Life is Fun, but Sometimes Dangerous. Wear a Helmet and May be Sunglasses

In previous posts, I've proclaimed my love for Italy. Oh sure, I whined about those scary Italian drivers and my equally scary husband-driver. And about mosquitos, starting dinner at 8:30pm, limited availability of air-conditioning and several other minor issues that I can't readily recall. But Italy was fun. Beautiful food, intriguing ruins, gorgeous scenery, helpful people.  It is also where I crashed -- while cycling.

I'm a seasoned cyclist, though not a particularly gifted one. I'm what might be called an unnatural athlete, someone who enjoys a sport in spite of her varied limitations. R and I have taken many cycling trips over the past 12 years. Some were more challenging, some less so. Some overseas and several in North America. This was the first time I recall three people falling off their bikes, including me. Crashing was not part of my traveling plan nor was visiting an Italian urgent care clinic on a Sunday afternoon.

The first cyclist crashed on our first full day of cycling. She was upset, frustrated, and very bruised but she finished the ride and rode everyday the rest of the trip. The other cyclist crashed while cycling with her adult kids. She finished the day in the van but then was back at it, riding every day at least for part of the day. I must say they were more elegant "crashers" than I was, more able to take their spills out of view from most of the group, allowing their middle aged bodies their earned respect and just presenting their bruised and battered selves later for story telling during dinner.

I, however, crashed in a big, public way. Cycling along, I yelled a warning about broken pavement to the three cyclists behind me, slowed way down at the tremendously jagged, dislocated pavement, calculated how I would cross the narrow bridge in the middle and 
then crashed, full body and bike sprawled across the path. No one could miss me. Or did. I blocked the frickin path -- with my body and the bike.

R who from behind watched my terrible decent, quickly phoned the guide in the van while the guide cycling behind arrived to help assess my damage. All seemed ok until the guides, fluent in both English and Italian, switched quickly to Italian as they formulated a plan. I think the blood gushing from my face, the dent in my helmet and R's report that my head 
bounced were the ticket to a clinic visit.

I try to find the humor in the situation. Let's see -- sprawled on the path in the warm Italian sun, left knee propped on the spilled bike because I think I've broken my knee....Probably not funny. Blood gushing from my face, which I was fairly certain was from a broken 
nose....No, not overly funny. Italian soil in my mouth. Definitely not funny. Italian doctor, 
flashlight in hand, examining the inside of my mouth is see if I did bite through my lip. Oh, 
so not funny.

I guess what was slightly humorous was that I won the prize for the most public, inelegant crash as well as the one for the most noticeable wounds -- surgical tape above my lip, black eye, scraped face, scraped, painfully bruised knee, and bruised hand. Apparently, I'm 
competitive even with crashing.


But there is fear in crashing. Our bodies anticipate future experiences based on recent past experiences. Back at home, my body is hyperalert to danger, especially when I cycle.  Unlike the other two crashers, I did not cycle the last day of the Puglia trip, mostly because all my parts hurt, I was limping and unable to bend my knee.

To engage in life, to be active and participating can be dangerous. But to my way of 
thinking, it is much more dangerous not to engage, to hang back, afraid of what might 
happen.

Bits of old, probably wise, useful lyrics and sayings have drifted through my mind of late, 
including "I'm Back in the Saddle Again" "Pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and start all over again" and the just simple, plain, "When you fall down, get back up and try again."
I'm cycling again. So far not more than 15 miles. I'm on alert for oversized pot holes, risky drain grates, and mischievous gravel, in my overly active mind, dangers all. I fuss with and adjust and readjust my helmet, making sure it will not pop off if I spill. Several miles into a ride I begin to relax some and enjoy the sport again. I look forward to the day when I cycle without so much tension.

If we don't risk, we don't gain and if we don't gain....what is life?   Get back in the saddle is
 my advice to myself and everyone else, but wear a helmet and sunglasses and sunscreen, especially in Italy.

   Beautiful Puglia

Traveling With Celiac Italian-Style and screaming along the way

Recently, I've taken to screaming several times a day. It is not like I've adopted this as a hobby or something. I'm screaming because, at the moment it seems very much like I might die. So I scream. Just a good old-fashioned fear response, which has been occurring since, at the Rome seaport, we rented a small car. I've been unusually frightened ever since.

Of course my fear is occurring for a reason: Italians either drive 120 miles per hour because they believe they are Batman test driving the newest Batmobile or 15 miles an hour because that's the speed they drive farm equipment. The problem is these slow-moving obstacles are almost impossible to circumvent because those driving 120 miles per hour come flying out of nowhere like stealth bats-out-of-hell, scaring witless Americans who then become too frightened to pass the slow-moving obstacles. It is indeed a game with unclear rules. A part of this game I have figured out is that those in the Italian Batmobiles are keenly aware of the slow-moving obstacles. This I know is true because no one seems to crash. Ahhh.  Unfortunately, those of us in-between, the sort of law abiding, hapless foreigners on holiday who stupidly rented a car in a foreign country rather than taking the train and who don't understand the rules to this driving game are left panicked. Or in my case screaming.

My screaming is not planned, it is certainly not appreciated by my driver-husband, and it is wearing me out. Then yesterday, I started screaming for a new reason. Something dark, competitive, and alarming has awakened in R who seemingly has determined he'll beat the Italian Batmobile drivers at their own game. It seems the American Dark Knight has risen, looks exactly like my husband, and is driving me around Southern Italy -- but in nothing nearly so safe, or cool, as a Batmobile. During those brief moments when I open my eyes long enough to glance at the odometer, and I see that my husband is now driving 115 miles an hour with the speed edging up, I scream.  Right now, my life scares me.

All this makes traveling with celiac seem much less important and easier to handle, especially since after a day of screaming I'm much less hungry and more interested in making red wine my meal.

Back to the topic at hand we will go --  eating in Italy when one has celiac -- once we return the car. Can't wait to join the bike tour!
Ciao.

Crusty, yummy gluten-free bread in Matera.

Traveling with Celiac

Currently, the bed count is 82 -- but more about that in another post.

I'm sitting in my cabin looking out at the tranquil Mediterranean Sea watching small fishing boats chug into port. Enormous, ah well-fed, seagulls circle the boats because these birds know what I know -- Spanish seafood is delicious. Eating in Barcelona is a pleasurable feast of simple, fresh food. When I was first diagnosed with Celiac, I worried that traveling, especially to a foreign country would prove almost impossibly tricky. While staying healthy when traveling can be tricky, it has proven less challenging than I had feared -- as long as I plan ahead.

Since receiving the diagnosis in early 2009, I've had two major attacks and a few minor ones. Both major attacks were in the states and occurred years apart.  The recent one in Palm Springs, CA following a family celebration dinner in a restaurant reminded me that I best always be careful when it comes to eating food away from home.

During the years between attacks, I'd traveled to Argentina, Halifax, Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island, Canada, Ecuador, Galapagos, places in the Mediterranean, Prague, other parts of the Czech Republic, Germany, Austria, Budapest, Baja, Mexico, Amsterdam, Belgium, Ireland, Scotland, Denmark, Norway, Hawaii, Australia, New Zealand. All without any significantly detectable incident. Here are some random thoughts on how I've managed while on the road.

1. When I visit a foreign country, I'm on guard about food and focused on eating safely more so than when I am in the states. Unfortunately, in the states there are times I assume, like in Palm Springs, I know what is safe to eat and that assumption lands me in trouble.

2. Generally people in foreign countries tend to know much more about Celiac or even gluten sensitivity than people -- chefs, servers, food service workers -- do in the states. For example, eating in Halifax was easy because restaurants understand Celiac in part because a high percentage of Nova Scotians have Celiac. This holds true in Italy and Ireland.

3. For many travelers, street food is a genuine pleasure and a way of experiencing a different culture. I, however, view street food as poison and avoid it completely. Even if the vendor tells me the food is gluten free, I'm suspect of cross contamination and hidden gluten.  I limit myself to admiring the food's appearance.

4. I carry packaged food with me. Think Thin gluten free protein bars are easy to pack and have substituted for a meal in more than one country or on a long distance flight.

5. Celiac Cards!  We don't leave home without them! Several years ago, R found a web site that posts downloadable, printable Celiac cards that state exactly what I cannot eat, what I can eat, and what happens if I ingest gluten. The cards are available in every language imaginable. In a foreign country, I show the server the card who then may show it to the chef and we figure out what I can safely eat. I must say that universally, servers are happy to help me. The cards allow me to travel with less anxiety to countries where I do not speak the language.

6.  The Internet makes managing Celiac while traveling so much easier.  We search ahead of time for gluten free or gluten free friendly restaurants so that we arrive with a few restaurant options. Tripadvisor is a great resource as are the many sites or blogs written by others who have issues with gluten.

7. I've learned to ignore comments or observations about my diet. Many times I meet someone who knows someone else who is reported to have Celiac but can eat so much more than what I do. I'm glad for that person. However, I've learned what works for me and when I'm on my game, I stay safe.

Happy Travels. Gotta go. More of Barcelona to see.

Traveling With Celiac in Italy

Bed count 89. Locations of beds 87, 88, and 89 -- the magical land of southern Italy, Puglia, the heel of the boot. Let me just go on record that I think the Italians really know how to live, minus their limited use of air conditioning, terrible highway driving, and roads in need of repair. And I guess I'll add to the list their tradition of starting dinner each evening at 8 or 8:30pm which can be a bit late for an American. Beyond those complaints, I think Italy is heavenly and mostly makes up for the minuses with sunny, warm days, slower pace of life, amazing scenery, and abundant, glorious food.

On this segment of the trip, we traveled to Siena in Tuscany, the old port town Bari on the Adriatic, inland to historic Matera and then with the bike tour to small villages like Alberbello, Ostuni, Fasano, Otranto -- all beautiful parts of southern Italy, a region fairly easily traveled when one has celiac.

Here's a summary of what I've learned about dining in Italy with celiac--

1. In larger, frequently visited (think day trips from Florence) cities, like Siena that serve international tourists it will simply be easier and more convenient to find safe food. In Siena our hotel Palazzo Ravizza recommended a restaurant only a few minutes from the hotel. The restaurant owner's wife has celiac, diagnosed when she was seven. While this is an unfortunate situation for her, for a traveler with celiac it has yielded a restaurant owner who deeply understands celiac and manages his kitchen in a celiac-safe way. It was such a joy to safely eat delicious Italian food that we ate there twice and recommended it to a couple we met on a tour. His restaurant is Vivace (vivacesiena.com). The owner of Vivace recommended another restaurant that makes safe gluten free pizza. We delighted in Siena's considerable charms and  ate well.

2. In Italy, food service workers are required to understand celiac and food allergies  and in my experience they are well educated. Once I mastered the important phrase "Senza glutine" (without gluten or gluten free) and handed over my celiac card, which every server knowingly brushed away, I was in business. The Italians, no matter how limited their English wanted to help me have a delicious, safe meal. Celiac wasn't an annoyance to them. I wish that were true in the states.

3. Make friends! Not just in life but when traveling, especially in smaller cities where dining options may be more limited. Richard befriended the gregarious Italian gentleman who ran the tourist office in Matera. He recommended a wonderful restaurant, Fornaci, and phoned the chef to confirm he could accommodate celiac and to tell him we were heading his way. On our arrival, the chef came out to greet us, took my Italian celiac card, wrote on the reservation "gluten-free" and told us to come back in an hour. When we returned, I was greeted with fresh gluten-free rolls and told I could select anything I wanted from the menu and he would prepare it gluten-free. In Matera, I found gluten free heaven and excellent, affordable wine. It is very good to have friends.

    The remains of my wonderful fish soup!

4. Traveling in a country that values fresh, quality food mostly makes eating safely easier. Beyond pasta and bread, much of southern Italian cooking is naturally gluten free. Zuppa di pesce, a luscious tomato based fish chowder of mussels, shrimp, white fish, and clams is 
made without any wheat filler and easily found in many restaurants, even in small villages.
And many a small restaurant in a small village offered gluten-free pasta.

5. With some advanced notification, even organized tours that include meals will provide excellent food. I've been on tours where styrofoam-like, overly wrapped pseudo-food was presented (or tossed at me) as my included meal. Not in Italy. On a day long tour of wineries that included lunch, I enjoyed antipasto, salad, and pasta with the group and the chef asked specifically if my gluten free pasta was to my liking. It was and I came home with six pounds as proof.

    A Puglia specialty -- which is gluten-free. Black rice, vegetables, and fresh mussels. Heavenly.

6. While my preference is to be as stealth as possible about food, that often isn't possible because fellow travelers are curious about what I eat. I'm always prepared to answer questions about celiac, but I do grow annoyed when others want to know why I'm 
receiving "special" food. Thick skin is a good thing to pack when traveling.

    Seafood pasta found in the small village of Monopli.

Is it no wonder that my current day dreams feature extended stays in sleepy Italian masserias, long bike rides along the Adriatic, and multi- course meals enjoyed late into the night? Oh, Italy.