See, Live, Eat: Globetrotting with a Fork and a Conscience

SEE, LIVE, EAT

GLOBETROTTING WITH A FORK AND A CONSCIENCE

CHRIS SARCLETTI

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: 1-800-839-8640

© 2013 by Chris Sarcletti. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 01/10/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4817-0413-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-0411-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-0412-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012924392

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter 1 The Apartment (Amsterdam)

Chapter 2 Hamam (Istanbul, Turkey)

Chapter 3 Saigon No More (Vietnam)

Chapter 4 Beyond Saigon (Vietnam)

Chapter 5 The American Tour Group (Florence, Italy)

Chapter 6 The Road To Nowhere (Outback, Australia)

Chapter 7 Spicy Food In Muslim Asia (Malacca, Malaysia)

Chapter 8 Grand Wien (Vienna, Austria)

Chapter 9 Thermal Soak (Budapest, Hungary)

Chapter 10 Ciudad De Mexico (Mexico City)

Chapter 11 Coffee, Ticos, And Volcanos (Costa Rica)

Chapter 12 República Argentina

Chapter 13 Rediscovering New Orleans

Chapter 14 Clam Pizza (New Haven, Connecticut)

Chapter 15 A Walking Tour Of Toronto

Chapter 16 My Seoul Obsession (South Korea)

Chapter 17 A World Of Street Food

Chapter 18 Curling Up With A Book

Chapter 19 The Inevitable Return Home

SEE, LIVE, EAT

GLOBETROTTING WITH A FORK

AND A CONSCIENCE

So how does a lifetime of travel start? How does it end? I have pondered this question for years and it has made me wonder what has infected me with this disease, this thirst for travel that I just can’t shake.

Was it a book I read or that worldly Argentine Spanish teaching assistant that I dated in college? Maybe it had to do with working for a large international company right after college, or maybe it was that guy I sat next to at my first job who used to talk glowingly about the beauty of Europe. I don’t know what originally made me want to explore the world. I can tell you how happy I am that I began this trek and still have the ability and passion to continue my travels. I fully admit that I’m not sure what I’m searching for. However, I think we change and continue to find ourselves throughout the different stages of our life and for me, I continue to grow and discover different aspects of my personality with each new trip.

Part of travel and exploration certainly involves some aspect of food. For someone like me, that aspect is a considerably large one. Whether I am tasting smoked barbeque ribs and brisket in Texas, Kansas City or Chicago while comparing my tasting notes or finding hole in the wall joints that I yearn to return to as soon as I finish my meal, food culture is near and dear to my heart. I also love to explore unique, off-the-beaten path places whether they are restaurants, charming French towns, obscure Portuguese fishing villages or Argentine ranches. Whatever it is and wherever it is, I savor every opportunity to explore the world around me.

Not much sets me apart from anyone else except that these experiences don’t really get old or become commonplace to me. I still want to experience the long flights, treks, travel delays, dynamite meals, nights at bars, and most importantly the yearning and desire to keep doing these things again and again. My stories are not about staying at great hotels or dining at fine restaurants but they are about seeing the world. That includes eating, drinking, hiking, worshipping, and most importantly, interacting with locals. My stories are about the world and the way I see it, taste it, smell it and feel it.

I think it’s best to begin where it began for me and that is in Amsterdam, where I lived for two years and where I was forever shaped into a different person with many new found perspectives. I moved there at 26, left at 28, and accumulated what seemed to be a lifetime of experiences in between. I worked hard, partied some, and travelled a lot. This was my launching point to a whole new world.

That is why I will begin with my first story, The Apartment.

CHAPTER 1

THE APARTMENT (AMSTERDAM)

Soon after arriving in Amsterdam, I found myself driving with Martin to look at one of two apartments that were available for ex-patriots. Martin was a former colleague from Chicago who recruited me to Amsterdam to work with him on a project. Luckily, I had arrived in Amsterdam before Antony, my soon-to-be Irish friend, so I had the first choice of the two apartments. As Martin and I drove along, I really didn’t know what to expect. The size of homes and apartments in Amsterdam is generally much smaller than in the U.S. because there is simply more size in the United States. The size of the apartment didn’t really matter to me; I was just excited to get into my own place. Since these were corporate apartments, I figured they would be nice, functional, and efficient. Style and location aren’t necessarily the most important things when it comes to corporate apartments. At least this seemed to be the case in the U.S.

As Martin drove along and negotiated the small streets of the Jordaan, it dawned on me just how beautiful this area was. I saw canals, cafes, and the picturesque, crooked Dutch buildings you see in photographs and films. Buildings were close together, the streets were narrow, and moving hooks hung from the top of each building to move large pieces of furniture through windows since they would never fit through a doorway. I asked Martin if the apartment was on a canal. He responded, Yes, you’re going to love it. Trendy place for you, buddy. However, parking is not good.

At this moment, the only thing going through my mind was how lucky I was to be able to live in this beautiful area of Amsterdam for the next year. I tried to temper my excitement by convincing myself that I would settle for a dump of an apartment as long as it was in this neighborhood and on a canal.

Bloemgracht 61D! That address is permanently etched in my memory. I will never forget that layout and certainly not the location. Upon entering the apartment, the space sprawled out into an area that was much larger than anyone would assume for a studio apartment. The windows were exceptionally large, which is important given what they looked out onto. The canal I lived on, Bloemgracht, was in full view from those windows. Intersecting Amsterdam’s most famous canal, Prinsengracht, Bloemgracht is one of the most picturesque canals in Amsterdam.

Staring at the canal, I took in the atmosphere which included houseboats in addition to other wooden vessels silently cruising on a spring day. It was relaxing and refreshing. Reading a book on a bench outside my apartment overlooking the canal was tranquil and allowed me to lose myself amongst the beauty of the Jordaan. On many occasions I walked for seemingly endless hours up and down the many straats and grachts (or streets and canals) that make up the Jordaan. I would spend time peering into shops, relaxing in cafes, and just taking in the atmosphere. That is the true charm of the area: going into real boutique shops that don’t have items you can find at any popular store, finding small cafes that you could linger in for hours and discovering small rustic restaurants that look like they are out of a movie. This is Europe at its best, the Europe people imagine, the Europe described in books and movies. These are things I will never forget and that I also had a tough time leaving behind.

During my time in this apartment, I loved entertaining guests. For one thing, the apartment was definitely not lacking in style. If you saw it, you would assume an artist or writer lived there. A partition separated the bedroom and provided a bit of privacy, but the rest of the apartment was open. The frosted glass that enclosed the bathroom was just one other aspect of this unique apartment. The shower itself was very distinctive. The showerhead spouted out into a slightly receding area with nothing surrounding you. To stand in the nude with nothing around you under the water provides a somewhat unique sense of freedom when bathing. If I wasn’t careful to make sure that the water hit my body square on, it just meant that I would have more splattered water to squeegee into the drain when I was finished.

The openness of the apartment is another aspect I really enjoyed. Not only could I watch TV and listen to music while I prepared dinner on my small island kitchen, but I had enough room to dance wildly to songs like "China Girl" hoping my neighbors across the canal weren’t peering out of their windows and looking into mine. I could stare at the beauty of the canals below while smelling fresh tulips sitting on the windowsill. I could lie on the couch and gaze at the trees and dim lights in the homes on the opposite side of the canal. I knew I was lucky to have the opportunity to enjoy the splendor of this area daily. Showing my friends and family my unique apartment and the surrounding neighborhood was as much a pleasure for me as it was for my guests. I was really proud of where I lived. I could have never imagined living in such a special area and have so many wonderful memories from my time spent in Bloemgracht 61D.

Some memories that bring to mind my time there include my efforts of clearing everything out of my half-size refrigerator in preparation for a party so that I could fit around 60 beers into it. Neither will I forget my futile attempts of trying to fry Dutch beer snacks in a fryer left in the apartment by the previous tenant. Not knowing what the hell I was doing (but knowing I needed to fry up some bitterballen to really make it a party), I failed to close the top of the fryer and was therefore left with that fast-food fry smell for many days following the get-together. The location of my apartment provided me with the flexibility to dine at a host of varied restaurants with cuisines ranging from Spanish to Thai to Indonesian. Surrounded by so many wonderful restaurants and bars, I spent too many nights out dining and drinking in local establishments. Not that I am complaining. Fun times were had and I took advantage of every opportunity to enjoy the wonderful neighborhood. My many guests enjoyed this also. Whether they were sprawled out on my floor, dispersed throughout my apartment, or in my bed next to me, we enjoyed the apartment, the scenery, and the neighborhood.

To be honest, living in the Jordaan for nearly two years did make me a bit of a celebrity. I lived in an area where all of my Dutch friends, especially the ones from Amsterdam, loved to spend time. My place was always a good meeting point because in most cases we were going out in that area anyway. When it came to throwing a party or meeting up for some drinks, it always seemed that people suggested my place as the venue. While I might have had something to do with it, there is no question that Bloemgracht 61D and the charm of the Jordaan were key contributing factors to that memorable period of time.

Sultan Ahmed Mosque, Turkey

CHAPTER 2

HAMAM (ISTANBUL, TURKEY)

Living in Amsterdam afforded me the opportunity to visit many other countries located within a few hours flight. One of the first places I decided to travel to was Turkey. Two months earlier, before I arrived in Amsterdam, the farthest thing from my mind was that I would be boarding a plane in route to a Muslim country. Things change quickly and Istanbul introduced me to a world I had only previously read about.

Bathing is a part of everyday life in many parts of the world. Some people have the opportunity to take a nice soapy bath in a large tub almost every evening. In stark contrast, others may stand in the banks of a muddy river where crocodiles loom and pour buckets of water over their bare skin. Whatever the form, bathing is undoubtedly a part of every culture. For the more fortunate, bathing takes place privately in a home or apartment. However, in many other cases, bathing takes place in a more public setting, such as a river, health club gym, fountain, or a bath house.

I don’t put a lot of thought into bathing. Typically, I stand under a shower at my health club or at home for about five minutes and do a bit of a scrub down before professing to myself that I am clean. My wife sometimes questions whether I actually am. Maybe that is part of the reason why I was interested in having a different type of bathing experience when presented with the opportunity while traveling to Istanbul, Turkey.

In ancient times, before running water was plentiful in private homes, bath houses were relatively common and served as a place to go to keep clean and relax. Bath houses were common in many cultures, and to a much lesser degree, still are today. Going to the hamam used to be a family outing for many, with visits lasting several hours. While some of these venues are still frequented by locals in Istanbul today, most of Istanbul’s residents have bathrooms with showers or baths inside their own homes. As a result, many of the still operating hamams are frequented by tourists looking for an authentic bathing experience.

From the minute I started to research Istanbul in anticipation, I was determined to visit a Turkish bath. It sounded like such a unique and interesting experience that I was pretty insistent that this constitute part of one of our days in Istanbul. After doing a bit of research, Martin, my colleague from Amsterdam, and I decided to visit the Cemberlitas Hamami, a historic bath house that is thought to have been one of the structures built by the architect Sinan in 1584. We saved this experience for our last afternoon in Istanbul. As much as Martin and I thought we were ready for the experience, we really had no idea what to expect. We were like young children again, getting ready to experience something for the first time.

We walked into the Cemberlitas Hamami and immediately paid the attendant that greeted us. Exactly what we were paying for, we weren’t sure. In circumstances like these, when you don’t know anything and are full of nothing but questions, I find that the best approach is to just follow everyone else. We walked into a locker room of sorts and saw both men and women sitting in what appeared to be a waiting room. We really didn’t know what to do. After surveying the environment for a moment or two, we determined that the four or five hairy, shirtless Turkish men were the people we needed to talk to. After all, who else could it be? They were at least interacting with some of the people who seemed to be waiting for whatever was to come next. They noticed us approaching and tossed Martin and I each a towel, handed us a key, and pointed to the staircase that I assumed would take us upstairs to some rooms where we could change our clothes. We walked up the stairs and just looked around, having absolutely no idea where exactly to go. There were rooms to our left and rooms to our right, kind of like a hotel. All we knew was that we had a key to a room and it had a number on it. Eventually, we found our changing cabin. We entered, stripped down, and wrapped ourselves in our towels. We left our valuables in the cabin and were hopeful they would be there when we returned. Martin and I nervously went out in search of our new experience.

Again, we were pointed in a specific direction towards a door by one of many hairy Turkish men. I walked into a steamy room that had piles of towels stacked in a few different spots, bathing attendants engaged in various sorts of activities, and fountains with water running through them. Apparently, this was some sort of staging or waiting area because we were then led to another room. I assumed that we were now in the actual bath where things would really get going. Through a combination of some broken English and a lot of finger pointing, we were directed to lie down on a circular, heated marble platform in the middle of the room where a bunch of men were already lying. It actually looked kind of scary. We found a spot, laid down, and waited.

As I lay there, I leaned up a few times to survey the room. In addition to the hairy Turkish men who seemed to be tapping people on the shoulder (or slapping them on the feet) when they were ready for them, there were many interesting facets to the room. There were small, circular windows all over the domed ceiling above me. Through the windows shone rays of light that reminded me of the light that beams through the windows in a church. In addition, there were small faucets with running water coming out of them around the circular area where I was sitting. It seemed that there were quite a few men using these faucets to bathe parts of their bodies. It appeared that the room I was in was the primary bathing room, but there were many rooms to the left and right branching off of this room. From what I could see inside these rooms, there were several faucets and small tubs in each room. The floors of the room were broken up by a few large crevices that acted as drains. The water that had flowed over the side of the tub or off of someone’s body emptied into these crevices. There was running water everywhere. I saw people come and go from