During this past summer Contributing Editor Hannah Bowman found herself on an island in the Mediterranean Sea. She liked it there, but didn’t want to stay forever. So, with a tent on her back, one month to play with and a handsome Flem by the name of P.J. in tow, she headed north. “Navigating the Med on a Smile and a Shoestring” is a travel series documenting their journey of camping, ferry boating and hitchhiking from Gozo to Ghent.

As a monument to former glory and incredibly dirty, Palermo is everything you do not expect. Characterful, ugly and spectacularly genuine, this city makes for the most unlikely love affair.

Situated in a sweeping bay, not visible from most parts of town, it is surrounded by mountains which somehow lends itself to providing the sense of being a South American metropolis rather than the capital of a small Mediterranean island.

On many of the streets you will find numerous flea markets where hoards of people from all over the world peddle their wares, including the old and new, from the practical to the downright ridiculous, from 70’s telephones to chipped tea mugs emblazoned with the visage of a former pope.

Indeed, Palermo seems like a little bit of a misfit itself, perhaps precisely one of the reasons why it invites further exploration.

For sure, this is no Paris. This is not a highly sophisticated place of immediately attractive and accessible attractions. There is none of Rome’s easy charm. Yet work to discover the less obvious and you will be rewarded.

By Hannah Bowman

Read the Entire “Navigating The Med On A Smile And A Shoestring” Series Here

About the Author

A restless Brit with big dreams and limited cash flow, Hannah is a freelance journalist and student. She is currently being sponsored by the European Union to take a Masters in Journalism and International Politics at the University of Amsterdam/University of Santiago, Chile, and the Danish School of Journalism. Check out her site DontDoNothing.com or follow her on Twitter: @Hannah__Bowman.

The post Navigating The Med On A Smile And A Shoestring: Part Seven (Palermo) appeared first on The Expeditioner Travel Site.

During this past summer Contributing Editor Hannah Bowman found herself on an island in the Mediterranean Sea. She liked it there, but didn’t want to stay forever. So, with a tent on her back, one month to play with and a handsome Flem by the name of P.J. in tow, she headed north. “Navigating the Med on a Smile and a Shoestring” is a travel series documenting their journey of camping, ferry boating and hitchhiking from Gozo to Ghent.

We lay silently in the tent trying not to breathe.

The light of the flashlight reflected from the walls of the gorge as a figure made his way through the undergrowth from the road above down into the cove.

We were camping without a permit. Surely this was the sign that we had been busted and someone from the local constabulary was coming to haul us away. But, from the iridescent glow of the moonlight, we could see that the man making his way down the beach was clearly alone and clearly not a policeman. Carrying a large bag in each hand, he walked purposely but cautiously towards the gently breaking surf, glancing behind him as he went.

“This is a drug drop,” I hissed to PJ through clenched teeth, my heart beating at three times its normal rate.

“I’ve heard about this. If we see anything illegal and he finds out that we saw us, we will be dead.”

The sound of a boat approaching the bay drew louder.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” I repeated.

This was clearly the point at which the goods were being exchanged. Whether or not this was the case or simply the product of an overactive imagination we shall never know, however, located in a sheer-walled gully, there was only one way up from the beach, and the possibility that something nasty and The Godfather-ish was going down seemed all too plausible. And thus passed one of the most nail-biting 45 minutes of my life.

Eventually, attempting to quietly pack up our belongings and escape without being seen by out mysterious visitor, we crept through the trees and then bolted to the safety of the path above.

This whole episode took place on the east coast of Sardinia, the second largest island in the Mediterranean  From the city of Cagliari in the south to old coastal towns such as Alghero in the north, there is a rich mixture of architecture and culture to be found here.

Dorgali is the town to aim for if you are heading up from the capital. and it provides a great jumping off point for both for exploring the national park of the Gulf of Orosei and the famous Cala Ganone.

Camping here is strictly prohibited, nevertheless, with a bit of nerve and lot of respect for the near perfection of the natural surroundings, it is doable. The hiking here is spectacular, although depending on what time of year you go, it is necessary to start early in the morning if you are to beat the midsummer heat.

It is possible to escape into the wilderness almost everywhere on this underpopulated island, yet it is worth remembering though that his becomes less easy in the more touristy areas of the northwestern tip, especially around one of the island’s most famous beaches, La Pelosa, close to the town of Stintino.

It was near here, on the Capo Del Falcone, that we spent some of our most uncomfortable but most dramatic two nights, clinging to the rocky headland as the wind howled around us and ravaged our tent. At times it seemed that we would be blown off into the sea below.

It was also here that, following the morning hanging around at the local dock, a couple of young students were persuaded to let us join them on their boat. Together we set off to some of the nearby islands, famous for its abundance of fish (octopus particularly).

As it transpires, catching an octopus by hand is not something I am keen to ever have to perform, having witnessed the underwater wrestling and stabbing involved. Nevertheless, it was fascinating to watch the man who owned the boat — and who has been doing this since he was a nipper — hunt his prey, coax it from its crevice and then proceed to disembowel the creature  as it fought bravely for survival.

Gory and a little grizzly, perhaps, but delicious nonetheless. And, as my grandfather always said, if you don’t have the guts to kill it or to see it killed, then don’t fool yourself, you don’t deserve to eat it.

By Hannah Bowman

Read the Entire “Navigating The Med On A Smile And A Shoestring” Series Here

About the Author

A restless Brit with big dreams and limited cash flow, Hannah is a freelance journalist and student. She is currently being sponsored by the European Union to take a Masters in Journalism and International Politics at the University of Amsterdam/University of Santiago, Chile, and the Danish School of Journalism. Check out her site DontDoNothing.com or follow her on Twitter: @Hannah__Bowman.

The post Navigating The Med On A Smile And A Shoestring: Part Six (Wild Camping In Sardinia) appeared first on The Expeditioner Travel Site.

During this past summer Contributing Editor Hannah Bowman found herself on an island in the Mediterranean Sea. She liked it there, but didn’t want to stay forever. So, with a tent on her back, one month to play with and a handsome Flem by the name of P.J. in tow, she headed north. “Navigating the Med on a Smile and a Shoestring” is a travel series documenting their journey of camping, ferry boating and hitchhiking from Gozo to Ghent.

In a village called Scala, close to the mountain town of Tindari, lives a man named Christian.

It was upon a sweltering afternoon on the Sicilian coast that we first encountered him, sauntering down the road with his dog, his donkey and an air of someone who knew how to live from the land. They made a romantic sight, meandering between the parked cars, and so seduced was I that I made the mistake of raising my camera to my face and taking a picture.

“Would you like to make a donation to zee children,” he asked. Laughing and embarrassed, I wasn’t sure what an appropriate response would be. In all honesty, no, I did not particularly want to make a donation, feeling fairly impoverished myself at that moment and having had one of those days when nothing had really gone smoothly. Yet, this was obviously an inappropriate response. I therefore opted to divert his attention by luring him into conversation.

I went for the highly original, “Sooo, where are you from?” (Although, from the Bavarian twang, the answer seemed obvious.)

“My roots begin where your boundaries end,” came the reply.

Pause.

What to make of this? Had I been less aware of my initial cock-up relating to the whole photo-taking debacle,  my inclination might have been to wrap things up there. Thank goodness I did not, for Christian was to become one of the most fascinating and generous characters of my entire trip.

After a few minutes of chatting, it was confirmed that we would accompany him to his farm in the hills and there we would spend the next few nights camping in his orchard.

The walk was long and on a sharp incline. And despite the fact that the sun was beginning to set, it was bloody warm. As we walked/clambered/climbed over the dry terrain, the bay spread out below and behind us; the cathedral on the cliff above cutting a dramatic silhouette against the beckoning dusk.

And, as we walked, Christian told us his story.

A few years ago, he had packed his possessions into a trailer and had cycled all the way from Munich, Germany, to reach this small Mediterranean island that had stolen his heart as a kid. He was now in the process of setting up an association with the aim of encouraging children to get in touch with nature and their sense of adventure. Eventually, the plan is that schools will send students there for a term, where they will spend the mornings in a traditional classroom setup and the afternoons exploring the land.

At the moment, he lives in a tent on a beautiful but entirely rustic plot of land, growing his own food and carrying water from a local well in order to sustain himself and his animals.

This coming summer he plans to travel with his donkey, Hercules, and his dog, Phoenix, around the entire coast of Sicily and, apparently, you are entirely welcome to join! He will be raising money and awareness for his project, and for anyone that has the time and inclination to do so, he his willing to allow anyone to travel alongside him.

I can assure you that not only is he an impeccable host, but someone who knows how to survive on very little and is an expert on stoves. This is a man at one with the elements. To find out more about his organization or to contact him directly, visit Eco-Avventura.it. Unfortunately, the site is currently only available in Italian and German, but hey, that’s what Google translate is for. Believe, it’s worth the investment of time.

By Hannah Bowman

Read the Entire “Navigating The Med On A Smile And A Shoestring” Series Here

About the Author

A restless Brit with big dreams and limited cash flow, Hannah is a freelance journalist and student. She is currently being sponsored by the European Union to take a Masters in Journalism and International Politics at the University of Amsterdam/University of Santiago, Chile, and the Danish School of Journalism. Check out her site DontDoNothing.com or follow her on Twitter: @Hannah__Bowman.

The post Navigating The Med On A Smile And A Shoestring: Part Five (A German And His Donkey) appeared first on The Expeditioner Travel Site.

During this past summer Contributing Editor Hannah Bowman found herself on an island in the Mediterranean Sea. She liked it there, but didn’t want to stay forever. So, with a tent on her back, one month to play with and a handsome Flem by the name of P.J. in tow, she headed north. “Navigating the Med on a Smile and a Shoestring” is a travel series documenting their journey of camping, ferry boating and hitchhiking from Gozo to Ghent.

For me, it was waking up in a field behind a service station, wedged between a rock and a restless night spent listening for attackers somewhere in rural Sicily, when the realization dawned: “Today is the day that I shall go to the Aeolian Islands.”

The question is: When you hear the call of the Aeolians, will you be adequately prepared?

And thanks to the next few paragraphs, the answer will be yes.

Dramatic, isolated and intensely varied, named after the demigod of the winds Aeolus, it is easy to see why the Aeolian islands have figured so often in ancient myth. Here are a list of some of my favorites.

Vulcano (The smelly one)

Evidence of intense tectonic activity is evident along the whole of the volcanic “Eolian Arc.” Even under the water, hot bubbles floating up from the ocean floor serve as a reminder of the turbulent underworld beneath.

For most of the tourists who frequent Vulcano — the nearest of the Aeolians to mainland Sicily — the hot pools are the furthest they get. Close to the harbor, a quietly smoking crater towers above the day-trippers wallowing in stinky mineral-enriched clay.

What with the crowds and the stench of rotten eggs, you could be forgiven for thinking you had taken a wrong turn somewhere and found you had ambled into one of hell’s slightly more picturesque outer circles.

Salina (The one with the beach from that film)

If you want a glimpse of what paradise looks like, find your way to the bay at Polara on the island of Salina.

This isn’t paradise in the wishy-washy flowers in your hair, white sands, strum on a battered ukulele sort of paradise. This is stunningly dramatic glimpse of the sublime — dizzying and perfect. I resisted the temptation to post any pictures because they do not really do it justice.

As the sun set on this magnificent cove we met a trio of backpackers who, like us, carried with them only a tent. And, as they informed us, equally at a loss as to where to pitch it, the only campsite having been closed down.

Together we grasped the concept of wild-camping with much aplomb, sleeping that first night among the cactus’s and long grasses that skirted the cliff tops lining the bay. Cliff tops which did, incidentally, serve as a backdrop to the 1994 film Il Postino (The Postman).

Filicudi (The one with the penis rock)

Most of the images that churn up when you Google “Filicudi” depict a rather phallic shaped boulder poking out of the sea. While it is a rather impressive specimen — if not rather intimidating for some — and as inexplicably drawn to it as you may be, again do not let it distract you from discovering the rest of the island.

Due to its relative distance from Sicily, there are barely any tourists — or anybody at all for that matter. And there is certainly no such thing as a campsite or a hostel. But this is actually highly conducive to excellent times. As long as you keep a low profile and leave nothing but footprints (as the saying goes), there are some fantastic pitching options. Just keep an eye out for wild dogs.

Furthermore, for the cost of approximately 100 euros, you can hire your very own boat for the day, giving you the freedom to mooch around the coastline as you please. The snorkeling here is absolutely outstanding. Be aware that this will be a rather informal arrangement and acquiring an Italian speaker to assist you in negotiations is advisable.

Alicudi (The one without any roads)

“The island of a thousand steps” is the most remote of all the Aeolians.

This is an escape favored by the rich and famous, something we certainly were not, but which served us extremely well as we found ourselves enjoying the hospitality of an Italian film director at his hilltop villa . . .

Not that he was aware that we were taking advantage of his hot outdoor shower and vine-shaded sea-view terrace, for this came courtesy of the house’s caretaker, who kindly allowed us a night in the protection of the mansion in return for keeping an eye on it for him.

Blissfully quiet at night, this is throwback to a bygone era, where the few permanent residents fish for their supper and harvest from the land. And where it seems almost guaranteed that you will live to be around 150 years of age, thanks to a diet of sun, stairs and olive oil.

The lack of options for accommodation, combined with Alacudi’s distance from the mainland has ensured that this is a place the widely sought continue to find haven and the countless shooting stars can continue to fall, silently unobserved, through the soft caverns of the night.

By Hannah Bowman

Read the Entire “Navigating The Med On A Smile And A Shoestring” Series Here

About the Author

A restless Brit with big dreams and limited cash flow, Hannah is a freelance journalist and student. She is currently being sponsored by the European Union to take a Masters in Journalism and International Politics at the University of Amsterdam/University of Santiago, Chile, and the Danish School of Journalism. Check out her site DontDoNothing.com or follow her on Twitter: @Hannah__Bowman.

The post Navigating The Med On A Smile And A Shoestring: Part Four (The Aeolian Islands) appeared first on The Expeditioner Travel Site.

During this past summer Contributing Editor Hannah Bowman found herself on an island in the Mediterranean Sea. She liked it there, but didn’t want to stay forever. So, with a tent on her back, one month to play with and a handsome Flem by the name of P.J. in tow, she headed north. “Navigating the Med on a Smile and a Shoestring” is a travel series documenting their journey of camping, ferry boating and hitchhiking from Gozo to Ghent.

One of the many facets of the Italian male stereotype is that of their ability to get away with wearing extremely short shorts. If there was ever somebody to prove that rule, then Giansanto takes the cake.

It was in a small campsite outside of the industrial port town of Pozzallo in southern Sicily that we met Mr Santo. It was here that he, his friend, his small swimming trunks and unfeasibly tiny arse all celebrated a weekend away in a tent together. And it was here we were to have our first taste of the zest and enthusiasm that was to characterise our onward journey.

At his point, we were still unclear where I route was to take us, only that the direction was to be North.

We did know, however, that despite the pizza-sharing, yoga-doing, tree-climbing fun enjoyed in its relative vicinity, Pozzallo as a destination in its own right does not come highly recommended. The beaches are reasonable, the people friendly and the water clear, but it was not with a heavy heart that we bid the place farewell.

It was now we would find out: had our plan to hitch-hike the Med been a misguided and foolish one?

The First Sicilian Hitch

We had been standing on the side of the road in the heat of the midday sun for sometime and were starting to lose heart. We had been warned that it would be difficult to get a lift on Sicily and that people didn’t pick up hitch-hikers. It was looking like the naysayers has been right.

Just moments later, however, a battered saloon overladen with people and beach paraphernalia screeched to a halt a few yards in front.

Music blasting, there was clearly no room for two extra passengers, especially passengers with two large backpacks. Yet the driver, a middle-aged man who seemed to be on the verge of crying with happiness at the prospect of his new cargo, was making every effort to accommodate us.

Where hand gestures had been sufficient to handle the logistics, once safely wedged between a cool box and an adolescent Sicilian, the question of how to approach more sophisticated level of communication became apparent.

My Italian is nonexistent. Yet, against the odds, some semblance of conversation was had and enjoyed on both sides. So thrilled was our driver by the turn of events, in fact, he looked at the road three or possibly four times, preferring to turn round and grin at us for minutes at a time.

Our planned destination was the historic city of Modica in the Hybalean Mountains, a UNESCO World Heritage sight.* Not content that we should have to make our own way onto the next town later that afternoon and thus find another lift, our family man — with respective offspring in tow — returned later that afternoon to collect us.

We were on a high. Not only was hitching here possible, it was first-class in nature.

Things were looking rosy.

*Do not pass through without a visit to the small Osteria dei Sapori Perduti for a traditional pasta and glass of wine.

By Hannah Bowman

Read the Entire “Navigating The Med On A Smile And A Shoestring” Series Here

About the Author

A restless Brit with big dreams and limited cash flow, Hannah is a freelance journalist and student. She is currently being sponsored by the European Union to take a Masters in Journalism and International Politics at the University of Amsterdam/University of Santiago, Chile, and the Danish School of Journalism. You can keep track of her wanderings with TheTangerineRidiculousness.com or follow her on Twitter: @Hannah__Bowman.

The post Navigating The Med On A Smile And A Shoestring: Part Three (Small Bums And Big Hearts) appeared first on The Expeditioner Travel Site.

During this past summer Contributing Editor Hannah Bowman found herself on an island in the Mediterranean Sea. She liked it there, but didn’t want to stay forever. So, with a tent on her back, one month to play with and a handsome Flem by the name of P.J. in tow, she headed north. “Navigating the Med on a Smile and a Shoestring” is a travel series documenting their journey of camping, ferry boating and hitchhiking from Gozo to Ghent.

To sum up: Never. Ever. Go to Gozo.

It rains all the time, the natives eat children and you can’t buy a beer for love nor money.

[Pause]

Yes, that might have been a small lie. In fact, Gozo is a gem.

So, why oh why would I have imparted such a ghastly untruth, you may cry? Because, unlike the mainland of Malta — which has been ravaged by tourism and illegal building and is one of the most populated places on the planet — Gozo has retained a large part of its former tranquility and authenticity.

“Higgeldy piggledy” would be a fitting term to describe the sort of delightful disorder and randomness that makes the second largest of the three Maltese Islands unique, preserved in a fragile time bubble of culture and history. For now, at least.

And that includes little donkeys pulling carts around and suchlike.

The post Navigating The Med On A Shoestring And A Smile: Part Two (The Subtle Charm Of Malta’s Seductive Smaller Sister) appeared first on The Expeditioner Travel Site.

During this past summer Contributing Editor Hannah Bowman found herself on an island in the Mediterranean Sea. She liked it there, but didn’t want to stay forever. So, with a tent on her back, one month to play with and a handsome Flem by the name of P.J. in tow, she headed north. “Navigating the Med on a Smile and a Shoestring” is a travel series documenting their journey of camping, ferry boating and hitchhiking from Gozo to Ghent.

As the crow flies, the distance from the island of Gozo in the Mediterranean Sea to the city of Ghent, Belgium, in northern Europe, is approximately 1,162 miles (1,870 km).*

It may not sound all too far. But, actually, when your budget consists of two buttons and a scoopful of luck, and you have to complete the journey in less than one month, and there is a whole lot of water in between, it turns out to be pretty far after all.

THE PLAN

To keep costs low, we would be relying on a combination of hitchhiking and wild camping, while surviving on a diet of bread, cheese and cheap rum. There would also be a high investment of faith in our general waif-like demeanor and the kindness of others to carry us though.

THE ROUTE (Which Materialized As We Went Along)

From the port of Mgarr in Gozo across to Malta; from Valletta in Malta to Pozzallo in southern Sicily; through the historical towns of Modica and Ragusa; up the eastern coast of Sicily to the Aoelian Islands of Vulcano, Salina, Filicudi and Alicudi; along the mountainous Sicilian north coast; through the capital city of Palermo; taking the overnight boat from Trapani to Calgari in Sardinia; to the cliffs and crystal seas of Golfo de Oresei; to the most northern westerly point of Stintino and Capo del Falcone; ferrying from Porto Torres to Marseilles in France; and, finally, hightailing it up through the continent, homewards.

THE COST

According to outlandish predictions by our copy of Lonely Planet, we could expect to pay in the region of 70 euros per day. 70 euros per day! I mean, what is low-budget to these people? Sipping Claret from Gucci footwear, traveling via golden tuk tuk and using their backpacks as statements of postmodern art? Clearly, this was out of the question.

Thankfully, their forecast proved to be largely inaccurate and out of the entire trip — we paid for accommodation only six of the nights. Even then, the average for a night was between 7 – 10 euros ($9 – 12) to camp, and about 20 euros per person to sleep in a hostel ($25). (As a side note, these costs will be lower out of season.)

Traveling on a very tight budget is an intense way of doing things. Yet, there are huge advantages to doing so. The highs would be high and lows would be low, but this trip was to prove to be a lesson in the advantages of risk-taking, to be a reminder of the preciousness of a welcome and to afford us the opportunity of rowing alongside one of the must highly cultivated handle-bar mustaches the world has ever known . . .

*Not being crows, and therefore having to go around things and under things, the actual distance covered was  1,771.57 miles (2851.07 km). 

Read the Entire “Navigating The Med On A Smile And A Shoestring” Series Here

By Hannah Bowman

About the Author

A restless Brit with big dreams and limited cash flow, Hannah is a freelance journalist and student. She is currently being sponsored by the European Union to take a Masters in Journalism and International Politics at the University of Amsterdam/University of Santiago, Chile, and the Danish School of Journalism. You can keep track of her wanderings with TheTangerineRidiculousness.com or follow her on Twitter: @Hannah__Bowman.

The post Navigating The Med On A Smile And A Shoestring: Part One (The Mission) appeared first on The Expeditioner Travel Site.