Shermos Blog on RealTravel

Piest'any journal: Naked and Muddy at the Slovak Spa

Sun, 19 Oct 2008 14:06:47 GMT

(Editor's note: The writing of this blog recommences nine months after my trip due to an inordinate amount of work immediately following my return. Part of that work involved editing a spa directory. It is only fitting that I now pick up the story where it left off: at a Slovak spa.—JS)

I didn't coach surly teens in the craft of writing during my entire stay in Bratislava. In fact, my aunt had a few days off of school and decided it would be great fun to head to Piest'any, one of Slovakia's premiere spa and mineral spring destinations. My head cold was finally abating, so we reserved a ...

Bratislava journal: Jenny Suspects She Is a Bad Teacher

Sat, 15 Mar 2008 10:33:17 GMT

One would think that, after an evening spent in a nightclub abusing my lungs and ignoring my body's dire need for rest and warmth, I would suffer The Consequences, that I would collapse with pneumonia, would start coughing up blood. It sure felt as though that was what I was in for.

But no. I woke up the next morning feeling spry. Feeling clearheaded and cogent. How is it possible that I felt better? My lungs were slowly filling with goop, but my color and my spirits were high. I chalked it up to a combination of the techno mist and pure pugnacity.

If I was to have pneumonia, I was ...

Berlin journal: ...But Berlin Proves I Do Have Spunk

Sun, 02 Mar 2008 18:55:24 GMT

After soaking in bubble baths and lounging half-naked in our downy beds feeding each other chocolate and figs under wafting palm fronds wielded by eunuchs, we finally resolved to leave the soft enclaves of our room at the Hotel Adlon. Truth be told, Ingrid didn't feed me squat, though I'm pretty sure she would have if I'd asked her nicely. She's cool like that. And there probably weren't any eunuchs.

Ingrid did, however, indulge my hunger for traipsing through Berlin's streets in the thin winter air. We happened upon Checkpoint Charlie, which has a great street-side exhibit with the ...

Berlin journal: Berlin Proves That I Do Not Have Class

Tue, 19 Feb 2008 00:21:04 GMT

I've taken overnight trains through Europe before. Well, only traversing Italy. My first, from Rome to Venice, was terrible. I went in a berth, and was subsequently waked by the conductor every hour or so. We arrived in Venice at 6 a.m. In March. It was freezing. None of the shops or cafes were open yet. I was cranky, and that probably colored my perception of Venice as stinky, frigid, and no fun.

My overnight trains to and from Sicily were much, much better. Not only did I get the sleeping berth, but my berth mates chatted me up and fed me, gave me some vino, bought me breakfast, and ...

Berlin journal: Do Hotels Go up to Eighteen Stars?

Tue, 19 Feb 2008 00:14:46 GMT

Holy....um, luxury? I've never stayed anywhere nicer and never felt so under-dressed walking through a lobby.

Salzburg journal: Salzburg and Berchtesgaden are Good for a Stroll

Mon, 28 Jan 2008 14:39:30 GMT

Those who know me well enough know that I've always had a fitful relationship with Time. Ah, Time. Some days I think I have a handle on you, understand your transient ways, know exactly how quickly you move. Other days you baffle me with your ponderous ticking of seconds, your cumbrous passing like the tread of giants. Capricious and fickle, sullen and lugubrious, I just can't make you happy.

Is this why you mock me so? I mean, do you have to be such a jerk? Here we are, arrived at this adorable little hotel right on the pedestrian strip headed into the heart of old Salzburg. We're ...

Salzburg journal: Don't Bother Bringing a Clock

Mon, 28 Jan 2008 14:37:38 GMT

The oh-so-quaint church right next door offers a perfectly efficient alarm clock...unless, of course, having a church bell bong every 15 minutes from 7 a.m. on isn't enough to get you out of bed.

Munich journal: Perfunctorially perfect

Sun, 20 Jan 2008 11:20:39 GMT

Very helpful staff and clean, though spare, little rooms. Goosedown comforters make all the difference in the world.

Munich journal: Who Needs a Travel Plan?

Sun, 20 Jan 2008 11:20:38 GMT

For the past year or so, Ingrid and I have tossed around the idea of taking a trip together. The idea of testing our friendship via the stressors of international flight, unusual food, and translation difficulties seemed appealing.

Plus, Ingrid minored in German in college. She had never been to Germany. I had never been to Germany. I saw the opportunity to have a cultural attaché at my side, translating exchanges with the locals ("She says the special this evening is poached bass with caper and dill sauce"; "Those rougish men just complimented your backside") and providing useful ...

Munich journal: Munchin' in München

Sun, 20 Jan 2008 11:20:12 GMT

There is no getting around it: I will be eating meat on this trip. I know, I know...my frizzy hair and joie de vivre smack of a card-carrying member of PETA, but I have been known to gnaw a beefstick in my day. Sure, I prefer leafy greens to an inch-thick sirloin, but I also know how to skin a deer. Germany is the perfect place to embrace my inner meatyness.

And so I do, starting with dinner our first night in München (which goes by Munich on English maps). We got a recommendation for a great local bierstube frequented by lots of locals--a much better option, we were told, than the ...

Dachau journal: I Did Not Take Pictures of Dachau

Sun, 20 Jan 2008 11:16:23 GMT

You're reading more of my travel blog! This despite the title hinting at the lack of visual elements to accompany my stories. Good for you. You are helping to promulgate the sanctity of the written word.

I actually intended to insert glorious photos of city and country. I brought my digital camera and whipped it out when we arrived at the Dachau concentration camp memorial and walked through the gate over which was written the infamous phrase, "Work will set you free." Going to the memorial was important to me on this trip; I wanted photos of the site. Austere. Moving. Bleak. They would ...

Europe journal: Bavaria and Bratislava...in January

Sun, 20 Jan 2008 09:44:40 GMT

Because January isn´t cold enough in New York; because I enjoy seeing the dollar wilt beside the all-powerful Euro; because former Soviet Bloc countries hold some sort of mysterious allure for me; because I was offered a free place to stay in Bratislava; because I was determined to escort my pal Ingrid to Germany to put her college minor to some good use. These and more are the reasons I´ve made the trek once again to Europe.

Part One: A tour through Bavaria, with plenty of Alpine scenery, schnitzel, and more biergartens than you can shake a walking stick at. Part Two: A journey to ...

Ely journal: LAST DAY—Heritage Lake to civilization

Thu, 01 Nov 2007 22:32:00 GMT

I do one more portage carrying the canoe 60 rods on our way out of the wilderness today. We paddle hard, against the current and the wind, motivated by a powerful goal: beer. Every stroke is like pulling the boat through molasses, but gets us that much closer to a frothy mug of stout. I am also paddling hard for a burger, maybe with cheese and pickles and a side of fries. Pat and I don’t speak much, save to point out the white-tailed deer that we spook as we come around a bend of the marsh. She can’t smell us—we are downwind—so she quivers and flicks her tail a bit and finally bounds off ...

Boundary Waters Canoe Area journal: Day 7—Hustler Lake to Heritage Lake

Thu, 01 Nov 2007 22:18:55 GMT

We tackle our second-longest portage straight away in the morning, to Lynx Lake. I am feeling spry, so I run back to the landing spot to pick up the extra bag. A nice run. There are some cool pine barrens at the end where a beaver (pesky beavers) had dammed up a stream and flooded a low marsh. The stream pours over a flat rock that the path crosses. Swallowtail butterflies fly in the clearings.

As soon as we launch, a thundershower rolls in overhead. We pull into shore, don rain gear, and head to the nearest campsite to build a fire and make lunch. A hot meal definitely helps; the day is ...

Boundary Waters Canoe Area journal: DAY 6—Oyster Lake to Hustler Lake

Thu, 01 Nov 2007 22:16:04 GMT

Overnight, a dense fog settled over the lake. Pity I didn’t see it, but the moss under my side of the tent is cushy and I sleep late. The clunking of paddle against canoe wakes me up; I climb out of my tent in time to see the guys pulling the canoe back on shore (they had been trying for more trout) and the fog pulling back across the lake, burning off under a steady morning sun.

The hardest portage of the entire trip is the first one of the day. Pat and George carry the canoes the entire 310 rods with a couple of pit stops along the way. There are swampy bits and inclines that make the ...

Boundary Waters Canoe Area journal: DAY 5—Ge-be-on-e-quet Lake to Oyster Lake

Thu, 01 Nov 2007 22:00:58 GMT

Five days out here, and still no stars. Every night it’s been overcast or drizzling; I’ve not even seen the moon peek out. On rainy evenings, we inhale our food and then huddle under the tarp playing cards. Jim taught us a game called Up and Down the River, at which I suck. They’re beating the pants off me, and I have no hope of winning the last Butterfinger candy bars that we’ve wagered to the winner.

We brought, between the five of us, almost three liters of hooch—each liter a different variety of whiskey starting with the letter J. It glowed amber in our three transparent plastic ...

Boundary Waters Canoe Area journal: DAY 4—Ge-be-on-e-quet Lake

Thu, 01 Nov 2007 21:55:09 GMT

Despite a windy, cloudy morning, we manage a solid round of fishing today. Pat paddles along the shore as I cast as close as possible to the dead trees that have fallen into the water. The fish like to hide there. Sometimes my lure gets snagged on the branches; we just nudge the canoe closer until I can yank it free. I have almost a dozen smallmouth bass hit my bait. A little tug, and you hold your breath and go still. Then a tug-tug—jerk, and you snap your rod back to set the hook. Most of my fish fall off, as I am still getting the feel for it, but I do catch a good-sized bass for supper. ...

Boundary Waters Canoe Area journal: DAY 3—Little Beartrack Lake to Ge-be-on-e-quet Lake

Thu, 01 Nov 2007 21:54:38 GMT

Today’s brisk, clear morning makes up for the slate-grey skies and frigid downpour of last night. Had the weather been warmer, I might have tried for a swim—the rock on which we camped has a perfect spot to jump from and a nook where you can sit and sun yourself. It’s still cold, though, and I am happy enough to load the canoes and paddle leisurely in the sun to the next portage.

The first, to Pocket Lake, is just beautiful, with a gentle path curving alongside a set of rapids and through a sun-dappled glade. I find myself alone at one point, breathing in deeply the way one does when one ...

Boundary Waters Canoe Area journal: DAY 2—Little Loon Lake to Finger Lake

Thu, 01 Nov 2007 21:53:56 GMT

I missed the moose, which appeared early our first morning out on the lakes, wading along the shore with her calf. I recall hearing grunting in my sleep; I thought it was one of the guys snoring. Jim woke up, popped his head out of his tent, and watched her snort at our camp and swing wide to find a better landing place farther down the lakefront.

There would be no more moose encounters during our trip, though there are plenty of moose turds. The pellets are about the size and color of Cadbury Creme Eggs—which I will likely never be able to eat again. We find them in great heaps all over ...

Ely journal: DAY 1—Entry point 14: Echo Trail, Little Indian Sioux River

Thu, 01 Nov 2007 21:53:06 GMT

We meet up with the rest of our crew the next afternoon: George and Jim, two of Pat’s buddies from his broomball team, and Malia, Jim’s girlfriend. They have already tied our two canoes down onto the tops of the truck and the little hatchback we’d be driving up to Ely, Minnesota, the town from which we’d be entering the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness. We load the backpacks. We twang the tie-down ropes to make sure they are tight. We discuss how we’ll cook the fish we will catch. Then we are off for an overnight in a quaint (read: cheap) motel before heading to the entry point.

In ...

Saint Paul journal: New York Lacks Gear

Thu, 01 Nov 2007 21:52:30 GMT

It is difficult to prepare for a backwoods expedition while in New York City. The hardware store on my corner doesn’t carry mosquito netting. Maybe they do, but I don’t know how to say mosquito netting in Spanish. The sporting goods stores I know of downtown sell things like $450 hockey skates and specialty lacrosse sticks. I dallied, knowing full well that there were some basics I would need to purchase: hiking boots, a sleeping bag, long johns. Perhaps a compass?

I emailed my brother, Pat, for guidance.

“Go online and see what the outfitters say you should bring,” he said.

United States journal: Minnesota's Boundary Waters

Thu, 01 Nov 2007 20:32:45 GMT

It’s something of a sacrilege to have been reared in Minnesota, raised on its sandbars and woody bluffs, and yet never have visited the Boundary Waters—that intractable tract of woodsy wilderness bristling 150 miles along the state’s Canadian border. Thousands of lakes, piney bogs, glacial streams, and thick, mossy forests make up its nearly 1.3 million acres. Most of this reserve, first set aside in 1926, is off-limits to motorized vehicles, and only traversable with a sturdy canoe and a sturdier pair of legs.

We Minnesotans pride ourselves on our sturdiness. To prove it, the most ...

Milan journal: Far From the Madding Milanese Crowd

Thu, 21 Dec 2006 11:12:30 GMT

There are a few different ways one can travel from one end of Italy to another. I chose to take the overnight train once again, mostly because I love trains, but also because they load the train from Sicily onto a huge ferry and float it across the strait to the mainland. The cool factor was too high; I got my ticket in Siracusa, wailed a bit at leaving such a gorgeous place, and boarded.

For the first hour or so I was alone in my little berth. A suave-looking ticket agent with long, thin fingers punched my ticket and moved on, but no one else bothered me for a while. When we hit ...

Comiso journal: Kitchen Help

Sun, 17 Dec 2006 03:43:41 GMT

Sicilia is not full of shady mafiosi. It is not derelict and populated by shifty, mistrustful locals. Folks here do, however, talk in a funny nasal way, and most lapse into Sicilian (a dialect of Italian that I cannot for the life of me understand) regularly, especially when they want to talk about you right in front of you.

That's what I spent the last week at my final farm dealing with. Oh, to be sure, it was not meant in spite. The fat, sarcastic ladies in the kitchen at the agritourismo just couldn't figure me out. They were rather standoffish when I first arrived; after all, I was ...

Mt. Etna journal: Jenn vs. the Volcano...the Volcano Won

Fri, 15 Dec 2006 10:18:34 GMT

There are scant few natural phenomenon that register on the mind of a Midwestern girl who grew up amid forested bluffs and Mississippi backwaters roiled only by the occasional tornado (and not often then, 'cuz daddy swore twisters never dropped into the valleys and couldn't jump the river). Hurricanes, earthquakes, and mudslides were merely newsflashes on Channel 5, and happened Elsewhere. Secretly, I thought a great rocking and shimmying of the earth would make for great fun.

Of course, when I actually experienced my first earthquake (only aftershocks, really, felt in Atlanta this fall ...

Citta della Pieve journal: Harvesting Olives in Umbria

Tue, 14 Nov 2006 11:39:42 GMT

After gorging on Italian delicacies for days on end and getting in a few rows on the Po River, I departed Turin for my next farm: Cimbolello, a small agriturismo just on the border of Umbria/Tuscany near the clifftop hamlet of Città della Pieve. I was ready to get back to a farm. There is, after all, only so much truffle paste and fennel sausage one can eat.

Città della Pieve is quaint. It has the tiny cobblestone alleys and flowered window ledges one expects of small medieval Italian towns. Little bow-legged grannies hobble from the church in the early evenings, while thin youths slouch ...

Torino journal: A Row on the Po

Tue, 14 Nov 2006 10:08:22 GMT

When in Turin, can you row? Why yes, said Bette, here you can row. Yes, oh yes...right on the Po! Your experience, though, I'd like to know. Can you row a boat of four?

I can row that boat and more. I can row a boat of two. Is this something I can do Here on the Po? Go for a row? In a boat of two or more? I've coached, I've taught, I've rowed six years. If I can't row, I'll be in tears.

Can you arrive at six o'clock? I've got a spot, at six o'clock.

I can come at six, indeed! Starboard, port...what do you need? Coxswain, stroke, I'll even bow. Tell me, tell ...

Zola Predosa journal: Chickens Will Eat Anything

Sat, 28 Oct 2006 13:02:46 GMT

Say you have some bread crusts that are too hard even to sop up olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Perhaps you also have vegetable peels and some day-old pasta. Dandelion leaves, wormy chestnuts, and even rotten eggplant...what to do?

Feed it to the chickens. Yes, it is true: Chickens will eat anything. Even, I suspect, other chickens, as one of the hens in the coop looks so henpecked as to warrant fears of cannibalism. Blake, the other WWOOFer who was here at Ca' del Buco for a week before I arrived, showed me the ropes as far as caring for the animals. Coco the sheep gets an armload of ...

Torino journal: Jenny Will Eat Anything

Sat, 28 Oct 2006 13:01:01 GMT

I have eaten Turkish grub and tasted at least seven types of honey; sampled musky and aromatic balsamic vinegars aged for half my lifetime in cherrywood casks; noshed on a simple but satisfying salami sandwich, the meat spackled with clots of white fat and peppercorns and flecks of fennel seed. I sipped wine while devouring a creamy risotto served from a hollowed-out wheel of Parmigiano-Reggiano. I watched two Senegalese ladies, a bit bashful of the hovering photographers, prepare a traditional meal of baked chicken and fonio grains...and then I ate it. Cheeses and olive oils, cured meats and ...

Bologna journal: From a fat hand to the Fat City

Tue, 17 Oct 2006 06:57:48 GMT

As the epicenter of all things good to eat in Italy, Bologna has earned a reputation as THE city for food. Or so my guidebook says, noting it's called La Grassa (The Fat) as well as the Red City. What's not to like about a liberal city built of red brick, harboring numerous university students and plenty of tasty nosh? So off to Bologna I went for a couple of days before heading to my first farm.

I imagine autumn must be brisk and beautiful in Minnesota and New York right about now, but Bologna was downright hot...hot enough for a tank top and flip flops. I sat for a spell in a piazza ...

Como journal: Found a Farm!

Sat, 30 Sep 2006 03:06:51 GMT

It's much too early to be heartbroken, but it is true--leaving Menaggio, which I do this afternoon, is harder than I thought it could be. Every day has been better than the last, filled with hikes into quiet forests and along rushing streams, walks up cobblestone steps to castle ruins, and ferry rides down the lakefront.

The people, too, have been wonderful. Another German named Enis showed up one night at the hostel, followed by Christina, who had an amazing tale to tell of working as a deckhand on a private yacht off the Turkish Coast all summer. Joey, a photographer from Seattle, ...

Menaggio journal: Languid by the Lakes

Sat, 30 Sep 2006 02:24:02 GMT

Those who know me well will not be shocked to hear that I missed my flight the day I was supposed to leave New York. Damn traffic jam! Why does this always seem to happen to moi? No matter...the airport guy rebooked my ticket for the next day and my good pal Ingrid let me crash at her place for the night. I got one day less in Italy, but I also got a chance to eat at Soy, this marvelous Japanese home-cooking joint on the Lower East Side that I am in love with. I went to the Strand to buy a cheap book (Pride and Prejudice...I am almost done) and felt all travel-y walking around Union Square ...

Atlanta journal: Southern Comfort

Mon, 18 Sep 2006 23:27:14 GMT

Before I took off on a three-month backpacking and farming adventure, I needed a primer trip to get the travel juices flowing. More truthfully, I needed to see my pal Kerry-Ann, who's starting her second year of business school at Emory in Atlanta, as well as a place to crash. At the end of August, I stashed all my stuff in a storage warehouse in Harlem and moved out of my teeny Washington Heights apartment. Couchsurfing is easier if you don't overstay your welcome, so, after keeping the futon warm for a week at my future roommate Laura's pad, I flew south of the Mason Dixon and met up with ...