DAY TWENTY-ONE: Is There Any Food Better Than Fresh Fish?

Greece to Italy

It felt very good to wake up in Europe. For some reason, this continent seems more familiar--more "American"--than the other ones I've ridden through. I guess that shouldn't come as a surprise since Americans-to-be from Europe were the first settlers in America.

I started my day by riding from my campsite to the Greek coast. The view was nice enough there, but nothing special. Basically, it was just a sparkling blue sea with crashing waves and a bunch of mountainous islands in the distance. Big deal.

From there, my route took me up the coast of the Adriatic Sea. I took full advantage of a nice tailwind and didn't take my first break until I got to Croatia. While munching on a dozen or so Oreos, I noticed a group of Croatian fishermen plying their trade. I rode down to the harbor to see if they were having any luck. More importantly, I was hoping maybe I could buy fresh-caught fish for tonight's dinner.

It was my lucky day. They pulled in a whopper in less than a minute.

In United States fishing lingo, we'd call that fish "a big ol' lunker." According to my calculations, that thing could provide me with a whole week's worth of meals.

"How much do you want for that big ol' lunker," I shouted from the beach?

"What . . . THIS fish," yelled back one of the fishermen?

"Yeah, THAT fish," I yelled back. "I bet it's some pretty good eatin'."

"Oh . . . yeah . . . real good eatin'" he laughed. "It's better than salmon and halibut put together." He and everybody else on the boat were laughing hysterically.

"So, how much do you want for it," I reiterated. "And don't try to jack up the price just because I'm a super-rich American."

"Make an offer," he said, still laughing.

Being a shrewd negotiator, I threw out a lowball offer in case he was planning to ask an outrageous price. "How about 200 Euros."

"SOLD!!!!" he cried.

While I was paying the man, a local guy came up and interrupted the transaction. "Hey mister, don't you know that fish is a bottom feeder. Its meat will be as soft as mush and will taste like decomposed rat."

"Nice try, buster," I responded, "you're just upset I saw it before you did." I know jealousy when I see it, that's for sure, and he was one jealous dude.

************

The fishermen wrapped the fish in newspaper, handed it off to me, and ran away. They were still laughing.

Oh boy, how am I going to carry this on my bike?

The Reckless Mr. Bing Bong and I were suddenly 75-pounds heavier, but we were glad to be riding again.

We curved around the north shore of the Adriatic and crossed into the Italian country of Italy. Ahh yes, Italy. That's where Italian food was invented. I looked forward to eating some of it during my time here, though I had quite a lot of fish that had to be eaten first.

A short time later, the coastal route turned south along the west side of the Adriatic Sea. The temperature has warmed up considerably. It felt good, but I started noticing some kind of putrid odor in the air, and it continued all the way down the Italian coastline.

I tried to ignore it, but that stench kept getting worse and worse. And it wasn't just me. I saw many, many people holding their noses, or with looks of disgust as I passed through tourist town after tourist town. How can they stand to live here, I wondered?

************

It was time to turn west and ride inland for a while until I reached the toe of Italy's boot. That's where I ran into sort of a dead end. I did not know there was a large expanse of saltwater between the boot and the autonomous region of Sicily. Maybe I should have listened better in 6th grade Geography class.

It was out of the question to text Captain Skull to pick me up, so I rented a canoe. I couldn't risk taking a ferry because it might be a messy situation if they started asking for my passport or other travel documents.

I had relatively calm seas for paddling my canoe. That's Sicily up ahead.

I had a hard time finding a good place to land on the island. The shores were very steep and rocky.

I was a little surprised that I didn't meet any bike tourists today. I saw a few, but none of them stopped. My theory is that they didn't want to take the time to chat in such horrible smelling air.

I'm pretty sure I'll have better luck here in Sicily. I've been reading Cycleblaze journals, and I see Rocky and Scott Anderson are on the island. I've met them twice before and I don't think I embarrassed myself too much either time. My plan is to ride all over Sicily until I find them.

Late in the evening, I fried up a panful of the fresh fish I've been craving all day. Mmmm, I lifted the first forkful to my mouth and . . . WHAT THE HELL?

Let's just say I gagged and retched & retched and gagged. And I had no other food to replace it. I was counting on the fish to sustain me through all of Europe. I went to bed hungry. Yes, I was majorly disappointed.

But there's always tomorrow.

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Keith Adams"... Americans-to-be from Europe were the first settlers in America. ... "

Apart, of course, from the various peoples who migrated here thousands of years earlier and became what we now think of as the Native peoples.
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1 year ago

Gregory GarceauTo Keith AdamsGood point, and I did actually think about that. But, as usual, I went for silly wordplay over historical accuracy.
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1 year ago

Bill ShaneyfeltFresh fish... mmmmm! Had some for lunch that I rode out to my fishing spot and caught yesterday. Only got 4 red ear sunfish big enough to fillet, but enough for a meal.
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1 year ago