Before leaving Bologna, we went to Decathlon together and one of the main purpose of going there was to buy a tent. So after a week of staying in Calabria, we left for our first camping trip, all the way up to Scalea, near Basilicata, the neighbouring region.

Why there? Because it was close to a place in the mountain called Orsomarso where we wanted to go rafting, and I saw a photo of Arcomagno on Instagram which looked very beautiful.

After 3 trains lasting over 4 hours or so, and a bus ride, we arrived in San Nicola Arcella, where we had to walk up and down the rock, in the afternoon heat, to this Arcomagno beach. It was hot, and the back was heavy, especially my beloved pink backpack Antonio was carrying which had like 4 litres of water and also a tent tied at the bottom.

He was cursing me inside, I knew it.


At last we arrived at the place and jumped straight into the water. To be honest, I much preferred the water at the beach in front of his house in Saline. It was much clearer and cleaner there, and less crowded obviously. But after being all hot and sweaty all day long, jumping into that water was the best thing we could ask for.

After the sunset, people started leaving, but we stayed. We stayed on a big long beach near the entrance of the cave. Full moon was a good natural light for us as the night creeped over the sky. We lay on a towel, watching the stars and snacking on taralli and toasted chickpeas.

Yes, toasted uncooked chickpeas.

There were only us on the beach, and it was amazing. We went skinny dipping at around midnight before coming back up to dry ourselves and called it a night.

It felt so liberating. That was my first time camping with anyone but my parents.




The next night, we slept next to a small river in Orsomarso, a cosy tiny village up the mountain. After rafting that morning, we found ourselves with 10 euros cash in for the day because the rafting place didn’t accept card. There was no ATM in Orsomarso, and only one shop that accepted card there.

We were dancing like children when the lady came and open that shop, almost half an hour later than the ‘opening time’. At least we knew we would not starve to death.

And Antonio went crazy. He bought like 3 different kinds of deli meat and cheese, beans, bread, tuna and stuff. Then we walked out of town to put our tent up before walking on the trail along fiume argentino.


The trail was lovely, and walking along the stream really reminded me of my dad. We walked and talked and stopped to pick berries or explore varieties of tree. There was a small medicinal garden in there, and they even had fern!

We headed back after the sunset and got a little terrified because of stray dog and a pair of animal eyes staring at us from the woods. Then as soon as we got into the tent, we ate.

That was probably the most memorable meal I had in the whole of Calabria, not because of the food but the experience itself, where I was and who I shared that meal, that hike, and that journey with.

I had never seen Antonio as a (stereo)typical Italian guy, let alone Southern Italian which somewhat would have an even stronger ‘Italian-ness’ (if that’s even a word) Originally from Calabria, he had, more or less, been brought up in Bologna and only spent a few years of high school in the region where his family was from.

Before leaving Bologna, I was told how traditional and conservative people in the village could be. It was seen as a norm to marry someone from the same village and such. I found it hard to believe, especially when I see him as this ultra open-minded person he was.


But what he said was true. Saline was a small village and it reminded me a little of my hometown in Thailand. Every knew each other and old people sat outside in front of their houses at night, talking. Big birthday celebrations, the importance of your family.

I wasn’t quite sure what I expected before I got there, but certainly not something as traditional as this. This place was like an authentic village, where locals and only locals lived, an mostly old people.

And I saw the other side of my boyfriend, something similar to who I would become when I go back home to my family.

In Bologna, he had it all in control; his place, his space, his kitchen, his life. He was a grown-man taking care of other people in the house.


Here in Saline, I saw him as a brother, as a son, as a grandson. He let his guard down, and he was more like when he was with me with other people around here too. His smile was sweeter, his laugh seemed happier, more genuine. He let other people take care of him, look after him. He would call his dad to check in when we went out hiking. He was more relaxed here, and I loved seeing that.

Though how conservative and religious people from there were surprised me a little. It would not have registered in my mind if he had not told me that by bringing a girl home, it would indicate that you two would be getting married. In that case, it’s expected that you bring her around ad introduce her to your whole extended family.

Otherwise no one would be really that interested in you. Well, you are not planning to get married and become a part of the family, so why bother?

Basically there were two types of relationship there, the one for fun and the one for life, nothing in-between. Although he did explained to his dad later what we were, and how I was important to him.

Learning about all these things, about where he grew up, about his background, his past, and a part of his childhood, it made me want to share mine with him too.

I had never thought I would be travelling with someone.

Travelling with my Couchsurfing friends was imaginable, but other than it had barely ever crossed my mind. How did I ended up travelling around Calabria with my boyfriend, that I wasn’t quite sure.

Well, maybe because he was originally from there. Even though Calabria had never entered into any of my travel plans, it was a good opportunity to discover this rather ‘untouched’ region (and considerably unknown to many people outside Italy.)

When mentioned that I would be going to Calabria to Italians, question marks appeared on their faces, like they wanted to ask, ‘Why are you going there?’ and to people outside Italy, even Europeans, often asked where Calabria was.

After the quick 1 night stop in Rome, our Blablacar driver picked us up on the hottest sunny afternoon, and off we went down South, on a 7-hour drive to the toe of Italy.

We drove through the mountains and along the sea, the landscape of this place already had my heart.

I drifted in and out of sleep, listening to Italian conversations between the two sisters from the neighbouring town and my boyfriend, Antonio. At some point that night, we entered a small village by the sea called Saline Joniche, the place where Antonio came from.

From then, it was more about the experience, not the place. Every experience was new to me.

After a light dinner, we went out for a walk along the main street and he recalled the atmosphere of this village when he was a child to me, how people moved out to find work and the place was slowly dying. I could sense the nostalgic feeling in his voice when he talked about the big fair on the street he used to go, or how lively a bar next to his house was.

The next two and a half weeks in Calabria were quite interesting for me. This trip was definitely much different than any other I have experienced. I didn’t feel like I have learned, seen or experienced much of Calabria, but instead I learned about myself as much as what it’s like to share this travel experience with someone else. I learned to compromise and I learned about silly habits I would like to get rid of. It really was the trip about my relationship I thought it would be at the beginning, only so much more about that than I expected it to be.

There were more sweet than bitter moments, but both were equally important and valued. We learned to deal which each other’s mood and habits. I learned to stop and compromise. We learned to talk and apologise.

I also learned a lot about myself and the way I overthink things. I was scared of making decision because I was afraid of the consequence. Since I didn’t travel by myself, it wasn’t just me who would bear the consequence of my decisions, and I didn’t want to feel responsible for his feelings. I was afraid to be blamed when something went wrong, and sometimes I didn’t want to say my crazy weird ideas out loud because I knew that he would be likely to let me choose what I want to do just for me to be happy. But I wanted him to make the choices he want too.

Although I also knew that seeing me happy was what made him happy as well.

This trip also thought me about the beauty of sharing all these new experiences with someone. Someone who was willing to be a part of my journey. At the end, what I would remember from this trip was more likely to be those moments we shared, rather than beautiful places. Like the two hours of sweaty walk uphill and the conversation about travelling we had, running our of cash while we were staying in a small village or having rustic dinner in our tent after a long walk along the river; our sunset, sunrise and midnight (skinny) dips in the sea or lying on the beach, gazing into the stars under the moonlight. The beaches I had been to in Sardinia were no doubts much more stunning than here, but there were no beautiful shared memories created on those beaches.

Unlike when I was in Puglia, it wasn’t Calabria that had left an impression on my, it was being in Calabria with Antonio that did.

This had truly become a journey of my relationship. Something that had crossed my mind before but never thought it would happen so early. Right here, right now.

Ten days ago, I packed up my apartment in Bologna and moved all my stuff out.

It was a short 4-month stay, but so many things had happened that it felt like I had been here forever. I still question myself every once in a while how did I end up here, making pasta with grandmas, roaming around the city by bike, eating gelato for dinner, shopping at a slow food farmer’s market and having simple conversations with shopkeepers in Italian.

Oh, and somehow ended up having an Italian boyfriend, which was probably the last thing I could imagine happening within these four months, but somehow it did.

Maybe that was what made it even more memorable, and made saying goodbye so much harder.

What surprised me the most, though, was how much I learned from this relationship.

After having been by myself, taken care of myself and been so ‘independent’ of anyone since I left home, it took some time to learn how to open up, and to share my thoughts and feeling with another person. Not only that, but even on the physical level it was hard.

But as adaptive as I am, at the end I learn. Everything was fast, far too fast than I could ever imagine.Though I didn’t regret a single decision I made. I learned to share my life with someone, to open up and share my feelings, to say what I think, what I feel. I learned both about myself as well as about being in a relationship. I learned to compromise and I experienced the beauty of sharing. Nothing has to be perfect in order to be beautiful, as long as happiness is shared between two people.

All of the sudden, I didn’t feel the need to visit all the places anymore. I much enjoy spending time in the kitchen, cooking together, baking and going grocery shopping, training in the morning or dancing in the kitchen. The simplicity of everyday life shared with someone became equally as enjoyable as travelling to new places.

Maybe because all these things, when shared with someone, are also new experiences for me.

In the past two months, my feeling grew and grew, and rooted deeper and became stronger. I had never thought I could become so close to someone within such a short amount of time. When it all began, I didn’t expect myself to have come this far.

But I did, and it had been beautiful. I shared so much of myself with this other person, and more important than being a lover, he’s also my best friend.

That would never change. A part of me would never forget how bare and naked I could let myself be around this person, and comfortable I had become around him.

Then it was time to leave. Though I would be gone for only 3 weeks, but almost every day in the past two months I had not been alone. I got used to all those hugs and kisses, falling asleep and waking up with someone. The fact that I was going to be without him again for 3 weeks just made me realised how much I loved this person, how much he meant to me, and how beautiful those two months had been.

After all, I think it’s important to step away from everything for a bit, in order to see things in a much clearer picture.

I know that one day it might end, but I would not regret a single decision I made. By being in this relationship with him, I have lived so many ordinary but new experiences and I have learned something through every one of them. He has become such a big part of my growth and I will be forever grateful. He has left something inside me forever and I would never forget.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

It’s often the case for me, and maybe for many people too, that I would ignore what’s close to me. I have written so many things about other cities I visit, other cultures, but rarely about those where I actually lived, or live. But since moving to Bologna, a city rich in food cultures and delicious goods, it’s about time I start to write about the place where I live in.

And luckily, I was invited by my friend’s granny to join her and her family for lunch in their country house outside Modena.



Emilia-Romagna is a region in central-North of Italy, where food is probably one of the first words people associate this place with. It was the birth place of raw Parma ham, Parmegiano Reggiano, aceto balsamico, and the lovely knotted ravioli called ‘tortellini’ and ‘tortelloni’

Plus, the gelato in this town is just divined.

Simply said, people who travel to this region, their main reason is probably to eat, just like me.

So, where else would be a better place to learn about how the Bolognese people eat, if not at a lovely grandma’s house where she makes her own fresh pasta almost every weekend, and ferment her own balsamic vineger in the attic room?





It was a warm and sunny summer morning when my friend Giulia picked me up from the train station in Modena and drove me out into the countryside. When we got there, her grandma already made quite a lot of tortelloni, but of course I was there to learn so we made some more together. Starting of with making the egg pasta dough by mixing just plain flour with eggs, 100g. flour per egg. She rolled the dough out thinly in two different ways, using the metre-long rolling pin in a traditional way, and an electronic pasta machine which saved much more time and work. Then I had a go at folding the lovely tortelloni knot, filled with ricotta, spinach and parmesan.



After the pasta-making session, we tried some homemade aceto balsamico and Giulia showed me the attic room where the vinegar was produced by her dad. As we entered the room filled with small wooden barrels, the sweet and sour smell hit my nose. She explained the the balsamic had to be done in the attic because it required the extreme temperature, cold winter and hot summer.

This balsamic was so good that you can simply eat it on bread, parmesan, ricotta or even gelato.

Yes, balamic-drizzled gelato had become my new favourite.

We had a walk around the garden in the hot midday sun. Almost-ripe red cherries and amarena (sour cherries) were hanging from the trees. Their land was full of fruit trees, peaches, plums, apricots, persimmons, watermelons, and also many other vegetables, and a small vineyard (where they harvest the grapes for the balsamico) It was just like my countryside dream life.

This was my ‘stereotypical Italian life’ preconception I had, and would probably continue to have.



Back in the kitchen, her grandma was preparing some bread for later. There are several types of interesting bread in this regions. Piadina, a flatbread made traditionally with lard and stuffed with different filling like sandwich is one of the most popular. Tigella, a small but thicker bread, grilled using a special pan that leaves flower pattern on the surface of the bread, is also eaten stuffed with cold cuts, cheese or grilled vegetables like a mini sandwich. What the granny was making from scratch, though, was a fried bread called ‘gnocco fritto’ A thin slice of dough, deep-fried in hot oil until puffy and golden-brown. I didn’t expect to like it very much since deep-fried stuff, especially on a hot day like this, is nor really my think. However, spreading fresh ricotta and topped with homemade sour cherry jam before folding it in hald, that first bite screamed ‘more! more!’



So I fell in love, with ricotta, balsamic vinegar and cherry jam.

Lunch composed of fresh salad from the garden, ricotta and spinach tortelloni with sage butter, tigella and gnocco fritto with cheese, cold cuts and grilled vegetables. Of course, the meal ended with gelato, and a shot of homemade limoncello with the lemons from their garden.



It didn’t surprise me that the concept of slow food was born in Italy. People are still living this lifestyle now, in a very genuine and non-pretentious way.

I was well-fed and stuffed until dinner. Her grandma gave me a big bag of fresh tagliatelle we made this morning, and invited me to come back again. Next time we can make lasagna, she said.



Well, it’s probably not very common to meet a food-lover traveller from a faraway land like me, maybe that’s why I managed to make this Italian nonna fall in love with me over a course of lunch.

Of course I would not so no to such invitations, not for a second.

Eleonora wasn’t a Couchsurfer, but she was another ‘stranger’ who welcomed me to her home, Maison Lizia.

In fact, it was back in Bologna when we first met. I came across this food-related event on Facebook. A cookbook writer, food blogger and sommelier Patrizia would come to the bar/bookshop (which I found out later was a Pugliese bar) to present her new book, followed by some samplings of typical food from the region. I knew I was going to Puglia and I couldn’t miss it.

I arrived there on time, but I probably forgot that everyone involved tonight was from the South, and the concept of being punctual wasn’t very popular there. So I sat in the courtyard with my journal, spent an hour there filling in the pages with words.

Then they started talking, in Italian obviously. It was a combination of lateness and tiredness that took my attention away and I couldn’t be bothered to try to understand, wasn’t even sure if I would understand if I tried. So I just flipped through the cookbook and looked at the photos.

Bored, I thought to myself that at least I would get to try something delicious afterwards.

Somehow I paid a bit more attention at the end, and understood that the girl with a camera who was taking photos around that night, was not only the food photographer for this cookbook, but also Patrizia’s daughter, Eleonora.

So I approached her and we started talking.

I was so impressed that she took all these photographs for the cookbook, and she was only eighteen.

It turned out that they lived right next to Altamura in Puglia, the only place I knew I would be staying for sure in April because my Workaway host lived there.

We exchanged our contacts, and three weeks later, they picked me up from a bus station in Santeramo and welcomed me to their home, where we spent two days taking photos, cooking and eating together.



Ele planned an eventful itinerary for me, from going to Polignano for an amazing gelato at 10pm, trying out panzerotto, visiting Bari and showed me some fishermen traditions like how they prepared the ‘polpo’ or octopus, and going to Matera with her mum who knew the town incredibly well.



The highlight couldn’t be anything else but all the food stories I learned from them, especially when her granny came over and made oreccheitte con grano arso with us. Grano arso, or burnt wheat, had a story behind it. Because people in the past were really poor, some of them would go around burnt wheat field and collected the toasted wheat grain to make flour. It had a darker colour, some grey and some brown, and tasted a little toasty. After a while of taking photos, I also stuck my hands in the dough and learned how to make this tiny ear-shaped, as well as cavatelli and strascinati. Four hours after we entered the kitchen, we finally a delicious homemade lunch consisted of friselle topped with tomatoes, cavatelli with roasted vegetables and little baked aubergine cup filled with ricotta, roasted tomato sauce and something else very sophisticated.


Sophisticatedly mouth-watering.



Apart from eating a lot of yummy food (which was always the case in Puglia anyway), I also learned something about my creative practice. I had done quite a bit of food photography before, but nothing serious and definitely not with another food photographer. It was a whole new experience for me. Through working with Ele and her mum, wandering around the kitchen, up and down the steps, pointing cameras at everything and being asked if they should pause their actions for me to take photos, I understood the beauty of collaboration. It was so nice to share these specific interests with someone. Same passion yet coming from different backgrounds, we learned from each other and that generated the conversations.

Through our love for food and photography we shared and bound.

Why did I make an effort to going to Naples just to walk around?

No, I actually went to Naples to eat.

If you know me, and by know I mean after talking to me for 10-15 minutes, you’ll know that I have a slight obsession with food.



Food is, in my opinion, the most important thing in life. You can survive without clothes or medicine, but food? I think it’s the only need we all have in common; the need to eat, even when you don’t want to, you need food to survive. Which is why food is like a medium that connects people around the world together, regardless of one’s religion, culture or nationality.

Most importantly, sharing a meal with other people just add another dimension of the eating experience, happiness grows when shared after all.


My passion for food had brought me to meet some of the most incredible people , especially in Italy, the country where eating is such an important thing. Staying in Maria’s flat through Couchsurfing also happened because we shared our love for food.

After showing her how to cook rice and curry in a Thai way (as close as possible of course), Maria showed me how to make a typical pasta dish from Naples, or pasta con patate e provola.

Yes, it’s pasta with potato and cheese, carb on carb, welcome to Italy.



The further South you go in Italy, the poorer people are (generally), and it’s been like this for a long time. That shapes the cuisine of the South as well. Traditional food from the South are peasant dishes using a lot of grains, beans and vegetable. Even the common shape of pasta here is called pasta mista, or broken pieces of pasta with unidentified shapes. It’s quite common to have pasta with chickpeas, beans, lentils, potatoes or even cauliflower here. These people are just very good at turning cheap ingredients in the kitchen into something delicious.



This pasta con patate is like making pumpkin soup or stir fry rice, everyone makes it differently and there’s no exact recipe for it. Basically just throw what you have in the fridge in there and create something out of it. As long as you have pasta, potato and cheese it’ll turn out just fine.

But the way you cook these peasant pasta dishes is quite unique, you don’t cook the pasta and sauce separately. Rather, you cook the pasta in the sauce that you cook vegetables in, almost like making soup. (but of course it’s not a soup so don’t overcook!) This way, the pasta will be thicker and creamier than usual, as all of the starch from pasta goes straight into the sauce.



Pasta con patate e provola

Ingredients

2 cloves garlic
1/2 onion
1 carrot
2-3 small stalks of celery
2 big old potatoes
a splash of white wine
1 litre vegetable broth
350 g. pasta mista
150 g. smoke provola cheese
grated parmesan, to taste


Sauté minced garlic, onion, carrot and celery in olive oil until browned and aromatic.

Add white wine, cubed potatoes and half of the broth , bring to boil, cover and let the potatoes cook until soft and mushy. Keep an eye on the pan and add more soup if necessary.

Once the potato is cooked, add more broth and pasta, cook until al dente, add cheese and cover for 2-3 minutes before serving.

Buon appetito!

I love the stories of how people meet.

I spontaneously bought return tickets to Naples once I found myself a Couchsurfing host there. Last-minute tickets are never cheap but I bought mine through a Facebook group, and the price was the same as if I were to buy them 2 months in advance.

Even better than that, I became friends with both girls who sold me their tickets. And it’s so happened that both of them love food.

How else Have I ever became friends with anyone ever?

So I woke up early in the morning, walked to the train station and joined Sara and her friends who left from Verona on the train. Two of their parents were photographers, and one of them owns a restaurant.

It was meant to be.

Anyway, we were chatting all the way to Rome, where their destination was. They taught me some Italian and how ‘cazzo’ can have so many different meanings according to the tone and situation it’s used in. They also said, what I have heard a few times already when I told people I was going to Naples, that it’s like a different world.


I continued with the regional train down to Naples by myself. Passing through green fields, buffalo farms and mountains. Until I arrived at Napoli Centrale.


This place was, in fact, a different world.

It’s messy, chaotic, loud, dirty, unorganised, and some places are dangerous and should be avoided as a traveller, or at least hide your camera and pretend you live here. It reminded me a bit of Asia. Street food (mostly deep-fried), narrow streets (that didn’t look very civilised like narrow streets in other European cities), old wooden houses, trash bins, hanging laundry, photographs of relatives who just passed away, motorbikes, motorbikes, motorbikes. Motorbikes (and its black stingy smoke) everywhere.





It was not beautiful nor romantic, but it was different with its own charm. I started to understand why foreigners like to go to Asia.

Staying here for almost 4 whole days, I didn’t even visit Pompeii, Sorrento or the Amalfi Coast. I just walked, walked, and walked around Naples, went into different shops and looked at all the things on display. Seeing children going back home after school, carrying bread from the bakery in their hands and calling their ‘nonna’, people standing on their balconies chatting away with each other.



I would not say I want to live here, definitely not. It was a bit too much for me. But I love seeing cities like this, seeing how people live. For me, it was what I came here for (despite the food, of course), not for the famous squares or well-known churches.

Naples was extreme. One of the poorest quarter (Spanish quarter) situated right next to one of the main shopping streets where you can find Disney Store, Max Mara or Zara shops.

I think we have something like this in Thailand too, I just haven’t seen it yet.

Four days in Naples changed the way I like at South East Asia. It made me want to go and explore countries in our regions as well as the other side of Thailand.