⋆ Second Gen Desi ⋆

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One of my long-standing passions has been animals, and it’s something I documented in one of my earlier posts on this blog.

I never had a dog growing up, but that certainly did not mean I didn’t like giving out pets to lil loafs of family friends!

Before leaving for Italy in mid-2020, I had spent many months volunteering at a shelter in Orange County, as well as walking dogs through Wag!. While part of my Italy day-dreaming included me continuing my volunteering efforts in Milan, or better yet, adopting a dog of my very own, I knew that with all the other things life had in store for me from mid-2020 to now didn’t leave room for a doggo.

But I saw a crazy amount of doggos in Italy. It’s a country that is pretty friendly when it comes to taking your dog out anywhere and everywhere…

While I would have loved to have volunteered at a shelter in Milan, the lack of resources, volunteering/fostering opportunities, and accessibility to the very few shelters that existed were all hurdles. But at least it wasn’t a far-off dream, especially when moving to Austin began to materialize…

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When I first started volunteering at the animal shelter in Orange County, I truly thought I was a “small dog” person. When I was younger, I used to picture myself with a Pomeranian, a “purse dog” a la 2005. But my shelter volunteering experience helped me realize I am a “big dog” person, with a soft spot for Australian cattle dogs/blue heelers.

As I began to settle in Austin, I also had to go through a rough life change. Going into June, I was so severely impacted by an incident that I wasn’t even sure if I could be happy in Austin anymore, a doubt which I hated to harbor.

Then I figured, perhaps now was the time to bring a shelter dog into my life. A puppa to help me heal, while I could heal him or her. And as luck would have it, a “teen mom” had entered the doors of Austin Pets Alive, a local, well-known shelter in Austin.

Her name was Celeste, a bright-eyed Aussie cattle dog who had just nursed seven puppies at 2 years and 3 months old. So yes, it was a teen pregnancy lol!

By the time I found out about her/notified the shelter of my interest, she was at the stage where she could separate from her healthy, potato-like pups. After five weeks of nursing, I was sure that this young mama was ready to start a new life, just like me, haha!

APA has a well-developed foster program, and since Celeste would be the first dog I ever had in my life under my full responsibility, I agreed to undergo a “foster-to-adopt” process, in the likelihood that if things worked out, I could easily transition to adoption.

My sister was probably more excited than I was leading up to pick-up day, and she offered to come with me after work to pick up Celeste/help her settle in. Along with moral support, my sister came with a huge “starter pack” in tow, full of toys and treats her own foster dog didn’t care for, lol! I whole-heartedly appreciated it all since I honestly felt like I knew nothing about having a dog, even though I did spend time volunteering with them in the past.

APA has a gargantuan foster shed that we were able to get donated leashes, dog beds, toys, etc. from. Thanks to donations from other animal lovers, it was easy to get started with the essentials. What I wasn’t prepared for was the trazodone (anxiety medication that Celeste was apparently taking), and that I’d have to give her two doses daily. To be honest, pick-up day was a bit of a frenzy for my sister and I: we interacted with at least five staff members who told us different things at different times. At one point, one staff member told us Celeste had already left with a foster (but she was referring to me, LOL).

Once we left the shelter, we made a stop at PetsMart since I didn’t even have dog food ready–-I know, I’m such a bad mom 😂! I could tell something seemed off with Celeste, since she was drooling quite a bit. We summed it up to anxiety from rapidly changing environments and people, but she was a gentle girl as we walked through the store.

When we dropped off my sister so she could meet me at my place from her car, I still noticed Celeste wasn’t in the best of shape. Unfortunately, she did vomit in the backseat, but at least I was well-prepared with bedsheet draping over the car seats. I again summed it up to anxiety, but it was possible she could also be prone to motion sickness too, which would put a damper on any car trips to dog parks or hikes I had planned…

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My first night with Celeste was a learning curve. While she found some comfort in my spacious 1-bedroom (she was “spoiled” in that she never had to stay in a kennel at the shelter, as she was a nursing mama and was lucky to have a whole office for her and her seven pups), she did not like the dog bed I fished out for her from the foster shed. I tried getting her to get cozy in a crate, but she whimpered at the thought, even with a trail of peanut butter-flavored treats.

She didn’t jump on my bed or bark, and in fact, when I went to bed, she tried to sleep on the ground next to me. But I think she was still restless, and I found her embracing her “dingo side” when she decided to pace around the apartment in the dark that night.

As we entered into the next 48 hours, things got tough. I knew cattle dogs were high energy—that’s why I was so excited to finally have one in my care—but the fact that Celeste never ran out of energy threw me for a loop. Our first run together was a chopped 2 miler, and I saw that she loved the opportunity to connect with her dingo roots in each stride. We didn’t venture to any parks or trails, as I was still nervous about her possible car sickness.

One thing that also complicated things was she had tested heartworm-positive. I had read about the treatment online and knew it would be an intensive procedure which would involve injections and almost a month of bedrest where she could not absolutely under no circumstances run (or even walk normally) at risk of elevating her heartrate. It’s one of the major things that was on my mind during my “trial week” with Celeste—could I commit to a dog (albeit beautiful, sweet, and full of life) who already had a major health condition?

She was also not spayed yet, and before realizing that the random blood spots I’d find all over my apartment was her “period” (lol, technically, this happens when a dog is in heat), I thought she had an internal issue like an ulcer or something!

All of this, plus the fact that she was indeed prone to car sickness left me frustrated my third day with her. I wanted to go on long hikes with her, to take her to parks and to have her have the best time ever, but being on vomit alert crushed all my excitement. After wiping down the backseat of my car, I hoped to have a quiet evening walk with her in a new-to-us area, but the rampant squirrels wouldn’t even let me have that. At one point, Celeste might as well have been a cheetah, as that’s the strength and fervor she had when chasing down one squirrel. Her intensity literally ripped the leash I was holding onto so tightly from my hand, leaving a deep gash in my index finger.

TL;DR, it took about a month to heal.

My delicate hand while washing vomit-stained bedsheets. At least my nails were cute.

Before things got better, they got worse. Since Celeste was a cattle dog from the streets (lol), she was one smart cookie, which didn’t help me in trying to help her. She soon associated the scent of peanut butter with her trazodone, and would have nothing to do with it by the time I hit a week with her. This added to my frustrations, as I didn’t have the confidence to force-feed her twice a day with her new food aversion. This also contributed to my nervousness about committing to adoption, as it seemed like I would have to make a lot of sacrifices for the particular needs of Celeste.

Fortunately, the shelter gave the OK to stop trazodone since she didn’t have wild withdrawal symptoms in the 24 hours I wasn’t able to give her her medication. At this time, I also let the staff know that I wouldn’t be able to proceed with adoption, but I was happy to foster her until the right adopter came along.

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After the “first week blues”, things did begin to look up and Celeste and I developed a routine. She’d wake me up along with the sunrise, but if I shut my bedroom door, she’d wait patiently in the living room until I got up to go to the bathroom. I’d have to wrestle with her just to get to the toilet, but she eventually knew the clues that signaled walk or run time: Pink leash, belly rub, and the sound of the front door opening. Her scatter at the sound of the front door was comical, but a challenge I had to face so early in the morning: make sure neither she nor I injured ourselves tripping over each other.

Despite the quirks, she was the perfect running buddy. The most I ever ran with her was 10k, but it was a one-time miracle. All my other runs with her were sporadic 2-3 milers, intercalated with squirrel chases and arm workouts for myself trying to reign her back from said squirrel chases.

The funny thing was, even with these intense morning runs, she’d want to go out two hours later. Sometimes a tennis ball I’d throw would send her darting to the kitchen, or a pig ear would keep her occupied while I took some work meetings, but it was our lunchtime stops at my apartment’s dog enclosure that would really tie her over. I liked to say she was enamored with a large tree in this enclosure—the Tree of Life—but it was really the rustling of squirrels that mesmerized her.

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Evening runs were tortuous with the Texas heat, but if I was able to make her hold out long enough, we were able to enjoy sunset walks around the neighborhood. She wasn’t too crazy at this time of day, except that one time she decided to chew on a squirrel carcass…that wasn’t fun.

After confirming my foster status with her, I knew I would at least have her for a couple more weeks due to the 4th of July holiday. My dad was also visiting that weekend, and was able to meet/share the couch with her during his stay. He immediately fell in love with her personality, even if she did “steal” his spot from time to time!

On the 4th, I drove over to Petco to see if I could find a festive bandana for my girl. We had fun taking pics, and I think I was able to capture her energetic personality.

Who you callin’ mama now?

As if on cue, I received the first inquiry about her adoption the Thursday after 4th of July. The potential adopter lived on a ranch an hour out of Austin, and thought Celeste would make the perfect pal for her mini Aussie shepherd. Hearing this, I knew that in theory this would be a great fit for Celeste, and we set up the first meet-and-greet: a walk around my neighborhood in the sweltering Texas heat after work.

The potential adopter fell in love with her immediately—much like I did—and I knew the days I had left with my dear girl were numbered. Even so, I was truly excited for her, knowing that her life would indeed be spent where it should be roaming free on a Texas ranch.

The next step was a meet-and-greet at the shelter, where Celeste met her potential brother. I was asked to stay far from the pen so she wouldn’t try to look for me, but my dear girl couldn’t resist. She did well interacting with her new family, albeit with some hesitation, but the shelter was quick to give the go-ahead for adoption, and I was asked to bring her for her spay surgery in two days and for the new family to pick her up at the end of the day post-surgery.

Besides spoiling her with a few extra treats, my last day with her did not avert from protocol. We kept to our routine of 3x a day walks (with a few miles running in the morning, of course), a few extra cuddles, and then that was that. Bright and early on Monday morning, I brought her back to downtown Austin in heavy commuter traffic, and I let my baby girl go.

I felt sad thinking she didn’t know I wouldn’t be picking her up at the end of the day, but at the same time, I wondered if she would remember me at all.

Her new family was incredibly kind, offering to keep me updated on her happenings post heartworm treatment:

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Celeste indeed brought me an incredible amount of joy, while also unearthing hidden frustrations and exhaustion that come with caring for a dog. If you’re doing it right, I guess this is how it’s supposed to feel!

I haven’t fostered another dog since Celeste, but I absolutely want to. Even with the demands cattle dogs have, my heart still yearns for one, and I’m still leaning towards adopting a cattle dog in the future.

One day, when I have a house with a nice, big backyard, full of trees and plump squirrels.

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My, how time has passed and how I’ve grown since leaving for Italy in late June of 2020. I look back on the almost three years abroad and still question why some of the moments I went through were really hard at times, but the answers will eventually come, as they always do, with time.

2021 was difficult in its own right, but despite my depression taking over and my desperation to get out of my post-doc/still stay, work, (and let’s face it, love) in Italy, I managed to make it out okay and go into 2022 with hope and stability.

But I harbored a lot of anger in the first half of 2022. I can’t say why, but I could point out the triggers. Despite finding an amazing company that helped me stay in Italy in a position that was well-within my career goals, and the fact that they helped with my sponsorship to attain an EU Blue Card (an ordeal in itself, but it had to be done), I tried to be calm about the process that is life, but I found myself getting angry with each passing month…

I found myself feeling FOMO about my career. Even if I had a “good job” for Italian standards, a lot of my peers back home in the US were making $120-150k in the pharma industry, while my salary stood much lower at 45k euros…again, “good for Italy“, but frankly speaking, it wasn’t good enough for me, especially knowing all the toil I put towards my PhD degree…it was not enough.

I found myself seeking validation, and it affecting my mental health in the most toxic way. I quit social media for almost a year after getting into some heated arguments with loved ones about it. But I couldn’t deny that the metrics of holding onto an audience was getting to me. I felt restricted in being able to speak my truth, as I was finding it difficult to “please everyone”…what I tried to share and create on the platforms I chose, was not enough.

I found myself face a rocky personal battle in late 2022, and it shook up my world more than I could imagine. I think of everything I experienced in my life so far, this one had a superior impact on my emotional and mental health, perhaps because it impacted me in my most vulnerable state. The fact that I couldn’t control the outcome of this particular situation terrified me, and out of everything that was contributing to the challenges I faced in Italy, it was this incident that set me in “fight or flight” mode: find a job, and get the f*ck home…because I was not enough.

LinkedIn distracted me from my clock-watching tendencies at work (the result of being under-utilized), yet the the anxiousness and unpredictability of my personal life, and the continued, chronic invisibility I felt as a helpless “foreigner in Italy” made me feel like I had sunk to rock bottom. Perhaps a “dream job” back home making $150k could make it all better.

I was extremely close. It would have been mine and in an alternate reality, perhaps I’d be living in Las Vegas right now traveling to clinics all over the west coast as a medical science liaison, but ultimately, I was passed on what would have been my dream job. I remember receiving the call outside of a restaurant in Milan I had just met a friend at, and walking to the Buonarotti metro stop in tears, only to have a homeless Italian man offer me a tissue. What a sight that must have been for the cold-hearted pedestrians that continued to walk on by…

I had to go back to the drawing board, knowing that I was the only one who could say “enough is enough”. I gave myself a “deadline” to find a new job within the next three months back home, so I could give enough notice for the cold excuse of a studio I “lived” in, as well as give a “heads up” to my current employer, all while trying to find the time to breathe even if the anxiety was all-consuming at this point.

But as usual, I ended up surprising myself. My bosses seemed to be understanding, although not acknowledging the fact I was wanting to leave the country 😅. I remember my department boss asking me to “give it six months, things are going to change around here!”. I’ve always appreciated their support, something rare to receive from upper-management of Italian companies from what I hear, but I also had to be wary of my emotions and how crazy things had been for the last few months.

It wasn’t enough to hear those words, I needed action.

I managed to schedule my day-to-day activities around job interviews that kept rolling in every week. While they provided me with sparks of hope, when the dreaded “we will proceed with other candidates” emails came though, I’d find myself in desperation again. This went on well into March…

But even though a chronic level of stress was always keeping me on edge, I managed to find and/or create pockets of happy moments for myself during the last few months I spent in Italy. As I slowly made my rounds catching up with the few Milan-based friends I managed to make in recent months, and making them aware of my plans to leave soon, they reached out with open hearts and schedules 😁!

AM and I were able to spend quality time in Ravenna, and a few weekends later, she invited me over for vegetarian Colombian food and coffee on a sunny Saturday afternoon—I love a moment of good food (especially homemade!) and conversation!

The two of us also had vegan sushi in Milan’s only (and relatively new) all-vegan sushi restaurant. Finally, ya’ll caught up with the likes of Los Angeles and Austin 🙃.

I was also able to get some expat girls to break out of their aperitivo comfort zone, and I am proud of the fact that I co-organized a clothing swap! I love organizing events and leading groups (heck, the most favorite part of my PhD was mentoring 20+ students!!), and this particular event gave me the self-esteem boost I was lacking lately…

The friend I met in Cagliari and I were able to do some day trips together, to Padova and Parma. It was nice to have a friend to chat with on the dull and dilapidated inter-regional Trennord train rides (nothing like the tourist-friendly Frecciarossa trains) that were always delayed during our excursions.

Wearing a clothing item I got from the clothing swap!

I also squeezed in some solo weekend trips to Porto and Budapest, which went better than expected.

But even all these good moments…were not enough.

I reckoned with the fact that we were approaching mid-March, and reaching that timepoint was cranking up my already-elevated anxiety. Was it just a coincidence that the day after the Ides of March, I’d get a message from a recruiter asking me to interview for a job that would have never been on my radar? That would pay six figures, allow me to work remote, and be a solid career move that would bring me back safe and sound home to the States?

I had interviewed for the role on a Thursday, and received a firm offer the following Monday. Within a matter of days, I was giving my 30 days to my Italian employer, in talks regarding a counter-offer, informing friends, informing loved ones…

The funny thing was, all the anger, anxiety, sadness, and bitterness began to fade once I was firm in my decision. I was putting myself and my needs first, and I truly believe that when you work towards something with sincerity, the best things will happen for you.

I left Italy in mid-April, thinking I would start my new job a few days later. Of course life is always throwing curveballs, and I ended up starting three weeks later. Go figure, but it was nice to unwind in North Houston and have the company of my Dad.

But I think the best part of all this is the fact that I am able to wrap up this post on the couch of my 1-bedroom apartment in Austin, Texas—a city I fell in love with almost two years ago, and from that summer ’21 visit, knew this was the place I would be proud to call home.

My first weekend as a denizen of the best city in the world!

I know way too many people who settle. Due to fear, lethargy, apathy, you name it. But, isn’t life too short for that? If something is not enough, if it gets you flustered, bitter, angry, anxious, deeply sad…you don’t have to accept it. It will take work, and it will most certainly take time, but the universe always comes through—those of us who are starving, we have a reason to fight and we will eventually be fed.

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With SGD, my fourth blog venture in life (lol, I am also including the few months I had a Blogspot in high school to document the cool snacks my sister’s friend brought back from Japan one time!), I see it more as a portfolio of my writing style when I compare it to my other blogs.

You know, something to mention in my query letter to the agent who will one day publish my memoir 😉🌠

I used to blog solely about two main passions of mine, running and food. But when I left for Italy, I got bored of restricting myself with my writing. With SGD, I wanted to have more freedom in this regard, and I do, but I also miss writing about food and my day(s) around the foodie adventures I planned around! Though the standard food product and restaurant reviews do get repetitive…

So with this blog, I’ve experimented with different writing formulas when it comes to writing about my long-standing passions. Like when I wrote about my day in Torino through the eyes of an aging debutante 😂. Give that a read if you haven’t already 😉

And I thought I’d do something similar with my weekend spent in Porto: fill you in on not just what I ate, but how I felt…

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Why Porto? Because it happened to be cheaper than Lisbon when I booked the Ryanair tickets 😂. I knew Portugal was a country I would be interested in visiting, and I thought “why not now” since it was only about a two hour flight from Milan…

…but if there’s anything I learned about these “cheap flights within Europe”, it is that they are cheap for a reason. Always delayed. Always crowded. Always an unpleasant experience.

Needless to say, I was looking for my dinner that night to soothe my irritated soul, and Kind Kitchen, not too far from my hostel, was the perfect place to refuel.

I was the only solo diner that night, surrounded by German-speaking couples, but it didn’t faze me.

No one mattered, once I locked eyes with my plate of vegan nachos.

Crispy chips topped with black beans, tomatoes, vegan cheese, and guacamole…was I in Berkeley or Porto?

It was satisfying indeed, but I craved something sweet and cold, despite the coastal winds bringing a chill along with them. As I walked towards Gelataria Portuense, I noticed several crescent moons gliding across a pitch black sky—haha no, they were just ‘gulls! 🐦

They followed me all the way to a rich, creamy cup of porto tawny + cheesecake morango—a taste of Porto Tawny wine without the alcohol, caramelized walnuts, plus cream cheese and strawberry puree with a crumbly biscuit.

Now my appetite was satisfied, and I was ready for a well-deserved night’s rest. Thankfully, only four girls including me were in my hostel room that night, when the maximum is supposedly eight…

I slept well that night, and in the morning learned that gray and cloudy skies awaited me, prompting me to push my run to later in the day. The other girls in the room were still snoozin’, including a Californian girl who’s last stop had been Morocco.

I wanted to sleep-in like them all, catch them at a more “decent” hour so we could unite and leave our solo traveler identities for a while….but I was hungry. The story of my life.

I was on the hunt for Pastel de Nata, as well as a place to possibly work with a laptop. But, Confeitaria Calica checked off only one of the two.

I decided to take care of my stomach first, and could deal with work a little later. The cafe with its no-frills decor made sure to humble me and my breakfast. A hefty, cube TV with a bubble screen played Portuguese news in the background, while the aged clientele seemed to have lived through better days…

My breakfast was indeed spartan, but in the most Portuguese way. I had seen Pastel de Nata before in Italy, but I vowed to never try it until I was on proper ground to take my first bite.

A cappuccino—in the most darkest form I had ever seen, almost as gray as the skies were that morning!—made a fair accompaniment to the golden egg tart with a flaky crust. The camera didn’t do well in confirming its real size—the size of my palm!

Within minutes it was all gone, and it was time to hunker down to get some work done. “Nomading” was going great, but it was about time I got some digital in! The Pilot Hostel lobby was decent enough, but the dark red walls fed me “vampires in daycare vibes”. It didn’t help that my “desk” and chair felt like a toddler’s play station.

After a few hours of work, I decided I would squeeze my run in—it’s my go-to way to also check off some sightseeing. The girls in my hostel room were long gone by the time I returned to gather my running gear. My 7 mile run was invigorating as much as it was exhausting, thanks to steep hills that made me second guess where I really was…

Porto, or San Francisco Bay Area? 🤔

I was hoping not to run into others while still in sweaty clothes, but there was nothing I could do to avoid the two blondes, attached at the hip, running damage through their already-flat-and-fried hair. Years of middle and high school in the 2000s as a brown, oily-skinned awkward duckling, and perhaps getting through my twenties constantly rolling my eyes at the routines of other women, made me immune to the self-doubt I used to experience upon seeing “feminine competition”.

The Californian who had recently trekked Morocco was at least one friendly face. While she had already made plans with the blondes, we exchanged numbers and mutually suggested to catch up for dinner. Perhaps I wouldn’t have to trek around Porto alone, after all. Even though the city caught my attention without my needing another human to distract me, the extroverted introvert in me always welcomes the company of a warm soul.

So I was content having another meal alone in the meantime—at least I had the freedom to go vegan once again, at Apuro. It was dimly-lit, yet cozy cafe, that truly reminded me of the restaurants we’d visit in Berkeley with “my really cool cousin”.

While I slowly answered the work emails that suddenly accumulated in my inbox within the last working hour of that Friday afternoon, this “sweet” bowl composed of sweet potato puree, basmati rice, bittersweet seitan, sauteed mushrooms, eggplant, lettuce, arugula, tomatoes, walnuts, cilantro, and a generous serving of (chili) sauce helped me stay focused until I could *officially* clock-out for the day.

And as usual, I had to have something sweet to feel content and complete. A slice of a dark chocolate vegan tart with almond and coconut did the trick, even if dark chocolate isn’t my most favorite taste in the world…

As I approached the last spoonfuls of my scrumptious vegan dessert, I decided to reach out to the Californian. As usual, I was making the first move. A somewhat-desperate extroverted introvert who wanted to seize any chance at companionship, because she wasn’t looking forward to yet another meal alone, if she could avoid it…

Thankfully, I was able to confirm company for the evening. After so much time in Italy, I was used to a latter start time for dinner. 7pm in the lobby and then a slow walk over? I mean, did I have a choice?

But at least Porto showed its thoughtful side again, this time with Francesinhas Al Forno da Baixa. A short conversation in the hostel lobby about where to go for dinner led the Californian and I here, after I confirmed that they indeed had an ample selection of vegan francesinha delights.

There were at least four vegan francesinhas to choose from. Four!! Not having to pick “the vegan one”, rather picking one from a selection, was a novel experience to say the least.

So I went with curry, filled with everything possible that was all vegan: seitan, vegan chorizo, vegan sausage, vegan cheese, and curry sauce. And for less than 10€.

The conversation was filling as well. As two women travelers, though under different circumstances and with years between us, we were able to talk about things relevant to us both. There were times when the conversation steered towards unnerving memories from my end, but she was yet another kind listener from these recent months, helping me to sand down those once abrasive emotions.

The next morning, I sacrificed a run since my appetite still seemed to be raging—despite the “rich” francesinha consumed only hours before!

It was an excuse to try another hipster eatery near the hostel, and I immediately thought of Lazy Breakfast Club just a few doors down…

I was indeed feeling lazy, but it didn’t seem like the cafe was, based on the staff on call. While the cafe was small and cozy, it had an upstairs level, and the number of staff seemed to outnumber the patrons.

It’s almost like I had a personal server, and mine followed me up the stairs and asked if I (as a single patron, of course) wouldn’t mind sitting at a communal table with a German couple already seated. I welcomed the opportunity, thinking perhaps the German couple would be interested in some early morning conversation, but one look at their phone-fixed faces and I rolled my eyes. This solo stuff was really starting to get on my nerves…

But it was the server who had led me to my seat who annoyed me the most. His quirk was saying a little “brrp” sound after presenting each food item to a patron.

Golden milk latte, brrp!

Overnight oats with fruit and peanut butter, brrp!

At least he was entertaining to watch, as he air drummed to the music being played over the cafe’s stereo system. He also seemed to break the ice with the Germans at my table by speaking in German and bonding over his admiration of Nietzsche. Cue bigger eye roll here.

My breakfast was light enough that by the time my Californian friend woke up and met me in the hostel lobby, we quickly made our way to stop for Pastel de Nata before heading to our walking tour start.

Cervejaria Metro da Trindade wasn’t fancy, but like the name suggests, it was close to the metro, and close to where we were headed. My new friend tried PdN for the first time, and I decided last minute to grab one to-go. I was still hungry, believe it or not!

I did my best not to get custard all over me, and I managed success despite all the wobbly, cobblestone roads that insisted on defeating me!

We made it to the walking tour starting point with time to spare, and found company with a “diverse” group (half of our group were Americans from California, go figure). Our walking tour guide was lively and friendly enough, but as with all walking tours I’ve participated in my life, my mind was thinking to the meal I’d have after!

So I shamelessly tuned out the history that was being shared, in favor of taking photographs of the mesmerizing architecture and the bustling crowds that encircled it all. I perked up when the tour guide began to speak of the history regarding bread, eggs, and the Portuguese Catholic church 🤣.

And when a 15 minute break was mentioned so we could climb back up a hill to check out the infamous Padeirinha Doce, a bakery known for its carb-heavy Portuguese delights, my friend and I didn’t waste a minute, almost running up that hill.

But I was humbled here. After being “spoiled” up until this point with vegan options and dietary-friendly/open-minded catering, the only savory treat I could partake in was a “golden roll” and a cappuccino on the side to wash it all down:

At the end of the day, bread is bread, and I couldn’t complain about biting into a chewy ball of sun. It was the cappuccino I should have been more wary of—piping hot, with each sip threatening to burn off my taste buds.

We managed one more hour of walking, and despite the break, my mind was still thinking about where to eat/drink more coffee after this “distraction” was done and over. I also still had to figure out where my tip was coming from…even after living in old-world Europe for the past few years, the thought of ever having to carry cash continues to send shivers down my spine.

But my new friend came through—I’d cover her next meal, and she’d cover both of our walking tour tips. Our tour stopped at the Douro River, and from there we decided to climb back up to the center and stop at a place along the way.

How convenient that Bite was this place.

While my friend let me cover her glass of wine, I got myself the crisps with aioli, since there weren’t an ample amount of “big” meals to choose from (and I figured I could have another excuse to eat later).

Sitting by the window, I could see we were perfectly positioned in the beating heart of Porto. I guess 3pm was when things started to take shape, and was proof that Portugal was yet another country and culture filled with people who shuddered at the thought of waking up at 6am for a morning run.

Even with company by my side, my mind always manages to find a way to make me feel othered.

With most of the city attractions checked off thanks to the walking tour, my friend and I decided to take our time strolling in and out of shops, to of course buy more time before the next snack 😂.

Then we found it, the grand entrance to Mercado do Bolhão, Porto’s most famous and grand outdoor market. I was surprised that several vendors offered samples as well, even though they tended to be micro-sized slivers of cheese or teaspoons of vinegar.

What caught my eyes was the decadent display of chocolate truffles—the brigadeiros.

The tiny one I decided to treat myself to was a costly 1.50€! I took the time to admire it before allowing it to melt in my mouth within seconds. It was a vanilla-and-chocolate blend of condensed milk encrusted with sugar crystals, and boy did I wish these miniature truffles were the ones being given out as samples…

After making our rounds, my friend and I made our way back to the hostel. She had to quickly pack up and walk back across town to change her hostel for the night, but we agreed to meet up for an Indian dinner in a few hours. Indian food, you’re guaranteed to find it everywhere and anywhere 😅.

But I was a mix of bored and tired—I was too lazy to climb up to the top bunk that was my hostel bed and I was too exhausted to socialize in the hostel lounge. I made myself cozy on one of the sofas, and passed the next hour and a half doing something I dread: doomscrolling through my phone 😫!

As time ticked on towards 7pm, I decided to take the “scenic” route to Thali. Too bad there was nothing new to see, as I was crossing the same hipster paths I crossed all weekend. Thali was in the middle of Porto’s version of Gourmet Ghetto, yet another similarity to its sister on the Pacific 😉.

It would be the last meal with my new friend, and despite the bittersweet undertones, we were both eager and hungry to dive into some warm (and spicy!) North Indian food. I knew that the spice level of North Indian food offered in Europe is significantly toned down for the sensitive stomachs of the locals, while the price is significantly cranked up!

Being too hungry to capture the full spread, I quickly scooped a spoonful of mushroom paneer and a quarter of my butter garlic naan before chowing down.

While my friend and I mostly stayed quiet as we focused on the food in front of us, the young child of a couple next to us was happily squealing to the sounds of Bollywood music videos playing from the TV screen behind me. Her father looked to us and apologized for his “rambunctious” daughter, to which we politely smiled and said it was no bother.

It led to my friend and I talking about having kids and starting families, and it led me to be completely honest about my take on it all. My friend spoke excitedly about the idea of being able to tell her kids about her one year traveling the world solo, while my mind fixated on the idea of having to prioritize my life around another human being for eighteen consecutive years, if not more…

But having the confidence to have these conversations with anyone openly is something I attribute to my personal growth while living abroad—I am not afraid to share my thoughts and opinions, and at the same time, I cherish the stories that are shared with me.

Our dinner soon came to a close, and with bellies now warm and full, my friend and I hugged each other goodbye. As I walked back to the hostel, I knew I had to stop for dessert, and I suppose Gelateria Sincelo was able to read my mind. A cup of cinnamon ice cream with mini malt balls was the perfect nightcap, despite the cool, sea winds making my body feel especially cold.

The next morning, I woke up around 6am and was the first of all the girls in my room to do so (of course). My flight back to Milan beckoned, and so did one last meal on Porto soil. It wasn’t a special breakfast at Deli & Cia, but a cappuccino + something always seems to comfort me, even on my most stressful days…

Savory breakfasts are hard to come by in Italy, so I was happy to collect my thoughts over a spinach pasty (not quite Portuguese, more like British 😅).

And after the last bite of my dear pasty’s flaky crust, it was back to the land of bland carbohydrates and spartan vegetarian options. Porto was indeed a refreshing break for my microbiome!

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I fed myself well in Porto, and while the food was accommodating as much as it was nourishing, the added benefit of having a “travel pal” for the weekend helped pass time in a city that already performed well in distracting me.

And while this post is a clear record of my literal bites in Porto, the feelings associated with these meals are also “bites” that will remain ingrained in my mind for years to come…

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If you’re new to the blog, I’m a runner. I’ve considered myself a “runner” since my first race at the end of 2012, so over 10 years now!

I used to write race recaps religiously in previous blogs of mine, but when I started with SGD, my focus changed. It was also right around the time COVID was at its peak so running adventures in Italy also took a back seat…

Since moving to Italy, I wrote about my running adventures when I felt like it:

⋆ Running Reflections

⋆ Running a (Half) Marathon in Italy

I ran a half marathon in October 2022 in Monza before the Houston Marathon a few months ago, but I wasn’t in the mood to recap that experience. After Houston, I’ve been trying to figure out what my goals are for the year and going forward. Needless to say, life is showing me tough love right now, and pursuing an active job search does make things difficult in planning for the long-term, including formidable races such as my next marathon!

So for the short-term, I’ve been working on maintaining moderate-to-high mileage throughout the week, and focusing on trying for new PRs in shorter distances like 5 and 10km. A local race in Monza called Run for Life took place in early March, and I thought it would be feasible to sign up for the 5km distance and see if I could break my PR from 2017.

Racing in Italy definitely has its pros and cons. Pros include cheap “inscriptions” (lol, registration) and “later” start times. Cons, for me at least, include lack of a strong running culture compared to the US, menial “pomp and circumstance” regarding packet pick-up and post-race freebies, carelessness when it comes to course organization for small, local races, and too much control over needing a health exam/doctor’s certificate and run organization registration to race “competitively”.

For this particular race, 14€ included registration for the 5k, along with a race shirt, drawstring bag, and ample coupons. They threw in a box of cough drops, and some Italian hard candies, but pickings were indeed slim!

While the early bird in me detests the fact that nothing in this country is up and running before 9am, especially on Sundays, I must admit that being close to the race and the latter start time compared to US races did give me the opportunity to sleep in until 7:30am 😂. It bothered me that I had to struggle to find a coffee shop open so “early” in the morning (please, Starbucks in the US is up and at ’em at 5:30am in a lot of places, haha!), but I managed to consume an uncharacteristic-of-me breakfast before the race—gasp! a cappuccino and brioche!

In the past, I would have been incredibly nervous about coffee before a race given previous *gastrointestinal discomfort incidents* but as my performance in the race would later suggest, it might have been a factor that helped me 😮?

I might have also had a morale booster that helped, since I was meeting up with a runner friend from a previous Italy race experience! When I made an attempt to organize a running group for expat women last summer, she was one member though she couldn’t make it to the run sessions I proposed. We ended up meeting for the first time in person at the Monza Half in October, and met again for this race.

She was coming by bus, so after my colazione and quick potty break at home, I made my “warm-up” to Monza Park where the race was taking place.

There wasn’t much to do when I go to the bag-drop off area. I didn’t have to check in a bag (just the one they gave me with my “free tee”), so I spent some time people-watching before my friend arrived.

Of course they had coffee and snacks available at the “corner bar” 😅

When my friend arrived, we did another warm-up (about 1 mile) before slowly making our way to the start. It wasn’t too cold, but I was eager to get moving since I didn’t bring layers (we runners warm-up once we’re moving…).

To pass the time, we took pictures at the start, when a guy approached us and asked if he could take a picture with us. It was indeed an odd request that we declined, but for me not a completely unsual one! Something similar happened with me and my sis a couple years ago on a family trip to Paris. The kicker was, my Dad took the photo without hesitation! So now there’s a random guy out there who has a photo with my sister and I at the Eiffel tower—awesome 😂.

Since I was running the 5km, forcefully grouped with the “non-competitive” runners (in Italy, if you don’t provide proof of registration with a runner’s club or organization, you can’t race “competitively”. Even if you do beast your competition, your time would not be considered if you don’t have proof of this registration. Technically, you pay a fee and move on, but it is an unnecessary hassle…), my bib didn’t come with an electronic tracker, and for this particular race, no one seemed to care how the 5kers dispersed themselves! I started with my friend but took off once my legs felt good. She was doing the 10k, and we agreed to meet at the bag drop-off after our races.

I went into the race not feeling like I would PR, only because I had to drop down mileage the week I was in Ravenna, and when honestly reflecting over my training, I had not put in much devoted time to speedwork since Houston.

But, my time suggested otherwise—I was one second off my 5K PR pace from 2017!

My PR pace for the 5k was actually achieved during a training run back in 2017, at 7:36 min/mi. At the race, I was able to get very close at 7:37/mi!

It would have been perfect, if I had actually crossed the finish line!! The idiots organizing the race didn’t communicate the course distances with their volunteers I guess since one of the volunteers had me keep running on the 10k path! I knew something was up when I saw there was no finish line in sight but all the tall trees.

I ended up stopping, cutting through a large lawn, and then jogging back to the bag-drop off in irritation!

Funny thing was, I ended up running a 10k including my warm-ups and this “irritation” run! 😂

My path should have been the yellow loop 🤦🏽‍♀️:

Despite the disorganization and not much TLC being shown for the 5k distance, I was very much happy with my fitness status based on my “personal” 5k time trial.

My friend finished soon enough, and after picking up our bags, we decided that we might as well hop into the growing line that apparently promised fresh arancia juice and a humble bag of snacks from a local grocery store chain, Coop.

Waiting for free stuff: an unified, international experience

By the time we got to the goods, the orange juice machine was acting wonky and the guy moderating the pick-up line was panicking in Italian, LOL. My friend and I managed to snag a few of the last cups, and then head on out.

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After the race, I managed to treat myself to a vegan lunch to-go and a nap, but the experience made me remember the local races I ran in the early 2010s, and how much fun the race as a whole was for not just the runners, but for all of their supporters.

At one local race in the Bay Area, my dad and I swiftly left the premises with 10 jars of Biscoff spread 🤣. Then there was the other time I won tickets to Dodger’s game, and another time where I woke up at 3am just to run a relay with my marathon team before the sun rose…

These races were literal events that motivated, and at times inspired, me to write the race recap posts of my past blogs, and is something I wish was still alive in the running community. Even in the US, the sample game isn’t what it used to be—I doubt my Dad and I would still be able to snag Biscoff jars at ridiculous quantities. Now we’d probabaly be handed a teeny spoonful and watched by hawks!

Even if there wasn’t fanfare for my 5k time—let alone the race in general—I came away incredibly happy and proud of my feat after six years! Since I was so close to breaking my 5k PR, I’m thinking of doing another 5k this spring, but will need to start thinking ahead to half and full plans too!

Happy with my time, but always wanting to improve!

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I have been pretty successful in my last series of trips to “not go at it alone“.

Funny thing is, I have a solo trip coming up, but only because I figured that for some destinations—like Portugal—it’s best to just make it happen and not depend on others. Especially if RyanAir has a deal you can’t pass up.

I have few friends and a couple of acquaintances in the lonely city of Milan, and I have disclosed to these individuals that my time in Milan isn’t indefinite. Upon hearing this, one of my dear friends AM proposed the idea of doing a mini weekend trip within Italy together. We had talked about this before last summer, when I was putting in an effort to meet a lot more girls in an attempt to create a community for myself here (lol, okay then…). Even though a group trip never panned out, I’m glad that AM was still eager to be my travel companion!

One of her photo tags inspired the title of this post—we also talked about being millennials while on this trip, and if you know me, I will talk for hours about the 2000s to no end!

For our trip, we were thinking small—Siena, Udine, Cinque Terre/La Spezia—but then Ravenna was thrown into the picture and it seemed like a reasonable destination for an easy-going weekend trip within Italy. Round-trip train tickets for the end of February cost around 78 euros, but one of the train legs was on the “fast” Frecciarossa train from Milan to Bologna, and for some reason, our return ticket was on the pricey side.

Trains. You can’t live with ’em, you can’t live without ’em.

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We left on a Saturday morning, getting a coffee (of course) at Milan Centrale before our train to Bologna Centrale at 8am. Despite all the things that stress me about daily life in Italy, my morning ritual of a cappuccino plus something helps me survive on the daily. It’s rare that I have a morning without one, and if I do, I’m in the worst mood ever!

But even when pumped with the fuel a cappuccino provides, I can never be fully prepared for the things life in Italy throws at me: including personal space infringement…

AM and I were assigned seats apart from eachother for the first leg of our trip. I was blessed with this view for one hour. La dolce vita, amIright?

From Bologna, we took a shorter train (about an hour) to Ravenna, which is a seaside town located on the western coast of Italy by the Adriatic Sea. It’s a city filled with churches, Dante’s resting place, and mosaics.

Mosaics are literally everywhere. Some cute pieces close to the hotel we stayed at Hotel Mosaico.

We stayed at Hotel Mosaico, a conveniently-placed hotel within walking distance to the train station (although Google didn’t recognize the underground tunnel to access the station, so when we first arrived we walked “the long way” of fifteen minutes around the station and aboveground 😅). Our room definitely gave us the two separate beds we requested, but the size discrepancy was hilarious.

AM was kind to let me have the bigger bed, although I only took up 25% of the mattress, lol!

After checking in, we did my favorite activity every time I’m in a new place—walking around and taking pics of everyday activity, while walking to food 😂.

The city center is small, easy to walk around within minutes, but definitely has a warm and cozy feel to it even on a rainy day!

The ol’ street name on a plaque on the wall vibe was in full swing here also, but bedazzled with mosaic art:

For lunch, I’m glad AM was just as eager to try Amaranto as I was, a vegan restaurant that also served traditional dishes veganified. While I opted for a noodle curry (I was in the mood for something warm and flavorful), AM enjoyed her traditional cappelletti pasta with ragù (it was all vegan, even the ragù, though AM was convinced it was real meat, haha)!

With bellies full, we were hoping to check off some local landmarks from our list, but we found out that a lot of the local attractions have limited opening hours—including on weekends! So even though we were out and about at 2pm, we managed to make it in time to check out Basilica of St. Vitale but had to see a few other landmark churches in the area the next day.

Even though I’m not Catholic, and Italy is literally the birthplace of Catholicism, the mosaic artwork inside Basilica of St. Vitale is something that any cultured person can appreciate.

I honestly wonder if all these artists back in the day had some adrenaline craving—they had to if they were hanging upside down to paint or assemble flecks of glass together. Crazy guys!

Close to the basilica, there was a cute local artisan shop featuring mosaic gifts and souvenirs. I’m not a souvenir kind of person (photos are fine enough for me!), but I love walking through shops that scream the local themes—I find them more personable than the usual touristy spot or museum!

Workshop area in a place called Annafietta

Before heading to the beach (yes, in February), we stopped for a coffee at Mercato Coperto and then quickly stopped to check out the Battistero Ariani (we thought it was free entry, but there was a two euro fee of course!).

Hanging out at the beach was one of my favorite moments on the trip because AM and I transitioned back to teenage girl mode, haha! She found the perfect stick for carving our names into the sand, and we spent a good two hours getting a solid workout in from walking across the terrain!

Previous trips that had me detour the beach left me wasting time when it came to getting back to the city center. Ravenna was kind to us, in that the bus ride was a “short” 30 minute distance back to the train station. We took a winding way back to a convenient bus stop, but we made it back to the hotel in one piece.

After resting for a bit, dinner was on our minds. I was particularly ravenous, and I attribute that to our energy expenditure at the beach!

Surprisingly, we weren’t met with many options to choose from for dinner. We ended up going to Mr. Dante, a restaurant in the piazza that was literally empty at 8pm.

Ladies and gentlemen, how are you not starving at this hour?

I helped myself to the quattro stagioni without ham, so that left me with artichoke, olives, and mushroom. Oh, but it would have been a knock-out if someone had the guts to put onion and pineapple on this bad boy:

If this only had onions and pineapple! But I still gobbled it up nonetheless!

Despite the dark red color palatte and the all-Italian menu, the restaurant had a TV blasting music videos from the 2000s! What a great accompaniment for two millennialz having dinner 😂.

After gobbling up an entire pizza, I still had room for gelato! We walked around the piazza for a bit, and found out where the “cool kids of Ravenna” go out to hang on Saturday nights. They had a boombox and everything, and it was quite a hilarious sight.

My piccola gelato was a chocolate flavor with Smarties-like candies and an amarena (cherry) flavor on top. It started to rain when we finally got our gelato, but I will never say no to a scoop of ice cream!

It didn’t look like a lot but *trust me* it was.

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The next morning, we were met with a downpour. Heavy rain, brisk winds, everything. I wanted to go for a nice run around the city—maybe to the beach and back because you know, #longdistancerunner—but the weather was making it a challenge.

I ended up running underneath the covering of a police station (lol) and managed to get five miles in despite the horrendous weather conditions. It was worthy of a relaxing breakfast provided by the hotel. The pickin’s weren’t amazing in the savory department, but I managed to find “balance” even among the disproportionate amounts of sweets!

I made it work with bread, jam, cheese, a hard-boiled egg, chocolate muesli, and of course, a cappuccino. I absolutely love it when breakfast is included in a hotel stay…there’s something about a hotel breakfast buffet that makes you really feel like you are on vacation 😂.

Our train didn’t leave Ravenna until 2pm, so we had all morning and lunch to finish exploring.

S. Appolinare Nuovo was next, and is what made me realize that with all of these ceilings and artwork on said ceilings, one who is prone to neck pain should be wary of visiting Ravenna 🤣.

My face when looking at these ceilings during this trip lol

The ceiling work was stunning, but of course, you could tell time had a done a number to the building overall. Still, the mosaic work and its colors are striking!

There was an adjacent Dante exhibit, since the famed poet died in Ravenna. His tomb was actually nearby, and we were able to pass by it as well.

It was a proclaimed “quiet zone”.

Our last stop for the trip was Museo Arcivescovile, which AM and I agreed that it was our least favorite of everything we saw.

It was the most “technical” of them all, literally fitting of its name.

While the ceilings were yet again pretty, many of the items on display got…repetitive 😅.

Needless to say, we were more than ready for a proper lunch before making the long journey back to Milan. AM suggested at the start of the trip that we make it a priority to seek out piadina (essentially a flatbread sandwich) as one of the meals during our trip. I’m always happy to indulge in local favorites as long as there is a vegetarian-friendly option.

But piadina and I have had a tricky history. I didn’t realize that traditional recipes call for lard, or strutto, when making the bread, and this was something I found out months after moving to Italy 🙄.

I may be “that girl” who has to ask at restaurants “do you make this with animal fat?”, but a smart restaurant owner knows that with respect and acceptance of all dietary needs comes moneyyyyy 😂.

So we had to pass on another “famous” piadina spot that was open and ended up at Pasticceria Ferrari instead. It was our third pick, and the ambience was reflective of that—a cafe with an old 70’s feel to it with dim lighting and confusion among its menu. But at least we each had our piadina, since they had vegetarian-friendly ones made with olive oil.

Piadina with squacquerone cheese and rucola

We took our time with lunch, and made our way back to Ravenna station. Of course we had almost an hour to kill, and given the dilapidated state of the station, there was no proper seating area. Of course…

Our ride back was entertaining at least: rowdy Ravennean teens blasting Italian hip hop all the way to Bologna, running through the rain once we got to Bologna just to take shelter with some coffee, falling asleep on the train (me!) with no shame, and having a quick dinner at Centrale before heading home!

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If I’m being honest (always lol), I probably would have been “done” with Ravenna in half an afternoon! It truly is a tiny town more than it is a city, and if I had been a solo traveler, I probably wouldn’t have invested in the tickets to see the inside of the landmark churches (I know, it was only 10 euros to see most of what we saw…).

Still, I’m glad AM and I were able to find time in our schedules to make this mini trip work. Surprisingly, I’ve faced so much hesitation from other expat women in Italy when it comes to planning day and weekend trips in Italy! Not sure why…if you got your butt over to Milan, surely getting on a train for a short weekend trip would be a piece of cake? 😅

So while it’s easier to solo, companionship will always have its perks.

Have you ever visited Ravenna?

Celeste: My First Foster Dog Experience

Not Enough: Will It Ever Be?

Memorable Bites in Porto

Running in Italy: Run for Life 5km Time Trial

Millennialz in Ravenna