Matador Network's Blog, page 2158

Journalist gear: Monique Jaques

Demobilization in the DRC:
Girls braid hair between classes at Education and Training of the Victims of Nyiragongo (ETN), a nonprofit supported by Ben Affleck’s charity, Eastern Congo Initiative. Photo by Monique Jaques.

Monique Jaques is a photojournalist based in Istanbul, Turkey. She has spent the past four years focused on documenting issues in the Middle East as well as Afghanistan and India. This year she was nominated for the Prix Bayeux-Calvados ‘Young Reporter’ award and she was listed on the 30 Under 30 Female Photographers’ from Photoboite. Her project ‘Growing Up on The Gaza Strip’, first published in the New York Times. She was also shortlisted for the 2013 Photocrati Grant. In 2012, she was selected as one of the recipients of the PROOF Award for the Emerging Photojournalist for her work in post-war Libya and featured in the Bursa Photography Festival. She was also featured in the Ian Parry Scholarship show in 2009 and received an Honorable Mention for the 2008 New York Photo Awards. Her work has been published by The New York Times, The International Herald Tribune, The Christian Science Monitor, The Economist, GEO, The Guardian, and CNN, among others.

Follow Monique on Instagram or Twitter and see more of her work on her site.

Monique Jaques is a 2014 International Women’s Media Foundation reporting fellow in the Democratic Republic of Congo and this is the bag she used for the fellowship.

Gear bag

1. Nikon D800

2. Nikon 28mm

3. Nikon 50mm

4. Nikon 28-70mm

5. Two Newswear bags

6. Nikon 70-300mm. To capture surprise safaris and occasional animals in the distance.

7. Nikon SB 600. For lighting environmental portraits.

8. Think Tank Pixel Pocket Rocket for SC and CF cards.

9. Sony Lav Mic kit

10. Justin portable USB charger. Total lifesaver for iphones. Charges four times before it needs to be charged.

11. Sony IC Recorder for interviews an other nat sound needs.

12. Sennheiser MKE 400 Shotgun Microphone

13. NorthFace Surge Backpack. I’ve never found a photo backpack that fits well ergonomically so I started using a women’s fit North Face with padding I took out from a (14) Lowepro Passport Sling bag. It’s so much better and the pockets are incredible.

15. Leather belt for pouches

Hotel things

16. Hanging flashlight. Helpful for the consistant blackouts that happen in Congo.

17. Incense, the cure for smelly hotel rooms.

18. Money belt, old school but always works. Really helpful for cash based economies like DRC.

19. Aeropress coffee machine. After carrying around my own french press, and finding glass covering my suitcase, more often than not, I found this hard plastic travel press. The filters (20) make it a compact and easy to clean travel device for the coffee nut.

21. Purel. Along with electricity, running water can sometimes be scarce and keeping bacteria free is critical when working.

22. Headlamp

23. Earplugs for the light sleeper (me)

24. Electrical and Gaffe tape.

25. Wetwipes, usually stolen from Turkish Airlines. Congolese mud seems to find its way everywhere.

26. Toilet paper, you can never count on it being there.

27. Sunflower seeds, granola bars and other snacks that can last in your bag and you can eat on the road.

28. Eyepatch

29. Tea, Coffee, Oral Rehydration Salts. All necessary for a happy healthy journalist.

30. Starbucks Via, for when there’s no time for the Aeropress.

31. Instant soup. Gross but handy when everywhere is closed.

32. iHome speakers. Plug into any iphone, ipod or music device. Also can be used in rental cars and on boat rides. Charge from USB lasts forever.

33. ThinkTank cable storage bag

34. Nikon battery Charger

35. USB car charger, for that constantly dying iPhone

36. Earphones

37. Sunglasses

38. Doorstop. Easy way to keep intruders out of shady hotel rooms

39. Magical power strip. Takes every type of plug. Life saver.

40. Lowepro Passport bag. Great to travel with as it folds up and makes you blend in a bit.

41. Moleskine notebook

42. Like 5 iPhone cables. I’m terrified of losing them.

43. Sandisk USB 3.0 card reader. 3x faster than the other kind.

44. AC power converter. Changes long car rides into editing time by allowing you to run any plug in device off the AC car charge. Great for laptops.

45. iPad. Purely for entertainment.

Exploring Lalibela, Ethiopia

AFTER TRAVELING overland with two best friends to fourteen countries in Africa and the Middle East, Lalibela in Ethiopia, stands out as one of the most fascinating places we visited. Home to eleven monolithic churches, which were all carved down into the earth out of a single block of red volcanic rock, Lalibela is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Its churches are some of the greatest architectural achievements in the history of the world.

It is said that after seeing Jerusalem taken by the Muslims in 1187, King Lalibela, who ruled Ethiopia for 40 years, commissioned these churches to be built with the intention of having Lalibela serve as a new Jerusalem. They are still in use today, home to priests, monks, and worshipers, and serving as a religious sanctuary for pilgrims who come from all over the world.

This article was originally published on january 22nd, 2010.

1

St. George's Church

St. George's Church is Lalibela's most famous church thanks to its unusual cross shape. Photo: Marc Veraart

2

St. George's Church

St. George's Church is isolated from the other churches but it is connected to them by a network of trenches. Photo: Roberto Vallejol

3

Lalibela cross

A priest holds a Lalibela cross. The cross is said to have been given by angels to King Lalibela.

Intermission


1
This is the sickest ski video we’ve ever seen
by Matt Hershberger



25
Daily life around monasteries in Burma
by Rom Srinivasan



21
The world’s 12 most spectacular houses of worship
by Eva Holland













4

Young student priests

Student priests reading the holy book. Photo: Stefan Gara

5

Ethiopian bible

A monk reads the Ethiopian Orthodox Bible, using a birr (Ethiopian monetary note) as a bookmark. Most of the priests and monks are kind enough to let you take their photograph, usually for a small donation.

6

Lalibela worshiper

A worshiper takes a moment to pray. The vast majority of the population of Lalibela is Ethiopian Orthodox Christian.

7

Traditional house

The traditional Lalibela dwellings are circular. They are called "tukuls". Photo: Evgeni Zotov

8

Sunday liturgy in Lalibela

A priest gives the Sunday liturgy to about five hundred worshipers. The theme of the day in part: that despite the intrusion some feel from tourists, to respect all of the different nationalities of people that come to visit Lalibela, to treat them with kindness, and welcome them.

9

Lalibela pilgrim

Visitors are allowed to attend certain Masses, although in some of the churches you need to be invited by a member of that specific church. Photo: Gusjer

Intermission


78
How to piss off someone from Cornwall
by Lauren Williams




9 things Americans stop caring about around Christmas Time
by Sara Schneider



18
Africa and the Middle East, overland [PICS]
by Darren Ornitz













10

Ethiopian Orthodox monk

If you want to hike or ride a mule up the nearby mountains, or venture some distance outside of Lalibela, there are many other rock churches and monasteries to explore. Here, a monk poses for a picture in his mountaintop Ethiopian Orthodox monastery.

11

Lalibela boy

This little boy in Ashetan Maryam monastery was selling hand-made hats. Photo: Alberto Martinez Subtil

12

Gardian of the Bible

This Lalibela mountain monk is the gardian of the ancient hand-painted bible he is holding. Photo: Alberto Martinez Subtil

13

Inside an Ethiopian home

While wandering the churches I was asked by a small boy, Chalalhew Megus, to come to his house for a coffee. I followed him to his small home, where I met his mother (pictured), grandmothers, and two sisters. Although we could not communicate more than a few words, for the next hour I enjoyed some of the best freshly ground coffee I have ever tasted.

14

War victims, Ethiopia

After having coffee and popcorn, Chalalhew Megus wanted me to take a photograph of him holding a portrait of his father, who was killed in the Ethiopian-Eritrean war. To the right is his father's mother. It was a very powerful moment and one I'll never forget.

Report: non-drinkers die younger

Photo by Leo Hidalgo

GO AHEAD: have that drink. A report in the journal Alcoholism: Clinical and Experimental Research found that non-drinkers are more likely to die at a young age than moderate or heavy drinkers. The people who live the longest are the moderate drinkers, followed by the heavy drinkers, and finally followed by the non-drinkers.

We’ve long known that drinking in moderation has health benefits: red wine in particular is known for its heart health benefits, and the social interaction that comes along with alcohol consumption plays an important role in reducing stress and improving one’s quality of life. But the surprise in the study is that even heavy drinkers are less likely to die young than non-drinkers. The study controlled for most of the factors that would explain this away: poorer people, for example, tend to drink less because drinking is expensive, but there are a ton of other health problems with poverty. And many non-drinkers are former problem drinkers, which could already be the cause of health problems.

But both of these factors were controlled for, suggesting that abstaining from drink is legitimately a less healthy life choice than heavy drinking, even though heavy drinking has serious health risks. So the lesson here is that, while you should preferably drink responsibly, you should definitely have the drink regardless. Your life may depend on it.

Which city should you travel to next

Featured photo by Hubert Yu.

Guide to Nevada's coolest towns

Virginia City (Storey County)

Virginia City, Nevada. Photo courtesy of TravelNevada

The 55th Annual International Camel & Ostrich Races in Virginia City. Photo: Kaitlin Godbey, courtesy of TravelNevada

In 1859, the fortunes of Virginia City changed overnight when miners struck silver in the the nearby desert hills of Storey County. The Comstock Lode silver deposit — America’s first major silver discovery — attracted investors, miners, and residents from all over the country in search of new fortune, and in its peak year the mine produced the equivalent of $465 million. A city of millionaires was born, and during the mine’s 30-year lifespan newly minted tycoons built operahouses, mansions, and upscale saloons along the main drag. Today, fewer than 1,000 people live in Virginia City, but it’s held onto its history, with many of the buildings from its heyday still standing.

With the boom also came bar brawls, murders, and Wild West shootings, and as a result Virginia City has been called one of America’s most haunted towns. Eerie energy and ghost sightings are commonly reported, especially at the Washoe Club, a historic gambling hall where millionaires once played. Ask the bartenders to regale you with the town’s spookiest ghost stories.

Stagecoach rides and mine tours are ever-popular attractions, and Virginia City’s gourmet restaurants like Core and Cafe Del Rio compete with some of the best in Las Vegas. The annual festival lineup is a huge draw for visitors, and this September Virginia City will be hosting its 56th Annual International Camel & Ostrich Races, where jockeys vie for the fastest humpback (the camels reach speeds up to 40mph). The annual zombie run, saloon crawls, and Rocky Mountain Oyster Fry also make Virginia City well worth a trip.

Elko (Elko County)

The National Cowboy Poetry Gathering comes to Elko. Photo: Sarah Murray

Elko sits on the doorstep of both the Ruby Mountains and Humboldt-Toiyabe National Forest. Photo: Wheeler Cowperthwaite

With 18,000 residents, Elko has the largest population on this list, but at heart it’s still a cowboy community. Case in point: For the last 31 years, thousands of spur-toting cowboys from all over the nation have descended on Elko’s Western Folklife Center for the National Cowboy Poetry Gathering, when cowboy culture and the Old West are celebrated through literature, music, and other arts.

Elko’s first pioneers are paid further homage at the California Trail Interpretive Center, where you can learn how the adventurous settlers made their way to the Western frontier in the mid-1800s. There are workshops at the Tuscarora Pottery School, Basque-style cuisine at the historic Star Hotel, and genuine cowboy gear for sale at J.M. Capriola.

Sitting at 5,000 feet on the edge of northern Nevada’s Ruby Mountains, Elko’s high desert climate makes for four seasons of outdoor recreation. In summer, hikers, climbers, and mountain bikers hit nearby trails with quick access to high alpine lakes, granite cliffs, and spectacular views of the Humboldt-Toiyabe National Forest. In winter, grab some snowshoes or tear up the backcountry slopes on a heli-ski trip. The hot springs at Ruby Lake National Wildlife Refuge are also nearby.

Austin (Lander County)

Cycling into Austin on the “Loneliest Road in America.” Photo: Bruce Fingerhood

St. Augustine’s, build in 1866. Photo courtesy of TravelNevada

Gem and antique shops, historic saloons, 150-year-old churches, and sweet cafes line the main drag of this 300-person town. Located along Highway 50 — once dubbed the “Loneliest Road in America” by LIFE magazine — Austin has 11 National Historic Sites covering a variety of Old West attractions including 19th-century churches, government buildings, and Stokes Castle — an old mansion modeled on Roman architecture. There’s more-distant history too; the nearby Toquima Cave was used as dwellings by the Western Shoshone as early as 1,000 BC. Detailed petroglyph artwork covers the rock walls of these sacred caves, and the tribe still uses the location for ceremonial activities.

In more recent years, Austin has become a hub for landsailing, a sport where drivers maneuver sail-powered, three-wheeled vehicles around the desert at high speed. Following last year’s Landsailing World Championship in Austin, official events are slated for 2015 where spectators can watch these modern inventions whipping around on the desert flats.

Twenty miles outside of town is Spencer Hot Springs, and Austin is also working to build on its vast network of mountain biking trails that offer something for all skill levels. Visit in spring for the chance to see fields of vibrant wildflowers in peak bloom.

Tonopah (Nye County)

Photo: Maya West

The historic MIzpah Hotel reopened in 2011. Photo courtesy of TravelNevada

When you roll up to the rural desert town of Tonopah, halfway between Vegas and Reno, finding a place to shack up for the night is an adventure in itself. One option is the elegant Mizpah Hotel, known for its 5th-floor resident ghost, Lady in Red. Alternatively, stay at the infamous Clown Motel, where you doze off as Bozo the Clown watches over you from his menacing portrait hanging above your bed. Or grab your tent and set up camp in the nearby Table Mountain Wilderness — the stargazing opportunities here are second to none (check out the Tonopah Star Trails for more).

While you’re in town, duck into the newly opened Tonopah Brewing Company for house-smoked meats and West-Coast-style pale ale. Tonopah is also home to Nevada’s only turquoise mine that’s open to the public. Those willing to get their hands dirty can have a dig while on the Royston Mine Tour. The reward? Whatever gems you can get your hands on — many visitors get lucky discovering pendant-sized chunks of the brilliant blue.

Ely (White Pine County)

Ely is a prime gateway to Great Basin National Park, where you’ll find some of the clearest night skies in America. Photo: NPCA Photos

A selection of murals on the Ely art walk. Photos, from top to bottom: cifraser1, Jay Galvin, sergeymk

Sitting on the eastern edge of “Nevada’s Loneliest Highway,” Ely is a remote mountain town of 4,000 where history, art, and outdoor adventure run deep. In the nearby Great Basin National Park, travelers have the chance to descend into the depths of the Lehman Cave system to explore a series of limestone and marble caverns full of huge stalagmites and other wild rock formations. The park is also home to the snow-capped Wheeler Peak which, at 13,000 feet, is the second-tallest mountain in Nevada. Here you can hike dozens of trails or take a scenic drive up to 10,000 feet for sweeping views of the Great Basin.

Back in Ely, take a slow stroll through downtown on the 11-block art walk. Scattered down the main drag are over 20 murals and sculptures depicting the town’s history and cultural diversity — highlights along the way include Ely Renaissance Village and the ’50s-style soda fountain that serves up old-fashioned chocolate malts and cherry-lime rickeys.

Ely’s importance as a rail town during the 1900s is showcased on the Nevada Northern Railway, which offers a twisty ride in an open-air car through the mountains of the Egan Range. Originally built to transport copper from nearby mines, today this National Historic Landmark is one of the last operating steam locomotives of its kind.

Rachel (Lincoln County)

Photo: Airwolfhound

Photo: Airwolfhound

Rachel, Nevada, population 75, sits on the edge of Area 51. At first glance, the town gives off a middle-of-nowhere vibe, but with common reports of extraterrestrial activity, Rachel attracts UFO chasers from around the globe hoping to lay eyes on a flying saucer. Notoriety has followed.

At the heart of town is the Little A’Le’Inn, a peculiar motel, restaurant, and watering hole where alien enthusiasts convene and swap stories of the latest sightings and theories. This popular spot also sells its own alien-themed souvenirs and t-shirts — either intriguing or amusing, depending on your UFO stance. Either way, the cafe’s a fun pitstop on the way to the 28,000-acre Mount Irish Wilderness Area. Camping is free throughout the region, and the craggy limestone cliffs are prime bighorn sheep and pronghorn habitat.

Rachel also draws modern-day treasure hunters who use online clues and GPS to explore over a thousand geocache sites along Highway 375, where the cache densities are some of the highest in the country.

This post is proudly produced in partnership with our friends at TravelNevada.

How to act like a local in a Spanish

Photo: Maureen Barlin

1. Get pissed if you don’t get free food with your drink

This free tapa could range from some chips or olives to an authentic dish of callos, but you have a right to it. After getting your drink, if the waiter doesn’t come back with something to eat, not even after staring at him for a few minutes, you have two options: ask for some chips or decide to never come back. Remember: You’re in a country with more bars per person than anywhere else. Chances are you’ll find another bar on the same street where you’ll be served your free snack or tapa.

2. Don’t worry about the tip

No, it doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t leave a tip. Tips are nice; waiters will love you. But they are not compulsory, and if you just had a coffee you’re not really expected to leave anything — especially if you’re a regular costumer. And in case you do want to leave a tip, forget all those complicated calculations to find the perfect quantity. You’ll get your change back in a small plate. Take some coins and leave the rest.

3. Read the newspaper

Not the newspaper you brought with you. Bars in Spain always have several newspapers for their customers to flip through while sipping coffee. You’ll have plenty to choose from: national newspapers like El País or El Mundo, and regional and local newspapers as well. You can leave the bar knowing what’s going on all around you.

4. Don’t ask why the TV is on with the sound off

Weird, right? Why the hell is there a TV on with no sound? Why this combination of image from one source (TV) and sound from a different one (usually some music)? Try to act as if that was normal. It is in Spain. You could even be watching some music videos on the screen and hearing different songs coming from the speakers. Unless there’s a football match going on, then the sound returns.

5. Order coffee properly

A latte machiatto, you said? No wonder the waiter is looking at you as if you came from another planet! Coffees in Spain have their own vocabulary, and they don’t even match the types of coffee you know how to order in Italian. We have café solo (just coffee, like an espresso), café con leche (coffee with milk, and it’s exactly that, don’t expect any foam, but know that you can have it with hot, warm or cold milk), and then everything that comes in between: manchado (lots of milk, just a bit of coffee; you can also order it as corto de café), and cortado (lots of coffee, a bit of milk). Then you have descafeinado (decaf), which can be de sobre (instant decaf coffee), or de máquina (decaf espresso). And of course, carajillo: coffee with alcohol.

6. Go for breakfast, coffee break, aperitivo, lunch, merienda, dinner or at night

In some countries, bars are a place to drink alcohol, so depending on the hour and frequency you visit them, you could be seen as an alcoholic. Not in Spain. You can go for breakfast, for your coffee break, to have some drink and snack before lunch, to have lunch (some plato combinado, menú del día or bocadillo), to have coffee after lunch, to merendar (supper), and even for dinner. And then, of course, to drink at night. Some bars seem to be open 24 hours…because they are!

7. Take your children

Who would take a child to a bar? Remember: Spanish bars are not only to drink alcohol. It’s neither wrong nor weird to take kids (even a baby!) to a bar for breakfast or lunch. The most dangerous thing they’ll see is that eternal old man by the bar drinking a carajillo.

8. Throw toothpicks and napkins to the floor

Or maybe don’t. Bar owners are trying to end this centuries-old habit of filling the floor with garbage. And also remember that there are different kinds of bars in Spain, and that what would be okay in a taberna wouldn’t be appropriate in a cafetería. The best advice: look at the floor. Is it dirty and scattered with paper napkins and toothpicks? You can do it. Is it clean? Leave it that way.

9. Talk to the owner if you sit at the bar

Going to a Spanish bar, especially if it’s not crowded and you choose to stay by the bar, is like taking a taxi. Taxi drivers want conversation, and so do barkeeps. Topics range from the weather to politics to football. Have a look at the local newspaper cover to know what you should be talking about. Or have a glimpse at the soundless TV and comment on the images. If you’re successful, you might find more customers join the conversation!

Torres del Paine in photos

Macizo del Paine, the central massif of the park as seen from Lago Pehoé as we cross the waters.

Wording by Monica Racic. All images and captions by the author, Michael Marquand.
Day 1: Lago Pehoé to the Grey Glacier

The first leg of the trail is reached by crossing Lago Pehoé, a lake of such vibrant turquoise that people crowd the stern of the catamaran I stand on, paralysed by the awe its surreal hue weaves. Tiny particles of silt, formed from glacial erosion that become suspended in water runoff, cause the lake to appear cloudy and lends it a turquoise colour, which has come to be known as “glacial milk.” Once my meditative downward stare is broken, I finally look up: towering above Lago Pehoé is the Macizo del Paine, the central massif of the park. The massif was originally formed when volcanic magma cooled, turning into granite. As the millennia passed, layers of sediment compressed over the rock and, as immense geological pressure forced the formations upwards, glaciers retreated, carving away the softer sediments and forming the mammoth towers we see today. Although seemingly every geological phenomenon in the park can be explained by science, there is still the unshakable sense that what you are seeing could only possibly be borne out of magic.

Our Catamaran docked in the turquoise glacier waters right before taking us across Lago Pehoé, to the official entrance to the park.

After landing on the opposite shore, full of energy and optimism, we set out for the Grey Glacier. The first hour or so of this trail is fairly flat, but as the walk progresses, it fluctuates in elevation along a rocky ridge that contours Lago Grey. This leg should only take about four hours, and about halfway in — if it is not too windy — you can walk out onto a ledge at the Mirador Grey, where you’ll see the glacier looming at the north shore of the lake. The Grey Glacier is part of the Southern Patagonian Ice Field, which runs along the southern Andes, between Argentina and Chile. It’s the third largest ice sheet in the world, after Antarctica and Greenland, and during the last glacial period it covered all of southern Chile. While I am perched out on the mirador, marvelling at this thought, a belligerent thrust of wind knocks me down. The unrelenting winds in Patagonia are notoriously dangerous, known to top even 180 km/h. Sadly, according to a local guide, there were five deaths along the W circuit in 2012. If a strong wind picks up at the wrong moment, it can kick you off the mountain.

The somewhat fragile wooden suspension bridge sitting above the the Rio del Francés at the last leg of the days hike before Camp Italiano.

Early that evening, we reach Refugio Grey and set up our tent on the adjacent campgrounds. Without the burden of our packs, we trail-run 20 minutes north to inspect the glacier up close. This final sprint of endurance is contrasted by the immense stillness and grandeur of the Grey Glacier before us.

Day 2: The Grey Glacier to Lago Pehoé

Having marvelled at our good fortune for a temperate, calm first day, I awake the next morning to a rainstorm. The best advice for anyone trekking the W is to resign yourself to the fact that you will get wet. Even the best waterproof gear won’t save you. Be smart, but don’t stress. Take extra plastic bags to wrap any clothes or electronics inside your pack. We quickly disassemble our tent and wait underneath an enclosure until the rain dies down.

Small orange wooden sign giving direction to different campsites within the park.

After 20 minutes we forge ahead and, about an hour into our trek, the sun breaks through and alleviates the damp chill, giving us a fresh boost of energy. Hiking back the way we came, towards Lago Pehoé, I notice things I never saw the first time, including waterfalls pouring over cliffs in the distance. From one of the many tributary streams, we stop to refill our canteens. Unlike bottled water, the water in Patagonia is not “purified,” rather, it is pure. That taste of purity is not the absence of flavour, but — and I mean this in earnest — a taste of genuine freshness.

We descended upon the Asencio Valley along the W circuit only hours after leaving the 3,040 feet altitude of the snowy mountains. Literally going from winter to spring in a matter of hours partially due to the complex orography or the region.

As the sun bears down on us, we stop to strip layers of clothing, and I notice large swathes of dead trees, standing like charred skeletons, littered amongst the otherwise pristine landscape. If a spark is picked up by the horrendous Patagonian wind, thousands of trees burn within minutes. Thanks to huge fires in 1985, 2005, and 2011 — inadvertently caused by tourists — the park office has banned campfires. Cooking is allowed only by way of small camping stoves, which must be shielded from wind by an enclosure.

The Grey Glacier at the north Shore of the lake. As seen from Mirador Grey. The Grey Glacier is part of the Southern Patagonian Ice Field, which runs along the southern Andes, between Argentina and Chile.

Just as we make it back to the shores of Lago Pehoé, a dense fog swoops in, obscuring the Macizo del Paine, and it begins to rain once more. We are supposed to continue on to the next campsite, Campamento Italiano, but as it is in the basin of a valley, it will flood. We change plans, hunker down, and instead set up our tent on the shores of Lago Pehoé. It happens to be New Year’s Eve, and so we are joined by a serendipitous grouping of strangers, who have also gathered inside an enclosure at the refugio to escape the wind and the rain.

Day 3: Lago Pehoé to Valle Frances

On our third morning, we awake to more agreeable weather and spend the next few hours hiking to the Italiano campsite with the sun on our backs. While trekking through the park, many travellers may find a hidden treat: calafate berries. A local guide says it’s common lore that “anyone who eats a calafate berry is sure to return to Patagonia” and with a broad, knowing smile, he offers me a palm full of the sweet fruit. After hours of trekking, along a level trail, we near the Italiano campsite. But first, we need to cross the Rio del Francés, a cascading and treacherous river. Only two people can walk on the suspension bridge at a time, so we cross slowly, two-by-two. On the other side of the bridge, I see the campsite, nestled within a forest of massive lenga trees.

These are calafate berries. A local guide says it’s common lore that “anyone who eats a calafate berry is sure to return to Patagonia.”

Once we drop off our gear and set up camp, we start our ascent into the Valle del Francés, the middle leg of the W. Much of the terrain and flora found in this part of the trail is similar to that of the Pacific Northwest. Trekking poles prove to be pivotal in maintaining balance as we hop from rock to rock, crossing multiple rivers. While you may never quite have to rock scramble, this leg of the trail may be the closest you come to it. You will need to use your hands to hoist yourself over rocks or to maintain balance, while granny-stepping along ledges.

Men on horseback traveling across the Valle del Francés.

The trail curls along the edge of a massive waterfall which feeds the Rio del Francés, both of which are sourced by the snow-capped mountains lying in wait ahead. This leg of the trail requires the most attention. I am in my trekking groove now, focusing on every step I take. But my trance is interrupted when a fellow trekker exclaims, “Did you hear that?!” We pause and I can hear ice falling from the Paine Grande up ahead. Thankfully we are not in any danger. I sprint through a windy dirt path obstructed by branches and massive stones, until I reach a clearing where I am once again in awe of the beauty of this place. Surrounded by the Paine Grande (3,050m above sea level), with the Cuernos towers on the other side, and an aquamarine lake below, I am insignificant — just a tiny dot amidst a formidable terrain. Standing at this point in the Valle del Francés is like being at the centre of some magnificent cinematic panorama. You are enveloped by a symphony of sounds — the roaring waterfall, the heavy wind and the deep, guttural vibrations which echo around you and that signal an avalanche.

In Patagonia, you are constantly reminded that the earth is alive and, in some instances, it feels as though it might swallow you whole. “Look!” Someone points to an avalanche that I can just barely see. By the time the sound reaches me, it’s already happened. We continue up the mountain to another lookout point, meandering through (what feels like) an enchanted forest, full of mammoth trees with gnarled, twisted branches, and the wind grates against my face. Just then, when I doubt nature has any more wonders to reveal, it begins to snow.

Day 4: Campamento Italiano to Campamento Las Torres

It’s day four of our W trek, and today we cover the most ground in a single day — nearly 27km. Fortunately, it is the most beautiful day we have experienced yet: sunny and warm, with a gentle breeze. Later that evening at camp, I see a sign nailed to the ranger’s cabin: “DO NOT ASK ABOUT THE WEATHER TODAY. THIS IS PATAGONIA. WE DO NOT KNOW.” Along our entire trip we experience rain, snow, and a searing sun, certainly all within the same day, and occasionally within moments of each other. We come to welcome the challenge, even its arbitrariness, and we appreciate the blessing of good weather — however long it lasts.

One of our fellow hikers enjoying the view of the water with the ice field in the distance.

This leg of the trail will leads us to the base of the Torres del Paine, but first we must walk along Lago Nordenskjöld, around the base of Mount Almirante Nieto, up into Valle Ascencio, and towards campamento Las Torres. This portion of the trek includes every type of terrain: rocky shores, arid land with dust and stones, forests of lenga trees, and vast golden prairies. As we reach the top of an incline, we turn a corner and see the immense Ascencio Valley below. In the distance I spot people, tiny as insects, hiking towards where I am now.

Our local guide looks at me expectantly. “Amazing, no?” He laughs. I stand there in shock. Not only do I see those tiny specs in the distance and think “I still have to get to there,” but I also think of those poor souls in the distance behind me, struggling to make their way to where I am now. We carry on, and two hours later arrive at camp. That evening (although you’d never know it was evening with Patagonia’s 18 hours of sunlight) multiple trekkers huddle together beneath a single enclosure. Physically exhausted, we toast each other with beer and wine, which we’ve carried in our packs for this very moment. We have nearly completed the W, and the last obstacle to conquer — the Torres del Paine — awaits us in the morning.

Day 5: The Torres del Paine

We awake at 4am and begin hiking for an hour in the dark, along a rocky incline. With a few minutes left before dawn breaks over the horizon, I need to make it to the top of this summit where, if I’m lucky, I’ll see one of the most evocative and legendary vistas on earth: the Torres del Paine, at the precise moment that the sun hits the peaks. I see faint hints of rose-gold wash upon the stones before me and I start to move faster. I am literally, racing the sun. Just a few moments after hoisting myself over a behemoth rock, and, as I catch my breath, the sun crosses the horizon sparking a fire of light on the mountain peaks. Sunlight flows down the side of the towers like lava.

Hiker crossing another suspension bridge on the final day of our journey.

This entire trip can be summarised in one word: grandeur, both external and internal. There is, of course, the immensity and majesty of the landscape, but also the shock of my own personal endurance when confronted by capricious weather and the limitations of my own body. In Patagonia, not only am I reminded that the earth is alive, but I too am exhilarated and feel alive.

We had to leave at 4am to hike an hour to catch the famous Mirador Torres at first light. Here a lone hiker watches the peaks while the sun rises.

As I am contemplating this maudlin thought, the sun becomes buried beneath a series of blueberry coloured clouds. A young man, who is sitting on a rock some distance away, approaches me and says something that, were it said by a stranger back home in New York City, might have felt uncomfortable, but here it feels heartening. “Isn’t that something beautiful we just experienced together?” he asks. As frightening as the world is at times, we are privileged to experience the beauty in it, however fleeting it may be.

Why vegetarians should go to Vietnam

Photo: BOMBTWINZ

1. You probably won’t get diarrhea.

Probably. Lettuce can get dirty, and reused straws washed in dirty dishwater isn’t exactly a gold-star promise of health, but by and large, eating veggie in Vietnam is pretty safe. It’s a cuisine the locals know how to do healthily and well, and they’ve been perfecting it for centuries. That burger, though? You may end up with a lot of time on your hands to contemplate why you just had to have a burger from a place named ‘OMG!’ while you shiver on your toilet, unmentionables coming out of both ends.

2. You will actually be able to communicate that you are vegetarian.

When Alexandre de Rhodes romanized the Vietnamese language in the 17th century, he must have had vegetarians in mind. The word for “vegetarian” in Vietnamese is the super simple “chay.” You just say it flat and evenly — no rising or falling intonation, no awkward glottal stops in the middle, no nothin’. Just say it like a robot might say it, point to yourself or your desired dish like the foreigner you are, and your job is done. If your waiter or waitress can’t understand that, then you’re complicating it.

(Side note: you could also say, “không thịt,” meaning no meat, but that’ll lead to two potential problems: saying “no meat” doesn’t mean you don’t enjoy things like fish sauce or chicken broth, and “không thịt” is way easier to butcher than “chay.”)

3. It’s so cheap you’ll think it’s a scam.

Whether you’re in Ho Chi Minh City or the 7-person village of Rang Rang, about every 100 yards you’ll find a short, middle-aged, sun-baked woman working hard at her food cart. She’ll be standing at a portable steel and plastic cart, where the counter is lined with frying pans and the plastic shelves lined with ingredients, all of which are baking in the sun as much as their keeper.

The front of this cart will more than likely say “Bánh Mi,” but don’t fall for it: this is not the banh mi you know, the one you pay $8 for at your favorite go-to fusion eatery. Tell her “bánh mi hai trứng,” (that’s a bánh mi with two eggs), and watch the pan to hear the egg sizzle and to make sure she doesn’t sneak in any ,pâté (in that case, tell her “không thịt,” or no meat).

If you’d like to feel your tongue burst into a salty, MSG-ridden high, add on “nhiều xì dầu” (lots of soy sauce) and if you’re feeling guilty, add on “nhiều rau.” That’ll get you strips of pickled carrots and cucumber, wedges of fresh tomato carved out of the fruit while you watch, and cilantro and scallions garnered by the bunch that morning from the nearest market. She’ll pile on the fixings into a fresh-baked, soft and airy baguette, wrap it in newspaper that soon gets hot and moist to the touch, and ask you for about 50 cents.

50 cents.

But the bánh mi isn’t the only example of vegetarian fare that would please a frugal, shoestring backpacker. A bowl of phở chay, a fresh watermelon, tofu spring rolls — none of these will cause you need to break out the $5 bill. For $1 or $2, you can sample the local vegetarian cuisine at its finest and freshest, and never have your palette grow weary.

3. Vegetarian food is everywhere in Vietnam.

If you haven’t graduated to talking to non-English speaking waiters about modifying dishes to meet your dietary restrictions, fear not: the word “chay” can be seen on signage all over the place. Vegetarian restaurants — from the aluminum pots of a hole-in-the-wall to the five-star-pinkies-up kind — are incredibly commonplace in Vietnam, mainly thanks to its large Buddhist population. You’ll see signs for chay restaurants, and traditional restaurants that have optional chay menus. Toto, you’re not in Texas anymore. This place is an animal-lover’s utopia.

The next time you stumble upon some blog by an angry vegetarian Westerner who had trouble meeting his or her culinary guidelines in Vietnam, just know that they were doing something wrong. Chay is everywhere.

4. The food is mind-blowingly good.

Walk up to the aluminum pots of hole-in-the-wall Thuyền Viên, and you’d never guess what your taste buds were in for. At first, it seems like a battle of might and perseverance: there’s a throng of clamoring locals at the open-air counter all vying to get attention, flies buzzing between impatient heads all vying for disregard, and the clanking of pots and dirty dishes is the land’s cacophonous, wartime battle cry.

Eventually you throw enough elbows to work your way up to those mysterious silver pots. You don’t know what’s in them, but it doesn’t matter: this crowd makes it seem like the elixir of life. When you’re finally up at bat, you point to 5 or 6 of the dishes, recognizing nothing, and get ushered to your throne: a small, red plastic stool that you swear was once part of your younger sister’s dining room play set.

Minutes later, you’re brought your feast: claypot mushrooms, butternut squash curry, and several varieties of tofu that are wondrously transformed, flavored, and covered in tangy, sweet but savory sauces, all different shades of vermillion. This is a magical section of the food pyramid the government has been hiding from you to keep you eating farm-raised grains and vegetables. This is an epiphany. With a bowl of rice and a fresh baguette to top it off, the battle was well worth the effort.

The only downside? There’s no going back. The Boca burgers in your freezer will just start their trek to the freezer burn castle in the sky, and the tofurkey, well, your neighbor’s dog might eat it if you coat it in chunky peanut butter. It isn’t just that Thuyền Viên is some sort of Southeast Asian Brigadoon, either: it’s everywhere. The fried tofu, the peppered mushrooms, the curried pineapple, the egg bánh mis, the bánh xèo, even the fruit smoothies make you feel like some middle schooler who wasn’t in on the world’s biggest secret. Ignorance may have been mental bliss, but it was a travesty to your taste buds.

5. The options are more diverse than Angie and Brad’s Christmas card.

You know that feeling you get when you walk into a restaurant, and three steps inside the door the scent of sizzling bacon and the portraits of stoic-looking cowboys lining the walls makes you let out an accidentally audible sigh? That’s the one. The menu confirms your worst fears: meat, meat, and more meat. Eating, instead of fulfilling your primal urges and firing off your dopamine receptors, is about to be relegated to a chore. There are two things to choose from on the menu and both make you ponder just munching on yesterday’s protein bar you left in your bag.

Would such a scene ever happen in ‘Nam? Nope. You do not have to stick to the chay restaurants, because you can get phở chay, bánh xèo chay, hủ tiếu chay, cà ri chay pretty much anywhere. There’s also side dishes of morning glory, mushrooms, and tofu that line any standard menu. There’s fresh fruit and made-to-order smoothies at corner markets and street-side vendors, and baguettes that’ll make you feel like Parisian royalty. French fries are a surprising staple, too, only they’re served with butter and sugar. We won’t tell if you indulge.

6. Being vegetarian is not a big deal in Vietnam.

Maybe you have that friend who always has to tout about saying, “Oh, I’m sorry, I’m vegetarian. Do you have any vegetarian modifications you can make to the menu?” Or maybe you are that vegetarian friend. Your friends have to make you special dishes when they throw a dinner party and you have to make sure to cover your own ass at potlucks. And restaurants? A crap shoot in some parts, unless you’re happy with a green salad and a piece of carrot cake. But in ‘Nam, the world is your faux tofu oyster.

You and your omnivorous friends can dine at the same places, không sao (no problem), and they may even find that they wind up craving a few of the veggie restaurants you introduce them to. Heck, maybe you’re the type of vegetarian that’s only really vegetarian on weekdays and when you’re sober, but in ‘Nam it just so happens 24/7. There are just as many options and just as many people who eat the same way you do. It’s not pretentious nor is it an inconvenience. It’s…normal.

The Facebook friends you really fear

Photo: Helga

1. Friends who constantly post about their relationship

The internet is not a place for happiness. Happiness belongs in the real world. The internet is the place where misery finds its company. If you’re constantly posting about how happy your relationship is, pretty much everyone knows that it’s not all that happy.

2. Friends who constantly post about their babies

Look: we all love kids. But by definition, a miracle is something that doesn’t happen frequently. It’s a rare an unexplainable event. UNICEF estimates that 353,000 kids are born every day, and birth is totally explainable by science. So your child is not a miracle, unless you want you set your standard for “miracle” so low that that socks and intestinal bacteria count as miracles as well. We’re happy you have a kid, but please: give your posts some variety.

3. Friends who complain about relationship and baby posts

“Oh my gawwwwd, will everyone stop getting engaged / having babies already?”

Other people are allowed to be happy. Stop it.

4. The single-issue friend

We all have our passions and issues that we favor over others. But there’s a certain type of person who hijacks every conversation and makes it about their issue. “NONE OF THIS would be a problem if we fixed education / healthcare / campaign finance reform.” Yeah, guy. The world’s that simple. You figured it out.

5. The friend who agrees with you politically, but is also a little bit racist

You’re having a political discussion with someone you disagree with, and then a friend of your chimes in to support your argument. You appreciate the support, but then they say something like, “Muslims are the most violent religion,” or “Look, I have a lot of black friends, but…”

And now the discussion is over and you need to re-evaluate literally everything you believe.

6. The yogi

The point of yoga is to become more in touch with your body and the world. You posting a picture of yourself twisted into a donut is not either of those things. It is you trying to show off. Or possibly trying to get laid.

7. The first-time-abroad traveler

We know your world just changed, and we’re happy for you. But literally everyone who has traveled before has felt what you’re feeling. This isn’t just something that you and your abroad friends understand.

8. The parent or grandparent

Yes, I occasionally drink and experiment with other chemicals. Yes, I’ve been in sexual relationships. Yes, I sometimes swear. No, I was not thinking you’d ever find out.

9. The not-your-parent

The parent-of-a-friend or your parent’s-friend-who-for-some-reason-friended-you are the most terrifying people on Facebook. Their politics are all over the board, they aren’t particularly good at sensing irony or sarcasm, and their attempts at internet speak are excruciating.

10. The multi-album traveler

Back in the early days of Facebook, you could fit about 60 pictures into a photo album. It was a good standard: most people, honestly, aren’t going to look at all 60, but that’s a good round number for your trip, and it required some cutting down. Now, Facebook albums can fit about 1000 pics, and people will still post multiple albums for each of the trips they’ve been on. And they’ll keep posting the pics for months. Please: if we wanted to see Honduras that badly, we’d go ourselves.

11. The Candy Crusher

Turn off those notifications, and stop inviting me to play. I know you don’t want to actually play with me: you just invited me because you need extra lives and are hopelessly addicted to the game.

12. The Dieter

Dieters who are changing their diet to become healthier people are fine. They’re probably not posting about their diet anyway. But dieters who are dieting for moral reasons are terrifying. Look, Paleo dieters: we understand that cavemen ate the way you eat and that this supposedly makes the food more “natural,” but do you know what else is unnatural? Electric foot massagers. Tempur-Pedic Mattresses. Air conditioning. Unnatural things are great. We don’t have the same problem with unnatural things that you do.

Dear America: If you love kids, let your schools show your affection

Photo: Pink Sherbet Photography

BAMBINA BELLISSIMA (“beautiful baby”)! Que bella (“How beautiful”)! Piccola (“Little one”)! Italians went gaga over my 7-month-old daughter during our weekend trip to Rome. Her cheeks and thighs might even be swollen from all the pinching she received from strangers. Out of all the countries I’ve ever visited—England, Estonia, Canada, Sweden, France, Greece and Russia, among others—no place showers affection on children like Italy. My wife Johanna and I were completely blown away.

But the strangest thing is that Italian schools are not so child-friendly, especially for young children. The warm affection on the streets doesn’t seem to match the policies in the schools. On Friday, I gave a presentation on life at a Finnish public school to a crowd of Italian teachers and school leaders, and I had the chance to learn just how different schools are in this Mediterranean country.

I told them about how Finnish first and second graders have about four hours of school every day, which is more like a half-day back in the United States. Not only that, but kids in Finland have a 15-minute break built into every hour of instruction (more on that later); this means that a 4-hour school day involves just three hours of classroom time for first and second graders! This is incredible news to American parents and teachers, but it’s even more amazing to Italians. I spoke with one parent who told me that her daughter, a student at a public elementary school in Bologna, does 8-hour school days (8:00 am to 4:00 pm) with barely any time for recess. Oh. My. And I used to think that a typical schedule at an American elementary school was too much for kids!

The Finnish approach of providing less academic instruction to young kids is sensible. As students in Finland grow older, they generally spend more hours at school. For example, my sixth graders are in school about six hours every day compared with the four they used to have as first and second graders. 7- and 8-year-olds thrive on shorter school days because they need lots of time for free play. Sixth graders, not as much.

When you are in school for eight hours (or even six), there is little time and energy to play afterwards. School this long can easily kill creativity, not necessarily by what happens during lessons, but by the space it takes up in the lives of young children. Research has shown that kids only start to enter a deeper level of play—where creativity and problem-solving skills develop—after 30 minutes of uninterrupted free time. If you’re a young American and Italian student, these long stretches of free play are non-existent in schools, so the only hope is that you’d have time after the school day. But that’s unlikely to happen when you’re flat-out exhausted, your homework is burning a hole in your backpack and your bedtime is just a couple of hours from when you return home.

Finns—who are typically reserved—may not be pinching and coddling babies on the street, but they’re making sure that their children are getting what they need at school. Sometimes this looks like keeping the school day short for young kids. Of course, my argument hinges on the assumption that 7- and 8-year-old Finns are spending their after-school hours engaged in free play, not structured tasks like private tutoring and organized sports (as is common practice in the United States).

In January of this year, I wanted to see how most of the first and second graders at my school were using their free time after school. I wanted to be sure that I wasn’t just thinking wishfully that Finnish kids were playing deeply after their last class. I wasn’t disappointed. For three hours, I attended their iltapäivä kerho (“afternoon club”)—a subsidized public program that enrolls 70% of the first and second graders at my school—that was exclusively play-oriented. The adult supervisors told me that they don’t even encourage the kids to complete their meager amounts of homework before they head home at 4:00 pm because they believe young children just need time to play with their friends. And that’s exactly what I saw these 7- and 8-year-olds doing: playing dress-up, building with legos, and drawing.

As I mentioned earlier, Finnish kids are entitled to take a 15-minute break for every 45 minutes of instruction. Finland takes this so seriously that it’s even guaranteed by law. While I was visiting Rome, I was told that typically Italian high school students get just 10-minutes of break every day (and they’re expected to eat during this time)! On top of this, they will spend most of the school day in just one classroom; teachers come to them. Meanwhile, kids in Finland—young and old—receive 15-minute unstructured breaks throughout the school day and they have the opportunity to slip outside for fresh air during these times, even when it’s freezing.

Obviously, these 15-minute breaks are not long enough to provide young students with time for deep play, but they’re just long enough to refocus children. So, first and second graders in Finland are putting in three hours of high-quality classroom work every morning—because they’re paced by frequent breaks—and in the afternoon, they’re playing deeply throughout the entire afternoon. That’s a pretty sweet deal for kids.

But the case of Italy still befuddles me. They clearly love children but their schools—with their long and nearly recess-less school days—do not show evidence of their affection. I feel the same way about many American public elementary schools. We say we love children (and I know, deep down, we do) and yet, we send our kids to kindergarten at the age of five and they receive full-day academic instruction. We give young children just 20 minutes or so of recess for an entire school day. We throw dozens of standardized tests at our kids, starting in third grade or even younger, narrowing their curriculum and stressing them out, along with their teachers. We require young American kids to attend school each day for nearly twice as long as young Finnish children, leaving them with little time and energy for play after school.

By providing things like frequent breaks, shorter school days, and less standardized tests, Finnish schools are not doing anything particularly innovative. This tiny Nordic country is simply making sensible decisions that support the wellbeing of all children. And when you stop to think about it, this is exactly what all school systems should be doing.