heartyspoonful

Then There Was Cancer

Brain cancer. Once we heard the doctor utter “cancer” there was dead silence in the room. It was as if the word vibrated in the air and the echo didn’t end. The doctor, of course being a doctor, explained the whole ordeal for what seemed to be hours. I couldn’t hear anything anymore at this point, the word “cancer” was still ringing in my ears. Like a school bell warning students it’s almost time. It felt exactly like that, I suppose, the warning that my dad’s time was almost up.

It’s been almost two years now since we found out. At first, we thought it was just a benign tumour hitting the part of his brain that affected his motor skills. Having seen one too many episodes of Grey’s Anatomy, I figured some smart neurosurgeon, who may look like McDreamy would just slice my dad’s skull open and do his thing. At this point, I was still hopeful. There were no tears yet, no hands raised to the sky whilst screaming “Why me? Why my dad? Why our family?” No random loud sobbing in windowless audit rooms. No unfinished salads and blank stares. No public display of despair. Not yet anyway. But those moments will come. They were just stuck in traffic.

One day, of course, the rays of hope gave way to stormy reality. My dad started to limp and then gradually, he needed a cane to walk, then he was just sitting on a wheelchair. The tall man I’ve loved my whole life no longer towered over me. The man who joked that he won’t let go of my arm when he walks me down the aisle would most likely never even have the chance to walk again. Nor will he even see me get married. The wheelchair was bad, but what’s worse was my mum finding my dad crouched on the floor, unable to breathe and shaking. That was the turning point. When everything went downhill. My dad spent months in the hospital. Every day, I visited. Every day, I struggled to get out of bed in the morning to face what lay ahead because I didn’t like what I saw. It was painful. It was ugly. It was, unfortunately, our sad reality.

When we were able to finally take my dad back home, he was already bedridden. He has lost control of the left side of his body and his right side would continue to lose its strength. For almost two years now, he hasn’t done much and not because he doesn’t want to. But he still makes jokes on good days. He still teases me and he tells my mother he loves her. He pouts his lips when he wants her to give him a kiss. He tells me tales of his childhood, of how he fell in love. He still listens to the news and is saddened by the state of our world today. He’s fully aware of his surroundings. Ironic isn’t it? It’s brain cancer, yet his mind continues to bloom and his body deteriorated.

There are good days. Then there are bad days. Days of tears. Days of anger. Days of blame. Days of complete helplessness. Days of hope. A melting pot of emotions. I can never predict how one day would turn out; I just brace it with all the might I’ve got, with all the might I have left in me. I’ve been told countless of times by well-meaning friends how “strong” I am, how brave, how I’m such an inspiration. I just smile when I hear this sort of remark, but other times, I want to hurl and scream and shake them senseless. I’m not strong. I’m not brave. I’m not an inspiration. There’s a lot you don’t see. There’s a lot of internal panic attacks and complaints and cries for help. To be frank, the number of days where I would’ve preferred to go in a quiet corner somewhere and rock myself into total oblivion outnumbers the days where I felt ready to take on the emotional ride that never misses to pick me up the moment I wake up. But all this, you see, it’s a conscious decision. I choose every single day to battle the tremors of paralyzing vulnerability. I choose to be a warrior, but I give myself permission to cry and breakdown. I’m only human after all.

One of my darkest hours was when I lost my patience with my dad and I involuntarily told him life would be better off if he were already gone. The moment that came out of my mouth, I cried. The look of shock and hurt on my dad’s face will forever be ingrained in my brain. It took forever to forgive myself. I felt ashamed and ungrateful. I called myself selfish. I told my friends and my mum, waiting for them to judge me, waiting for them to tell me I’m no different than a mindless ax murderer. The judgment never came. What I received was hugs and comforting words. My mum asked me calmly if I at least said I’m sorry to my dad (I did profusely) and then she locked me in a tight embrace and told me it’ll all be okay. Yes, it’ll be okay. One day.

It could be worse. I could’ve abused drugs, drink and sex. But I didn’t. I could’ve simply disappeared into the unknown. I could’ve ran away from my responsibilities. I  could’ve turned into a selfish bitch and put my wants and needs first. Of course, I realised I’m only made of flesh and blood. I’m also not on my way to sainthood. I left a little piece of selfishness on the platter. I was willing to sacrifice or at least to put my dreams on hold for a while to help out at home. I did it from the bottom of my heart, but not without great difficulty. I continued to yearn to cross off goals on my list. I wanted to accomplish so much. I thought, “Hey, I’m in my 20s. Why do I feel like a woman in her 50s?” There was a voice inside me that whispered I’m not a living my life. That same voice also injected some green juice of envy whenever someone my age was doing great things. “Why not me?,” I kept on asking. When will it be my turn?

Then, I look at my dad and I figured I’ll never get these years back. My time with him has almost run its course. The sand continued to pour down and there was a loud ticking. There was a countdown of sorts that announced any day now. Any day now and it’ll be over. Any day now and everything will change.

You know what’s beautiful? Realizing that love does conquer all. At least, that it’s a possibility. My mum sacrificed so much of her life for my dad. She could’ve walked away from it all or taken the easier way out and shipped my dad into some home. But she didn’t. She decided she wants to take care of him, that she wants to be hands on. She accepted that her world is only going to get more difficult, that she’ll probably be impatient and even helpless at times. But I see her look at my dad and I see the love there. It continues to burn strong. She’s keeping her vows - though sickness and health, until death do they part. She’s selfless and braves the storm so beautifully.

We have a routine now. I can’t stay too late at work so I can help out at home before my mum passes out from exhaustion. I spent a few hours just chatting with my dad, recounting the good ol’ days and answering his inquiries about my plans for the future. He usually drills me about dating… as if on top of everything else I have time for that. Saturdays are my complete days with him. My mum runs her errands and usually spends some time by herself. We don’t have a nurse on weekends who comes around to help so of course, I needed to learn everything. It’s not beautiful. It’s hard work, dirty, painful, tough. Emotionally, physically, mentally taxing. Exhausting. Someone relies on you for everything. And I mean, everything.

Don’t get me wrong, it would be nice to have someone to care for me, too. But building a relationship with the chaos in my life at the moment continues to prove to be an impossibility. I dated this guy, who complained over and over again that I didn’t make time for him over the weekend. Sure, perhaps I should’ve tried harder, but really? Saturdays left me worn out and all I wanted to do at night was sleep. I didn’t want company, I wanted my warm covers and a good book. Sunday was the only day for everything else: errands, preparations for the week, a bit of work, a bit of quiet time. I squeeze in a few hours for company, but no, not the whole day. I don’t have that luxury. This is my sacrifice.

Self-pity, I’m continuously learning, is like wrapping yourself with a ticking time bomb and then jumping down a skyscraper. It’s pure suicide. It kills you inside. At first, people around you try to be understandable, but, let’s be honest here, the more you feel bad for yourself and the more you complain to others, the less likely it is they want to be around you. So why put your relationships at risk? Self-pity never helped anyone. It takes you five, ten steps back. You go in endless circles. It makes you selfish because you start to think you have it worse than everyone else. Your friend going through a tough breakup? Big deal, she’ll replace that boyfriend, but you can’t replace your dad.

I went through a phase of wallowing in self-pity. I bathed in it. I drank it. I swam in it with the sharks of dejection. I cancelled plans. I stayed in my room, listening to the saddest music I knew (Both Sides, Now by Joni Mitchell was on repeat for days). I cried and in between sobs, I, like Iago before me, delivered countless soliloquies, proclaiming myself the unluckiest girl in the world. It was a toxic time. But pity from others can only take you that far. At first, when someone consoles you, it feels good. It’s like a tight hug. After a while however, words begin to feel rather used, like an old pair of your favourite shoes that you know you have to throw away already because, come on, the sole is falling off. You need a new pair. You need a new perspective.

It was a long process, and it still is. I still feel bad for myself sometimes, especially when I think I’m being left behind by people my age. I’ve questioned “Why me?” out to the universe many, many times over. Why my dad? Of all people, why him? Why our family? We never harmed anyone. We’re just citizens of the world. We pay our taxes for crying out loud. But even with all these angry questions thrown at nobody in particular, reality is still reality. It doesn’t change nor do these questions add any value to our lives. So, I tell myself to leave the self-pity party. It overstayed its welcome in my life. Sure, I give myself a few minutes of defeatism once in a while, but I check out early. I mindfully choose to dance to the sound of laughter and the giggles of my dreams.

Truth be told, when friends and well-meaning colleagues ask me how my dad is, I find myself uttering an automatic answer: “He’s doing all right. He’s okay. We’re all just fine.” And I plaster a huge smile on my face. I don’t want to burden anyone with the sad details. With my close friends, I break down in front of them. I tell them how haggard we all are, but I choose what I relate because no one wants to hear the details. Not really. I’m beginning to think this is one of the reasons why I’m deemed to be strong. This is the attitude I’m projecting out there, it’s hard, but we’re doing our best and here’s a toothy smile to prove it to you.

Professionally, this is where the struggle lies. What do you do when your career doesn't factor in personal issues? When you have to keep out your personal hell to survive at work? When you have to draw a line and lock your personal problems away for the next 8 to 10 hours? I became very bitter, the unhappiest part of that machine. I rolled my eyes a lot whenever I heard the politically correct replies of my superiors. I felt alone, used, abused. Like an itch I can’t help but scratch, hating my job took over my thoughts. Any enjoyment was stripped away from me. Feeling fulfilled with the results of my hard work became a thing of the past. The days were long, especially when I came home wanting to spend some quality time with my dad, but knowing I needed another hour or two to finish up some work. Days dragged on and on. Mornings were difficult. I just wanted to nap in the afternoons. Nights were where I looked for solace. Don’t get me wrong, I do my job well. That didn’t change because it’s my professional responsibility. What this whole ordeal taught me, however, is to be kinder. I support those who work under me. I’ve fashioned myself as Mama Hen looking after my chicks. I look after myself because no one else will do it for me, but I look after those who need help, too. Why? Because I know the feeling of being vulnerable and it’s not pretty.

The kitchen became my place of worship. I baked like I’ve never baked before. I took photographs of all the food I made and posted them on Instagram. It was my hobby. It made me feel normal for some unknown reason. I baked for friends, for co-workers, even for random people I didn’t really know. In the process, dealing with my dad’s cancer led to a weight gain. Not by a lot, but by enough that I felt my eating disorder creeping in. It’s ugly head was beginning to sprout back to life. I couldn’t go back to that dark place. It took years of recovery to accept my body just the way it is. It took years of self-acceptance to finally stop the abuse. It’s taking years for me to love myself just the way I am. It didn’t help when I was told repeatedly that I looked fuller. My face was a full moon. I didn’t fit into most of my clothes and I knew I had to size up. Eight pairs of trousers I wore to work were left unworn because I couldn't zip them up. Dresses were too tight and I felt like a pig in a blanket. I didn’t dare to wear jeans. I cried, I cried a lot.

I wasn’t used to the curves I began to see. I felt my hips and thought, “Were you always there?” My ribs began to play the game of hide and seek. My thighs seemed heavier, my arms felt like thick sticks of marshmallow. My tummy was soft and pillowy. My cheeks were like steamed buns, tempting to pinch. I was welcomed by what seemed to be breasts. I wasn’t used to it all. My dresses were loose and I avoided certain constrictive fabrics. I justified it as my new style, though, really, it was all for concealment. I deleted old photos, refusing to be reminded that once upon a time, even a double zero petite was big on me. My mum told me I looked healthier, physically at least, but my mind was playing tricks again. I was afraid of going on that road again, of being strangled by the strong self-destructive power of an eating disorder. It took what seemed like forever to finally cut ties with this mental disease and I wasn’t going back.

Like a bad ex-boyfriend who turns up when things are finally looking up, that’s what eating disorders are to me. I had verbal tennis matches against my eating disorder, like a nail-biting match between Nadal and Federer. Set point now. I couldn’t lose, I’ve lost too many times already. Self-acceptance was slow. I avoided mirrors. I bought sack dresses that didn’t fit well to hide what my eyes refused to see. But, through it all, I fed myself. I nourished my body. I respected it. I honoured it. I gave it what it wanted and didn’t deprive myself, which would’ve been easy after years of restriction. I became an expert on that subject. I tried to calm my mind, reassuring it that all will be all right in the end. Here’s my body, it functions well, it’s strong and able. Sure, it looks different now, but it continues to fight. Isn’t that enough?

I went to war with my eating disorder because there was so much more at stake. I couldn’t be a burden to my parents. My dad, who was already crippled by cancer, worried about me as it was. He could sense my powerlessness and self-doubt. I didn’t want to be another tumour destroying everything on my path. I also needed to be strong physically to help take care of him. There was no place for frailty. So I shushed my eating disorder. I told it to go to its room for a timeout. It wasn’t easy, it isn’t easy. I still hear its wild temper tantrums, but I know better to ignore it. Don’t give in.

Through it all, I continue to be grateful. I’m not where I want to be, but I’ll get there. Deep in my heart, I know it. I’m working on it. Every single day, I wake up and I set a purpose. I’m a work in progress and I don’t believe anyone really turns into a finished product. We’re made of our raw materials and we just add more or remove parts we don’t need anymore along the production line. I refuse to let my life turn cancerous, destroying my spirit and seeping my energy away. I’ll only have this one life and I want to colour it, to nourish it, to keep it healthy.

My dad calls me his “little fireball.” My brother was always the quiet one, the one who keeps to himself and creates his art. On the other hand, I was the child who inquired about lots and lots, the natural chatterbox. I want to look for that little girl again, with big, bright eyes and ready to conquer the sea of possibilities. I want to be that girl who brushed up her wounds when she fell and got right back up. Unrelenting, unwavering, headstrong. Wouldn’t it be nice to caption my life as #winning? Yes, it definitely will be. 

Photo credit: Lattes & Layers

Maybe it's because banana bread was the first recipe I've ever learned. Nostalgia is a powerful, powerful driver. Maybe it's because I just really like bananas. I really do. Shame on you if you haven't figured that one out yet. Maybe it's because I love to experiment. Maybe it's all of the above. 

I can't help but try out different recipes for banana bread. I already have my favourite, one that I make all the time and that everyone loves. Still. I'll present another one to you. 

When I accidentally bought soy yoghurt*, I knew I would have to mask the taste in order to finish the whole tub. Yours truly was rather lazy to walk back to the store to return that most ghastly thing. I suppose there was a light bulb that just turned on when one of my co-workers mentioned he replaces eggs and butter with greek yoghurt when he bakes banana bread**. So, finally, I wouldn't need to throw out that sad soy yoghurt. No one at home wanted to eat it. But, hey, if it's incorporated with bananas, flour, sugar and, ahem, some love, perhaps it just might be the next best thing. 

Putting my thinking cap on and a rather festive apron, to the kitchen I went. Come here, you unloved tub of soy. 

Vegan Banana Bread

Serves 8-12 

We ingredients:

Dry ingredients:

Growing up in the Philippines, Halloween was simply a concept one read in books and watched in films. Nothing more. Though we eventually lived in a community that did celebrate Halloween, funnily enough, houses weren't decorated with bats and spider webs and fake mummy's. Instead of a scarecrow, a neighbour's lawn would boast the Nativity scene. You know, as any normal person would do. On September 1st. Trust me, if you don't have Christmas lights up yet or a Christmas wreath adorning your door, man, you better get your sh*t together. 

We were always late. I think my family was more of the "Let's get through the next three months first" type so no one was really excited for Christmas until Advent starts. My mum took over the Christmas decorating as my brother and I sat in a corner and tried not to disturb our determined Mama Claus. Then it finally looked like the North Pole in the middle of our living room, but until I saw the Christmas tree surrounded by gifts, little ol' me wasn't feeling the Christmas cheer yet. 

Though now, all grown up, I'm far less interested in the gifts (no, truly, I prefer the kitchen on Christmas day), the same old feeling has stayed the same. I don't listen to Christmas songs until a week before Christmas. Is that nor normal? I cringe when city streets are adorned with Christmas lights and wreaths the day after Halloween. Chillax, people. (Wow, I sound like the Grinch right now.) Mind you, I adore spending time picking out thoughtful gifts for family and friends. I make handmade cards, but if I fail to do so, I spend hours picking out the best holiday cards. Being a busy careerwoman (who, stop right there, lady) hasn't helped at all. So no, Christmas cheer has yet to catch up to me this year. 

After a few morning runs surrounded by lawns decorated with Christmas paraphernalia and after (accidentally) hearing She & Him's Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, I decided to let my cold heart feel the warmth of Christmas. Of course, as I mentioned above, my first stop is to let the Christmas cheer into my kitchen. Recipe testing is the best this time of year! And all for a great reason: I want my family and friends to know I love them via the Christmas treats I'm making. Manual labour here, people. (Psst, if we're friends and you don't receive a vegan basket this Christmas, either I don't love you enough or, you know, I just forgot. I'll make it up to you, you hungry tummy.) 

Since my mum purchased a bunch of plums last week and I've only managed to eat three in total throughout the week, I decided to try out a warm plum cake. Now, I rarely ever bake with fruits. Sure, I'll top my morning oatmeal with loads of fruits, but plum? And cake? Totally new to me. I did some research (or my mum's response when I asked her if she knows any good plum recipes, "Google it!") and came upon this recipe and decided to give it a go. (Note: The recipe below already includes my modifications. You can follow the link to the original recipe if you want to check it out.)

Vegan Plum Cake (adapted from Vegrecipes of India)

Makes 8-12 slices

Ingredients:

I remember my first salad. Or perhaps, it was the first salad I could remember. In any case, I didn't like it. I ate it, sure, but the taste was something I thought I'd only like when I was much older (i.e. when I'm in my 30s, feeding veggies to my own children). My aunt prepared this big salad for our family dinner, which consisted of greens, tomatoes, cucumber, and hard-boiled eggs with some mustard dressing. Let me break it down to you, six year-old me hated cucumbers (I still do except if the cucumber is well hidden in a sushi roll and masked by the taste of tamari), I couldn't stand the taste of raw tomatoes and greens were something I thought a cow would eat. Given that I didn't have as many stomachs like a cow, I justified myself quite well into not liking salad greens. (Of course, a few months later I learned cows eat grass and not lettuce. Shame on me.) So, my first memorable salad experience was disastrous. When I turned vegetarian, however, my tastebuds couldn't get enough salads. I would eat big salads for lunch and dinner. One of my co-workers poked fun at my big containers of 2 salads (hey, I sometimes exceed a 40-hour work week and I refuse to eat [vegan] fast food every single day). I managed to incorporate daily salad servings into my diet, which was also somewhat of a miracle since I hoard pasta and bread. Just ask my mother. 

But of course, after all these years of not consuming meat and consuming mostly fruits and vegetables (except on my Parisian visits where my food pyramid is just bread), I've learned to spice things up in the kitchen. Sure, I still love salads, but I'm so much more creative now with my mix of veggies and greens. I add quinoa at times, when I'm not lazy in the kitchen. Or purple corn chips if I'm feeling adventurous. At the end of the day, my nourish bowl is always colourful. Always interesting. Always delicious and nutritious. 

Given the colderrr days, I actually want less heavy food. I tend not to be as active in the winter because 1) I don't like the cold, 2) I can't do any winter sports and 3) I don't move as much so why stuff myself with heavy comfort food? I tend to crave more summery dishes that are light but still tasteful. Reason why I believe my fridge contains more fruits and veggies in the wintertime than in the summer. (Our kitchen table is currently stocked with the following: grapefruits, mangoes, avocados, tomatoes, apples, bananas, papaya, sweet potatoes. Fridge is filled with: kale, spinach, passionfruit, pears, plums, clementines, greenbeans, squash, capsicum, beets, blueberries, lemons, Japanese yams, kiwi, etc.) And let me be honest, I'm trying to limit my winter weight. I just cleaned out my closet and this girl can't afford extra sets of bigger work clothes. #justbeinghonest

Here's my recipe then, or should I say my "unrecipe" for creating nourish bowls. If you read enough of my posts on savoury foods, you'll notice that I don't measure much. Because this isn't baking and I'm not exactly making a sauce so quantity means close to nothing to me. I'll be posting other versions of my nourish bowls as I eat along. 

Nourish Bowl Part I

Ingredients:

 

"This shit is bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S."

- Gwen Stefani

 It's not always that we have ripe bananas. Why? Because we're monkeys who go through all our bananas throughout the week. If I want to freeze bananas for my smoothies, I have to buy extra bananas designated for freezing. So, extra ripe bananas for banana bread? It takes a lot of effort from my part to make sure that there are at least 4 bananas ready to be baked. Drives me bananas coordinating all this.

My brother has gluten intolerance. It's something incredibly difficult for a guy in his early twenties. You know, because of beer. But I think he's surviving and quite well at that, too. He's had to educate himself about gluten-free diet and I'm glad to say, he's almost vegan. So, as the best sister that I am, I'm experimenting with gluten-free recipes that are still vegan (because, you know, I need to enjoy my treats as well). Here goes for my gluten-free and vegan banana bread. 

Vegan & Gluten-Free Banana Bread

Serves 8-10

Ingredients:

Wet Ingredients

If you're my friend and you actually see me these days, it's most probably because we're working on the same mandate. Or because we cross paths when I run to the office early in the morning for coffee. Or you actually live with me. (Or, you know, I'm stalking you very badly. Jokes.) Oy vey. I have lost some weight from the stress and my hermit-like existence. Okay, so maybe not very hermit-like. But it's definitely been a very anti-social kind of environment. Maybe one day I'll perfect that work-life balance people keep talking about. Are we sure this isn't just some mythical creature that doesn't exist? 

Let's not even get started with dating. All the last few boys have been, well, disappearing. Can you blame them? I can only imagine how damaging to one's morale is when the person you're trying to date reschedules ten times. I'm so sorry. But I suppose that's a sign I'm comfortable with my singleness. Hmm, I'll just pile on a bunch of blankets and pillows to warm my cold, cold heart.

In other news, I'm a copy cat. Seriously. Two of my co-workers these past few weeks have been snacking on Greek yoghurt and granola. I wasn't jealous about the Greek yoghurt. No need for my tummy to be in dire pain. But the granola... Hmmmm...  My go-to granola recipe is one from The Minimalist Baker, but it needs a lot of bananas (which I don't have plenty of) and different kinds of nuts (my pantry is all out). So what's a girl with a serious craving to do? Find an alternative, of course! 

Well, I guess at least I'm got homemade granola to keep me company. If only this relationship would last longer.

 

 

 

Simple Banana & Coconut Granola

Ingredients:

 

 Prague. My first stop. Another city of winding streets. A city that holds the many secrets and wishes of visitors who don't want to leave. A city that holds such rich history, yet isn't as popular. A city that is old, but is still new. Prague was a surprise, but what a great one it was. 

I touched down late at night, after a delay in Montreal and then a full day spent in London. Let's just say I didn't expect anything worthwhile on my first night. I just wanted to get to my flat, change clothes and perhaps find a still open market to buy some snacks. And that, I did. 

My flat was located just a brush away from Charles Bridge - it was busy from 9am to 10pm. On my first night, there were pedestrians buzzing with energy at 9pm, musicians who were entertaining everyone who would listen and there I was, in my third floor room with the window open, enjoying the scene and "La vie en rose" being played down below. But I was also rather exhausted, thank goodness for ear plugs to muffle away the sound of fun. 

Day 1:

My legs were feeling quite strong when I woke up, but I really wasn't aware of my surroundings. Apart from Charles Bridge, I couldn't pinpoint where any other monument was. It had rained overnight. I could see the wet cobblestones from my window and I cautioned myself during my run. No one wants to spend their two-week holiday on crutches. After lacing on my runners, I headed down and decided to take advantage of the almost empty Charles Bridge. I found parks quite randomly and after 5km, I thought my poor knees had had enough of the slippery streets. I was also already quite hungry. 

Just getting started on Petrin Hill

The owner of my flat, Jakub, was very funny and kind. He's also vegetarian (except when his grandmother makes traditional Czech feast during Christmastime - he feels guilty saying no). He suggested little (and big) gems of the city, and I was quite happy to my much of the work be done by my little feet. First stop, as it was rather close to the flat, was Petrin Hill. That was one heck of a butt workout, I tell you! My legs were so sore, climbing the steep walkways and then somehow, getting lost in a wooded area. But it was just so beautiful! The view was breathtaking and if you climb long enough (well, take the funicular up), you'll end up at the Observation Tower, which is fashioned as a mini Eiffel Tower. It was mostly couples who were with me all morning, young and old. That was rather lonely! 

After some time, I decided to walk about some more and explore Mala Strana. I loved the little passageways and the streets that curved, as if they're hiding secrets left and right. I checked out the little shops and since it rained just a bit, I ducked into a puppet shop and met a lovely elderly couple, Andrew and Liz, from Arizona. I decided to start early on my gift shopping and bought a tiny puppet for my cousin. It seems to me Prague was a city for lovers! Tant pis. 

I had done my research, as any sensible vegan would, very early on for vegan restaurants in Prague. There weren't many choices and some did seem interesting, but were a bit out of the way. Poor little tourist. There was, however, LoVeg, located in Mala Strana and pretty close to where I was staying. More uphill walk, I see.  There was a bit of a climb to get up to LoVeg, staircase-wise, but definitely worth it. The restaurant takes up two floors and there's a magnificent view if you're lucky enough to get a spot on the terrace. There are some offering of traditional Czech cuisine, typical Thai and Mexican dishes plus salads. On this first visit, I decided to go with something light. Travelling always makes me want to eat lots of veggies. I tried the vegan quesadilla with lots of grilled veggies, cashew cheese, soy-based sour cream and a side salad. No heavy sauces and potatoes for now. This dish was exactly what I needed - no pretensions, just a simple and tasty fare. Tummy was well satisfied!

Then, I went up to the Prague Castle of course. You can actually see it up LoVeg so I figured, well, there I was already, so why not just go right ahead. After taking a crazy amount of photos of buildings and facades and food I couldn't eat, I managed to climb up the grounds. The view was simply fantastic! I went about and followed the crowd. There were even newlyweds taking photos on the Old Castle Steps. It was rather funny seeing the brides change into Toms shoes, quite a necessity if you ask me. I just toured the outside grounds and gardens. My drowsy self felt too tired to walk about royal rooms. I needed to take caution lest I actually drop to the ground and hit something priceless. My favourite part is definitely the side garden with a lookout. It wasn't cold enough yet so the flowers were still in bloom. And it just looked like a garden from a fairytale! I could just imagine how splendid it would've been, late at night, during a fete, with some lights and lots of laughter. But, my jetlag finally got the best of me. I went back to my flat and took a nap. 

My kind of view

The sun was still up when I finally woke up. The happy chatter down the street was my alarm clock. Ah, more people crossing the Charles Bridge. I freshened myself up and decided to walk about around. It was almost time for dinner. I headed to the John Lennon Wall. I was quite lucky it was very close to where I was staying. It was definitely the most colour I've seen in Prague. It's the one place where a selfie is a must, I think. I spent a few minutes taking a photo of the wall and having my photo taken. It would prove to be one of the very few photos of me whilst in Prague. I also spent some time listening to the lovely musician who was singing John Lennon's songs and Beatles' medley. It was rather a pickmeup! 

Sshhh... The singer was actually pretty cute.

Lehka Hlava was my stop for dinner. I got confused with the directions a bit and it's easy to be! This vegetarian and vegan-friendly restaurant is located in a small alleyway so it's easy to miss. But I was very pleased when I finally got there. However, is it just me or are Prague restaurants more prone to dim lights? My advice is to make a reservation here! It's very busy, but since I was dining alone, I managed to have the last free table that was outside of the main dining area and more out in the hallway. It was lovely. There are a few vegan options and I was a bit disappointed that the tastier options weren't vegan (like their famous beet burger). So I settled for this gigantic Asian salad with seaweed, crunchy tofu and tofu dressing. What a salad! It was sweet, savoury and just plain delicious. But I got so full with the salad that I didn't even bother with dessert. I would have sweet dreams, I knew. 

I headed to the famous town square, it was just around the corner. There were people gathering close to the Astronomical Clock, the hour was about to strike. I followed the flock. It was beautiful and what a great creation! Everyone was applauding when it was over. The town square was so dreamy that night, with musicians playing and avoiding all the people on Segways. I walked around a bit and stumbled upon some twenty-somethings, looking for a small cafe or bar. And that's how we spent that night, drinking to our health with tea and beer. Not bad at all.

 Day 2:

Another day, another run. This time, we ran across the bridges! There was light rain and my fear of slipping on cobblestones wasn't great enough to deter me. There were so many other runners, some running for their lives in speed, others who were more cautious. But breakfast was all I was looking forward to. 

A few minutes down my flat is a bakeshop called The Bakeshop. Then, there's the Little Bakery of the Bakeshop, where you can order green smoothies! I was properly excited. I ordered their traditional green smoothie and though it was good, I knew a bigger lunch was in order. Cutest little corner by the way! And the server was totally awesome. If you're not vegan, I was told by the other customers that their cakes are yummy. 

I had a proper walk across Charles Bridge, avoiding the packet of fellow tourists who either took excessive photos of all the statues and the view or of themselves enjoying the view. Let's be honest, you'll walk down Charles Bridge more than once during your visit to Prague. Old Town and New Town were my destinations this day. I wanted to just sit down and enjoy a glass of beer whilst reading under the sun. But I headed to the Mucha Museum first. It was tiny! But very educational. I love Mucha's work. There's such sensuality, yet such sincerity in his works. How amazing that his oeuvres were used for advertising, from plays to biscuit tins!

I got lost, obviously. And somehow, I ended up in a shopping area, but that was a welcome mistake. I found a Pandora store and one more charm to my collection added. I reckon I just walked past all the landmarks, took a photo of them and then went on my way. I was in such a hurry to go back to Lehka Hlava - I just couldn't seem to have enough. But this time around, after a meagre breakfast, I wanted something heavier. So after much internal debating, I settled for the vegan bulgur rissoto with sundried tomato pesto and tempeh. Tastebuds were very, very happy, I have to tell you that. I did have to eat slowly though because the pesto was on the salty side, but overall, this dish was ze bombbbb and the consistency was incredible!

Taste explosion

I decided to see some more greenery and headed down Kampa Park, but there was rain that was threatening. But finally, when the sun said hello and seemed like it would last, I took a boat tour and the breeze felt so nice. I was beginning to feel a love affair with Prague brewing. Ah, just what I needed, another city to love. I went back to Old Town Square and instead of getting a bottle of water, I decided to go for beer! Because, you know, do as the Romans do or something like that. Funny thing though is that the strap of my bag always unbuttoned half of my shirt so for some time already, my bra was out there for the world to see. No wonder I kept on getting free beer. Or how easily it was to meet new people. Thank God I'm no alcoholic. 

Then, I headed back to my flat to rest my poor feet. I actually covered a lot of ground, but that's what I loved about Prague. Everything in proximity. Just don't be lazy with walking, you see more of the city that way. After a short nap (yes, Prague was my city of naps), I headed back to LoVeg. This was to be my last dinner in Prague. My flight to Copenhagen was just around dinnertime the following day. I, at least, had some time to explore the city a bit more the following day. This time around for dinner, I went BIG because calories don't mean much to me when I know I burn them all with my long walks. So the vegan burger it was with a side of fries for me. Plus, this decadent beetroot chocolate cake. Heavenly! When you decide to (somewhat) join a pubcrawl that night, you gotta have enough food in your belly, am I right?

P.S. Don't tell my mother, a few friends I've met and I headed to the Prague Sex Machines Museum for a laugh. Funniest commentaries I ever did hear (and give) when we were viewing this silent porn film. Totally hilarious! 100% questionable. ("Why is he just... flopping about like a fish out of water?")

Day 3:

To sum it up, I spent the entire morning working around the Jewish quarter. All the buildings were so beautiful and I visited some synagogue. I got tangled with a group of students from German. I accidentally greeted them in German and the professor thought I was one of her students. Definitely not. My German is not good at all! But I digress. The sun finally decided to say hello. I felt very overdressed with my jacket and nylons, but I figured, I've got Copenhagen to look forward to. It was rainy. 

My first stop, however, as the Bakeshop for another smoothie and this time around, a bagel also. Carbs are a girl's best friend. Well, at least this girl. I didn't do much shopping and there was still a bit of space in my luggage so I thought, hey why not, let's go for it. So sad when everything I liked was in the higher end shops and it would be cheaper if I buy them in North America. C'est la vie. Needless to say, my last half day in Prague was very quiet and relaxing, just what I needed. I spent a few good minutes on Charles Bridge, immobile, looking out the horizon. It felt so quiet, even though everyone around me was chatting and laughing. The prospects of a new city were giving me excitement, but also a bit of anxiety. As always. But in that moment, Prague felt like home. I had gotten used to its slipper cobblestones and winding streets. Nothing linear, always a sweet surprise in every turn. 

Vegan Restaurants:

LoVeg

Address: Nerudova 221/36, 118 00 Praha 1

Website: www.loveg.cz

Lehka Hlava

Address: Boršov 280/2, 110 00 Praha 1

Website: www.lehkahlava.cz

Copenhagen. The city of bikes. Of long legs and blond hair and blue eyes. Of simplicity. Of wide roads and bike lanes. Of funny antics on the bikes. And off it. Of the brightest flowers I ever did see. Of the sweetest smiles that ever met me. I still long for thee. 

Friends who travelled to Copenagen told me their stories, their opinions, their expectations, all the highs and lows. I'm not sure I'm surprised that each and every one of my friends told me the Danes are apples to the eye, not very good with small talk, and fun after a few glasses. I was giddy with excitement. 

Arrival: 

I landed in Copenhagen later than usual, after a flight delay, which wasn't surprising. There were heavy rains in Copenhagen. It was dark and cold when I landed - not a very positive sign. A little discouraging, even. My brain didn't seem to function properly, I was in the wrong line for train tickets to central station. Finally, I managed to figure it out and I was increasingly eager to arrive to my flat and get under the covers. I missed the bus and with the rain pouring down, I decided to take a cab. Always funny when the driver asks you for directions. Hello, sir, I'm clearly a tourist and rather clueless. And then, we arrived and I just ran up the stairs with my luggage, ready for bed. 

Day 1:

I got up bright and early to go for a run. It was dark and grey outside, as if the clouds were threatening us mere mortals. I didn't know the neighbourhood at all, but I followed this bike/walk path and finally saw some fellow runners. Let's just say, it was rather nice to start the day with some runner eye candies. *wink wink*

That morning, I went on at a leisurely pace. I ate my breakfast whilst planning my activities for the rest of the day. Assistens Kirkegård was close enough so I went for a walk, searching mainly for Hans Christian Andersen's grave. I read the map wrong and I was there for more than an hour along with some other tourists. I think the most fun bit of my visit there was me making babies laugh. I didn't realise I had that in me. Then off I went to walk towards the centre from Nørrebro. Did. Not. Realise. It. Was. That. Far. But I didn't mind, you see, I'm a walker and Copenhagen was proving to be a worthy city. I reached the Lakes and decided to go around them. Like my run that morning wasn't enough. It was so lovely, the sun decided to say hello, the wind was gentle, the swans were having the time of their life. Just after, I decided to take advantage of the sunshine and headed straight to the botanical garden. What a lovely little haven in the middle of the city! The lily pond was magical, I even decided to sit on the little dock and read. What a fairytale! 

But of course, after all that walking, my tummy began to protest. Thank goodness Torvehallerne was closeby - foodie heaven! Of course, if you're open to try everything under the sun, it's going to be a fun rollercoaster ride. There are some stalls that I considered vegan paradise, such as Fresh Market, which offers freshly cut fruit, salads and juices as well as fresh fruits and vegetables. I bought some juices, cut fruits and salads to go, but I found the fresh fruits and vegetables to be a little too pricey. So off I went outside, where there was a veggie and fruit stall. I bought myself some bananas and the ripest figs I ever did! I was rather tempted to buy fresh flowers, too, but I restrained myself. I couldn't be bothered with such a luxury. 

I sat outdoors and ate my fruits - best snack ever. I had great conversations with some locals, who had confused me for a local (if that were true, I'd definitely be in the minority). Ha! Always funny when people think I'm local. We conversed about our travels, films, what we're reading and veganism. I soon got hit on by a married man. Oy vey. The rest of the afternoon was spent walking around, visiting shops and buying gifts for my family and friends back home. I learned a few Danish words that day and I think I managed to fake the simple conversations with shopkeepers. With the mistake of saying "Hej hej" when I first meet someone. 

It was rather chilly by the end of the day and so I decided to head on home to warm up a bit. I had planned to eat a vegan restaurant for dinner that night, but my salad from Fresh Market proved to be too enticing so I stayed in for dinner. No regrets. That was one big salad, so filling but all worth it! I definitely need to recreate it for my meals back home, sans le concombre. I got tired of my own company soon after. I don't mind travelling alone at all, but for some reason, that night, I craved company. And off I went to a neighbourhood bar (where I met the most handsome man I've ever laid eyes on). As I've already said, no regrets. 

A more than satisfying first day in Copenhagen, if you ask me. 

Day 2:

Another day, another run. This time around, since I was more familiar with the city, I headed farther for my run. The Lakes are definitely amazing when you're a long distance runner. Not boring at all! And as I mentioned above, eye candies everywhere. It was so inspiring to see so many active individuals on a work day. Something that gets lost in North America. I was famished by the time I got back to my flat. Can you blame me? More than 10km in the bag. Breakfast that day was a juice from Fresh Market and the bananas and figs that I got from Torvehallerne. It was love at first bite. 

My itinerary for that day included Nyhavn because I needed colour! Copenhagen, I love you and all, but you're very neutral. (If you're the type of individual who wears bright colours all the time, mind that you will stand out in this city. I faded in the background. Obvs.) After this fairtytale-like promenade around Nyhavn, I headed straight to Kastellet, looked for the Little Mermaid (you tiny little creature) and decided to brave the strong winds and walked uphill. I had to sit down since I was rather afraid I'd end up falling down the moat. Tiny girl + very strong winds = not a very good mix. Then it was time for lunch, after all that walking. I went back near Rosenborg Castle (lovely garden!) where I noticed a little sign indicating juice and vegan options. So in I went Big Apple, a juicery that offers some warm sandwiches as well. I ordered a vegan sandwich with hummus, olives, spinach and red capsicum plus their "reloader" juice. Hunger satiated. Here I also met a rather young Dane, who thought I was an exchange student and who offered to accompany me if I had classes in the afternoon. Sorry, buddy, you're cute, but you're younger than my brother (even if age of consent in Denmark is apparently 15 years old). 

For my next activity, I explored Strøget and obviously was very tempted to purchase everything in site. I managed to restrain myself and settled with a dress and a lipstick. Good job. It's easy when you're too short and the smallest size still makes you seem like a dwarf. My wallet was happy. I heard a couple of other tourists talking about visiting Carlsberg brewery and I decided to tag along (without them knowing). I seem to like beer when I travel. On my way back, I passed by Tivoli Gardens and the sound of laughter and fun screaming enticed me to head there. It was Friday night of course and I needed to do something a bit adventurous. To save money, I bought a multi-ride pass and I tell you, it was exhilirating! I rode the cute ferris wheel, played with bumper cars, braved the rollercoaster and the ride called Golden Tower that drops you down like it's hot. I rode the Spinning Top, too, a little reminder of my childhood. After all that excitement, my tummy was giving me a temper tantrum. 

It was time to visit 42Raw. I've heard such wonderful reviews about this little restaurant that I knew I would end up there multiple times (and I did).  I suppose the rides made my tummy a bit unsettled, but I was also rather hungry so I ordered a raw Thai noodle dish (spicy spicy), matcha latte and a chocolate muffin. I needed some dessert on a Friday night. I can't repeat just how delicious everything was! I was already planning my breakfast for the next morning. Since it was Friday, everyone was in a party mood and so was I. Some exchange students (don't be surprised) hugged me on the street, shouting that I was one of them and that we all should party together. Second time in one day that university students tried to flirt with me. Bah, I decided to head to a bar with them anyway, they were all good kids. The night ended with one of them bringing me back to my flat in a bike that had that cart in front. It even had a seatbelt. Glad to hear I could still pass as 20 years old. 

My 25 year-old self was happy to be in bed at the sensible hour of 2 am. 

Day 3:

I had to take advantage, this was my last full day in Copenhagen. I had originally decided to spend the Saturday on a day trip, but decided against it as I wanted to try out more vegan restaurants on my last day. And also to visit some galleries/museums and take advantage of the sunny weather gracing the city. Plus, I really needed to go to the Pandora store. Excuses, excuses. 

As I promised myself, 42Raw was my breakfast spot that day. I needed that acai bowl in my belly and quickly! HEAVENLY! Possibly the best thing I ate in Copenhagen to be honest. That granola, hmmmm. After breakfast, I went back to Strøget to search for a Pandora store (I went with the mermaid charm). I didn't shop a lot, just for little knickknacks because Copenhagen is expensive. I spent the rest of the day visting museums and headed to Christiana as well. It was a lovely, slow afternoon. Exactly what I needed that day. 

For lunch, I didn't miss the opportunity to visit SimpleRaw. I went big obviously, ordering their raw veggie sushi and an avocado toast. Two thumbs up definitely for the toast, whilst I didn't enjoy the veggie sushi that much. I'd eat it again though, but I probably would just make it myself. I reckon there are other more worthy specials on the menu. 

The rest of the day went on like that, quite leisurely. The sun felt amazing and I decided to lay on the grass and read. Life was beautiful at that moment, realising it's the simple pleasures that make life well worth it. I spent some time in a tiny coffee shop after to rest my tired feet, sipping some hot tea to ease my tummy. I managed to catch up on my reading and some of you might think that's rather boring, but it's amazig to me. It's important for me to set aside time to devour books, even during vacation. My luggage suffers because of this. Ha! 

I needed a quick dinner that night as I was meeting up with some locals I met. It was such a novelty, my diet. Sorry, chaps, I don't eat pork. Botaniq caught my eye when I first went to Torvehallerne. I had the pita with falafels because, you know, you gotta falafel once in a while. My only comment about this place is you have to set aside time to eat here. There was only one personnel on hand so my food cam after a bit of a wait. I guess the falafel pita made it worth it anyway. I had the raw pumpkin square for dessert and I found it a bit sweet. Another patron advised me that the cheesecake was a better choice. And soon after dinner, it was time to live it up in Copenagen one last time. Did not disappoint in that regard. 

Tears threatened me when I realised it was almost time to say good bye. Parting hurts.  

Day 4:

Spent half a day in Copenhagen before flying to Barcelona. Since it was Sunday, there were no breakfast places closeby that were open early. Thank goodness I still have some fruits in the kitchen. Figs for life, y'all. I went for a brief stroll to stretch out my legs, knowing that I would have to endure a few hours of uncomfortable bent knees situation in the plane. What a miracle that I managed to pack up after spending the night out. Packing my luggage at dawn, not a new thing, really. 

That ride to the central station tugged at my heart. I wanted to stay another day. Or week. Or month. Or a year. I began this love affair with Copenhagen and I wasn't ready to part ways. Another heartbreak I had to endure. But don't you worry, I'll come back to you soon enough. 

There were more happy moments in Copenhagen, funny little incidents and turns of fate that made me believe it's possible to be overwhelmingly happy. Sure, the Danes are not the most outwardly happy people, but get to know then and you'll know what I mean. This is the city where I witnessed a couple riding the same bike, the guy pedalling and the girl kissing him. This is the city where I caught the eye of the nicest, cleverest and very handsome man. This is the city where I felt very different yet very much at home. And for that, I'm grateful. Vi ses, København!

 

Vegan Eating:

42Raw