Pig on a spit.


Lately my weekends have been turing into all sorts of adventures. Windsurfing in lake Garda, camping in cars in Liguria and hiking to restaurants in the mountains. Yet recently, my most exciting adventure was a quick little trip on a Harley Davidson (sorry mum).

The reality was a four hour drive on the back of a motorbike, holding on for dear life and wishing I had strapped a cushion to my behind. I couldn’t have been happier to stretch my legs and down a complimentary grappa on arrival. It screamed ‘welcome’ as it burnt my throat, killing any of the flu that may have decided to linger for the weekend.

This was my second year in Brixen (Sudtirol), I and my bum had survived the lengthy journey to yet again, arrive in this faraway land full of beards, tattoos and a pig on a spit.
I felt like I had stepped back in time as I watched as someone opened the keg with a wooden mallet and as another carved the pig fresh from the spit, all to share with the biking community gathered in the forrest.

Naturally, I really fit the look with my tourist camera and white t-shirt… But sometimes routine needs to be mixed up!

On the road.



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