I finally meet the fishermen.

Vegan Bifanas and a crash course in communism.

Honoring the patron saint of fishing—and getting my views warped.

A bromance blooms.

A weekend in the middle of nowhere. Plus, gentrification.

Stories of wine, trains, and an unexpected feast.

A story of insomnia.

“I’m a big believer in signs and omens. So you can imagine my concern when, just days before boarding a plane for Copenhagen, I bought a book about Denmark and opened up to this…”

This isn’t a bathroom, I thought. It’s Shangri-La.

This was my first time in Quebec City. I was born and raised in Florida, then spent three years in Thailand. I don’t do single-digit degrees. I can’t ski, I don’t sled, and I certainly don’t spend time frolicking in the snow. I don’t even know how to layer.

In other words, I don’t do winter.

“When you walk into this cathedral—the largest in the world—you feel it. Joseph Campbell talked about ‘sacred spaces’—places where you feel a heightened consciousness, a palpable energy, something that is too powerful to leave. It’s a place of mystery, creativity, spiritual epiphany. Or as he put it: ‘Here, breakthrough is possible.’”

“When I was in Naples, I met a young man named Rohan. He lived in DC and worked in finance. He didn’t like his life. So he saved to travel the world and found his clarity. Somehow, when I heard that, all the way back in early June, I knew that’s how my story would end.”

“Soon enough, two hours later, I had a tray full of orecchiette. The mom and I were having a great time. It was so easy, so comfortable, so relaxed in there. I was thinking this was one of my favorite experiences of my entire trip, that I’d remember it forever. And here’s when things got dicey.”

And though I came here to cook and travel and meet interesting people, Bari was always my goal. Everything was leading up to this.

“Day nine was a fun and lively morning. We met at 6am and the morning light was just beautiful. I’d brought my film camera that day and was taking some great pictures of Felix and Marco. The mood was light and buoyant. But then, disaster struck.”

“I was in a fine flow when I arrived in Florence. Actually, I was thriving. I’d just spent five days on a remote island, and had that magical time in Sicily right before. In these states though, when all is going well, I get nervous that it’s going to end — that the other shoe will drop. And sure enough in Florence, it did.”

“Yes, this is a place where you can hear your thoughts, I said to myself. This is a place where you can hear God.”

“Touch, though, is something that can be practiced regularly. It’s the gateway to intimacy. You must first learn to incorporate touch into your platonic and familial relationships, he advised. That’s how you open up the body. Touch is what brings you away from the abstraction of the mind and into the concrete richness of the physical world.”

“My sfoglia, however, isn’t going anywhere. While others are soft, puffy, and round, mine is cracked, sticky, and dry. My movements are rough. I am completely in my head, not paying any attention to her. It feels like I am a 16-year-old boy in bed with a woman for the first time—thrusting, pushing, flailing, trying so hard to “get it right," while she’s bored on her back, grimacing, checking her watch and wondering when for the love of God will this just be over.”

“I’m a little nervous before arriving. This is a tiny town in the middle of nowhere. I’m here for five days, and I haven’t made any contact with these folks. I have no idea what to expect. When I arrive, a man comes to greet me and shows me to my room. ‘My friend says you want to learn Italian cooking,’ he says. ‘I will learn you.’ Then, he turns and shuts the door.”