Degenerative Cubism afflicts 12% of Spanish cattle. If the disease were ever to become airborne, it’s estimated that all beef cattle in the country would be little more than a few lines leaving the impression of cattle within one month.
A realism vaccine was developed in 1994 but has occasional surrealist side effects, turning 2% of cattle injected into two arguing mimes and a waffle.
I almost choked and died.
Eerie photo of the Yellow Brick Road from an abandoned Wizard of Oz theme park in North Carolina.
D O N O T F O L L O W T H E Y E L L O W B R I C K R O A D
BECCA I AM ADDING THIS TO OUR LIST OF CREEPY PLACES TO VISIT ON OUR FUTURE CAMPING EXTRAVAGANZA
This place is actually opened the first weekend of October every year (October 5-6 this year) for the Autumn at Oz festival. It’s supposed to be pretty fun, and is based more on the books than the movie. It’s not that far from Asheville, and even closer to Boone. So, you know, if that interests you.
How did I not know about this ?!?!?!
*gets down on one knee* will you help me drive a giant robot and kill aliens
Baby all you had to do was ask. :)
Everyone who reblogs this will get a song lyric that describes them in their ask. Everyone.
Everyone you say???
Done yo :)
Porto Cervo Sardegna
I bypassed Corsica on my Italian yachting adventure, and instead spent several days in Porto Cervo, Sardinia.
I found my morning runs in Porto Cervo extra challenging, as it took some maneuvering to run through the tiny lanes and mazes of shops at port
in order to wend my way to what was essentially an uphill expressway to get some straightaways to run, but it was worth it for the views.
Once again we had options for swimming, and I found that the ocean was overly breezy, overly seaweed laden, and really flipping cold.
So another lazy afternoon spent in a bay sized saltwater pool sufficed.
The food in Porto Cervo was once again superb. Seafood bonanzas to be had everywhere.
And have I did.
Until the last night when the idea of eating anything from the sea made me nauseated (a week straight of sea fare, give me a break!) so popcorn was my meal du jour.
I did stroll through that same shopping area that I ran through in the mornings, but I will admit I didn’t buy anything on the island until I hit the airport. The prices were astronomical, and considering it was mostly the designer faire I had just left behind in New York, I wasn’t that interested.
The weather was perfect though, light sea breezes felt refreshing over sun-baked skin, and cool nights where a shawl on deck is all that was needed. It was a great stop on my summer excursions.
I spent a few days in Portoferraio Elba, running, swimming, eating and sightseeing; the latter three seeming to be the most popular options on the island.
This lovely little local, made famous by its association to Napoleon Bonaparte is a secluded little slice of Italy. The only ways on and off the island are by sea, most popularly by ferry as the only airport is for private flights only, and rarely accepts landings.
Busts of Napoleon are for sale in every tourist shop I saw, and his history on Elba is always told the same way. “People think he was a prisoner in a jail, but everyone is wrong, he really ruled the island.” And so they go on about the petite conqueror, and as a visitor you must smile and nod as your waiter, a police officer, or the random woman hanging laundry recounts the tale of Napoleon, as if you are full of only the wrong information about their economic hero.
But in the end they are right. He was not a prisoner in a cell, but the ruler of the island. He had a few houses there, and with his sister they did keep the pirates from attacking Elba, built up roads and designed a playhouse to keep themselves entertained.
There is more to this spot then Bonaparte however. The Forte Falcone is another lovely historic sight with pathways made of bricks hundreds of years old,
dual gunports allowing for the only light in small safety tunnels,
and some of the most beautiful views of Portoferraio that I saw in my stay there.
The food was delicious. I was lucky enough to hit Elba when tomatoes were their ripest, and as tomatoes are quite possibly my most favorite food, I was pleased.
Or in Bruschetta. All ways were delicious, and an excellent accompaniment to the local delicacy, the Spiny lobster.
As for swimming my options were all salt water. Either by beach, or pool.
Both were lovely, and while the pool was warmer, the beach came with coconuts
All this being said, what I will remember most about Elba is the stairs. Everywhere you turn there are flights of foot-worn stone steps leading ever upwards to… more steps. Beautiful? Yes. Exhausting? Most definitely.
Santa Margherita and Portofino
I cannot write about one port without writing of the other. These two small costal Italian towns are linked by a beautiful 5k long boardwalk that serpentine-ly winds its way along the coast. This was by far one of my most favorite morning runs. As the boardwalk is suspended above the water and gently rises and falls with the mountainous terrain as it meets the sea edge. By experiencing these towns briskly by foot for the first time, I was able to take in the rocky private beaches, each with its own color palette of loungers and umbrellas,
the myriad of lovely yachts tucked into harbors,
and the plethora of tiny cafes to tempt me from my run with double espresso or gelato.
I was fortunate enough to be spending my time on a yacht myself, so after making the run back along the boardwalk to Santa Margherita, showering and dolling myself up a bit I hopped in the tender (a small motor boat used on larger boats to jet short distances) and took the same winding path back to Portofino, only this time from the water rather then the boardwalk.
There is something extra special about pulling into a very populated harbor in a tender. People stopped and watched with anticipation as we wove between the anchored boats to the dock, and whispered as we disembarked and made our way to a café. Then just as quickly they dispersed in search of another spectacle. In Portofino the ways of entertaining yourself are limited in options, but not in quality.
There is amazing food to be had everywhere you turn, beautiful views of the tiny town, or of the bay itself to be seen by making your way up any of the winding stairways into the mountainous terrain encircling the town. And finally, the most popular form of entertainment, shopping. The stores are small boutique styles, with limited merchandise on the floors, and all of impeccable materials and quality. Prices to match. Louis Vitton, Ferragamo, and Cartier al hold shop fronts here, but they are elegantly interspersed with beautiful boutiques housing Italian leather goods and lovely clothes, all proudly made in Italy, as if the idea of imports were for lesser people then those of Portofino.
It was a beautiful, lavish, and charming place to spend a day, an one I shan’t forget quickly.
A few notes about Italy before I write about Genova alone. I think it is really fascinating that Italy, as a whole and singular country did not really exist until the end of WW1. For nearly a hundred years prior to that the series of fiefdoms, kingdoms, and city-states had been slowly unifying. What this means, in the grand scheme of things, is that as I get the privilege to travel to different parts of Italy, I find how remarkably different each section is, culturally, architecturally, and in dietary practice, even language. This is something I am growing to greatly appreciate, the non-homogenized Italy. So now, as I write about Genova, I will write of it, not as a section of Italy, but as something unique that stands alone, in conjunction with a greater country.
When I first arrived at the teeny tiny Genova INTL air port, with it’s singular baggage carousel open to the runway, I was impressed not by some quaintness, or endearing quality, but by the mountains. Stepping out of the plane and blinking in the bright slightly yellowed sunlight I find synonymous with all thoughts of Italy, I took in the rolling green hills and overlapping soft peaks of the surrounding countryside and was amazed. So much so that I stopped and blocked the door and was firmly scolded by the crotchety man behind me wanting to get home.
Driving through the city you get an idea of how beautifully and organically it grew. A poet once wrote about Genova “It is like a snake, having swallowed a rabbit, napping on the sea”, and really it is. A city almost the length of a full marathon, stretching out along the water, with a fat historic center, circling around its port, and ergo its center of commerce. It fought the need to climb those steep hillsides as long as was possible, and thus stretched out lengthwise and vertically whenever possible.
From above you can see the city trying to stay along a standard rectilinear grid, then give way to winding roadways, and haphazard angles as it climbs away from the bay and up the moutain sides.
I love how utilitarian the place is in all regards. One of the best examples of this is hillside buildings. The mountains are steep, and many buildings are six story walkups or more. These wise Genovians have made things infinitely easier by adding entrances at the top and the bottom of their homes, so if you happen to be coming down the mountain, you can walk in from the roof rather then the front stoop. Also for 1.5 euros you can ride either the bus, or the local elevator up and down the mountains for an hour and a half. Good deal no?
Driving along the singular expressway, although ‘express’ is open for interpretation, you really get a sense of how the city grew. Architecture ranging from the 1600’s to the 1960’s is built not just next to each other, but totally intertwined. Old exposed cobbled stones merging with jagged seams into colorful stucco. It’s the old and new growing like a tumor from a tree, though which is which is open for interpretation.
I really liked how casually they used history in Genova. Everything was preserved, and recognized, but still used. Old lavish villas are used as music academies and restaurants.
A whole roadway of palaces of late were used as bank buildings and city offices
There was no quiet reverence when looking at the ‘golden salon’ in reality it is where they still hold city council meetings. In order to see the room, you travel up an elevator and make sure there are no meetings in session.
Christopher columbus’s birthplace, and the original city gate stand alone as preserved buildings next to the Gaslini, a large mall, and near an office building.
And my personal favorite was the cambi café. where we dined on THE MOST DELICIOUS RICOTTA ANYWHERE
beneath preserved frescoes, that were barely visible, from eons ago. People would sip wine, break bread, and glance upwards at the ancient mythological scene, then go back to their tomatoes.
*Sidenote that nowhere else in the world have I eaten such delicious tomatoes. I don’t know how, or why, but they are sweeter and taste of summer and sunshine here. Even better then fresh picked from my Philly garden back in the day.
The café was run by this wonderful gentlemen, who in between serving foccacia and wiping tables explained in Italian that he was the owner of the café, and a nearby castle, which he invited us to visit at our leisure.
Genova was charming, but not in a sickeningly saccharine kind of way. I was charmed by the city itself. The way everything was used, but nothing was precious. The way that no one was too proud to stop for gelato, and that effusing about a tomato got me a hearty pat on the back and more tomatoes, rather then a raised eyebrow of disdain. The way that people seemed to know the deep roots of history that were imbedded in their daily lives, and enjoyed that these things were still in use. Genova will stay with me.
training lower body:
training upper body:
there really isn’t a more accurate gif set for my life than this one.