The local side of it – Li Feruli, Sardinia, Italy

I’ve written about this stunning stretch of beach many, many times before and yesterday, for the first time in 6 months, I finally got to relive its natural beauty. Li Feruli was left off the list of top beaches in Sardinia that was circulating the social media scene and I’m grateful as I want to keep this gem all to myself.

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There was hardly a soul around (with the exception of a pair of nudist) as we made our way to ‘our‘ spot. The cool breeze mixed with the salt air and I reminded myself that I have returned to heaven.

And now, I’d like to remind you, the naked tourist. This stretch of sand is not a designated nudist beach. Personally, I have zero problem if you decide to strip down to your birthday suit but the local authorities may see differently.

If you’d like to get naked in Italy here is a wonderful link with designated nude beaches.

It’s good to be home! It’s good to set foot on Li Feruli, again and again!

What’s the first thing you do after returning from abroad?

Sardinia – the place I call home

I suppose, I should let you in on my little secret. It’s only been a secret since last Wednesday and since then I’ve slept, a lot, not even realizing this secret.

So here it is … Continue reading

My best kept secret at My Sardinian Life

Besides my immediate family; only two of you, in the internet world know about my best kept secret. It’s been a secret for so long that I’m bursting at the seams with excitement, anticipation and nervousness. I mean – this is something I’ve done before, I’m no rookie. I know the ins and the outs of this game; I’ve played it many times in my career.

But now, it’s just a bit different – because my heart and soul are here, in Sardinia.

In the last several years I have struggled with finding decent employment to the point of frustration, tears and hopelessness. I have written about it several times in the past and you can read about it here and here.

This post is not about what happened in the past –  it’s about what’s going to happen in the very near future.

My Sardinian Life’s best kept secret is … 

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Donkey Days of December

December in Sardinia is crisp, cold and windy. It’s also my favourite time of year to go hiking. This is what I saw on my way down hill …

Snow capped mountains in Southern Corsica.

Jennifer Avventura 2012 (3)

A couple of donkeys basking in the December sun.

Jennifer Avventura 2012 (2)

And a road side donkey just waiting for a rub.

Jennifer Avventura 2012

What is your favourite time of year to go hiking?

365 meters above and below the Gallura | Sardinia, Italy

Sardinia – Summer-like temperatures at the end of November – dreams do come true. Beautiful blue skies and calm waters called our names; we hiked to the top of a mountain to collect fresh mushrooms in the early morning rays; we hiked along the rugged coastline in the hot afternoon sun and we relaxed seaside sharing plenty of laughs.

This is what we saw … (click on any image to view in a larger format.)

365 meters above and below the Gallura | Sardinia, Italy

How was your day?

40 ways you know you’ve lived in Sardinia too long

I recently read a hilarious meme on Eupedia titled: you know you’ve lived in Italy too long when... It was an awesome read and made me think about the past five years of my life; holed up in small-town Sardinia. So, I decided to write a list about living in Sardinia, Italy.

40 ways you know you’ve lived in Sardinia too long

  • Time ceases to exist in all matters of urgency and you learn patience really is a virtue.
  • You talk with your hands and a few facial expressions to get your daily bread.
  • The deli clerk, butcher, bartender and painter know what colour your underwear is.
  • You don’t care when people push in front of you while waiting in line as you now have this iron clad patience.
  • You hear multiple gunshots go off in the near distance signalling that it’s October & hunting season has begun.
  • Casu Marzu intrigues you and you are tempted to ask the local shepherd about it but can’t stomach the thought.
  • You notice a community poster stating that construction will begin on your street in a months time. The following morning construction begins.
  • You find a job and work like a horse only to be paid months down the road.
  • You go for a 6k run and finally have the courage to flip the finger and shout asshole to anyone that drives past you faster than 30mph.
  • You get irritable if you miss your 3 hour siesta.
  • You stop comparing prices against the Canadian dollar because fuck, everything is expensive on an island, in Italy.
  • You foolishly believe that Sardinia is a country on to her own and are shocked by the shenanigans of the ‘mainlanders.’
  • You drink only purified spring water from the mountains high up because plastic bottled water freaks you out.
  • You walk 3km up-hill to collect this precious spring water; carrying 10 litres on your back on the way back down-hill.
  • You say ‘only if He permits’ as you gaze sky-wards when old ladies ask you why you’ve not created life.
  • You carry little old ladies groceries home from the supermarket, cause well, they remind you of your Nana.
  • You speak more of the local dialect than you do in the national language.
  • You hitchhike and people pick you up because you’re that crazy Australian, American, Canadian girl and they want to know more about you.
  • You are a converted espresso drinker; you drink three cups of espresso before 11am.
  • You realize that one mirto is okay but two mirto will knock you out for days.
  • You go mushroom hunting in the mountains and step in cow dung; you don’t squeal like a girl because tonight you are cooking a mushroom risotto for 8 people.
  • You go wild asparagus hunting and fend off wild dogs with a stare down.
  • You eat pecorino cheese for breakfast, lunch and dinner because it’s just that good.
  • You don’t own a cell phone because all your friends & family are on Skype.
  • You have no real girlfriends here because they are all jealous of your Australian, American, Canadian heritage.
  • You show up an hour late to every appointment because that’s just the way the cookie crumbles in Italy.
  • You are scheduled for a pap smear while menstruating and when you try to protest the doctor asks you – what’s your problem?
  • You pay €100 for every gynaecologist visit which lasts seven minutes and involves two doctors a nurse and your husband.
  • You befriend every local cat, kitten and dog even when the locals tell you not to.
  • Other expats reach out to you who are living/lived in Sardinia and they confirm that it’s not easy to live & work in Sardinia.
  • You have a few haters because of your blog; they want you to shut the hell up and stop talking smack about the reality of living on a small island in the Med.
  • After 5 years you realize the grass is the same colour all over the world.
  • You receive baked goods, canned goods, fresh fruit & vegetables instead of iStuff for Christmas, Thanksgiving and your birthday.
  • You stop a friendship with an elderly man because he asks you how many times you “lay under your husband.”
  • You hear and see jet fighter planes that soar too low and think the world is coming to an end and hide under the bed for the rest of the afternoon.
  • You wear the same clothes for five days in a row and sometimes sleep in them.
  • You refuse to work for € 3.90 an hour because it’s unethical and against your Australian, American, Canadian rights.
  • You are chastised for refusing the above payment – you should be grateful to even have a job at all – but you aren’t.
  • You pee in the bushes, even on the side of the road and you don’t care who see’s you.
  • You respond to yes questions with Eja and say Ajo all the time.

 Did you laugh out loud at any of these points? Which ones? Tell me below.

Chicken Soup for the Expat Soul

There is nothing like Mom’s homemade chicken noodle soup to cure all hangovers aches and pains, sniffles and sore throats. But getting Mom to cook us that favourite dish when we live across oceans and mountains is asking the impossible.

So, what’s an expat do to? Learn the tricks of the trade!

It is with great pleasure to announce that I have mastered my Mom’s Chicken Noodle Soup. I’m going to share with you how to do it yourself whether you are staying in a hostel in the Alps or are snowboarding in the Blue mountains. Oh – and it’s super cheap too! This is the recipe for you.

Before we get started, I think it’s important for you to know that I don’t measure things, ever. Instead I use the eye-ball approach. How many guests x amount of veggies & chicken = when I think it’s enough I begin to chop.

Chicken Soup for the Expat Soul

You will need:

  • 2 large pots (one for par-boiling the chicken and the other to simmer the soup in.)
  • Water. I usually fill the pot 3/4 full.
  • 1 Flavoured cube like Oxo for the broth base (yes, you can also make your own broth with the water from the par-boiled chicken – but I think that’s gross.)
  • Carrots
  • Onion
  • Garlic
  • Celery
  • Parsley
  • Basil
  • Noodles (I prefer the small thin noodles but it’s not important what you use. I’ve used penne and farfalla in the past.)
  • Olive oil (because life is better with a bit of oil).

Getting started

  • Par-boil chicken for about 10 mins. It’s best to use chicken on the bone.
  • Chop all ingredients to whatever size you desire.
  • Add all ingredients (at the same time) to the 2nd pot of boiled water.
  • Add par-boiled chicken to the veggie pot.
  • Add a splash of olive oil.
  • Stir occasionally.
  • Simmer for 2.5 hours. (Note – this can be made within the hour but the flavours develop if allowed to simmer longer.)
  • Remove chicken from the bone.
  • Add your noodles towards the end of cooking.

Now all you need is a dash of parmesan cheese and your Chicken Soup for the Expat’s Soul is ready.

I made this soup for dinner yesterday evening. And, as usual it was a hit. There were about 8 servings for the low, low-cost of €6.00! Snaptastic! The most expensive item was the half chicken at €3.00.

Dig in and enjoy.

What comfort food from home do you make for your family?

Check out some other expat blogger’s recipes for a cold day:

Pumpkin and pancetta soup via Girl in Florence
Cold weather? don’t worry, re-heat some ribollita via Our Adventure in Croatia

A magical mushroom tour at 365m above sea level

Wild mushrooms are a hot commodity in the hills of Italy and each year hundreds of Italians will die from mushroom poisoning. On October 20th, 2012 a family of four from Pisa, all died from the mushrooms that they had collected earlier that day.

DEATH CAP

The mushrooms that killed this innocent family are appropriately named the Death Capthere is currently no cure for those that ingest this mighty mushroom.

This past Sunday we headed into the Sardinian mountains to hunt mushrooms, wild rabbit and sparrow. I’m just kidding about the latter two. What we did find was a lot wild mushrooms blooming between, beneath and on top of cow dung. It was a splendid afternoon I tell you – the winds were cool and the afternoon sun was warm and bright.

Wild mushrooms dotted the rugged mountain tops and I made double sure that there were no cows – in any radius.

My husband has been mushroom hunting for years; as a child he would spend his mornings collecting fresh mushrooms to later sell for a few lira down at the local supermarket. Two years ago – we made such a huge haul of mushrooms that I pickled them into 15 different jars!

We were a little late at getting out mushroom hunting this year and plenty of the mushrooms were already being attacked by small worms in the stalk. We left a ton of rotten mushrooms mountain top and made our way back home with about 5kg of Sardinian mushrooms.

I’d just turned on the T.V when the 5 o’clock news came on and we heard the story of this family in Pisa. My husband assured me that the mushrooms we picked are not poisonous. However, I did protest and he was grossed out by all the worms that we decided to ditch our loot of mushrooms.

(Click on any photo to view original size.)

Pick with care; know your shrooms!

Are you a mushroom hunter?

Related articles:

A Gathering of Mushrooms – via My Sardinian Life
Two die after eating death cap mushrooms – via ABC, Australia
Poisonous mushrooms – via Wanted in Rome
Mushroom hunt claims 18 lives – via The Independent

Hit the Ground Running | Hunting Season in Sardinia

It was a normal Sunday morning like every other Sunday morning. The only real difference is that it’s now October. You’re probably wondering why just one month would make a huge difference – on a Sunday. It makes a difference if you’re a runner and enjoy Sunday morning runs that are traffic free.

It was beautiful this morning when I decided to tie on my runners and head out in the beautiful Autumn morning. At around the 2k mark a slight stitch came into my side and I ignored it – like I usually do, it goes away. I was just about at my half-way mark –  3k away from home when I heard the familiar jingle-jangle in the bushes.

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Canadian Waitress in Italy | Dumb Blondes

Two and a half months ago.

Genoveva bumped into him in the lunch line; he laughed a curious laughter as she introduced herself.  “Mi scusi … Salve, mi chiamo Genoveva.” She held out her hand as a peace-offering. “Ciao. Mi chiamo Andrea. Cosa stai facendo in albergo?” He pumped her hand with such force that she thought her heart might stop. “Sono una cameriera nel ristorante a buffet e tu?” They moved slowly down the lunch line together. Today’s special: Baked fish, roast potatoes, traditional Sardinian gnocchi, sautéed eggplants drizzled in the finest olive oil and seadas. “Sono responsabile della sicurezza, qui da sei anni. Di dove sei? Non sembri molto italiana.”

It was true; Genoveva is not Italian. Even with her slight name change she can’t fool anyone “Sono di Canada. Il mio marito è sardo. Sono qui da quasi cinque anni. Sei Sardo?” She didn’t think he was from Sardinia; his bombshell blonde locks gave him away but his accent was so Sardinian. “So you are American! Right on, we can speak English then. I miss speaking English. My father was born in the south of Sardinia and my mother is from Poland. Sardinia has been my home for the last twenty years. Why are you here, in Sardinia?” She silently punched him square between the eyes and said “I’m from Canada, not America.”

His next response surprised her that she almost choked on a piece of gnocchi. “You’re from North America. It’s the same thing as America. Therefore you are American.”

North America Image via WikipediaHe was right in an odd strange way, but what he failed to realize was that within that one continent are twenty-three very different countries. “No, I’m from Canada. I hold a Canadian passport. I say EH and I had a polar bear as a pet when I was a kid.” Her natural sarcasm had taken hold of her. She could see him pondering the idea of twenty-three countries within one continent, smoke coming out of his ears. “So, you lived in an igloo too? I’ve always wanted to live in an igloo.” Genoveva has never in her Canadian life seen an igloo; with the exception of the travel documentaries she used to watch. She did try to build one when she was eight years old but her polar bear sat on it. “Yes, I lived in an igloo. It’s like, so really cool.” She picked up her lunch tray and bid Andrea adieu and she hoped to never see him again.

Three days later

“Hey, America! How’s it going?” Agitation gripped her as she invisibly kicked him between the legs. “Ciao Andrea. I’m from Canada; remember the igloos and polar bears? We spoke about this just three days ago.” This was one time Genoveva wished she had a super cell phone because if she did, she would open an app and show Andrea the international border line dividing Canada and America. “Oh come on, Miss. America, it’s the same thing.” In her mind’s eye she dropkicked him so hard his Polish head split open on the reception floor; instead she said “I’m late for work. Ciao.” She ran into the restaurant and hoped again to never, ever see his ignorant face.

Today

Genoveva wanted to buy a small token of appreciation for her hairdresser and walked into the local flower shop. “Ciao Anna, come stai?”

“Sto bene, grazie. Cosa vuoi oggi. I’m good, thank you. What do you want today?”

“I would like a small bouquet, as a gift for a friend.”

Genoveva picked out a beautiful long stem bamboo shoot, a sunflower and some beautiful white flowers. Anna wrapped them nicely in colourful paper when Genoveva heard a familiar voice; her skin crawled.

“Hey – Genoveva! How’s it going? The hotel season is finally over; I haven’t seen you around the hotel in the last few months, what happened? I can’t wait to get back to the south of the island. When are you going back to America?” His blonde moments outshone everything about him. “I’m from Canada and I live here in Sardinia. Five years now.” Anna the wonderful local floral lady piped in “Si. Genoveva is from Canada but she’s one of us now.”

Defeated, his smile turned down and his face turned sour; he looked at this worn Adidas and said … nothing. He had memory flashbacks of their conversation in the lunch line: twenty-three countries, one continent – America. The local Sardinian woman defeated Andrea with a simple, honest statement about Genoveva fitting in. Finally.

**If you liked this story, try these:

Canadian Waitress in Italy | Embarrassing Moments
Notes from 1997 | Toronto to Bondi Beach, Australia