Budget Travel Tip: Cooking While Traveling

If I can, I usually opt to stay I hotels that offer the use of a kitchen to their guests. Cooking your own meals keeps you healthy and helps to save money. In Guatemala this has been a particularly important factor. Here food is ridiculously priced. A cheap meal here averages 20-30 Quetzales. Most meals in restaurants are way above that though, especially if you want to leave the place with a full belly. If you eat this way, before you know it you are spending $10 or more on food daily. This is well over the budget of my pocketbook as a backpacker. With hotel and all, my daily budget is usually $10. Spending money on expensive food eats up traveling funds quite quickly.

If you have access to a kitchen, or even any sort of stove and a pot, you can cook a tasty meal for cheap. In the market fruits and vegetables are cheap. Rice and beans, an absolute staple, are cheap almost everywhere in the world. Eggs usually aren’t too pricey. Meats can be more expensive, but humans only need a little bit of meat per day. This is what you need to eat to survive. This is what local people are eating. Plus, markets can be really fun and colorful experiences!



Junk food, chips, snacks, pre-packaged food, processed food etc. is expensive and usually lacks nutrition value. If you are on a small budget, don’t buy these frivolties.

Cooking my own meals, I can eat for around 5 Quetzales for each meal. This adds up to 15 for 3 meals, about $2 USD. See the money we are saving already? You can hardly find a meal for 15 Quetzales anyway in Antigua!

The second advantage is the health aspect. Montezuma’s Revenge, Dehli Belly, Jaipur worms, bizarre fevers, food-poisoning, all are not fun. One of the biggest dangers and problems with traveling is the getting sick part. Most people get sick due to some sort of bad food preparation; the meat isn’t fully cooked, the vegetables weren’t washed, there are flies landing on everything in the kitchen, you food was prepared in dirty water.

When you cook your own meals you have full control over the sanitary conditions. In many other countries, their ideas on cleanliness and health are different. A lot of people honestly just do not know that they should wash their hands. If you make your own meals you know if the cook scratched his butt and didn’t wash his hands before preparing your food. You know if your dishes were washed prior to your use. You know if your food was dropped on the grimy floor. You know if the water used to make the food was clean, or if it came from a polluted nearby sewer. Health is important. After getting really sick a couple of times, you will be begging to make your own food.

Of course one should always eat out to try the local delicacies and not be too overly anal about sanitary conditions. Yummy foreign food is all part of the traveling experience. And no kitchen, not even in the USA is completely clean. But if health has got you down, or if money is tight, consider a hotel with a kitchen. Even if it’s only for breakfast, cornflakes will cost you a lot less than eating out.

Drinking Green Coconuts in Panama

Drinking a huge green coconut walking down the street. Once I had sucked down all the sweet liquid I hurdled it onto the beach. A Panamanian man from a car yelled at me, “Don’t throw your garbage. You need to help us clean.”

I screamed back, “It was a coconut.”

The man’s huge SUV was obviously polluting more than I was as I could barely breathe due to the rush hour traffic. I looked next to the side of the road. It was so covered with trash thrown from cars that I could not see any green except for the coconut I had just thrown.

I and the other foreigners are not the ones to blame for the rubbish there. Why don’t the Panamanians help themselves and put up a few garbage cans along the sidewalk?

Coconuts are not trash. Coconuts are natural. They decompose when they are thrown outside. I think it is utterly stupid to throw a coconut in a garbage can.

European Cafe VS American Coffee

America likes big. Big Gulp, Big Mac, Super size, Extra Sauce, Texas Sized. The bigger the better. Maybe this is why ,y first European coffee in a Lisbon cafe hit me like a shock, not because of the caffiene, but because of the itsy-bitsy cup. I ordered "um cafe," not a cappucino, not a latte, not a mocha, not an espresso, not any of that sophisticated crap, but a simple cup of coffee.

(This is a "large" sized coffee in Lisbon, but it still comes half full)

In America the barista would probably return with a mug filled to the brim with hot, dark liquid, and I would be left to my own devices to add cream and sugar to my hearts content. My European Barista (he was actually from Germany, not Portugal) returned with a ceramic cup the size of a shot glass, half- way empty with incredibly strong coffee. I am also handed a small packet of sugar, but there is no cream to be had, or extra sugar to be dispensed. This tiny "mug" was so tiny I couldn't even fit one finger through the handle. It reminded me of my childhood toy cups that I had tea parties with my dolls. I had no choice but to pinch the miniscule cup with two fingers and raise my pinky like a snobby bastard. I felt ridiculous, but everyone else in the cafe were drinking their small cups of java like it was the coolest thing in the world.

My coffee was consumed in 3 seconds flat. What happened to my long, slow cup of coffee while I relaxed and read the paper in a cafe?

For my next cup of coffee I ordered the "cafe americano" hoping for a Texas sized 7/11 cup. No Luck! It came, and yes, it was put in a larger cup, but the quantity was still about the same, less than half full.

To an American, this is an outrage. When I buy a cup of something I want it to be a full cup. I am paying cash for this! I could buy 20 ounzes of coffee at any convinient store in the USA for the same price as this dribble of European coffee.

I am tired of these weiny European cups!

Why Oranges and Lemons Grow in Spain and The Origin of Citrus Groves

Which came first: the fruit or the color? Was the orange named after the color or was the color named after the fruit? These big juicy, brightly colored citrus fruits grow all over southern Europe, but where did they come from? After having this conversation multiple times and eating lots of oranges off the trees in Portugal, I decided to get to the bottom of this mystery.

Although the exact origin can never truly be known, it is commonly believed that oranges are indigenous to Asia. The first cultivation and domestication of citrus may have been in China, but India also fights for that title. Ancient Ayurvedic medical texts praise the orange for its health benefits. Even the English word "orange" is said to be taken from the Sanskrit word "nagarung." This is also strikingly close to the Spanish word for the color orange, "anaranjado" and the word for the fruit, "naranja." (The ado placed on the Spanish word for color kind of makes it sounds like "oranged"). In Portuguese the word for the fruit if "laranja," and the color is "cor de laranja" (which translates to color of an orange). This still confuses me as to which came first, or if there wasn't even a word for the color orange until the fruit came around. Maybe orange was just called "light red" or something to that effect. (It is funny, when you look at linguistics you find out weird things like that. In hindi there is no distinction between the color red and the color pink. Maybe this is why it is not unmanly for Indian men to wear so many pink shirts. The cultural connotations of the color pink being "girly" just isn't there.)

Anyway, The Moors brought lemons in their conquest of Spain and Portugal, and thus started the citrus craze. Lemons were well established in the 1200's as a result. The first oranges, however, came a little later. They were not introduced until trade with the East Indies was in full swing around the time of Vasco De Gama in the late 1400's, and early 1500's. It is thought that pirates, sailors and merchants on these caravels would brings back the plants and seeds of orange trees to grow them in their own backyards. (It sounds like a wonderful gift for their lonely wives back home, eh?)

It is odd to ponder that such a common fruit as the orange has such an exotic origin and interesting history. Globalization, through a process of hundreds of years, has carried these voluptuous citrus fruits throughout the world and straight into my kitchen.

Fruit! It Grows on Trees!

Any parsimonious traveler should learn how to forage. I have found that picking fruit can be a good option for budget travel. Knowing some basic foraging skills and recognizing edible plants can often get you a long way to fill your belly, or at least provide a quick snack in time of hunger.

Sometimes even in cities this is possible. In my home town of Philadelphia I know the time of year when plants are bearing a bounty and good location where it is possible to pick them. On some back trails in a local park there are raspberry, blackberry, and wine berry bushes as well as a few Cherry trees. This is all out of the view of the public eye. I have never seen anyone else harvesting these fruits, but I myself have returned home with grocery bags filled with the delectable treats.

At the local library there is a huge mulberry tree and a black walnut tree. Not many people seem to know that the mulberry is edible, but it is a giant, sweet luscious berry. Walnuts fall off the tree in the autumn and usually require a little work (husking the black skins and cracking open the shells) but they provide proteins and fats for the coming winter.

In Tropical countries the all purposeful coconut can be found. This wild nut produces coconut water, coconut milk, and of course delicious coconut meat. The green coconuts are filled with a sweet water and the meat is like a jelly. Brown coconuts have rich creamy milk and thick fatty meat.

I think many people are discouraged by the coconut because of its thick outer shell, but don’t be! If you do not have access to a machete or even a knife, a simple rock will do. I have even opened a coconut with a 1 ½ inch pocket knife! It is all a matter of persistence, but it is worth it!

Botanical or gated gardens are another potential food source. I do not suggest destroying the gardens! However, upon assessing the situation for adequate conditions, this advice can be followed.

In Rabat, Morocco I visited a roman archaeological site with an unkempt citrus grove. Limes and many different types of oranges were rotting off of the branches. I could hardly believe that no one was eating them. Wade and I went to work filling our pockets and ended up with enough fruit for weeks.

In Hangzhou, China these is a vast botanical garden featuring many fruit orchards; plum, peach and cherry. A sneaky gypsy could potentially leave the park with a full belly during the harvest season.

In sunny southern European countries I have noticed copious fruit sources. As Europe is an expensive place to travel, and I am a frugal, poor hobo, I take full advantage of this. My new favorite fruit is quickly becoming the prickly pear. The prickly pear cactus loves the sandy, sunny coastline of southern Europe and grows everywhere in Spain and Portugal like a weed. The oddly shaped orangey-maroon fruit is a succulent tidbit. Getting passed the cactus thorns can be a bit hazardous and result in a couple of prickly thumbs if not careful. This can be avoided by using a glove or a thick rag to grab them and rub off the stickers before consuming or touching them with bare hands. The pears are peelable so the mouth is safe from both prickers and parasites.

Another discovery are the orange trees bearing enormous golden Valencia fruits. These need to be more slyly picked as they are usually tenderly cared-for by the land proprietors.

My motto: if the tree branches hand over the sidewalk or are in public domain (i.e. parks) then they are public food. (This is the policy on picking fruit in my hometown in Colorado)

The gypsies in Europe believe that plants are grown from nature and therefore cannot be owned. Therefore the take free fruit from any orchard they happen to pass on the road.

As with anything, use your own discretion and do what you feel comfortable with.

Happy foraging!

Sunday Date Restaurant

This is the restaurant where Wade would take me out on a date every Sunday. It was actually a "Chinese" restuarant which probably saved my life. It afforded me a little something different to Indian slop, so spicy that it lacks any sort of actual taste, and it feels the same way comin' out. I have no idea where this photograph on the wall is from, but it seems a little out of place.

Muslim Noodles in December

Wade and I hit the street early in search of breakfast. We were walking in no particular direction, but just enjoying the crisp winter day. After passing several food stands, Wade suggested, “Do you want Muslim noodles?”

We entered through plastic curtains into a tiny, dingy restaurant, joining a few other customers huddled over steaming bowls. We took seats at a simple wooden table next to the “kitchen.” A huge, bizarre photograph behind a menu hung on the wall above us, asserting that this was for sure a Muslim establishment. It depicted a Mosque superimposed onto a sprawling, green field scattered with yaks and lamas and sheep. I have since seen this photograph, in some form or another, hung in many Muslim restaurants.

The two cooks broke from their idle chatter and asked in a strange accent what we wanted. Even though I only knew a handful of words in standard Mandarin, I could still distinguish a difference in the way they spoke. We ordered two bowls of noodles and watched as they were prepared.

A boy, probably around my own age, was rolling and kneading an enormous lump of plain dough. He sang Chinese pop songs while rhythmically massaging the floury mass. After it was adequately softened, he stretched it between his fingers and folded it in half to create double the noodles with half the width; 2-4-8-16-32-64, and then popped them into a boiling cauldron of beef broth manned by another young man.

A separate room was sectioned off by plexi-glass that enclosed the flaming stove. The young man moved from one room to the other, ladling noodles and passing them to hungry breakfasters.

My noodles came in a big ceramic bowl, seasoned with slithers of dried beef and sprinkled with chopped fresh cilantro. I picked up my wooden chopsticks and clumsily devoured the delicious dish. The portion was so copious that I was unable to finish all of it.

I have since noticed around Hangzhou that almost every street has a little Muslim restaurant. Usually a young boy with a white Muslim cap races around the sidewalk beckoning pedestrians, and running errands. In China, it is common for Muslim minorities to have their own restaurants. Because of religious restrictions on food, mostly pork, the Muslim populations do not eat at Han establishments. These restaurants tend to be open from early mornings, to the middle of the night, perfect for late night snacks and early morning breakfasts.