half my meal. Not wanting to waste (and thinking it would be a tasty breakfast) I wanted to bring my leftovers back to the fridge at the hostel. But, were leftovers a thing in the Czech? There were so many rules, and with the 'double double' misunderstanding yesterday - maybe leftovers were just a Canadian thing too?! Who knows. Apparently there are a lot of things this so-called 'School of Life' hasn't taught me. I don't think in all of our travels, I have ever had leftovers after a meal out... That and the fact that this was quite a fancy restaurant (again abnormal for our travels). Would they be offended if I asked for a takeout box? The amount of time I spent pondering this, and the fact that I'm now writing a blog about leftovers is pretty ridiculous. But in a fun way- right? Anyways. I tried to eat more- thereby eliminating the need for me to ask the left-over question at all. But I really ate a lot of that (not) free bread, and I was stuffed to the gills. Our server came over to collect J's empty plate. She looked at mine. I sucked it up and asked, 'Is it possible for me to bring this home?' gesturing obviously at my food. She looks at me for a solid ten seconds without saying a word with a confused look on her face. I'm assuming she's trying to decide how to tell me in English what a silly proposition I had just made. She is still staring at me. 'The food? Yes!' she exclaims, as if I had asked her if this particular Czech restaurant served beer, 'Of course!' Turns out she was just trying to decide whether I was actually an idiot-or just blonde. Either way. I had leftovers for breakfast, and that is all that really matters.

Otavalo with a View

This morning we went on the Ecuadorian adventure that I have been looking forward to for months: Shopping at the Otavalo mercardo (market). According to our Lonely Planet, "For hundreds of years, Otavalo has hosted one of the most important markets in the Andes, a weekly fiesta that celebrates the gods of commerce... The tradition of swapping money for goods here stretches back to pre-Incan times, when traders would emerge from the jungle on foot, ready to conduct business." Now most people emerge from their hotels...but anyways... Thankfully, I brought my Spanish interpreter/bartering partner along, aka J. We couldn't even dream of starting this exhausting adventure without some energy. So we stopped and picked up two ice cream bars. Mine was coconut and J's was chocolate. Of course I had some of J's, too.

First stop was the animal market- maybe we'd want to purchase a cow to ride around the market on? I've always wanted a sheep...think about it dad: you would never have to cut the grass again! We entered a chaotic world of squealing pigs, sheep on leashes and cows tethered to stakes in the ground awaiting their fate. There are cardboard boxes stuffed with chicks, chickens and guinea pigs in mesh bags being thrown over shoulders, and puppies in crates. A couple is literally dragging a big, pink pig to their pick up truck. The woman, in the traditional long black skirt and white embroidered top is holding this (massive) pig off the ground by its tail while the man has the rope tightly wound around his hand and the pig's neck and is putting all his weight into yanking this very un-cooperative pig through the muddy field. I have never seen a pig in so much distress. He's digging his piggy paws into the dirt and flailing about and making the most horrible, high pitch, tortured pig scream that I couldn't even have imagined existed. Its like a horrible, disturbing car crash and I can't look away. We move on to the poultry section where chickens are being plucked out of cartons by their feet, wings flapping when they are then either stuffed into mesh bags, or given to the children to carry home by their feet, chicken heads bobbing along the sidewalk. There are opaque bags rustling and moving and making noises I can't quite discern. Sheep are being led along like dogs to their new homes. It's crazy and wonderful... and a little bit smelly.

This little piggy went to the market

Otavalo's main market is situated in the aptly named Plaza de Ponchos. Its not even official market day and the square is jammed with stalls displaying colourful ponchos, scarves, socks, blankets, hammocks, sweaters, etc. Wandering through the maze of stalls is wonderful and exotic...and tempting! Its like a dreamland, I think. From my toes to above my head I am swadled in colours, textures, fabrics.. Oh la la! AND, best of all- I'm allowed to touch EVERYTHING. In fact, running my sticky hands all over the soft alpaca goodness is actually encouraged! It really can't get much better than this. Plus, I (technically) could afford to buy almost anything I want! Maybe not as many as I want- like I might not be able to get that luxurious alpaca scarf in ALL 100 shades- but I could probably get away with my top 10 favs.... If stick-in-the-mud J weren't hanging over my shoulder... Merchants are hollering the 'best' prices at your back and thrusting silky smooth Alpaca wares into my not-unwilling hands in front of me. Turns out Alpaca wool is oh-so-soft and quite irresistable. (J: Bonus points for anyone who knows the difference between an alpaca and a llama). J and I spent hours bargaining with the hockers, meticulously choosing exactly what "we" wanted and making sure we got it for a price that everyone could be happy with. The ginormous two-person hammocks were by far the best deal of the day. J bargained down from $42 for one to $30 for two! I hummed and hawwed over exactly what colours of alpaca scarves I needed most. I also tried on various versions of the exact same llama-printed alpaca sweater to make sure I ended up with the right one.

Now that the shopping fun was done, we needed to figure out how to get all this junk (K:NOT junk- precious, precious lovelies) back to Canada. Laden down with five exquisite kilos of merchandise (funny how five kilos always feels more like two when you're taking it to the post office) we trudged up to the second floor office with our bags overflowing with vibrant alpaca productos. We held our bags up to the post office lady hoping that the rest of the process will be easy, straight-forward and cheap. Wrong, wrong and wrong. "You need a box and some tape," she tells us in broken Spanglish.

One of these hammocks will be ours!

"Where do we get a box?" I inquire. The only word I understand is supermercado. So back to the supermarket we go. We bypass the ice cream fridge and asked the lady at the till for a box. We point to a pile of boxes behind us, which are sitting beside twenty-seven pound bags of animal crackers (no joke). There is a bit of confusion, but ultimately we end up with a cardboard box of perfect proportions. We jam all of our goodies into the box, the bottom of which is not taped closed, and head off in search of tape. We bought an entire roll of packing tape and were convinced that we are now fully prepared to mail our five kilos of bargoons, we carry our box back up to the second floor postal office. The security guard (a 15 year old boy with a gun approximately the length of his leg) shows us into a back room. We are about to start taping our box closed when the security guard announces that the police need to inspect our package. A man in jeans, sweater and a small backpack comes into the room and proceeds to unroll, and thoroughly smoosh through all of our items making sure that we weren't stashing any cocaine with our llama sweater (don't worry, we weren't). His radio was droning on from some obscure place on his person and we are keeping our eyes peeled, always wary of any funny-business. Once he is satisfied that our stuff is drug free, he proceeds in rolling the majority of the packing tape around and around the box, nearly making the box bulletproof. Our alpaca goods are bulging at the seams of the box and are quite determined not to be held up in the box for their trip to their new home in Canada. 'Round and around more tape went until the alpaca had no choice but to surrender. It is then that we placed our package on the scale and realized that our two kilos of goods are either five kilos or are sealed in with three kilos of tape. I'm voting for the latter. Either way we are paying to ship 4.98 kilos home to the Great White North, eh?. Oh boy. We wait in line for half and hour while other people are either picking up or sending off variously sized (yet smaller than ours) packages. I filled out three identical forms (which are all carbon-copied). The lady rips apart the three page forms and makes me sign and date all nine copies individually. "I need your passport," she says. J hands over my passport. "No, I need a copy of your passport," she says next. So J zips off down the street to get a copy of my passport for our lady.

Pile of shrunken heads!

A pile of treasures, a free supermarket box, a roll of packing tape, a photocopy of the passport and half an hour later we are five kilos lighter and $89 poorer. And hopefully our dear alpaca (products) arrive in Canada in twelve days or less. Yes, we spent nearly as much on the shipping itself as we did on the actual goods. Thankfully, we didn't have to mail anything over an ocean.

After a very exciting, expensive and quite tiring morning we were in desperate need of almuerzo completo (a big lunch). We came across a cute little local restaurant in the corner of a colonial square and it seemed like a hopping place. There were friendly staff, good prices and no sign of a fanny pack anywhere...score! I got a bowl of soup, fresh fruit juice (with a refill) and a plate with a quarter chicken, potatoes, rice and salad plus dessert (and a complimentary banana...we'll take it!) for $2.50. The chicken and potatoes were covered in a delicious sauce and there was a whole bottle of aji (which is sort of like a chili/coriander sauce) for us to slather everything in. PS we LOVE this sauce. J got a vegetarian version of all of that for $1.50. By far this was the tastiest and best value meal we have eaten in Ecuador. See you tomorrow Bachoky Restaurante!

p.s. Don't be expecting post cards this time. At $2 a pop just for a stamp to North America (and even more so to Europe) it is cheaper to mail a postcard from Canada to India than it is to mail one from here up a few thousand kilometers to Canada!

Where we stayed: Outside Otavalo in the beautiful countryside (3km)- Hosteria Rose Cottage $42/night incl. tax and continental breakfast. Cute little private cabana with ensuite in a really fantastic setting-lots of hammocks! $3 taxi ride from town.

In town: Hotel Riviera-Sucre- $18 night for private room, shared bathroom. Nice place with welcoming courtyard and garden, helpful staff, good location for the market- good deal!

Mindo with a View

Mindo is a cute little tourist village in Northern Ecuador closed in by towering hills covered by a cloud forest. A cloud forest is as lush as it sounds. And that's because its a forest that, because of it's high-ish altitude, is often shrouded in clouds and mist, adding a mystical atmosphere and lots of condensation to feed the plants. It is dense and green and exotic with hundreds of species of birds (including some pretty cool hummingbirds) and bright colourful flowers everywhere. Look in any direction and the super-sized plants are exploding with life and colour. We are staying at a hostel right by a swift moving river, a tranquil setting perfect for relaxing and watching vibrant birds flit in and out of the bird feeders.

As we didn't accomplish much in Mindo other than hiking down winding, muddy roads back into the serenity of the cloud forest, I thought I'd talk about a topic close to my heart: food. Mindo is the first town in Ecuador where we actually had the opportunity to find a little local restaurant, order in Spanish and try to figure out what exactly local food is in these parts. Everywhere we have stayed so far has had most of the food included and its hard to say whether or not what the hostels were serving is local food, or what they thought us gringos would like- or a combination of both. Other than a few choice places, no one has served us anything with much flavour. Plain pasta, rice and potatoes for dinner. Fried eggs and bread for breakfast. When we got fruit- it was delicious- bananas with much more flavour than at home, watermelon and papaya. Veggies seem to be mostly tomatoes mixed with a few shreds of lettuce. The few times we stayed somewhere where dinner wasn't included we got so distracted by all the delicious fried snacks mid-afternoon and were too full for dinner. What I thought were 'empandas' were actually 'llapingacho'- small fried corn pancakes stuffed with melted cheese.  Fancier places even have this delicious chili-tomato-cilantro-onion sauce for dipping them in. Emapandas are more like pizza pockets, only filled with chicken and various other veggies/flavour. Apparently cheese empanadas do exist- we just haven't found them yet- our eyes are peeled.

So, we were on a mission. We walked up and down the one street in town, lined with restaurants and travel agents. There was a place with a big white concrete sign, the name painted on the front in blocky letters. It's open to the street, as every store is, and inside was lined with plastic tables and chairs. Locals were hunched over enormous portions and fresh fruit juice brightened up the tables. There was a huge banner-sign on the wall with faded pictures of food-filled plates, the names in Spanish and little price stickers by each picture. Our bellies were doing the happy dance. It was perfect. The old woman smiled at us as we studied the banner. J asked if there were any vegetarian options and the woman listed in Spanish the different combinations of rice, fries, beans, avacado etc... She pointed to the images of each choice on the plate pictures combining different sides around the meats. I picked the chicken version. She asked if we wanted to $2 or the $4 size. We picked the $4- we were hungry. It didn't take long before a massive plate of rice, beans, french fries and salad was placed in front of J and myself (mine with chicken instead of beans). Then came the fresh pineapple juice! yum! Everything tasted wonderful and we were stuffed. Woohoo! Mission successful!

We went back for breakfast. Everywhere serves a continental breakfast for $2.50. Tea, juice, a bun and an egg. I'm not sure why this is a good deal when you can get what the locals seem to eat for breakfast (although more research is needed)- fries, rice, salad, egg (although probably chicken instead of egg) and tea- for $2. A little unorthodox, but way more filling and a way better value than the boring western breakfast. Completed with a frozen mango fruit bar- and we were good to go off on another day of hiking through Mindo's magical cloud forest!

Lunch: All that hiking made us hungry. We went back to our new fav spot for food in Mindo. There was a picture of something called
'patacones con quesa.' By the picture and what I could translate, the dish was going to be whatever 'patacones' were, fried with cheese. Turns out patacones are plantains. They were sliced thinly and I think they were coated in a thin corn-based batter before being fried. Then there were chunks of cheese, in the Laughing Cow family, crumbled on top. With the tomato-cilantro salsa- they made for quite the different meal- for $1.50.

Fast forward to the bakery where I discovered 3 delicious buns this afternoon:
#3- the famed 'empanada con queso'- cheese baked into a bun/ turnover -yum
#2- a  big round bun baked with cheese and brown sugar in the middle- interesting, but pretty good
#1- and the winning bun, in my opinion, a longish bun with layers of dulce-de-luche baked into the folds. Essentially- it was a carmel bun and boy do I wish I bought more than one! Don't bother asking J how it tasted- he didn't even get a bite!

Where we stayed: La Casa de Cecilia - $16 for the room for the night. Great deal and really nice sitting area beside the river.

Technorati Tags: ecuador, mindo, food, la casa de cecilia

We're in Sri Lanka... Let's Eat!

'Why Sri Lanka?' You might be wondering. It sure isn't a place on the radar of many North American travelers. Well, it all started many months ago on a hot, crowded bus in Northern Lao. There were so many people crammed onto that bus that they had brought folding chairs (if you were lucky) and minisule plastic stools (if you weren't) onboard to fill the aisles and every available space with seating. When they ran out of 'seats', they started doubling up- by using laps as extra seats. There were four foreigners on the bus. Us, the cute German with coke bottle glasses sitting beside us (whose lap was currently occupied by a young local kid) and a red-haired American sitting in front of us (whose lap was somehow still available). This was more than enough common ground for us to form an instant bond and then continue to do our best to pass the bus time with random traveler chit chat. It came up that the German, Tobias, spent his summers being a shepherd high up in the Swiss Alps, caring for prize cows and making cheese. J and I fell a little bit in love with him then and wistfully started dreaming of our mountain rendezvous. But he has nothing to do with Sri Lanka, really, I just wanted to reminisce. It was Randall, the Californian expat living in Bangkok, who planted the Sri Lankan seed. 'The food is even better than Indian food!' he claimed. We gasped in disbelief. Could it be true? Could anything really be better than Indian food? How could such a food exist and we had never even tasted so much as a morsel? That just wasn't right. We decided right there and then that this was a statement we were going to have to investigate ourselves. It was quite a serious thing to say... better than Indian... scoff. And so, seven months later, here we are in Sri Lanka, eating our little hearts out... for research's sake.

Sri Lanka has turned out to be so much more than just delicious food... but let's start there, because let's be honest, food is always on the forefront of our minds. 'Criminally under-rated' is what our guidebook has to say about the cuisine here. Its probably one of the only things written in the guide that we agree with. Rice and curry is the national dish. A boring name for something that is such an explosion of flavour. The rice is just rice, but the 'curry' means at least two different varieties of whatever the chef has concocted that day, with lentils or veggies or fruit or coconut or meat, and a super spicy coconut sambal on the side. Mix it all together, or savour the flavour individually, either way- it is a delight. Then there is the khottu rotti, which is rotti (like a thin naan bread) cooked on a flat grill/pan chopped up into a size that more resembles noodles and then flash fried with any variety of veggies (for us) and a generous handful of chilli. Its something completely different than anywhere else in Asia and super delicious. Where are all the Sri Lankan restaurants, I'd like to know. I read in the newspaper here that Canada, Toronto specifically, is home to the largest Sri Lankan community outside the island...I guess if we were going to find Sri Lankan food anywhere the Tdot would be a good place to start our search.

We've been in Lanka almost a week now and we were beginning to think we had this new menu under control. So many people speak English here, and are so friendly that we have been able to grill (haha) our wait staff with (probably stupid) questions. What do you mean by 'khottu rotti' and how is it different than regular 'rotti?' It is probably akin to asking 'What is this 'toast' and how is it different than 'bread.' Anyways, now we know. We arrived in Nuwara Eliya, Sri Lankan's highest town, looking forward to more rice, curry and khottu. We had been on the train all day (we had travelled about 75km, after all) and were starving. We were surprised to find that Sri Lanaka's third largest city only seemed to have about three restaurants and they all seemed pretty touristy. We settled on a slightly over priced Indian restaurant that served tourist-friendly mild, spice-less food. How boring when we know what we could be eating. The next day when it wasn't dark and we weren't blinded by hunger (am I allowed to say that in a third-world country?) we discovered a few interesting tidbits. First, that in Sri Lanka, restaurants are called 'hotels.' You can't stay there. They have no rooms. But for some reason they are still hotels. 'The Queens Hotel,' 'The Royal Hotel'- yup, they are restaurants. Second, the 'hotels' all looked like convenience stores from the sidewalk. A big counter on each side of the store, manned by a cashier and stocked with biscuits, chocolate bars and all the other random things that are sold at such stores across Asia. Behind all this, hidden in the shadows at the back of the 'store' we discovered when we popped into one to buy a bottle of water, is a huge, lively, bright and cheerful local eatery! Even more surprising was that once inside, the eatery was quite bright and welcoming and not at all the dark, dungeon-y looking cell it appeared to be from the sidewalk. The food, as we expected (although we only had the chance to try a snack at first) was authentically spicy and flavourful and less than half the price than it was across the road. Problem solved. Our local eating spot was chosen. So we thought.

We were so excited that we had 'discovered' these local eateries that we waited around all day, working up an appetite so that we could eat as much rice and curry as our stomachs would allow. It was four in the afternoon by the time we felt suitably hungry for our feast. We went to the first hotel. 'Sorry, rice and curry is all finished.' They said. Darn. Good thing it turned out that the whole street was lined with hotels cum convenience stores cum eateries. We'll just go next door. 'Sorry, all gone.' They said again looking around as if they could scrounge up some scraps for us. Ok. Fine. Next place. 'No, sorry....' He didn't even finish. 'Well when can we get some rice and curry? I asked impatiently. 'Oh, we only serve rice and curry for lunch, between 12:00-2:30.' ERRR. SO this is the thing about local restaurants. Its not like at home where there is a menu and you can order whatever you want off it whenever you please. No. They have only whatever it is specifically that the locals eat for breakfast, lunch and dinner and only the specific times when it is meant to be eaten. This is all fine, of course, if you know what and when all of this takes place. We're just stupid hungry tourists. So, finally, after two days, we had figured out where the food was and when what was available. We would get it down the next day, for sure. We really had it all figured out now, I was sure of it. Its now day three in town. We ate an early breakfast and plan our whole day around being at the 'Queen Hotel' at 12:30pm, on the dot, for a delicious rice and curry lunch. We show up right on time and find what? The restaurant is closed. Along with all the other ones along the street. I throw my arms up in the air in disbelief. What?! We stand on the street corner completely discombobulated. 'Tuk tuk! Tuk tuk! Tuk tuk!' a guy is shouting at us from across the street. We are ignoring him. Blatantly. He thinks we can't hear him and that we must be standing on the street corner staring at the restaurants in disbelief because we can't find a tuk tuk. He comes across the street to rescue us. 'You need tuk tuk? he asks. 'WHY are all the restaurants CLOSED?!' I explode at him in response. 'Oh, they are all at the mosque. They will open again in a couple hours,' he answers congenially. AHHHHH! I sigh with visible frustration. 'There are restaurants open over there,' he says, quietly, pointing across the street to the touristy restaurants we had eaten at previously. He is genuinely nice and is trying to be helpful. He is definitely wishing he hadn't crossed the street. I huff and he takes the opportunity to slink away.

I follow J and stomp across the street to the open and waiting tourist restaurant. We eat the rice and curry specially created just for the prototypical tourist palate (read: near flavourless slop that will never be buoyed in anyway with any sides spicier than a dry piece of toast). Nonetheless, it filled the void just in time for us to see the local hotels opening up for business once again. Seriously, just as we shoveled in our last mouthfuls of rice overwhelmingly delicious smells started wafting out of the hotels across the way. Sigh. Thankfully we still have another couple weeks here in Sri Lanka to eat our little hearts out. Obvious Lesson: if flavour excites you as a traveller in anyway (even in a country as gastronomically enlightened as Lanka) don't eat where you don't see locals eating.

Gone Fishin'

It is said that the Chinese people will eat anything with four legs, besides the table. Although we (hope) this isn't entirely truthful, what we do know, first hand, that our first trip to the Chinese supermarket was quite the eye-opening experience. For example, I thought it odd, at first, that the supermarket had a pet section. There were massive turtles, frogs, multiple tanks with a variety of colourful fish... what a selection. Of course, when the older man sporting a fisherman's hat grabbed a net from beside the tank and proceeded to scoop out a thrashing, fighting fish - with no small amount of splashed water- from the tank, and then continue to stuff the live fish into a plastic bag, without water, tie the bag tight and throw it into his shopping cart- I thought maybe this poor flopping fellow was not meant to be his new lifelong fishy friend. I'm not going to lie and say I wasn't completely traumatized as I watched the old man and his wife wheel the cart away, chatting mindlessly, while the fish flopped violently in the plastic bag. Wow. Life and Death. Right in aisle 9 of the supermarket. It was about time to head to the bakery, I thought, picking my jaw off the ground. The only thing that could possibly be alive there was the yeast, I prayed.