Rabbit jumping is an actual thing. This is something you’d know if you were an aficionado of Hamish Blake and Andy Lee’s Gap Year series. In Euro Gap Year, as part of a trip to Sweden, they buy a bunny – its name is Socks, which they quickly change to Lenny Rabbitz – and enter it in a jumping competition. It’s a bit like showjumping for horses, but with rabbits on leashes leaping over not insubstantial obstacles instead. Yes, it is completely absurd and, in the hands of the comedians, absolutely hilarious.
“It was my very first shoot with the boys in Europe,” says freelance television producer Frank Bruzzese. “We put on the rabbit jumping event so we could participate. No one was really there and it wasn’t as grand as I thought it would be. In hindsight, I was thinking, ‘How many people are into rabbit jumping?’”
Thankfully, due to the wonders of filming, the powers of post-production, the natural charisma of the hosts and an inadvertently hilarious cottontail (you can find the segment on YouTube), it turned out all right on the night.
“It’s interesting to see the stories I’ve enjoyed on the day, how they’re shaped in the edit, and which stories kind of take on a life of their own in that process,” continues Bruzzese. “It’s really lovely to be able to go and do the travelling then to see it right through to the final product. You get to nurture it all the way.”
In a notoriously tough industry, Frank Bruzzese seems to have struck gold. While studying at La Trobe University he was fortunate enough to do a placement on Neighbours. From the contacts he made there he went on to work on The X Factor, Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?, 1 vs. 100, Are You Smarter Than A 5th Grader? and Rove. That’s where he met Blake and Lee and, before long, he found himself on the production team for Euro Gap Year and the Hamish and Andy series that followed: Gap Year Asia, Caravan of Courage and Gap Year South America.
“It does, on the outside, look like the best job in the world,” says Bruzzese, “and there are times where I feel extremely fortunate to be doing what I’m doing. But there are times where you just go, ‘I don’t want to go to another airport.’”
There’s certainly not a lot of time to kick back and enjoy the exotic locales. After pitching ideas as a team and sitting with a map trying to work out what stories might be achievable, Bruzzese and another producer head off on a three-to four-week recce (that’s the industry term for reconnaissance) to see if the ideas on paper can be transformed into television gold. The pair is then joined by the rest of the team and shooting commences, usually for another four or five weeks. In the space of a couple of months, Frank covers a lot of ground.
“In Europe, with the recce and shooting combined, I did 37 flights in 43 days,” he says. “That’s a lot of airports. And when you’re travelling with 23 bags, it’s a lot of time checking in. We have to arrive two-and-a-half hours early at every airport, so once you factor that into your day, it really blows them out. We often have to film on those days too.”
As well as the infinite delays that occur on the road while you’re actually moving, there’s also the uncertainty of dealing with people who aren’t necessarily on the same wavelength when it comes to production schedules. On a recce, Bruzzese meets all the people who’ll be involved in shooting a five-minute segment and, after briefing Lee and Blake on what to expect, ensures all the building blocks are there to make it happen.
“There are times when people won’t turn up,” he says of the more frustrating aspects of filming. “They’re not actors, just everyday people. In Russia, for instance, I was warned, ‘well, they’ll turn up when they want to turn up.’ So people would arrive two or three hours late, not realising that we’re structured so tightly that three hours hurts us, because we probably have to catch a flight later that day.”
For all the organising though – of people, luggage, schedules and meals – there’s still plenty of adventure to be had. Bruzzese once found himself lost underground. “I found myself on a recce meeting a cataphile, one of the young guys who basically carves out their own maps in the labyrinth of catacombs beneath Paris,” he explains. “It’s midnight and the next thing I know I’m squeezing through a hole 60 centimetres wide and five metres below Paris with a guy who doesn’t speak English and a fixer who does speak English. Then we got lost for about 45 minutes. They were bickering in French and I was going, ‘I just want to get out of here.’ That was an interesting phone call back to the office the next day: ‘I was stuck in the bowels of Paris for a good hour.’”
Then there are the countries that, had he been planning a holiday, would never make it on to the itinerary. There are good reasons for some of them to never appear on anyone’s must-do list, but others are complete gems. For Bruzzese that place is Sarajevo, the capital of Bosnia and Herzegovina. There he met a sporting team made up of men who’d been victims of the bloody war and are now the world champions of sit-down volleyball. “We got to meet these incredible guys who are just living their lives and are hugely successful,” he explains. “You can’t get away from it [the war] there. Driving around, there are buildings that still have huge shrapnel wounds. It was really humbling. I’ve never been to a place like that before.
“Just the history there blew me away. I wasn’t expecting to feel that way about Bosnia – I had no expectations, really – but I left knowing I definitely needed to go back.”
For three hours, we’ve been taking advantage of strong winds, weaving along the coastline and seeking refuge from the building momentum of the open swell. Sheer limestone, topped with thick vegetation, erupts from the water to create tall rocky islands. We’re heading towards Ston, a southern town on Croatia’s Pelješac Peninsula.
As we sail up the inlet, a European twin to the Great Wall of China materialises on the hills before us. Fortifications enclose the town then snake up over the mountain. Travelling five kilometres, all the way to Mali Ston (Little Ston), it is the world’s second-longest wall.
It’s day four of our five-day sailing adventure along the South Dalmatian coast. Summer is still on its way, and the weather in these parts can be somewhat unpredictable at this time of year. When we boarded the catamaran Tom Sawyer in Dubrovnik, our skipper Zeljko warned the itinerary would change depending on conditions. The upside is we’re dodging the massive summer crowds who’ll flock to the area in the coming weeks. As we sailed away from the city we passed three colossal cruise liners – soon, there’ll be 12 a day heading into the harbour.
Ston isn’t only famous for its wall. It’s also renowned for its superior oysters and mussels. Before we head to shore, I pocket a lemon from the galley in the hope a delicious slippery partner can be found. We are greeted by Zeljko’s friends Ante and Sanja, who own Bistro Stagnum. Ante drives us to Little Ston to meet his brother Branko, who happens to be a third-generation oyster farmer. The fertile waters are clustered with oyster farms that are only detectable by simple wooden frames poised just above the surface.
Branko arrives in his dinghy with freshly hauled oyster lines and deftly cuts the craggy shells free from the overgrown nets. He shucks each one to reveal the salty treats within. It is prime oyster season, so these mature beauties are giant nuggets of meaty, creamy flesh. It’s a rustic setting, just a weathered table by the water, but I’m in oyster heaven. Branko scoops a massive bounty of fresh mussels into a bag for us to deliver to Sanja.
Ante and Sanja have kindly opened their restaurant courtyard to serve us lunch, and we’re soon tucking into platters of steaming mussels and fresh bread. Such a meal would not be complete without a crisp white, and Ante serves a delicious žlahtina wine indigenous to the island of Krk, much further north.
Long seafood lunches aren’t exactly unheard of when it comes to exploring the Croatian coastline, but afterwards I’m reminded of why this one with Huck Finn Adventure Travel is different. Instead of heading back to the Tom Sawyer and lazing away the afternoon on deck, we burn off lunch climbing the narrow steps of the town walls.
From Ston’s town walls, tessellated salt flats – the source of another of Ston’s highly regarded exports – are clearly visible. For a tiny town it packs a big produce punch, but we’ve got a three-hour journey to reach our evening stop at Zaton Bay, so we grab just one more thing: a bottle of Ston’s finest wine to sip on the deck. As the sun sets behind us, we take turns playing our favourite tunes. With musical tastes spanning the world, it turns out to be quite the eclectic twilight mix tape.
Loaded on to the Tom Sawyer is a collection of bicycles, kayaks and paddleboards, so instead of simply peering at tiny dots of paradise like Lopud Island – it has just a hundred residents during winter and travel is by foot, bicycle and golf cart – we take on its landscape. On that first day – the first stop no less – we hiked to Polacica peak. After a lung-straining ascent, we arrived at the remnants of the fifteenth-century Sutvraˇc fort. This is guide Maja’s local secret and clearly not on the tourist trail. The fort has crumbled beyond recognition and navigating around it is quite treacherous. We end up 215 metres above where our catamaran awaits, and the view of Lopud and the ocean dotted with islands was a breathtaking introduction to what was yet to be explored.
Our days are filled with sailing and a variety of activities. That afternoon we arrive at Šipan Island with a hurried plan to cycle to the other side of the island by nightfall. The distinct fragrance of wisteria fills the nostrils as we pedal along quiet roads. When the climb becomes too savage we get off and push, but this also allows us to absorb the postcard countryside. It’s a vista of citrus groves, family vineyards and ruins abandoned in a tangle of ivy. Our destination is Suˉduraˉd, a petite harbour boxing in rows of weathered fishing boats. It appears deserted except for some excitable children too focused on kicking a ball to notice the tourists riding past.
Next we visit a local legend: Dubravka restaurant in Šipanska Luka, regarded by locals and sailors as the place to eat. Although it’s still closed for off-season, its owner Djino has opened tonight just for us. I feel like a celebrity, dining in an empty restaurant with an off-kilter ratio of staff. We are presented with a feast of smoked tuna with goat’s cheese, cuttlefish and potato salad, seafood risotto and grilled swordfish. The meal is accompanied by two delicious Croatian white wines: a crisp graševina and malvazija.
One morning the bitter, intense bura winds wake us. They churn up the forecast calm sea, foiling the day’s plans. Rather than hide, we decide to use them for a proper sail. The engine is cut, the main sail erected and we set off accompanied by the sound of clanging shackles and frantically cracking sails. It feels more like Bass Strait than the idyllic Adriatic Sea. Facing the icy winds, I pop my headphones in and focus on the horizon. Playing tunes that simulate our yacht’s sway, I’m distracted by my private makeshift rave.
Slightly frozen and windswept, we arrive at Polaˇce on Mljet Island just before midday. It’s called Shanghai during summer due to the congestion, but we face no competition at the dock. We set out on the bikes to explore the vast Mljet National Park. The first stretch of the 20-kilometre route is a punishing uphill slog, before a rewarding downhill run leads to an easy track that loops around two inland lakes that have an emerald colour and clarity to rival the waters of the Caribbean. Maja refers to their effect as natural Xanax. As we circle the sparkling water through the dense pine forest, the only sound comes from my tyres crunching over a blanket of fallen buds. A grand Benedictine monastery is a surprising sight amid the natural beauty. Set atop its own island, the twelfth-century structure appears to float on the lake. Lunch is arranged at a farmstay where we are treated to brodet, the renowned Croatian fish stew. Afterwards, my belly is full and my body reluctant to get moving again. My bike apparently agrees, as its chain snaps just as we conquer the uphill leg of the return. Luckily I can coast back to the dock.
Zeljko moves us into a protected bay, so anyone brave enough can take a dip. The water looks enticingly tropical, yet is deceptively brisk at only 15ºC. Adopting a no-chance-to-bail-out method, I leap in. The shock is instant and the frigid temperature burns as I frantically kick underwater to dull the pain. Thankfully a warm shower is primed to go to defrost my numb body.
Assessing the ever-changing weather each morning becomes a familiar routine. One early walk over cliffs reveals a relatively calm sea towards Koloˇcep Island. The plan is to stand-up paddleboard into the island’s caves, something that requires perfect conditions. Aware that these change rapidly, we race to make our window of opportunity. In less than an hour we round the island only to have our hopes dashed. The crux of the plan entails lying facedown on a paddleboard to squeeze through a low gap, which is now barely distinguishable beyond the swell. Unpredictable waves rebounding from within means there is a good chance of losing the back of your skull on a badly timed entry. Frustrated but unanimous, we abandon that plan and deploy kayaks to circumnavigate the island instead.
The dramatic cliffs plunging straight into pounding waves dwarf us as we paddle alongside them. The bumpy ride churns my stomach, a strong incentive to paddle hard towards more protected waters. Skirting the island we explore archways leading to calm caverns within. A few entrances are only slightly wider than my kayak, requiring a nervous paddling act to avoid being bashed against the rock. The rolling waves that look so gentle from afar are quite the sodden workout in the kayak.
On the final day of the tour, we sail to Zaton Bay for a farewell lunch in the village of Stikovica. With no mooring, we drop anchor in front of a beach restaurant and weigh up our options to get to shore. Paddleboarding wins as the quickest mode, although it’s also the riskiest in dry clothing. Still, it’s a unique way to arrive at lunch.
This has been a private way to see this often-crowded coastline. For days we’ve seen no other yachts or tourists. Visiting on the cusp of summer has required more beanies than bikinis, but we were never here to work on our suntans anyway.
The reindeer carcass lays flayed and bloody on the bench. A man grabs a hunk of red flesh and saws it off with a small knife. He dips the meat into a pool of blood that has spilled into a hollow of the carcass. The blood trickles down his fingers as he raises the meat to his lips.
Perhaps it was this documentary on the Sami people, screened in the Arktikum Museum in Rovaniemi, Finland, that prompted former French President Jacques Chirac to condemn Finnish food as the worst in the European Union. However, the three kilos of body weight that I have shed in just two weeks in Finland is due more to sauna dehydration and lugging a heavy pack around rather than any aversion to the local food. Some Finnish fare may be less than desirable – the salmiakki (salty licorice) and the turkish pepper lollies spring to mind – but mostly it is tempting and tasty. I try to eat like a penny-pinching backpacker, filling my thermos with packet soup each morning, but am unable to walk past a kauppahalli (outdoor market) or kauppatori (covered market) without stopping to sample.
With nearly a quarter of Finland’s landmass sitting north of the Arctic Circle, traditional Finnish food is a product of necessity and availability. In northern Finland (Lapland) the average winter lasts 122 to 180 days and snow covers the land for seven months of the year. Temperatures of –15° are the norm in January and –30° is not unusual. It’s cold, bleak and dark. This harsh climate once meant that fresh fruit and vegetables were largely unavailable for nine months of the year and people relied on turnips, potatoes, fermented dairy products and dark rye bread (before it was in vogue) to survive the winter. Very few spices or herbs were used and most meals were stewed. It made for hearty and wholesome fare but earned a deserved reputation for blandness.
To taste Finland you have to sample what the land provides – berries, game, fish and wholemeal products of rye, barley and oats. While a small tub of blueberries would topple my weekly budget at home, in Finland they can be purchased by the bag in exchange for loose change. Caviar is scooped from large containers and sold by the gram. Delectable salmon – my favourite food but an expensive choice in Australia – is available everywhere. In Finland I eat salmon omelettes, salmon steaks, salmon soup, salmon baked with cheese, salmon on open rye sandwiches and, best of all, lohipiirakka (salmon, rice and egg in a light pastry) and savulohirulla (salmon with pesto).
In the land of a thousand lakes (187,888 to be exact), salmon is not the only fish that Finns eat. They eat a lot of herring. Silli (herring) are small oily fish traditionally served with boiled potatoes and rye bread or as part of an assorted fish plate. They can be pickled, salted, smoked or marinated. Eating your herring in true Finnish style requires that you consume it with dill sauce. Dill is to Finns what coriander is to Thais. It accompanies anything and everything. You can even buy dill-flavoured potato chips.
For 200 years, farmers and fishermen across Finland have come to Helsinki’s waterfront for one week in early October to sell their specialties at the Baltic Herring Market. I visit on a chilly morning. People are rugged up in beanies and heavy jackets. On a boat moored nearby a man plays an accordion. Plates are stacked high with American-sized portions of potatoes, fish and paella. I buy a bowl of salmon chowder. It’s creamy, hearty and warming.
Small, wooden, red-brown shacks ring the harbour. The sterns of boats butt up against the promenade and large trestles overhang the wharf, stacked with delights that you are invited to sample. I soon have a handful of used toothpicks and small spoons. Small fish are being sampled on large grill cookplates. Known locally as muikku, this freshwater fish is extremely popular in Finland and the best way to eat it is fried whole in butter. Yes, whole: head, eyes, tail and all. This is how I try it. In a paper container with a side of mayonnaise, it tastes like salty french fries.
Most towns in Finland have a kauppatori. This is the place to sample jams and sauces, gubbe (rye bread shaped like a caramel kiss, with the density of a fresh muffin), salmon rolls, kalajoen nahkiaisia (long bits of fish eaten like a lollipop), local pastries, pies and other delights. Karelian pasties are a favourite. Filled with rice, potato or carrot and lined with a thin rye crust, they are often spread with butter and boiled egg before eating. With their pinched pastry, they look like little moccasin booties – which is pretty much how they taste. At the kauppatori in Kuopio I buy a kalakukko – a large rye stuffed with fatty pork and baitfish. It costs US$20, weighs as much as my head and lasts three lunches and two dinners. It also leaves my breath smelling like tinned catfood.
Larger towns also boast a kauppahalli, generally stocked with fruit, vegetables, flowers and breads. In more rural settings, the produce is more real and imperfect. Apples are spotted and irregularly shaped, picked straight from the back-garden tree. Roots hang from carrots and it’s difficult to discern the beetroots from the potatoes for the dirt. And thanks to Everyman’s Right, berries and mushrooms picked from the forest are in abundance. Everyman’s Right is a traditional Finnish legal concept that permits Finns free access to the land and waterways to collect natural products without a permit. It means that grannies can grab a bucket, throw on some gumboots and skip through the forests without fear of territorial landowners.
My culinary experience of reindeer is somewhat different to the blood-drenched depiction in the Sami documentary. I visit Restaurant Nili in Rovaniemi to test its promise of the “pure taste of Lapland”. Tree trunks line the walls, animal hides cover the seats and the bread is served in a birch box. Despite all this the restaurant manages to be atmospheric, romantic even, rather than kitsch. I eat reindeer with lingonberry compote followed by baked cheese with cloudberry syrup. I taste Lapland in every mouthful. It’s wonderfully decadent. Warm and full, I throw on my woolly coat, pull up my hood and trudge out into the snow.
Finn Food
Despite the wonderful markets most Finns do their regular shopping in convenience stores. When you visit, throw these items in your shopping basket:
Viili: A yoghurt snack with the texture of runny super glue.
Fazer chocolate: Many Finns tell me that Finland’s Fazer chocolate is better than Swiss chocolate. I love the rivalry and I have to agree that it is really good. For a special adults-only dessert, try their liqueur-filled chocolates. The liqueur is not secreted away in a sweet cream, but is actual liquid. There is only one way to eat them: throw your head back, bite and let the liquid pour down your throat.
Salmiakki (salty licorice) or Salmiakkikossu: A pre-mixed alcohol of vodka infused with salmiakki. It’s like Vegemite – you have to be born there to love it – or even swallow it.
Join a flotilla and cruise through the Venetian Lagoon. You’ll feel all class as you sail your own small boat, travelling in a fleet of up to eight, to –
Meet your guide in Casale, admire the brightly coloured buildings of the Burano islands, and splash some cash on keepsakes from the seven-kilometre pedestrian shopping street – the world’s largest – of Lido di Jesolo. Cruise to Chioggia, dubbed Little Venice for its serene township, to sample the freshest seafood at local markets, before cruising to the real Venice for gondolas, roses and a walk through St Mark’s Square. Socialise with your fellow sailors or explore at your own pace.
All year round the Cuevas de Nerja are a popular Málagan tourist attraction. Remains found in them suggest they’ve been inhabited since about 25,000BC and have, in the years since, been used for everything from farming to pottery production. But once a year they take on a much grander role, hosting the Festival Internacional de Música y Danza de Granada.
The festival is held in June and July each year, and 2017 will be its fifty-eighth iteration. Internationally renowned performers including Yehudi Menuhin, José Carreras and Dame Kiri Te Kanawa have all filled the caves with their soulful songs, while dancers from the Ballet Nacional de España and La Lupi Flamenco have soared across the stage.
Chase the northern lights while exploring the natural wonders of Iceland. Begin your adventure with a stroll through Reykjavík’s old town then, as night falls, set sail along Faxaflói Bay in search of the aurora.
By day, you’ll journey to some of Iceland’s most incredible wonders. Experience the powerful geothermal fields, marvel at thundering waterfalls, and sink your toes into black volcanic sand on a stunning beach. Delve into the history of Icelandic life in Skogar Folk Museum, and, at Eyjafjallajökull Volcano Visitor Centre, discover how the locals coped after the mountain’s 2010 eruption. Watch giant blocks of ice bob in the Jökulsárlón glacial lagoon, then swap chills for thrills and plunge into the steaming Blue Lagoon. As the sun sinks below the horizon once more, rug up and set out to bask in the otherworldly glow of the northern lights.
This small, trendy bar gives a nod to the king of pop art, Andy Warhol. In the evening, the courtyard is lit by candles giving it a romantic atmosphere. Inside, just collapse on the Moroccan sofas to sip inventive cocktails – during happy hour (6pm to 8pm) they’re €5. Stop by before dinner.
Snag a front-row seat to watch the sun set and stars sparkle over the UNESCO World Heritage-listed Dolomite Mountains without ever leaving your bed. Dropped into the snow at an altitude of 2055 metres above sea level, this sled-turned-glass cube bedroom (don’t worry, the skis are just for show) naed the Starlight Room immerses guests in the snowy peaks of northern Italy. Col Gallina ski resort is a few kilometres away and the room is accessible via snowmobile or by strapping on a pair of snowshoes and traipsing there. The angle of the double bed is adjustable, so you can get the best view of the constellations while you’re toasty under the covers.
If spending a night under the stars excites you, but pitching canvas does not, experience Northern Ireland’s lush landscape from a Bubble Dome. The sphere’s transparent walls and ceiling offer 180-degree views of the surrounding forest, making you feel like you’re in your own world.
As darkness falls, sink into your four-poster bed or kick back in a lounge chair by the fireplace and, if the weather gods are on your side, turn your eyes skyward to marvel at the Milky Way. For the ultimate stargazing experience, enjoy a glass of bubbly while soaking in a luxe stone bathtub in the Premium Bubble Dome.
Bring out your inner Viking with an adventure deep in a Swedish spruce forest. Twelve tiny charcoal huts, covered with earth to protect them from the elements, each house two single beds covered with animal skins, an open fireplace and candles for light (there’s no electricity or running water). Spartan? Yes. But that’s part of the joy. The rest is found in the activities: wilderness hikes, a moose safari, swims in the lake followed by time in the floating sauna, trout fishing and snowshoeing in the winter. You chop your own wood and cook your own meals, so it’s pretty much the perfect destination for anyone wanting to get back to basics. You still can, of course, bring chocolate and wine.
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