About Barbara Weibel

Barbara Weibel After years of working 70 hours a week at jobs I detested, I felt like the proverbial "hole in the donut" - solid on the outside, but empty on the inside. Searching for meaning in my life, I abandoned my successful but unsatisfying career and set out on a six-month solo backpacking trip around the world to pursue my true passions of travel, writing, and photography. My blog features stories about the destinations I visit, people I meet, the crazy things...Read more here....
  • Eiffel Tower, Paris, France
  • Angkor Wat Cambodia
    Angkor Wat, Siem Reap, Cambodia
  • Hill Tribe Chief Northern Thailand
    Hill Tribe Chief, Thailand
  • Machu Picchu Peru
    Machu Picchu, Peru
  • Franz Josef Glacier New Zealand
    Franz Josef Glacier, New Zealand
  • Olympic National Park Washington State
    Olympic Peninsula, Washington
  • Damnoen Saduak Floating Market Thailand
    Damnoen Saduak Floating Market, Thailand
  • Maasai Tribe Ngorongoro Tanzania
    Maasai Warriors, Ngorongoro, Tanzania
  • Lion Serengeti National Park Tanzania
    Serengeti National Park, Tanzania
  • Chichen Itza Yucatan Mexico
    Chichen Itza, Yucatan, Mexico
  • Wat Xieng Thong
    Wat Xieng Thong, Luang Prabang, Laos
  • Feast Central India
    Traditional Feast, Central India
  • China Shangahi Skyline Pudong
    Pudong Skyline, Shanghai, China
  • Honeymoon Beach Florida
    Honeymoon Beach, Florida
  • Great Wallof China Jinshanling Beijing
    Great Wall, Jinshanling, China
  • Lake Louise Banff National Park Canada
    Lake Louise, Banff National Park, Canada
  • pura ulun danu temple batur bali
    Lake Temple, Central Bali
  • Galapagos Islands Ecuador
    Galapagos Islands, Ecuador

Our group clustered around Chef Xavier Arrey in the busy market, intent on learning as much as possible about the fresh local ingredients available in the Catalonia region of Spain. Through our headsets, he spoke to each of us in the language we understood – to me in Spanish, to another in Catalan, a third in Italian, and a fourth in French – switching so effortlessly between languages that he made my head spin. At one vendor he picked up a fresh fig and peeled it open, revealing the delicate rosy fruit within, explaining that it would make a delicious appetizer when paired with slices of homemade goat cheese. From the butcher he selected blood sausage to be fried up with Faisol beans, then stepped across the aisle and picked up a plastic container of roasted red peppers and onions. He tore off the lid, closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “Fantastic,” he pronounced. Shoving the container beneath each of our noses in turn he commanded, “Breathe!”

Girona's market, specializing in fresh, local, and seasonal products

Girona’s market, specializing in fresh, local, and seasonal products

Chef Arrey took one woman by the hand and led her to a kiosk where spices were heaped in glass bowls. We sniffed redolent paprika and cumin and sampled exotic dried fruits while he selected the perfect spices for the cooking class that would follow. I felt heat rise to my cheeks as Chef draped his arm around my shoulders and led us to the seafood stall, where he waxed poetic over tripe then plopped a crayfish in his palm, explaining that the freshest have clear eyes. After selecting jumbo shrimp and Red Mullet, he turned his attention to the Bonito, selecting a large one from the case. “Ah, bellisimo!” he cried, raising the fish to his lips and planting a kiss on its mouth. Continue reading

From the outset, I knew I was in trouble in Girona, Spain. Not only did I love the people, architecture, and scenery, I loved the food! As if conspiring to pierce my Achilles heel, Costa Brava Girona Tourism Board, the main sponsor and host of the Travel Blog Exchange Conference I had come to attend, focused on the cuisine of Catalonia. It began with an opening night party, held at the 12th century Castell de Sant Gregori. I stuffed my face with lacy fans of Parmesan cheese that dissolved on the tip of my tongue and devoured an exquisite mushroom risotto, then swooned over mango and chocolate desserts, all prepared by El Cellar de Can Roca, said to be the second best restaurant in the world – no argument from this aficionado.

By the end of the conference I’d gained five pounds and a press trip on the heels of TBEX would keep me eating more or less continuously for the next three days, sampling organic yogurt at a local dairy farm, gorging on a traditional Catalonian breakfast at a 700-year old farm, and feasting at a catered party at the ancient Arab Baths in Girona. On day six I rolled out of bed like a beached whale and perused the day’s schedule, overjoyed to discover we would be hiking in the Llemena Valley. Finally, a reprieve that would allow me to work off the bulge that was beginning to creep over my yoga pants!

Volcanoes of the Llemena valley didn't look very imposing from the base

Volcanoes of the Llemena valley didn’t look very imposing from the base

A short while later our bus ground to a halt and spit us out in front of a peaceful farm that squatted at the base of a densely forested humpbacked hill. We climbed steadily to a ridge where the panorama revealed itself; from east to west, a string of eroded hills ringed the valley like a circle of overturned bowls. Though placid on this sunny morning, 10,000 years ago these now extinct volcanoes spewed lava in living testimony to the fiery forces that formed this fertile valley. Continue reading

I could see the question on the faces of the owners of Can Dionis, a 700-year old farm in Catalonia, Spain as we sat down around a long table set up in their inner courtyard. How do you get a group of travel writers to put down their smart phones, cameras, and laptops?

A press trip with travel writers means constant tweeting, Facebook status updates, taking photos, Instagramming, sending emails and taking notes

A press trip with travel writers means constant tweeting, Facebook status updates, taking photos, Instagramming, sending emails and taking notes, until….

From the edges of the patio they watched us with cocked heads, puzzling over our strange behavior. Moments later, the wife smiled knowingly and signaled for her family to begin serving. To the baskets of fresh-baked bread, whose yeasty fragrance was already suffusing the air, they added plates of meaty red tomatoes, glass carafes of oil so rich it sparkled green in the sunlight, and giant chunks of farm-fresh cheese. Fresh-squeezed orange juice, Spanish Jamon and homemade yogurt followed. Last but not least, the father set a flat-pan cake coated in powdered sugar in the center of the table with a flourish. Neus Vila i Figareda, the director of the Visitors Bureau for the Girona Region and our guide for the day, cut into the golden crust, explaining, “This is a specialty of the house. I asked her to make it for us today. It is delicious spread with their homemade marmalade.” Continue reading

Ana Serra never thought she would end up being a dairy farmer. Like many kids who grow up in the country, after finishing her education she left her family’s farm in rural Catalonia, Spain for a career in the city. In 1987, stressed out by the demands of business, she and her husband, Alfons Mir, returned to the farm, Granja la Selvatana, for some much needed rest and relaxation. This time, they stayed.

These days, Ana has swapped her business suits for a full-length vinyl apron and a baseball cap, worn backwards to hold back her unruly curls. At the crack of dawn each morning she rolls out of bed and climbs into the “pit,” a concrete slot between two raised platforms where her cows wait to be milked. On this particular morning I watched from above as she cajoled the cows with a series of whistles and “hey-heys.” Once they were in position, she turned to our small group and demonstrated how to milk a cow.

“Press, go down, leave it,” she explained, gripping her forefinger with her other hand and sliding it down to her fingertip. “Come, you can try if you like.”

Ana Serra demonstrates how to milk a cow at Granja la Selvatana in Catalonia, Spain

Ana Serra demonstrates how to milk a cow

I descended the dung-coated metal steps gingerly, taking care not to slip, and stood beneath one of the enormous black and white beasts. Anxious for the pressure of her swollen udder to be relieved, the cow mooed and shuffled back and forth. I reached up, grabbed a teat and firmly slid my hand downward. Miraculously, a steady stream flowed out; I was milking a cow! My elation was soon tempered when the cow’s tail slapped me, painting my mauve t-shirt brown with poop. Continue reading

By the time I finally arrived in Spain from Lanai, Hawaii, I’d flown on five different planes, ridden in a taxi between La Guardia and JFK airports in New York City, and taken two trains. I’d been traveling for 41 hours straight and was dead tired, but the Travel Blog Exchange (TBEX) Conference I was scheduled to attend in Girona was due to start in four hours. Thankfully, the folks at Wimdu had arranged for me to stay in a comfortable apartment in the city center with three fellow travel bloggers.

Full kitchen was the nicest feature of our Wimdu apartment in Girona, Spain

Full kitchen was the nicest feature of our Wimdu apartment in Girona, Spain

As Heather Cowper from Heather on her Travels, Isabel Romano from Diario de a bordo, and Laurel Robbins from Monkeys and Mountains scoped out the three bedrooms I plopped my luggage on the polished wooden floor and sank down on the sofa. Too tired to move, I let the other girls take the bedrooms and claimed the fold-out sofa. I rubbed my aching feet and checked out my home for the next few days. The rental agent who checked us in explained that the apartments had just been completely redone, right down to the furniture; we would be the first people to sleep in the new beds. Our check-in time had even been delayed because a crew was still moving in furniture. Continue reading

Twenty-four hours after leaving Lana‘i, Hawai’i I am on my fourth of five flights that will carry me to Barcelona, Spain. I wriggle in the confining seat and and resign myself to another few hours of discomfort. To relieve the boredom I review the mental images of Lana‘i that are etched on my brain.

Deep green Cook Island Pines capture fog and mist that replenishes the island's aquifer

Deep green Cook Island Pines capture fog and mist that replenishes the island’s aquifer

The exquisite Hawaiian sky projects on the back of my eyelids, a bruised purple-blue color that might be a harbinger of storms in the Midwest but is an everyday occurrence on Lana‘i. Deep green Cook Island Pines march in single file toward the ridges above town, their upturned needles capturing precious fog drip that replenishes the island’s aquifer. Over eons, iron and sulphur-rich volcanic lava has weathered, depositing a thick layer of burnt carmine, rose, and ochre yellow dirt across the island. Continue reading

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