Ryan Travels and Eats

The Best Books About the 1996 Mount Everest Disaster

March 30, 2020 by Ryan, posted in Travel

Back in 1998, I was visiting family in Cleveland when my uncle asked if I wanted to go with him to see a documentary about Mount Everest at the local IMAX theater. Before then, I don’t think I’d ever even thought about Mount Everest, but since that movie I don’t think I’ve stopped. After we saw the documentary, which focused on climbing the mountain as well as the 1996 disaster, he handed me a paperback copy of Jon Krakauer’s book. For the 22 years since, Everest has been #1 on my bucket list (though not to climb—unlike many of the people going up these days, I know my limits. Base camp will be fine, thank you).

I think it’s safe to say that we’ve all had a little extra reading time lately, so after a trip to the used book store (weeks ago), I started a deep dive into books about the 1996 disaster, which still fascinates me today, then branching out to a more general dying-on-the-mountains motif. And while this list may interest only me, I’ve decided to rank the best books about 1996 on Mount Everest.

1. Into Thin Air by Jon Krakauer

Despite a small bit of controversy between Krakauer and guide Anatoli Boukreev, Into Thin Air remains the best and most complete account of the 1996 disaster, as well as an excellent overview of Everest and mountain climbing itself. As a journalist who was already there to collect information and interview guides and fellow climbers, Krakauer was easily the most well-placed on the mountain for an exhaustive recap of the disaster. If you’re going to read one book about it, this should be it.

2. The Climb by Anatoli Boukreev and G. Weston DeWalt

The Climb begins with an insightful look into the Mountain Madness team and its leader Scott Fischer, including what Scott was up against financially for the climb. Anatoli then tells his story, which is nothing short of heroic as he saved five other climbers. The book, unfortunately, devolves in the end into a shouting match between Boukreev, DeWalt, and Krakauer (be sure to get the most recent paperback versions for all the updates).

I will say, this whole controversy seems to be a non-issue. I read the climb 20 years after reading Into Thin Air; by the end, when I went to re-read Into Thin Air, I was expecting some pretty harsh vitriol aimed at Boukreev for all the defending himself—and attacking Krakauer—in the book. But all that Krakauer really said was people thought Boukreev was in the wrong place and maybe should have been using oxygen—Krakauer doesn’t question his heroism, or try to inflate his own actions. In the end, it all seems like petty squabbling.

3. Left for Dead by Beck Weathers

Beck’s individual story is probably the most incredible from the whole 1996 fiasco. Climbing up the mountain, his LASIK surgery failed in the high altitude and he started to go blind. His team leader, Rob Hall (who would later die on the mountain), told him to wait until Rob got back before going down. After waiting hours, Beck finally descended before becoming lost and almost freezing to death—twice. While he readily admits he doesn’t remember a lot of what happened, his story on the mountain is well-covered in other stories; Beck’s telling of what lead him to Everest in the first place, as well as the repercussions of his intense frostbite are what you should be reading this one for. Beck’s a larger-than-life character, which the other books make clear, and his voice got on my nerves at times, but it’s still an impressive story.

4. After the Wind by Lou Kasischke

This one is self-published, which is readily apparent. It was also published 18 years after the fact as a tribute to his wife, so there’s a lot of wasted writing about how much they love each other and how much he thought about her (spoiler: it’s a lot) on the mountain. In addition to gushing about his wife, the book seems to be solely about blaming Rob Hall and, to a lesser extent, Jon Krakauer for the tragedy, which, in Hall’s case, seems disrespectful at this late juncture. Especially since Lou’s own judgment can be called into question on a few occasions. He also tries to use some clever literary devices that ultimately fall flat. An editor and about 100 fewer pages would’ve gone a long way here. This lacks the mountaineering insight of Krakauer and Boukreev and the incredible personal journey of Weathers, so only read if, like me, you can’t get enough.

Note: I have not yet read Climbing High by Lene Gammelgaard, the other book about the disaster.

BONUS: Buried in the Sky by Peter Zuckerman and Amanda Padoan

This one is about another disaster—on K2 in 2008—but more importantly gives a great look into the history of the region and the lives of Sherpas. If you want to go in order, perhaps read this one after Into Thin Air in order to not only know about Everest, but the people without whom climbing it would be impossible. It also takes a different tack than most books about climbing disasters by focusing on the Sherpas—how they acted on the mountain, what their thought process was, what they did in response to tragedy. This is a great insight into a group of people that don’t get nearly as much credit (or pay) as they’re due.

BONUS 2: The White Death by McKay Jenkins

While the book is about an avalanche that killed a group of climbers on Mount Cleveland in Glacier National Park, there were no survivors and so the actual tragedy isn’t really covered. Instead, this one takes a deep, deep dive into everything you could possibly want to know about avalanches, snow, mountain rescue, mountaineering, and everything in between. Since there is so little to say about the actual tragedy, however, it does seem at times as if Jenkins is telling a story and just constantly gets sidetracked by minutiae that he finds interesting but which, ultimately, I found interesting as well. If you want to round out a quick education on all the kinds of death that await if you climb a mountain, add this one to the list.

More Like Suxembourg

February 25, 2020February 25, 2020 by Ryan, posted in Europe, Luxembourg, Travel

On our recent trip to Paris, where Kaitie and I had both been multiple times, we decided to throw in a new country and take a day trip to Luxembourg. A mere two-hour train ride away, why not throw away our Saturday on a jaunt to Europe’s tax haven? I did a modicum of research to find out the city didn’t have much to offer, but we figured we could play it by ear. I mean, they have a main square and an Old Town—what more could one possibly want?

Not wanting to throw away any of the day, we awoke incredibly early, still buzzing from the phenomenal meal we’d just had at A La Biche au Bois. We left Nina’s aptly-named pup Lux and made our way to the train station. As it turns out, spending a day on the couch with Lux would’ve been leagues more exciting than spending it in her non-namesake city.

We were blessed, in the Place d’Armes (main square) with the most exciting of all city events—a flea market full of expensive shit that only someone with lots of money and little travel experience could love. We ate at Café Francais, which was decidedly anti-breakfast: they put down cloth table runners, found out we were interested in eating breakfast, and then removed the cloth and gave us paper placemats. After talking about my “terrorist beard” and spilling food on my coat, our server largely ignored us. Which was fine, because I didn’t want to have to talk to him about the strange salad that came with my omelet—greens, corn, ranch dressing, and a tomato that was almost crunchy. I could imagine the chef proclaiming, “This is what they eat in America! Just give it to them!”

The weird salad that somehow ended up on my coat

After our breakfast, which would set the scene for the rest of our day, we eventually made it into the Old Town portion of the city, which would be impressive if (1) you’d never seen a hill before, (2) you’d never seen anything old before, or (3) you’d never seen moving water before. Luxembourg doesn’t have anything that any other city doesn’t have, and every other city’s is better in every way. Going to Luxembourg for site-seeing is like taking your cousin to prom: sure, you get to go, but what’s the fucking point? We couldn’t find one.

At the very least, we had Um Dierfgen to look forward to. Open 11:30am to 10pm, the restaurant is just off the main square and serves up many of Luxembourg’s traditional dishes. While Luxembourg may be a real Kraft Single of a city, at least I’d get to say I’d had some local dishes that aren’t widely available, like their national dish of Judd mat Gaardebounen (smoked pork, beans, and potatoes with bacon), or maybe even the horse steak on their menu. I didn’t care that it was a little more expensive than it should be, if anything was going to save this trip for me, it would be food.

But, of course, fuck me for trying, because despite being full of drinking locals, we were told the restaurant wasn’t serving food. Why should it? And why should it say anything about off-hours on its website? Ah, Luxembourg, that most Medium Place of cities. We ended up settling on a bar called Urban with typical bar food for anywhere in the world. At least I got a local beer. By that time, though, we were hungry and fed up and just wanted to be done with this place.

We swung into a store to grab some drinks for the train ride home, where we found €5 on the ground, which was the best part of visiting Luxembourg (though it still owes me money for the train tickets). Luckily we were able to resurrect our day with dinner at Zeyer in Paris and some pre-bed wine at Nina’s. And, of course, hanging out with the real Lux, and forever more the only Lux I officially recognize.

Food and Memories in Paris

February 21, 2020 by Ryan, posted in Europe, France

I remember a lot of food from our first trip to Paris in 2009, but I don’t remember anything as vividly as our dinner at A La Biche au Bois. I remember eating at Le Timbre and having a delicious mushroom soup, but nothing else about the experience. I remember eating our first escargot, but not where. I remember strolling through an outdoor market and getting baguette and my first taste of real goat cheese and falling in love.

But when it comes to A La Biche au Bois, I remember sitting at the end of a longish booth; I remember how deeply flavored the coq au vin was; I remember the beat-up orange pots the coq au vin was delivered in; I remember the incredible cheese course; I remember the people sitting next to us giving us half their mashed potatoes because they were so good we couldn’t miss out on them—and they were; I remember being incredibly full but my girlfriend at the time, LeeAnne, forcing herself to finish the chocolate mousse because it was that good; I remember she couldn’t button her coat after dinner; I remember getting crepes on the way back to our hotel anyway.

I’ve been thinking about A La Biche au Bois and their coq au vin for 11 years now.

Over the summer, when my sister and some friends and I went to follow the Tour de France, I extended our trip by a day in order to be in Paris on a night they were open and finally go back to Biche au Bois. We were arriving for our trip on July 20; I called for a reservation a few weeks in advance to find they, like much of the city, would be starting to take a month-long sabbatical starting—you guessed it—the day we arrived. I think the lady on the phone could sense my disappointment, as she offered to let me join them on their holiday.

Champagne to start the evening in celebration

Luckily for my now-girlfriend Kaitie and I, our friend Nina moved to Paris in January to study, and we could justify a trip with a free place to stay. I usually don’t go back to a place twice, let along three times—and especially less than a year after the previous visit—but the stars were aligning for us to justify the trip. I made a reservation for Friday the 14^th, Valentine’s Day, remembering LeeAnne and I had first been to Paris thanks to a long Valentine’s weekend flight-and-hotel deal. I don’t remember which day we went to Biche au Bois, but my return could very well be 11 years to the day from the first time I was there.

As we made our way to the metro from Nina’s apartment, my excitement turned slightly to nerves. 2009 was a long time ago, and I knew nowhere near as much about food as I do now. What if I had completely misjudged the food, and it really wasn’t that good? I had suggested the restaurant to Nina when she had visited Paris in 2017, so in addition to talking up the meal to myself for 11 years, I had been talking it up to her for almost three. I had been talking it up to Kaitie for, I’m sure, as long as I’d known her. What if I was giving up a quick, easy answer to any future “what would be your last meal” hypotheticals?

We walked in and, despite appearing smaller that I remembered, nothing had changed. Coat rack immediately on the left, long booth where I had sat the first time on the right. We were seated in the very front of the restaurant at the window, and chatted up by the host/owner who had chatted us up 11 years ago. I had worried that they might have a special menu for Valentine’s Day, because why not once again destroy my dreams of eating here, but they only had a few additions. We looked over the menu and decided to start our celebration of my triumphant return with some champagne, and Nina ordered us a bottle of wine as well.

I can’t quite remember what we started with in 2009—nothing I’ve eaten before that first coq au vin matters anymore—but I will remember our first course from this year. Kaitie ordered a ravioli salad, which came with a poached egg perched atop and covered in pickled red onion. I had a special of the day, which was two poached eggs in a mushroom sauce—a deep, earthy, umami dressing that gave off the pure taste of mushrooms; and once the perfectly-poached eggs were broken and the yolk mixed with the sauce, we couldn’t get to the baguette on our table fast enough. I think we went through a second round of baguette for Nina’s order of escargot, which weren’t only hiding in shells filled with perfect buttery parsley sauce, but were also sitting in pools of it. We knew a lot was coming and we shouldn’t fill up on bread, but the food in France makes that an exceptionally difficult principle to stick to.

Next, the main course. On the strength of my recommendation and years of guarantees, we all ordered the coq au vin. The pieces of chicken, cooked tender and floating in the dark sauce with potatoes, came out in the same battered and chipped orange pots I remembered. And that’s not where the memories stopped—as I spooned a portion of chicken, potatoes, and sauce onto my plate, the smell was immediately familiar, despite not having smelled it in over ten years (and only having attempted to make it at home twice).

I am also happy to confirm the coq au vin at Biche au Bois will remain my last meal candidate. The chicken fell off the bone, the potatoes were creamy, bits of bacon and mushrooms were a pleasant surprise when they came up, and I couldn’t get enough of the thick, meaty sauce. When we ran out of baguette (our third serving, I believe), I resorted to spooning sauce from the pot directly to my mouth. It was thick enough that the spoon left a line in the bottom of the pot before it slowly filled in. I could not have been happier.

After we had finished with the coq au vin, we were presented with the cheese course: a large plate of cheese that you can take as much or as little from as you desire. How much better could life be at this moment, transitioning from one of the best dishes I’ve ever eaten to the promise of, should I so choose, unlimited cheese? While Nina and Kaitie were a little more discerning with their selection in order to save room for dessert, I asked for a piece of each cheese on the plate. And ate them with more baguette.

Finally, on to dessert. We had to decide which we were each getting, and briefly considered some sorbet to cleanse our palates, but then gave up on that idea. Nina ended up ordering the daily special apple tarte, and I went with the house opera cake. We had looked up opera cake to see that it was a cake of layered almond sponge cake soaked in coffee syrup and layered with ganache and coffee buttercream, which sounds incredible. The Biche au Bois version, however, was more along the lines of a traditional chocolate cake, though gooey in the middle, and sitting on a pool of crème anglaise. As a non-chocolate person, it was a little too chocolatey for me, which is a surprise, because I had convinced Kaitie to order the chocolate mousse with Grand Marnier, and I couldn’t stop eating it. The slight orange flavor countered the deep chocolate flavor, as did the fact that the mousse was so light and fluffy it was like eating a chocolate-flavored cloud. As someone who has hated chocolate his entire life, I was as surprised as anyone to not be able to stop eating this.

In addition to the food being just as good as I remembered—and in some (chocolate) cases, even better—the price hasn’t changed much either. Even with the glasses of champagne, a bottle of wine, and the extra supplement for the escargot, the entire meal for three ran us about €150. This was as reasonable a price for the quality food we got as I’ve ever had.

I know I can eat at the upper boundaries of gastronomy in France, and especially Paris; the French, afterall, practically invented cooking. But it is this kind of food—the homey, slow-cooked dishes that are somehow comfort food even though they have no ties to your childhood. Coq au vin, boeuf bourguignon, onion soup—these are what I crave in Paris. This is what I go there for. And these are the memories I will always keep of Paris, no matter how long it takes me to get back.

La Panarda, or How To Give Up On All Your New Years Resolutions at Once

January 29, 2020 by Ryan, posted in North America, Philadelphia

As we arrive in the Le Virtù dining room, there is a saying written on one of the chalkboards: “Three are the powerful: the pope, the king, and he who doesn’t give a damn.” RayRay and I are feeling decidedly in the third category as we take our seats for our third La Panarda in three years. La Panarda, the 40-course, eight-hour meal, is as much a test of intestinal fortitude as you’ll find anywhere. But this isn’t the reason RayRay and I aren’t giving a damn; it’s just creeping on noon, we’re staring eight hours of unlimited wine in the face, and, idiots that we are, we’ve already had two beers.

We take our usual seats (we arrived an hour before the meal started to get the same seats we’ve sat in the last two years). We happen to be sitting with two of the same people from last year, so the same rules apply: pictures come first, and we cheers with every new wine.

The event starts off much the same as it has in the past: Le Virtù owner Francis Cratil Cretarola makes a quick speech, Sean from Artisan’s Cellar briefly explains the wine, and we are treated to some music from the zampogna, or Italian bagpipes. Throughout the fanfare, we’ve got our first glass of Cantina Frentana Cococciola Spumante, and the food begins to make its way out.

We begin similar to last year with a torta rustica, though we all agree that, from what we could remember, this year’s seems creamier. We also have crostini assortiti made with Abruzzese ricotta passita, mushroom, and cannellini. Finally, we’re treated to the olive all’Ascolana, which are stuffed with veal and beef and fried. With the olives, we already break our initial promise to try one taste of everything. They’re too delightfully salty (and too small, we tell ourselves) to eat only one.

For the next bit, we’re served a trio of raw fish dishes, starting with oysters with mignonette. Following the oysters is a tuna crudo with apple and fennel, which also demands multiple tastes, and scallop crudo with citrus. While raw scallop may have a texture most people don’t value, the salty taste of sea and the sweet citrus really make the dish pop. The tuna’s texture with the crunch of the apple is probably more palatable to most, however, and the flavor pops just as much.

Our next grouping leads with beef carpaccio with pecorino and salsa picante, burrata with brussels sprouts and anchovy, and sardines in salsa verde. As much as I eat, I’m never sure the proper way to eat a sardine, but the consensus at the table is to eat them whole – including the head. This isn’t a problem, and the fishy taste with the salsa is better than I thought it would be; there is a slight crunch from the bones. The real standout, however, is the burrata. Anything with fried brussels sprouts is a winner, and the fish complements the cheese perfectly.

To round out this section, we get our first non-family-style dish with the scrippelle ‘mbusse, a delicate crepe filled with cheese and floating in a light but heady broth.

Bringing the first third of the menu to an end is an Abruzzese tribute to Philadelphia by way of a smoked lamb hoagie with a stuffed pepper. After the hoagie is a hot cast iron tray of fried potatoes and scamorza, a cow’s milk cheese reminiscent of mozzarella.

After these dishes, we take our first break to stretch our legs, and everyone outside on the patio can’t stop talking about how good the lamb hoagie is. Basically made with lamb prosciutto, a red pepper-like spread gives the sandwich a nice zing and the oily, vinegary stuffed pepper plays perfectly beside it. Most people we talk to agree it is the best dish so far, and it should be added to the menu.

We come back in after our break, refreshed and rejuvenated by the slight chill in the air, which is by no means cold (especially for late January). We’re eased back into the meal with pizz’ e foje, a salad of cornbread over stewed mixed greens. The cornbread is a bit dry for my taste, but the next two dishes have plenty of sauce to fix that. First is a dish of shellfish with ‘nduja sausage, though a lot of the clams didn’t open, and prawns with garlic, peperoncino, and lemon. The prawns have a nice bit of heat to them, and as always sucking on the head is immensely enjoyable.

Next is a selection of charcuterie, beginning with sopressata (supersod for any South Philly Italians out there) with vegetable agrodolce, followed by capocollo (gabbagool) with eggplant oreganata, and finally chilled porchetta with roasted peppers. And while the meat is good, it’s surprising how tasty the accoutrement are – especially the lightly picked vegetables with the sopressata: tangy, but not overly so. This does not apply, however, to the porchetta, which itself has a slight vinegar essence to it, and is thin enough that multiple pieces aren’t out of the question.

Moving along, we’re gifted polpette all’Abruzzese, delicious little meatballs of which we don’t leave any leftovers. We are also brought sweet potatoes with golden raisins and pine nuts, which are better than any sweet potatoes have the right to be. Pine nuts add great flavor, but the raisins (which I usually don’t prefer in my savory dishes), brighten the salad and give it an extra dimension. Finally, we have a pure di fava with chicory, which may be the first time I’ve ever had chicory – at least as a main part of a dish.

For the last section of part two of the menu, we begin with mushrooms sott’olio, which is simply a variety of roasted mushrooms in oil. Simple, woodsy, and bursting with a variety of umami mushroom flavors. We’re also given a bowl of arrositicini, or lamb skewers. Rounding us out is a personal-size bowl of sausage and lentils, which sounds like it is going to be a stomach bomb but is surprisingly light in its heartiness.

We take our second break at this point, and are greeted on the patio with a small fire and glasses of warm, mulled wine. This year may be the chilliest Panarda I’ve been to, even though the temperature is still in the mid- to high-40s. While I wouldn’t say we needed coats, the warm mulled wine keeps it that way.

We return from our break warmed with wine and heartened to be more than halfway through the meal, though the tough part looms: the pasta courses. They are upon us quickly, beginning with one of the restaurant’s specialties, maccheroni alla mugnaia with aglio, olio, and peperoncino. The pasta is a single-strand that can reach up to six feet long, and is wonderfully al dente. It seems if I’ve learned anything from Le Virtù, it’s that I want my pasta to be toothsome.

The other pastas include sagne e ceci, a rhomboid, flat pasta in tomato sauce with chickpeas, anellini with pistachio pesto, and orecchiette with spicy sausage and rabe. While they are all excellent, a grab a few more rings of the anellini before they’re gone, even though I know there is more pasta, and it’s the pasta last year that almost pushed me over the edge. I stay strong.

And then: more pasta. First, Chef Menapace joins us in the dining room to show off the full timballo alla pescolana, which we had a version of last year and we are all looking forward to. In addition to the timballo, we have tagliatelle with boar ragu and chitarra with lamb ragu. In hindsight, with the lack of large portions of meat this year, it almost seems like they are doubling up the meat and pasta dishes. This is fine with me, and my stomach.

Following the pasta is another break, and then lighter fare in the form of fish. A whole porgy with acqua pazza (the broth used to poach it), which we peel back the skin and dig in to. There is also a dish of meaty monkfish with potatoes and olives. Potatoes aren’t particularly appreciated at this point, but the saltiness of the olives help with the heaviness. Finally, as more of a side dish, are long hots – however, the one I take a bite of is more hot than anything. It may be the hottest long hot I’ve ever had, and the gentleman across from me agrees. We need a glass of milk – not the best idea this late in the evening – to counteract the heat.

Finally, we come to the final savory courses of the evening. The first out are a favorite from last year, the pork ribs agrodolce, which remain a favorite this year. We know the end is near, so we each take two ribs: we still have room, and the sweetness and flavor is worth the indulgence. If we were offered another plate, we would take it. Along with the ribs are roasted lamb with polenta and broccoli rabe. As good as the lamb is – and it is good – it pales in comparison to the ribs.

Before desert, we all take another break. Night has firmly set it, even though we are moving along quickly. Music plays throughout the restaurant, and every once in a while the band will come into the main dining room to play for us. Whether or not we know the words (and they’re mostly in Italian, so we don’t), after six-plus hours of drinking, everyone is singing along.

We come back in to a refreshing sorbetto, followed by some house-made digestivi. The digestif flavors include fennel, watermelon and pepper, and two others that it’s far too late to process. The watermelon was the best. We are also served a board of Abruzzese unpasturized formaggio with honey, preserves, and fruit, as well as dolci assortiti, and assorted dessert board. I am excited to see the return of cannoli, as our first Panarda had the best cannoli I’ve ever had. The board also has a favorite of RayRay’s, the olive oil dome cakes covered in chocolate.

We have a round of limoncello to finish the evening, and some of us stick around to enjoy the company, listen to more music, and chat with the owners. The meal has been wonderful, but the food is only part of it. To be able to want to spend an entire day at a restaurant, no matter how good the food is, speaks more to the company than anything else. And not only the fellow diners: Francis, Cathy, Freddie, Chef Menapace, and everyone else busting their asses to put together a massive meal and convivial atmosphere should be incredibly proud of what they are able to accomplish every year.

I used to look forward to Thanksgiving above all other meals throughout the year, but now Thanksgiving is just a training ground. It’s spending hours with people I enjoy and food I love in order to train for the same thing, only longer, bigger, and better. And you’ve got to love anything better than Thanksgiving.

Chef Menapace celebrates the end of Panarda with his crew.

Learning to Cook in Hoi An

November 21, 2019 by Ryan, posted in Asia, Vietnam

I firmly believe the best way into a culture is through its food. That, however, doesn’t always mean simply eating as much as you can (although I do that as much as possible). Cooking classes can often give you a deeper look into the people somewhere—especially those that include market visits. You’ll often learn about techniques and ingredients you otherwise would not have learned about, and get deeper insight into the food you’d otherwise only have eaten: where it comes from, who makes it, and how its made. One of the best examples of this I’ve ever experienced was the Green Bamboo Cooking School in Hoi An, Vietnam.

The class, lead by Van for an extremely reasonable $45, begins at 8:00am with a pickup at your hotel. While in the car picking up the other participants, you’ll be given a list of 50 or so dishes, and everyone in the class gets to pick one. By the time you arrive at the market, Van has a list of dishes that will be made that day and knows which ingredients to pick up. You’ll start with fresh herbs and vegetables, before going into the fish market to get any ingredients you may need there, through the meat section, and ending with the most important ingredient: the noodles (including the legendary local cao lao noodles).

Markets traversed, ingredients amassed, and knowledge imparted, you’ll next stop for a quick Vietnamese coffee to get your energy up before your marathon cooking experience. Van, with two helpers, will take you back to her house and gather you around, setting up the menu and who will cook when to make a reasonable facsimile of a meal (ie, if you picked an appetizer, you’ll be cooking near the beginning). Some of the dishes, like summer rolls, everyone gets to try their hands at. Otherwise, everyone is given their prep instructions, a selection of beer, and work gets underway.

When a dish is ready to be cooked, that person is called up to the stove and the cooking begins. After each dish is complete, it is divvied up so everyone in the class can taste it. This makes for a day tasting a lot of food, but never quite too much—though, by the time class is over, you may not need dinner that night (and you may need a nap). After class, everyone is given a cookbook of all the dishes along with a multi-use vegetable peeler perfect for papaya salad and a pair of long cooking chopsticks. I was probably more excited about getting these than I should have been.

This was easily one of the standout days of our time in Vietnam, which is impressive because looking back it seems like they were all standout days. The class, the food, and just being in a relaxed and beautiful town like Hoi An all contributed to the fun. Van is an excellent teacher, and makes sure any questions are answered and everyone leaves satisfied. It should be a must on any trip to Hoi An.

You’re A Tourist. Deal With It.

November 11, 2019 by Ryan, posted in Travel

“The difference between a tourist and a traveler is that a tourist doesn’t know where he’s been and a traveler doesn’t know where he’s going.”
Paul Theroux

This is probably the most popular quote differentiating between a tourist and a traveler, though there are many like it and myriad blog posts to back it up. Somehow, over the years, the word “tourist” has developed a negative connotation, bringing to mind bumbling middle-aged men in khaki cargo shorts and nose white with sunblock, having his kids trample some revered native plant in order to get a picture with the local attraction, and then taking the family to McDonald’s so they can eat something familiar.

The reality, though, is that while those people do exist, tourists are just like anyone else: there are some that are very thoughtful about the way they travel, and there are some that are really shitty about it. Unfortunately, in an attempt to try to distance themselves from these terrible tourists, people have started describing themselves as travelers, which is just as pretentious as people referring to themselves as “foodists” to avoid the “foodie” stigma (and yes, that’s a thing).

I understand that language has an ebb and flow over time, and the definitions or common uses of words change and shift, but currently Merriam-Webster simply defines a tourist as “a person who is traveling or visiting a place for pleasure.” So, sure, I guess you could call yourself a traveler if you’re not traveling for pleasure, but if that’s the case, why call yourself anything at all?

What’s more, anyone outside the specific community doesn’t care. Do you think someone who isn’t interested in travel cares if you refer to yourself as a tourist or a traveler? Do you care if a Star Trek fan differentiates between “trekkie” and “trekker”? Or if someone tries to explain the difference between “foodie” and “foodist”? Probably not. People inside the community, the ones who would potentially follow your travel blog or see the things you do, will know whether you’re a good tourist or a shitty tourist, regardless of what you call yourself.

When I first started traveling, Americans abroad had a bad rep, and so I would tell people I was from Canada. It wasn’t hard—my wife at the time was Canadian and I had been to Canada multiple times, so I knew what I was talking about. But then I realized, if I pride myself as being a good tourist, why shouldn’t I tell people I’m American? Americans will never get a better reputation abroad if the good ones pretend to be Canadian. So I tell people I’m American in hopes that I can help out. Don’t be ashamed to be a tourist—help improve the world’s view of them.

Everyone is traveling to experience something different, and there’s no reason to shame someone because their travel goals are different than yours. Whether you’re taking overnight buses through Peru or shuffling your kids from museum to museum in New York, whether your Instagram shows you wistfully gazing at a far-off mountain range or holding up the leaning tower of Pisa, you’re a tourist. Embrace being a tourist, but try not to be a shitty one.

8 Favo(u)rite Places to Eat in Halifax

November 7, 2019 by Ryan, posted in Canada, North America

As I’ve mentioned before, Halifax is indeed one of my favorite cities in all of North America. I don’t know if it’s the idyllic weather, the excellent waterfront, or the fact that despite continuously growing it still retains a small-town walkability, but I always love going there. And one of the thing that keeps me going back is the food—of which Halifax has plenty. The scene there is always growing, and it will keep you satisfied from early morning to, well, early morning, if you want to stay up that late. So whatever time of day you’re out and get a craving for some food, here is a list of my favorite places to give in to that craving.

Stillwell

I’ve mentioned Stillwell before in our beer roundup, but—surprise!—it also has great food. You should start, without question, with the Okonomiyaki fries: a pile of fries with kewpie mayo, okonomiyaki sauce, sriracha, nori, katsuobushi, and sesame seeds. The southern-fried chicken sandwich and General Tso’s squash, if on the menu, are also worth trying out. As is anything they list, because I’ve never had a bad dish there. 1672 Barrington Street

Studio East

I’m a sucker for Asian-inspired anything, and Studio East is no different. The quirky space has some great good and a solid drinks list, which makes it the perfect spot for a nice dinner out. Start with the fried cauliflower and brussels sprouts topped with parmesan, and then move on to the Ultimate Pork Ramen Bowl. The bowl includes braised pork belly, char siu BBQ pork, crisp pork cheeks, marinated egg, cabbage, sprouts, cilantro, and Chinese fried donut swimming in house broth. It could have used about twice as much broth as it came with, but it was still worth buying. 6021 Cunard Street

EDNA

EDNA is a top spot for brunch and should not be missed on a sunny weekend morning. They have a nice mix of standards and more inventive items, whether you’re talking about their cocktails or their food. We tried one of their specials—a steak sandwich with breakfast potatoes, but also peeped their hummus and eggs, Scotch egg, and breakfast burger, which looks incredibly good despite Canada’s ridiculous laws about cooking burgers. While we only stopped in for brunch, on the strength of that meal I would go back for dinner without question. 2053 Gottingen Street

Stubborn Goat

Stubborn Goat is another great brunch spot, and in the heart of downtown. What would make it an even better brunch spot would be if their chicken and waffles had a full-time spot on the menu; the waffles were thing and served as taco shells for the chicken, corn salsa, bacon, and chipotle cream. One of my favorite dishes put into taco form? Why would you serve anything else? But they do serve other food—and quite a bit of it. This spot should not be missed as a hangover cure, or hangover jumpstarter. 1579 Grafton Street

Pizza Corner

No food rundown of Halifax would be complete without a mention of the junction of Blowers and Grafton, known as the infamous Pizza Corner. Often crowded in the wee hours of the morning on weekends, the spot is home to—you guessed it—some cheap pizza, as well as other great drunk food like donairs at Johnny K’s and the best newfie fries in Halifax at Willy’s. Regardless of what else I do while I’m in Halifax, Willy’s is a must-stop for me: their poutine portions are robust and their gravy is perfect. Add on some turkey stuffing and you’ve got the perfect late-night (or early morning, or any time) snack. Supplement it with a donair (and, of course, donair sauce) across the street. Blowers and Grafton Streets

Bicycle Thief

Bicycle Thief is your stop for a nicer meal, as well as a meal closer to the beautiful waterfront. It will probably require a bit more forethought than the other spots on the list and you should get a reservation, but a nice night out in Halifax should include this restaurant. They’ve got quite an extensive menu, full of everything you would hope for from your general Italian playbook. Their fall-of-the-bone short rib was a standout, as were the tuna tartare, mussels, and varieties of seafood pasta. 1475 Lower Water Street

2 Doors Down

With 2 Doors Down and, right across the hall, 2 Door Down Bar + Bites, you can’t go wrong stopping in either one, since one or the other has the propensity to be crowded on a weekend night. Their starters and small plates are tops (I couldn’t resist their chili cheese fries, and the haddock tacos are knock-outs), and even their burgers are good—especially the smokehouse with gouda, bacon, bbq sauce, onion jam, and chipotle aioli. And if you ask nicely, they may even take the burger off the grill a few second before it becomes completely well done. 1533 Barrington Street

John’s Lunch

Best fish and chips (and gravy) in Halifax

Okay, so John’s Lunch isn’t necessarily in Halifax but across the harbor in Dartmouth. However, it is well worth renting a car or taking whatever transportation is available in order to get there. I’m a sucker for fish and chips, and this is the best I’ve ever had. I mean, it’s a lunch counter that’s been specializing in fish and chips for the last 50 years, so they know what they’re doing. You can get a few other items on the menu, but the fish and chips is where it’s at. You should also order a side of gravy for the fries, because trust me. Let’s just say it’s a good thing the gravy comes in a little cup, because you’re going to want to drink every last drop. 352 Pleasant Street, Dartmouth, NS

7 Places to Have a Beer in Halifax

October 11, 2019November 7, 2019 by Ryan, posted in Canada, North America

When it comes to Halifax, there are two things I know for sure: it’s one of my favorite cities to visit, and it’s got an excellent beer scene. It doesn’t hurt that the city is incredibly walkable, so tracking down a variety of beers is as easy here—and often easier—than anywhere else. Throw in mild summers and a harborfront that has everything you need for a nice day out, and you can’t go wrong with a visit (in the summer, or any time of year). There’s plenty to see and do (and eat), but for now let’s focus on the most important part: the beer.

Propeller

Propeller is the OG craft beer in Halifax, and they’re still going strong. Their pilsner is as good as it gets, their ESB is also tops, and their porter may have been the first Canadian craft beer I ever had. They have a nice brewery/tasting room close enough to the waterfront to be a pleasant walk, or they make a solid stop on your way to the waterfront. While they may not be the most impressive brewery on Halifax, they’ve been in the game for over 20 years now and are worth a stop. 2015 Gottingen Street

Good Robot

In addition to a comfortable tasting room with solid beer, Good Robot has an excellent outdoor area that hosts various events and concerts. If you don’t want to spend all of your time downtown on the water, this is a great option to get back in the neighborhoods of Halifax and hang out at a fun brewery, drink some beers, and maybe see a show or a free movie. 2736 Robie Street

2 Crows

With a bright, modern space, and plenty of outdoor seating near downtown, you can’t go wrong at 2 Crows. The beers tend towards IPA but are varied enough that your palette won’t be overloaded by hops. The tasting pours are generous, as well, so you’ll be able to spend plenty of time getting acquainted with the offerings on tap. These guys can also easily be found around town either on tap or in cans, but it’s always better right from the source. 1932 Brunswick Street

Stillwell

Hands down the best beer bar in Halifax—Stillwell knows what it’s doing. Their taplist always features local breweries, and sometimes even some of their own beer. If you don’t want to run all over the city but want to experience a cross-section of the best beer Halifax has to offer, this should be your main stop. They also have a fantastic bottle list which includes a lot of hard-to-find beer that you probably won’t be able to get anywhere else in the city. Be sure to be hungry when you go, because the food here is excellent as well. 1672 Barrington Street

Unfiltered

While Unfiltered is probably the least-accessible from downtown on this list, it’s probably also the best brewery in Halifax. The name should be an indication of the kinds of beers they serve—they love hop-bomb IPAs—but is also a nod to the brewery’s general attitude, as evidenced by their website URL (unfuckingfiltered.com). Don’t expect much grandeur from their stripmall location, but expect to drink a lot of excellent beer. 6041 North Street

Garrison

(You probably won’t run into all these awesome dogs while you’re there)

As a general rule of visiting Canada, I wouldn’t usually recommend drinking Garrison, but their seaport location is big and open and wonderful on a nice summer’s day, and the selection is varied enough to keep everyone happy. I didn’t have any complains with the beer while we were there, which were all tasty and affordable. A great spot to meet friends or spend a lazy afternoon having some drinks. And plenty of bottles and cans to go, if you so choose. 1149 Marginal Road

Alexander Keith’s

Until recently, Keith’s (pronounced by the locals as “Keit’s”) has been a one-beer go-to for maritimers: their IPA (which can barely be classified as such) is the only beer that would come to mind if you said “I’ll have a Keit’s.” Now, however, they’ve started to dip their toes in the craft beer market with some impressive offerings. The brewery, conveniently located in the middle of downtown, is a must to tour, and you might as well grab the original IPA despite the ominous tagline of “those who like it, like it a lot.” 1496 Lower Water Street

Bonus: Stubborn Goat Beer Garden

You’re not going to find any crazy original beers here, but being right on the water makes this place worth visiting if you’re in town during the warmer months. Grab a beer, sit in the shade, and enjoy the people watching and the breeze off the harbor. They have some lighter fare to snack on and are close to plenty of other spots to grab food if you want to make a day of it. 1599 Lower Water Street

Bonus 2: Bishop’s Cellar

Need to take some beer home with you? Bishop’s Cellar is the spot. Located—you guessed it—right by the water, you’ll be able to find all the local beer you can handle in bottles and cans. If you have the means to take beer with you when you leave Halifax, this is the place to get it. 1477 Lower Water Street

If you drink too much, there’s plenty of green space by the waterfront…

Le Tour Detour

September 20, 2019September 20, 2019 by Ryan, posted in Europe, France

We all woke up early, around 6am, and packed everything we’d need: the meat, cheese, bread, and snacks we’d bought the night before, as well as a selection of beer we’d carried with us from Belgium. The day, Thursday, July 25, was the highlight of our Tour de France trip: the mountain stage. We’d get to the highlight of the stage, the Col du Galibier, early enough to make our way up and stake out a prime viewing spot where we’d wait for the whole to-do of the Tour to go by. It was only a 30-minute drive from our AirBNB.

The Galibier and surrounding area from our spot.

We had to park about a kilometer away from the start of the mountain, but we eventually made it to a great spot where we could see any oncoming action for quite a while—we were there to get our money’s worth. On our way up, we switched on and off who carried our cooler full of goodies and stopped occasionally to rest and to cheer on the hordes of amateur cyclists trying to conquer the Galibier. It looked like some of them really needed the extra motivation.

We set up our camp around 8:30 or 9am and began our long wait in the sun. The Tour de France caravan wouldn’t arrive until about 2pm, and the riders themselves between 4-4:30pm.

Le Tour

The team buses coming through amazed me at what good drivers these guys were—I would later find out that I’d never be able to take a bus around some of these mountain passes. The caravan was the same thing: it would have terrified me to drive those huge, unwieldy parade floats around some of the curves on the mountain. But it did give us our last chance to pick up some cheap souvenirs and trinkets and get us excited for the cyclists that would be coming through shortly.

The television helicopter in front of us

Eventually, we heard the television helicopters in the distance and got ready. We had gone for a walk earlier and saw we were very close to the sign that signified 25km to the finish line, so keeping track of where they were on the Tour de France app got us even more excited as we counted down—40km, then 35, then 30. A helicopter appeared, and we could see the breakaway group on the winding road beneath us. We watched it snake its way through the crowd-lined road, and as the four or five riders were on the portion of road right below us, we saw Nairo Quintana put on a burst of speed and leave the others behind. We got into position to wait for the leaders to round a bend.

A poorly-zoomed picture of the breakaway, right before Nairo makes his move

I always thought I would take the opportunity to be one of those guys who ran beside the riders, but Nairo positively flew by us, followed by Romain Bardet and the rest of the leaders. We cheered them on, and chatted excitedly while waiting for the peloton. Once the main group was by us, we waited for the grupetto, or the back end of the race. A car coming up announced that the group behind him contained fan favorite Peter Sagan, and we all cheered him on as he went by. As someone who cycles (poorly), it still amazed me how fast even the stragglers were going up this mountain.

Rain

As the final riders were going by, the sky began to darken. We put on our rain gear, and there was a light sprinkling rain for part of our descent back to the car. Nothing too bad, but we could see some intermittent lightning back in the direction of our AirBNB. Taking different routes down, we all met up back at the rental car, where we pulled out and got in line to head back home.

The line of cars barely moved, but it did move. Every once in a while, an emergency vehicle flew by in the opposite lane, and we figured there had been some fender-benders in the rain and rush to get home. We made it back to La Grave, a small town about halfway between Les Deux Alpes, where we were staying, and the Col du Galibier when we noticed the line of cars only seemed to be moving when a car came back our way. Then we noticed cars in our line starting to turn around. Uh oh.

Campers at the Galibier. They were probably fine.

We turned around and pulled into the first open parking lot we saw and headed into a hostel/restaurant called Gite Le Rocher in order to sit down, use the WiFi, and get some food. They had a prix fixe menu of vegetable soup, goat, and a dessert, but at this point I was getting too nervous to take pictures of my food (a first). We were originally told by the hippie-looking woman in charge that the roads would be closed for about three hours due to a landslide caused by the rain. When Beth had her husband back home get online and check (the WiFi turned out to be bunk in the restaurant), he found that the roads being closed for three DAYS was a generous assumption.

We realized, now nearing 9pm, we would have no other option but to take a detour back to our AirBNB. It was starting to get dark, we were all tired from an entire day spent sitting in the sun and drinking, and I was the only one on the car’s insurance, so it would be up to me to take the four-hour detour over the Galibier, over the Col du Glandon, and back to Les Deux Alpes. Did I mention I’m afraid of heights? We got ourselves psyched up and walked back to the car, where we realized the building we had parked by had become a temporary shelter for people who had cycled from the area of Les Deux Alpes to the stage and couldn’t get back. It was a huge inconvenience for us, but at least we had the means to drive over the mountains in the dark—these people were completely stranded.

King of the Mountain

We threw on some podcasts—I wanted something my brain would have to pay attention to, rather than zoning out to music—and headed back the way we’d come. The line of cars at the base of the Col du Galibier was long and slow-moving, and by this point it was pure nighttime. We eventually made it to the base of the mountain, and my nerves kicked in. If I’d had my own car, which is smaller and something I’m more familiar with, I would have been a lot more relaxed, but I was convinced the SUV we had was going to roll off the edge of the mountain any minute as we climbed higher and higher.

I didn’t care about the people behind me who probably wanted to drive faster, and I only moved from the center of the lane when there was oncoming traffic (and once almost not quickly enough, as we were almost hit head-on by someone coming around a sharp bend). Beth and Kelly, both manning phones for directions, kept me braced on when a particularly sharp bend was coming up and what I had to expect, while Ray fell asleep in the back seat—after he made sure to point out how steep one of the climbs we were coming up to was.

Luckily, the Galibier has a tunnel cut through about three quarters of the way up, so we were able to skip going over the peak of the mountain. This, and the fact that it was so dark we couldn’t see the drop-offs next to us, are probably the only things that kept me from a full-on nervous breakdown on the ride. After the tunnel was a downhill portion leading into the town of Valloire, which gave us an up-close view of the Tour route that we wouldn’t have otherwise received. I could have done without it.

When we explored more of the Galibier, I didn’t realize I would eventually be driving these roads

Whenever there was room, I moved over and let all the antsy drivers behind us pass me, but if we were going up or downhill, I didn’t care how mad they got, I wasn’t getting close to the edges. If one of you was behind me, sorry not sorry.

After two climbs and two descents, we were back on the highway for a portion, and then once again ascending to Les Deux Alpes. We rolled into the area of our AirBNB and found the last parking spot around 2:30 in the morning, almost immediately before a car behind us pulled in, no doubt in the same situation.

If the buses could do it, I could do it.

It took a while to get to sleep, because my adrenaline was going full blast and my nerves were on edge. On our way back to La Grave, sitting in traffic, I had nodded off once or twice due to being so exhausted, but on the haul back I’m not sure I closed my eyes once—I knew it was up to me to get everyone home safe, and I knew I had to stay awake and stay calm. As much as I wanted to panic (and, at some points, full on cry), panic wasn’t an option. We got back into our room, cracked a beer, and calmed down. What had been a memorable day of watching the Tour de France became one of those unforgettable days of a trip where things go just wrong enough to make it exciting, but not so wrong as to ruin everything. Had we ridden bikes from our room to the Galibier, I may be singing a different tune, but as it stood we had the ability to get back safely. And the day went a long way to reinforce one of my favorite sayings: it’s always an adventure.

Beth and I, before the dread of driving sets in, but not before the sunburn does.

Cycling the Cabot Trail

September 18, 2019September 20, 2019 by Ryan, posted in Canada, North America

The Cabot Trail, as I have made no secret of saying, is one of my favorite places in the world. Between the friendly people, the great food, and the stunning scenery, the 300km (186mi) road around the top of Cape Breton Island in Nova Scotia cannot be beat. The Trail (and the area around it) boasts over 200km (125mi) of hiking trails, as well as a plethora of activities, scenic overlooks, and fresh local food. The Trail can conceivably be driven in a single day, but even in a car 2-3 days minimum should be required.

The accessibility of the Cabot Trail, the fact that the entire thing is paved, and the abundance of food and shops along the way all contribute to this being a great first-time bikepacking adventure—that I love the area so much also didn’t hurt. It truly is a beginner’s bikepacking trip, but that is exactly what we wanted. You’re never too far away from civilization, and someone on Cape Breton Island is always willing to help you out if you need it.

Despite the ease of use of the trail, we did do quite a bit of planning and preparation (as anyone should). Hopefully some of our preparation ideas can help you out as well.

Gear

We had a lot of gear to bring, despite trying to pack as lightly as possible. To accomplish this, I had a large Ortleib 16.5L seat-pack saddle bag, a Revelate handlebar harness (changed from the Ortleib handlebar pack, which was too wide for my handlebars but also not round enough for my sleeping bag), and a Topeak Tribag frame bag. Kaitie used a Revelate Terrapin 14L saddle bag and a system of Revelate washboard straps to hold thing together, and we both had custom-made frame bags (my mom is a seamstress).

Inside these bags was everything we would need for five days (minus food): a Big Agnes Fly Creek Ultralight 2-person tent, a Big Agnes Lulu 15 sleeping bag for Kaitie and a Big Agnes Encamptment 15 for myself, two Sea To Summit Aeros Ultralight pillows, a Klymit insulated Static V all season sleeping pad for myself, and one for Kaitie. My sleeping bag was strapped to my handlebars in a Sea To Summit eVent 14L compression sack, and Kaitie kept the tent and her sleeping pad strapped to her handlebars in a Sea To Summit 13L Evac Dry Sack.

In addition to all of this, we had a pair of clothes to sleep in, a pair of “town clothes” if we needed, raincoats, a first aid travel kit, a pair of Toms for myself, and extra bike gear (mini tire pump, a multitool, and spare tubes). It was a lot of gear to amass (especially the bike-specific stuff), but REI was a great help between their online Outlet sales, coupons, and garage sales. If you are able to take your time in collecting the necessary gear, you will be able to find plenty of deals.

Training

We knew there would be plenty of climbing on this trip—three significant mountains and a total of over 4,600m (13,800ft) of climbing. This isn’t extreme for a lot of cyclists, but as relative beginners who live in a pancake-flat city like Philadelphia, there aren’t many hills to train on. Luckily, we found a few and made it our job to tackle them each weekend for weeks leading up to the trip. We also embraced some flatter rides for longer mileage to get used to being in the saddle for hours.

Route Planning

The first major decision to make when traveling the Cabot Trail is clockwise or counterclockwise. Counterclockwise will put you on the cliff’s edge of the island for most of the way around, and is said to be much better visually. However, we’d also heard there would be strong headwinds on the back end of the trip if we went counterclockwise. Between that and being afraid of heights and not wanting to be on the edge of anything, I pushed for clockwise.

We made up a map and a list of potential stops and hikes for each day

After choosing a starting point and a direction, things get much easier: there are a limited number of places to stay, and we wanted to make sure we didn’t have too much mileage in one day (and that we only tackled one mountain per day). Our original plan looked like this:

Day 1: Margaree Forks to Pleasant Bay (79km; 1,041m of climbing)
Day 2: Pleasant Bay to Meat Cove (58km; 1,040m of climbing)
Day 3: Meat Cove to Ingonish (71km; 985m of climbing)
Day 4: Ingonish to Baddeck (104km; 1,190m of climbing)
Day 5: Baddeck to Margaree Forks (43km; 405m of climbing)

While we could have made day four a little shorter, there isn’t a whole lot going on between Ingonish and Baddeck, and I also wanted to have at least one 100+km day, because why not? And I’ll get more into it in my full recap, but due to weather we had to cut out day two altogether and change day three to Pleasant Bay to Ingonish Beach, which turned out to be 71km with 1,153m of climbing.

Lodging

Knowing we’d be out and about and getting gross on the trail, I wanted a nice split of camping and inside lodging. Our home base on night zero was Live Life In Tents in Margaree Forks, where we camped the night before we took off, and then we splurged on the Mountain View Motel & Cottages in Pleasant Bay, mostly because there weren’t really any camping options near the town. This got us a shower after our first day of cycling, as well as let us do some sink laundry to put off our stuff getting gross for an extra day. As it turns out, we had to extend our stay for a day since our proposed day two was nothing but rain—luckily, the Meat Cove Campground we had planned on staying at was first-come first-served, so we hadn’t put down a deposit or paid in advance.

Day three was back outside at the Ingonish Beach campground, which was a great little spot with all the amenities you could possibly want at a campground. Night four was Baddeck Cabot Trail Campground, but we splurged on a glamping cabin (which had no electricity or water), just for the bed. This gave us at least three days needing our camping gear (minus the tent), so we didn’t feel like we’d brought it in vain. If you wanted to cycle the trail, though, without bringing a ton of shit, you could very easily stay at a motel, cottage, or bed and breakfast every night.

Food

Another thing we didn’t want to do was haul around a week’s worth of food, especially at the beginning of our trip. We brought along a few of our favorite Clif bars and some Nuun Endurance drink mix, but other than that we relied on the towns and shops along the way to stay fed—which worked out well, as a surprising amount were well stocked with energy bars and Gatorade (something we’d been warned would absolutely not be the case).

Stopping at restaurants and shops to get food also gave us an excuse to spend more time off our bikes, which was a welcome break every once in a while. Especially at nice little coffee shops like the Frog Pond Café in Cheticamp, Danena’s Bakery & Bistro in Dingwall, or the Wreck Cove General Store (which had surprisingly good coffee). Other great stops included the Dancing Goat in Margaree, which has awesome sandwiches for breakfast and lunch; the Clucking Hen Café & Bakery in Englishtown (which also had great lunch sandwiches); Andrew’s Pizzeria in Ingonish (where we devoured two large pizzas after our second day of cycling); and my personal favorite on the entire island, the Rusty Anchor in Pleasant Bay. Get the lobster roll.

I wish we could do it all again. Not because I would do anything differently, but because it was such a great trip. Being able to see the Cabot Trail from a different perspective, and with a lot more time to process it all, was a great experience. Being on the bike for a week, being able to leave it outside while we went into a restaurant and not worry about it being stolen, just spending a week with Kaitie—it all made for a perfect adventure. And a perfect beginner’s adventure for anyone thinking about giving it a try. The Cabot Trail should be a must-visit anyway, but to do it on a bike is a special treat that I never thought I would be able to accomplish.

Almost through Day 1, before attacking French Mountain

I would be remiss without thanking my former travel partner LeeAnne for not only providing tips for the trail and where to stop or eat, but also driving it two weeks before we arrived to do some recon (and finding out about some construction on one of the mountains that might be a bit hairy for us). I also used the official live Nova Scotia construction map to keep an eye on things. Cycle Nova Scotia is also an excellent resource.