Matador Network's Blog, page 2177
December 3, 2014
15 delusions about returning home
Photo: Sarah Kowalczewski
1. I’m totally going to wear these Thai fisherman pants back home.
I haven’t worn them — out in public that is. Not once. Nor my Japanese kimono, Korean hanbok, Middle Eastern abaya… I suddenly want to host a Disney themed ‘It’s a Small World’ party.
2. I’m going to use my Korean language skills all the time.
Mostly only at Korean restaurants. And while I was applauded like an adorable baby seal blubbering its way to land for attempting even the most basic Korean phrases while actually living in Korea, back home my gallant efforts are thwarted by the bored second-generation waiter who rolls his eyes and responds in English with ZERO accent, “So what do you want?”
3. By golly! I’m going to visit a museum in my own city. Why not?
Do I really want to spend my Saturday hanging out at the local Maritime Museum? Nah. Besides, I live here. I could go anytime. I’ll just go next week.
At the time of this writing I still haven’t marveled at any crusty old seafaring relics, but then again there’s always next week.
4. My home peeps are going to be so excited to see me.
Yes, they will!
Providing I don’t ask them to pick me up at the airport. I get it. If you have the means to travel the world, you have the means to take a cab, or to finally learn how to navigate public transportation in LA.
5. I’m going to start using public transportation.
I have no idea how to ride a bus in LA. My visiting New York friend once suggested we take one to Santa Monica. We sat next to a guy who smelled like a saloon and muttered to himself like he was chewing his face off. We never did make it to Santa Monica.
6. Friends and family will want to hear ALL the details of my international escapades.
In my experience it’s gone more like this:
Them: How was your trip?
(Hmm… how to sum up six months?)
You: Good.
Them: Cool. There was this killer sale on duvets at Kohl’s. You totally missed it.
7. They’re also going to appreciate my handmade photo album.
Who makes actual physical photo albums anymore? I was kind of asking for their mindless, eyes-glazed-over thumbing through of said archaic medium. I mean, there’s not even a ‘like’ button to click, so they can feign interest.
8. I don’t need the new iPhone. I don’t need anything.
I once saw a couple of naked children playing with a cow and some sticks from a bus window rolling through the Cambodian countryside. Don’t worry. They weren’t beating the cow — it was all very amicable. The children squealed with laughter as they waved at our bus. How happy they were with what appeared to be nothing. Meanwhile, I sat surrounded by modern flashy comforts: air conditioning, iPhone, clothes. But when was the last time my sweater and I squealed that hard? I don’t need all this stuff. Just give me some laughter, love, friendship, imagination, two sticks, and a cow.
Then I come home and discover the new iPhone 6 is out! No doubt, I’ll soon want a 7.
9. I’m going to get a real job.
Define real job.
10. All my new travel mates and I are going to rendezvous in Morocco in five years!
We didn’t. I think we’re still FB friends though.
11. I’m not going to return to the S.A.D. diet. (Standard American Diet)
What can I say? We’re a hearty people with ambitious portion sizes. It doesn’t take long to gain back the 10 pounds I lose whilst swimming, hiking, and sweating my way through South East Asia. It’s a good thing I have those baggy Thai fisherman pants. You can fit two full-grown humans in one pair! But that’s another story and one that’s not entirely appropriate.
12. I’m not going to drink so much.
It turns out I drink just as much wherever I am in the world. Maybe this one has more to do with ‘delusions I tell myself about a budding alcohol addiction’ rather than ‘delusions about returning home.’ Something to consider.
13. I’m going to throw the best Spanish/Thai/Vietnamese/Arabic dinner party ever!
While I did take a Thai cooking class in Koh Phangnan, I spent more time watching two chickens scratch at the dirt floor of our kitchen hut. We were stir-frying some of their avian brothers and sisters for our curry, and I wondered if that was weird for them, or if we were some kind of culinary sadists. Also, exotic country-specific ingredients are hard to come by. Especially when you only know the foreign name for them, that you can’t say anyway.
An easier option is to take your friends to a Spanish/Thai/Vietnamese/Arabic restaurant and point out the best dishes with an authority bordering on arrogance. Make sure to point out how the food is good, but not as good as in the actual country. People love this.
14. I’m going to really put my new skills as a Thai massage therapist/belly dancer/Hapkido yellow belt to good use.
I gave my friend a Thai massage. Once. I sometimes wear my jingly belly-dancing skirt while I do dishes. If I ran into a pack of nefarious street youths, I’d be more likely to implement the ‘duck-and-cover’ strategy I learned in elementary school for earthquake preparedness. But I would mention loudly that I am trained in the ancient martial art of Hapkido.
15. I can’t wait to get home!
I always romanticize my homecoming. All the things that will be different! All the friends I’m going to see! The In-N-Out burger I’m going to devour! The bubble bath I’m going to relish!
24 hours later:
Everything’s the same. Friends are busy. Never made it to In-N-Out. Bath got cold, and I got bored. Start to wonder where Zanzibar is… I can’t wait to go to Zanzibar! 
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8 most colorful Chinatowns
A dragon dance at the New York Chinese New Year. Via
Singapore
Singapore’s Chinatown, once home to the first Chinese settlers in what’s now a heavily Westernized city-state, is one of its few distinctly Asian neighborhoods.
The Grand Buddha Tooth Relic Temple in Singapore. Via
The enclave was home to the area’s earliest Chinese settlers. Several of its institutions, such as the Heritage Centre, Food Street, and Night Market, preserve the culture of its original inhabitants, while some areas of the district are designated national heritage sites.
Many historic buildings remain as relics of the past, as well as to complement the otherwise modern landscape.
Melbourne
Melbourne boasts the oldest Chinatown in the world, established during Victoria’s Gold Rush in 1854.
Catch the world’s longest Chinese dragon– the Millennium Dai Loong Dragon tops 100 meters — in action as it is brought to life by 200 people during the Chinese New Year parade.
Kuala Lumpur
The capital of Malaysia was actually founded by Chinese tin prospectors in the 1850s, who played a pivotal role in the city’s transformation from a jungle settlement to a center for the tin mining industry. The Chinese remain the city’s dominant ethnic group and control a large proportion of the country’s commerce.
A flower-seller on Petaling Street. Via
Chinatown, known locally as Petaling Street or Jalan Petaling, is famous for its food stalls and night market, where shoppers can load up on fresh produce and counterfeit DVDs, watches and purses (don’t forget to haggle).
Georgetown, Penang, Malaysia
Arriving in Georgetown, Penang, off the west coast of Malaysia after a long journey from Thailand, you may almost think that you accidentally traveled all the way to China. The city’s Chinatown is one of the largest and best preserved in the world, with everyday sights and sounds reminiscent of a small city in China.
The Kuan Yin Teng Temple in Georgetown. Via
Most residents are descended from Chinese immigrants who arrived in Penang during the colonial era and made their fortunes as traders and shopkeepers. Many of their original shops are still intact today.
Toronto
In the most ethnically diverse city in the world, residents have their pick of seven Chinatowns. The city’s main Chinatown was formed in the late 1960s, when many businesses in the original Chinatown were forced to move.
Since the 1980s, the Greater Toronto Area’s Chinese community has migrated to the suburbs of Scarborough, Mississauga, Richmond Hill, Markham, and North York, where shopping centers are reminiscent of Hong Kong’s malls and street stalls.
New York
New York’s first Chinese residents began arriving in Manhattan’s Lower East Side in the late 19th century to escape discriminatory measures on the West Coast. In the 1980s, the neighborhood eclipsed San Francisco’s as the largest Chinatown outside Asia.
A dragon dance at the New York Chinese New Year. Via
But don’t overlook the city’s other Chinese enclaves – in Elmhurst and Flushing in Queens, and along Avenue U and 8th Avenue in Brooklyn. In fact, Flushing’s Chinatown has now surpassed Manhattan’s in size.
Vancouver
There’s a reason this city has been nicknamed “Hongcouver.” In the years leading up to Hong Kong’s 1997 handover to China, waves of wealthy immigrants flooded the city. The mayor, Sam Sullivan, even speaks Cantonese.
Vancouver’s Chinatown dates back to the early 20th century, although recent arrivals have headed for the suburb of Richmond, where many of the Chinese restaurants are considered the best outside of Hong Kong.
San Francisco
The city’s Chinese New Year parade, an annual event since the 1860s, is the largest Asian cultural celebration outside of Asia. Chinatown may seem like a tacky tourist trap, but one cannot ignore the history and significance of one of the world’s best-known Chinese quarters, once the stomping grounds of Sun Yat-Sen and Amy Tan.
The Eastern Bakery in San Francisco’s Chinatown. Via.
The original enclave, built in the 1850s by settlers who had arrived during the gold rush and railroad days, would be the world’s oldest had it not been destroyed in the 1906 earthquake. Since the 1960s, much of the city’s Chinese community has moved into the Sunset and Richmond districts, while newer immigrants often settle in the suburbs around the Bay Area.
This piece was originally published on January 21, 2009.
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Why you should move to Lima, Peru
Photo: powerplantop/Flickr Commons
Lima regularly has several restaurants ranked in the global top 100, and you won’t be breaking the bank if you visit them.
2. There are some of the best waves known to surfers anywhere.
Photo: surfglassy/Flickr Commons
There are breaks for all levels, but the most spectacular are at La Herradura beach.
3. For ceviche, Lima is the capital of the universe.
Photo: powerplantop/Flickr Commons
Many restaurants here offer a dozen or more types of this classic, marinated seafood salad. Don’t forget the cold beer!
4. Raincoats are almost never needed here.
Photo: Global Post
Lima is second only to Cairo as the largest desert city on planet Earth and, despite being chronically overcast some eight months of the year, it almost never rains here.
5. The city is completely flat, so it’s (almost) perfect for cycling.
Photo: Ernesto Benavides/Getty Images
Just watch out for Lima’s drivers, which are some of the most reckless and aggressive in the Western Hemisphere.
6. Thanks to the Amazon and Andes, Lima has some of the most original produce in the world.
Photo: James Byrum/Flickr Commons
The street markets are filled with delicious, exotic ingredients you have probably never heard of before.
7. Chicharron sandwiches are a cure-all. ‘Nuff said.
Photo: Flickr Commons
This is Lima’s wake-the-dead hangover cure — a strong coffee with a chicharron (fried pork) sandwich, with thick slices of steamed sweet potato, chili sauce, and marinated onions.
8. Pirated everything can be found everywhere.
Photo: Paula Bronstein/Getty Images
If bad quality, dirt-cheap DVDs, $10 Rolexes, or fake Nike threads are your thing, you are very much in the right place.
9. Or, if you prefer genuine products, there’s this totally insane mall.
Photo: Antonio Atalaya/Flickr Commons
Larcomar Mall is built into a clifftop overlooking the Pacific. This has to be one of the most scenic malls you’ll ever shop in.
10. It has this exhibit at the Larco Museum.
Photo: Flickr Commons
The ceramics from the pre-Incan Moche civilization are positively pornographic.
11. The “menu.”
Photo: Flickr Commons
These tasty, nutritious, and lovingly presented two- or three-course lunch typically costs about $3 or $4. This particular “menu” includes stuffed avocado, rice, and mincemeat with raisins and spices. The drink is chicha morada, made from purple maize and sweetened with sugar.
12. Its hipsters are more hip than your hipsters.
Photo: Martin Garcia/Flickr Commons
This leafy, Bohemian neighborhood is packed with colonial architecture, cool dive-bars, classic seafood restaurants, and the occasional hipster night haunt.
13. The Andes are, like, right there.
Photo: Magnus von Koeller/Flickr Commons
A crazy, three-hour drive will take you up 15,000 feet to a region of remote mountain wildernesses full of breathtaking treks.
14. Another six hours and you will be in the Amazon.
Photo: Mariusz Kluzniak/Flickr Commons
15. Dolphins hang out at the surf breaks.
Photo: Flickr Commons
Out at the break, as you wait to catch a wave, dolphins do still hang out with the surfers.
16. You don’t have to fear sharks.
Photo: Christian Córdova/Flickr Commons
Unlike most of the world’s other great surf spots, shark attacks are all but unheard of here.
17. There’s this amazing clifftop park to hang out in.
Photo: YellowSingle/Flickr Commons
The Malecon overlooks the Pacific and is the perfect place to while away an afternoon or catch the sunset over the ocean.
18. Oh, also, you can go paragliding from the Malecon.
Photo: Martin Garcia/Flickr Commons
19. There are many, many ancient mysteries. It’s heaven for the History Channel.
Photo: Ernesto Benavides/Getty Images
The remains of this mysterious pre-Incan city, called Pachacama, built around 2,000 years ago, are just a short drive south of the city. Andean civilization never developed writing so today very little is known about the heavily eroded collection of adobe and stone temples and pyramids.
By: Simeon Tegel, GlobalPost
This article is syndicated from Global Post.
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13 things retitled from the US to UK
Photo: William Murphy
WHEN J.K. ROWLING published the first Harry Potter book in 1997, she put her American publishers in a bit of a bind. The book title, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, was changed to Harry Potter and Sorcerer’s Stone in the United States. This was because the US publisher, Scholastic, thought children wouldn’t buy a book with the word “philosopher” in the title, even if it was one of the best children’s books of all time.
Rowling later regretted the decision. The “philosopher’s stone” was believed to be an actual alchemical substance at one time, while the “sorcerer’s stone” was, more than anything else, a symbol of the Disneyfication of American culture. But retitling is hardly a new thing. The US and UK swap culture with each other all the time, but thanks to differences in our dialects of the English language, sometimes the titles don’t change over all that well. Here are some more.
1. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
In the UK, children of the ‘80s will likely remember not the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles but the Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles. “Ninja” was deemed to have connotations that were too violent, so it was replaced and Michelangelo’s nunchucks were changed to a grappling hook.
2. Clue
Americans grew up playing the boardgame Clue — in the UK, it’s Cluedo. The UK actually had it first (as you may have been able to tell from the incredibly British characters), and the name was a pun on a similar dice-rolling game, Ludo.
3. Man vs Wild
Bear Grylls is a badass, right? Okay, good: both countries can agree on that. But in the UK, his show is called Born Survivor. A man drinking his own piss by any other name…
4. Snickers Bar
Until 1990, in the UK Snickers Bars were called Marathon Bars.
5. The Mighty Ducks
In the UK: The Mighty Ducks are the Champions. Thanks, Britain. Thanks for spoiling the ending of the goddamn movie and depriving your youth of one of the greatest cinematic masterpieces of all time. Also, their title for D2 was just The Mighty Ducks. I mean, god dammit.
6. Patton
The American movie about one of the greatest US generals is considered a classic in both countries, but in the UK, the title hints a bit harder at what an egomaniac the general was by calling it Patton: Lust for Glory.
7. The Golden Compass
The first book in British writer Philip Pullman’s amazing His Dark Materials children’s series was called Northern Lights in the UK. Given the title of the trilogy — the other two books are named The Subtle Knife and The Amber Spyglass — I suppose the US title fits the theme a little bit better, but otherwise, the change is inexplicable.
8. The Avengers
In the US, the name Avengers is mostly tied to the Marvel comics superhero team. In the UK, it’s tied to a ‘60s era spy show that can perhaps be best described as “incredibly British.” When Marvel’s movie came out, it was retitled Avengers Assemble.
9. Chicken Little
The famous folktale features characters like Henny Penny, Cocky Locky, Goosey Loosey, Turkey Lurkey and Foxy Loxy, so it makes sense that the title character in the UK isn’t Chicken Little, but Chicken Licken. Maybe Americans didn’t want to give KFC’s Finger-Lickin’ Good Chicken the satisfaction of hijacking their folk tales.
10. Where’s Waldo?
It came from Britain first — and there, it’s called Where’s Wally?
11. Sega Genesis
It’s Sega Mega Drive in the UK and most of the rest of the world. There was a trademark dispute for Mega Drive in the US.
12. Live Free or Die Hard
“Live Free or Die” is the motto of New Hampshire. Brits don’t know the motto of New Hampshire, so they went with Die Hard 4.0. Their retitling, sadly, did not improve the quality of the movie.
13. Harold & Kumar Go to White Castle
White Castle isn’t a thing in the UK, so the movie was renamed Harold and Kumar Get the Munchies. We should point out, though, that White Castle isn’t a thing in huge chunks of the United States, and that didn’t seem to be a problem.
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11 signs you're from Mumbai
Photo: babasteve
1. You have a cast iron stomach.
Wherever you are you’ll crave a vada pav. The city is packed with food carts and delectable street food that gets pared with spices, chutneys, and relishes. But the king of foods, often grossly referred to as “the Indian Burger,” is the vada pav: a fried potato patty with spices plus bread and spicy chutney. If it’s one of your favorite things to eat, you’re definitely a local. And anyone from Mumbai is immune street food bugs. You’ve grown up eating from food carts, been warned several times that it’s probably unhygienic, not to mention unhealthy. But it’s never stopped you. Plus, you’ve never felt sick from it — take that mom!
2. You’re used to traveling in a packed local train.
The local trains could make a can of sardines look comfy. And you’re used to battling with local fisherwomen for a spot to stand in. While the world tries to imagine the scenario, for you it’s just another Tuesday morning on the train on your way to work. Yes, there’s an entirely separate compartment for the fisherwomen and their straw baskets full of stinky fish, but they refuse to sit there and take great pleasure squatting by the doors, making life extremely inconvenient in the women’s compartment. And it doesn’t help that the train is always full and has no air conditioning…
3. You don’t get starstruck.
You’re so used to spotting Bollywood celebrities in certain restaurants and bars that it no longer phases you, whereas anyone from out of town would probably die of excitement.
4. The local train is a great source for random shopping.
There’s always someone trying to sell you things on the local train, especially odd items like nail polish, hairclips, a new toothbrush, or fruits. It’s also a very common sight to see women sitting and chopping their vegetables on the train so that they don’t have to do it when they get home. Ah, Mumbai life.
5. Traveling within the city is not your thing.
While it’s perfectly normal for most people to travel from one part of town to another, if you live in Mumbai you’d seriously rather travel to Pune, a city approximately four hours away, than go to Andheri or Malad — suburbs within the city that take forever to get to because of crazy traffic.
6. Crowds don’t bother you.
In a city of over a million people, it’s difficult to avoid crowded areas. Nothing’s more crowded than a local train or walking down basically any street in the city. It’s adorable when people from other countries get flustered by the crowds, because to you, it’s perfectly normal, and anyway, their idea of a “crowd” is closer to your idea of sparsity.
7. You speak Hindi unlike that in any other city in India.
We have our own colloquial terms and words that the rest of India fondly refers to as ‘’Bombay Hindi’. The word bhai might mean brother for everyone else, but for you it’s how you’d address a drug lord. Supari doesn’t really mean the nut found in paan, but something a whole lot deadlier…like a hitman.
8. You’re used to going to the beach and not seeing a single person in beachwear.
Nowhere else in the world does someone go to a public beach and not spot a single woman in a bathing suit of any kind. Juhu beach and Chowpatty get flooded with people, but it’s all about eating chaat and seeing hordes of sari-clad ladies walk on the beach and try to get into the water while fully-clothed. No one swims, and you definitely won’t see anyone in a bikini.
9. You have no concept of what real winter is.
Let’s be honest: this city has no winter season. You think 20 degrees is a blizzard. The lowest it reaches is about 18-odd degrees, and even that’s rare. When the temperature does get that low, everyone pulls out their sweaters and shawls and marvels at how refreshing the weather is. The rest of the time it’s awful heat or similarly terrible monsoon rains.
10. You just don’t like Delhi.
At some point in your life as a Mumbaikar, you’ve indulged in the pointless debate of Mumbai v Delhi. You’ve probably gone there to visit someone or to attend school, had a blast eating at some of the best culinary spots in the country, and lived it up at one of the city’s many fancy bars or clubs, but at the heart of it you just do not like anyone from Delhi. And you have no problem being vocal about it.
11. Sachin Tendulkar is your god and the day he retired was the most miserable day of your life.
While cricket is almost a religion in India, and the greatest batsman ever is Sachin Tendulkar (at least, that’s what you’ll hear from his million fans), to a local, Sachin Tendulkar is even more than that. He’s the epitome of sporting heros, and no one, seriously, no one, is more important.
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14 memories from a Eurail trip
Photo: Blast 707 Photography
1. Windowseat views of Europe’s iconic landscapes
We were instantly enchanted by the diversity of scenery as we traveled across Europe by train, from the Barcelona seaside, to flowering plains in Lyon, to the mountain forests and lakes of Bern — all on a day’s trip to Munich. The pace of the train allowed us to truly take in every inch outside our windows, from the color-changing leaves of Germany’s Black Forest region to, later, unexpected castles and ruins in northern Slovakia.
2. Lyrical languages overheard in the corridors
Sharing a car with strangers is an open invitation to eavesdrop — especially if you understand Arabic, Norwegian, German, Taiwanese, Hebrew, or any of the other ways people communicate around the world. We heard them all. The whispers of a French couple nonchalantly discussing politics and the anecdotes robustly shared among a group of young Polish students provided a beautiful soundtrack to the journey.
3. The unpredictable tempo of travel
The speed at which you travel by train varies depending on where you’re going. You might stop 16 times in seven hours between London and Aberdeen, but fantasizing about life in the charming English and Scottish countryside makes it feel like less than that. In contrast, an hour-long trip from Bratislava to Vienna can seem to take an entire day when you’re hungover from partying at Pivovarský Hostinec Richtár Jakub.
4. The nostalgia of train travel itself
For almost 200 years, people have traveled by train. And for the most part, the routes, scenery, and even the stations have changed very little. The Beaux-Arts architecture of Paris’s Gard du Nord transported us to another time, Praha-Holešovice a reminder of the Czech Republic’s Communist past. We lived vicariously through the millions who’d traveled by train before us.
5. The overnight berths
Spending time on a night train is a rite of passage for most Eurail travelers. The berths, sometimes shared with friends, other times with complete strangers, were typically stiff but surprisingly comfortable. The rhythm of the train lulled passengers to sleep in a way that reminded us of a rocking cradle. That is, if the excitement of departing Warsaw after dinner, and arriving in Berlin for breakfast, hadn’t kept us awake the entire time.
Photo: Felix Montino
6. Interactions, verbal and otherwise, with other travelers
It was a brief smile and nod when a new passenger took a seat in our car on the way to Zagreb. It was swapping stories with a group of Australian gap-years planning to hit every European country within the next three months. It was accepting a piece of Belgian chocolate from a six-year-old boy, knowing it was a tasty favorite because his face was covered in the sticky brown sweet stuff.
7. The dining car throwback
Some of these spaces have been modernized, as on trains in Great Britain and Germany, acting more like casual cafes serving salty boxed sandwiches and cans of cola. They’re made for commuters and those looking only for a snack. Others, like you’ll find on routes throughout Eastern Europe, retain their early-20th-century elegance — full meals served by waiters in crimson vests and starched shirts, travelers seated in plush booths beneath the tasseled, frosted-glass lanterns of another era.
8. Scents of body odor, strong perfume, and hot meals
We traveled with Americans who hadn’t showered in days. We remember the scent of the lavender baby powder used by the Belgian mother to help soothe her child’s diaper rash. We craved pizza napoletana, arancini, and every other fragrant Italian delicacy our carmates decided to snack on between Naples and Rome.
9. That feeling of confidence when we mastered the system
We memorized the train times between Bergen and Oslo. We assembled a comprehensive time-killing kit of magazines, postcards, and guidebook reading for that late connection between Sarajevo and Belgrade. Even the Cyrillic script in Sofia’s Central Station failed to intimidate.
10. The fatigue of spending 14 hours on a train
Traveling by rail is more relaxing than any other mode of transport in Europe, but we were still completely drained after the long trips. On the night train from Split to Budapest, we dozed on and off, awoken by the snores of the burly Croat man sharing the car, feeling a bit paranoid about our unguarded possessions, concerned about falling from the top berth if the train stopped suddenly.
11. The organic ebb and flow of the European rail system
The particular pattern of stations, cities, and countries became second nature, the entrance and exit of new and old passengers a natural cycle. The disappearance of a beautiful horizon, quickly replaced by another. The long stretches of comfortable silence, punctuated by the rhythm of the train’s machinery. We established the habit of disembarking from the train, spending a short time in an unfamiliar place, and returning to the station to be transported somewhere new and different once more.
Photo: Alex
12. The Before Sunrise-style missed connections
He was an Israeli chatting over coffee in the dining car. She was a Finnish university student on her way to Bucharest. There was always that moment of “what if?” and a point of hesitation — do we risk getting off at their station, abandoning our itinerary to explore, or stick to our plans and hope someday we’ll meet again? We never got their name, Twitter handle, or life story, but the connection was strong, and memorable.
13. The intriguing juxtapositions of train characters
It was the older gentleman from Hamburg, in his tweed suit, polished wood cane, and worn-in cap, seated next to the eclectically dressed hipster who boarded in Berlin. It was the modelesque Russian woman cuddled up next to her squat, balding sugar daddy on their way to a romantic week in Budapest. There’s something democratizing about traveling Europe by train; and those who choose First Class are missing out.
14. The feeling of standing on a platform, knowing exactly where you’re going, but nothing more
No matter how hard we tried to plan, we could never predict if we’d fall in love at a cafe in Madrid, or have our passport stolen in Frankfurt. Trains can only transport us to and from destinations, they can’t craft our experiences for us. But the anticipation of waiting under the industrial arches of Budapest’s Keleti station to board a train bound for Venezia Santa Lucia is part of that experience.
We could have flown and gotten there quicker, or driven and arrived at our own pace — but somehow we knew there was more to the journey than that.
This post is proudly produced in partnership with our friends at Eurail.
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December 2, 2014
Piss off a parent on an airplane
Photo: Micah Sittig
Tell us to ‘stay at home.’
There are many reasons why families travel. It’s no easy feat taking small kids on an intercontinental plane ride, and it’s often not a decision we as parents take lightly (trust me, I’d love to save the extra money that goes into flying a family of five across the continent). Being the twat with the screaming kid on the plane is one of the worst parenting moments; almost as embarrassing as being the twat whose kid pooed in the public pool.
Like everyone else, we want a vacation too — but on a deeper level, because giving our children the gift of travel at a young age is one of the biggest gifts we can give them as parents. Travel exposes children to people, cultures and experiences they don’t get back home and allows them to become more tolerant and open minded adults. Those are the same reason you travel too, right?
Give us a nasty look when our child starts screaming.
Yeah we get it, being on a plane with a screaming kid sucks. We know this because before we had children, we were solo travelers too and, yes, we cringed at the sight of a family boarding the airplane. Now we are hogging the front row in economy with baby bassinets, oversized diaper bags, and silently praying that our little angels keep quiet during the flight.
For most parents, preparing a family for air travel takes on the same proportions as planning a military expedition. We pack extra food, clothes and diapers; we even wrap presents as extra little goodies, lovingly prepare their favorite snacks, and try to cover every eventuality — from delays, to medical emergencies — to keep our little angels quiet during the flight.
Ignore us when we could really use an extra set of hands.
Any parent knows that two hands are never enough. There’s the diaper bag, the scruffy teddy, the milk bottle, the pacifier, and just when you thought you’re more loaded than a Sherpa on Mount Everest, Little Miss Toddler decides she can’t walk anymore and needs to be carried if you’re looking to make your connecting flight on time.
Try walking up a narrow plane aisle, while 200 other passengers are shoving behind you, and trying to get your oversized diaper bag into the overhead compartment. You could really use a hand, but all you get is a few embarrassed sniggers. Suddenly everyone is either looking out the window, or at the still inactivated screens in front of them.
A friendly smile and an extra hand, if you can spare it, goes a long way. Just sayin’.
Fail to put our situation into perspective.
Airplanes and airports are the perfect breeding ground for toddler meltdowns. Long check-in queues, passport controls, austere security checks, and more waiting to get on the plane can test anyone’s patience — and that’s all before you even stepped on the plane. There are the 300-plus strange faces to contend with, confined space, neon lights, incessant aircraft noise, and missed naps. When the same situations also apply to you and make you cranky, is it really a wonder why my child is having the meltdown of the century?
We agree, no one likes a screaming child on an airplane, but next time you’re at the receiving end of Little Johnny’s tirade, please know that we are trying our best. If that doesn’t work, crank up your headset, use the complimentary ear plugs, and breathe deeply; we’ve all been at the receiving end of annoying passengers, and it’s not only children.
Point out that Expedia proclaimed “Parents of unruly children” to be the worst passengers.
An Expedia survey found that inattentive parents traveling with unruly children are officially the number one pet peeve of air passengers. There are definitely tone-deaf parents blissfully immersed in their headphones whilst Little Johnny screams like a maniac, and I can’t make excuses for them. But I think that the dude snoring like a walrus is more annoying, or even the Chatty Cathy who just spent the entire 12-hour flight blabbing non-stop about her arthritic knee.
We all have different thresholds of testing our patience and comfort. Wanting to expose my children to the outside world doesn’t make me a bad parent. But maybe if you stop hogging the armrest, pushing your knees into the back of my seat, or remember to shower before boarding, I’ll reconsider bringing my kids abroad.
Think we’re asking for extra favours.
Priority boarding, special children’s meals, express customs clearance, toys — these are all things that make a huge difference to traveling families, and can be the clincher between a happy child and a meltdown.
Traveling as a parent can be an exhausting experience. No longer are our main concerns whether to choose chicken or beef from the meal trolley, or whether to watch the latest release or have a nap. These days we’re more concerned with sacrificing our shut-eye to keep the little ones rested and calm.
We appreciate every little bit of help the airlines can give us. Flight crews know what they are doing — unlike you, who may experience the annoyance of a child on your flight every so often, they have to deal with it on almost every flight. If you honestly feel like our special treatment comes at your expense, flag down a flight attendant and pony up the $3 for a pair of “special headphones.”
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When traveling becomes escapism
Photo: Dominic Hartnett
In 2009, I was living at home with my parents, I was unemployed, and I was miserable. Someone made the mistake of giving me a copy of the book Into the Wild, so I decided that I, too, was just going to drive around the country in search of adventure. I told everyone about my plans, and started buying equipment, like a stove that I could hook up to my car’s cigarette lighter. I invested in a better backpack and I started putting more money into savings. Finally, when I was a month off from my departure date, my dad pulled me aside.
“Matt,” he said, “this is a fucking stupid idea.”
I protested. Didn’t he want me to move out? Didn’t he think I should experience life?
“Yeah,” he said, “But you’ll be back here within a month. Because you have no money, and because you aren’t the type of person who wants to die in the Alaskan tundra on an abandoned bus.”
My dad, unfortunately, was right. It was a fucking stupid idea. Instead, I got a job working at a fruit shack, and found a place to live with a few other buddies. I resented him for a while though. “Why shit on a good travel plan?” I thought.
Travel isn’t always a good idea.
I’m not of the opinion that people who don’t have money shouldn’t travel. I do think that travel is something that really only relatively privileged people get to do, but I don’t think it should be that way, and I think that if travel is a priority for you, even if you’re poor, you should find a way to make it happen.
That said, me traveling poor was a horrible idea. In the three years prior to my dumb trip idea, I’d spent about a full year living abroad. The idea of sitting in my parents’ house on the outskirts of Cincinnati, where no massive festivals or parties were happening, where no sexy Australian girls were inexplicably flirting with me, was unbearable after all that jetsetting. So I decided to escape.
I’ve since had a few other travel schemes similar to the Dumb Trip, and I’ve learned to identify them relatively quickly. First, the plan usually has an incredibly short timeline, possibly because there’s a voice in the back of my head screaming “LEAVE! NOW! NOW! NOW!” Second, the plan is usually spectacularly ambitious. Perhaps it’s a motorcycle trip from Buenos Aires up to Houston at a time when there are no roads connecting Colombia and Panama, and at a time where I have no knowledge of how to drive a motorcycle. Or perhaps it’s simply a $2,000 plane trip to Thailand at a time when I’ve only got $200 in my bank account. If I manage to take a second to step back, I can usually catch these warning signs.
And it’s times like these that I have to accept that I have deeper problems than travel can solve, and that, like alcohol or sex, or drugs, travel is just something I’m using to avoid those deeper problems.
When you should stay still.
Most people, when they travel, find that they are discovering things left and right. They are discovering new cultures. They are discovering things about themselves that they never knew before. They are discovering that their stomach’s tolerance for tainted water is not great. Whatever it is, travel is a learning process, and this can make it therapeutic.
At one point, I booked some solo travel. I was living in London at the time, and I decided to head to Belgium for some Christmas markets. When I got there, I found that the portions of the trip I most looked forward to were ones where I was on the trains and could read, or when I could hole up in a cafe or bar and read. I spent maybe 50% of my waking time reading, and when I got back to London, I thought, “Well, shit, I could have easily done that in London and saved a ton of money.”
When you hit this point, you’re no longer traveling to learn. You’re traveling because you’ve got shit to deal with, and you aren’t letting yourself do it in your normal habitat. The idea of a “staycation” is starting to catch on with a lot of people, and in spite of being an absolutely atrocious portmanteau, it’s a good idea. One of the best things you can learn after spending a lifetime of moving is when to stay still.
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6 undeveloped islands to visit
Photo: TimOve
25 YEARS AGO, a few intrepid travelers found paradise in the Andaman Sea. Phi Phi Island, off the coast of southern Thailand, was almost totally undeveloped.
There were no resorts on Phi Phi – just white sand beaches and palm trees, plus a small village of sea gypsies who called themselves “the island people.”
Travelers who made the epic journey to Phi Phi returned to the mainland with glittering eyes and epic stories. More travelers caught the once-a-week cargo ship to this new island paradise, then more and more and more.
Today, Phi Phi is packed with tourists. Dozens of resorts line the once-empty beaches and trash floats in the water off concrete piers built to accommodate large ferries.
Phi Phi is still beautiful, “a discovered paradise still worth checking out” as Matador founder Ross Borden puts it, but for those who knew the island before the crowds arrived, Phi Phi is a tragic example of Paradise Lost.
A call for RESPECT
Some of the islands described below are on the track to development, though early in the stage. Some are already protected. It’s up to you, as a sensitive and engaged traveler, to respect the information below, to preserve the natural environment and to honor the people who call these island Edens home.
-Tim Patterson, Editor, MatadorTrips.com
6. Koh Rong, Cambodia
Photo: Austin King
Koh Rong is bigger and more beautiful than the most famous Thai islands, but there are no established beach resorts on Koh Rong yet, simply because it’s in Cambodia.
In 2007 your faithful Koh Rong correspondent camped in an abandoned house on 6 miles of white sand beach, and survived scary encounters with illegal loggers and Cambodian Navy men.
In 2014, there still isn’t running water, and electricity is only available for a few hours a day, but there’s wifi everywhere on the island… There’s also word of heavy investment on Koh Rong, with big money flowing to the boss man in Phnom Penh and rumors of Russian, Japanese, and Chinese investors. By 2020, there should be a luxury resort built.
5. Bohol, Philippines
Photo: An diabhal glas
I have a confession. The Philippines intimidate me. There are just too many islands, too many languages, too much history.
How to pick just one of more than 7,000 islands?
Matador expert Casey Gusto lived on Bohol island in the Philippines for 2 years. Bohol gets a lot of tourists, he says, which it should – it’s one of the most beautiful islands in the whole archipelago.
But there are gorgeous parts of Bohol that are not developed, including outlying islands, where you can chill with some of the friendliest locals in the world.
4. Cuttyhunk, Massachusetts, USA
Photo: Ben Eriksen
Cuttyhunk is one of the most laid-back island “summer communities” off the coast of New England. There’s nothing to do except catch enormous striped bass, breathe fresh sea air, and sniff about the new money that ruined Nantucket.
Cuttyhunk.net says it best:
Cuttyhunk does not have discos, bars, malls, a singles scene, a party life, video games, parking lots, traffic, or much action.
What Cuttyhunk does have is a quiet, isolated, beautiful, ocean environment, perfect for getting in touch with yourself.
For bonus points, arrive in Cuttyhunk on your own sailboat.
3. Teuri-to, Japan
Photo: Snap55
Teuri-to is a lot like Cuttyhunk, except it’s off the northern coast of Hokkaido, the northernmost island of Japan, way north of Vladivostok, Russia.
The fresh sushi and sashimi on Teuri is quite simply the best and cheapest I found in 2 years of traveling around Japan and the locals will be thrilled to see you.
2. Providencia, Colombia
Photo: Cultura de Red
Providencia is the less developed of two isolated islands that lie off Colombia’s Caribbean coast, near the border with Nicaragua.
Construction on the island is limited and the inhabitants own all the hotels so as to contain the dangers on the environment of becoming too popular for tourists.
Thanks to Richard, one of Matador’s many Colombia experts, for the heads-up:
Long stretches of white sandy beaches, verdant hillsides and palm trees lining the streets. Over the five days we rented a moped to explore the island, lazed on deserted beaches, drifted in the breeze in hammocks, slept late and enjoyed some cold ones with the locals. It was a cliche, it was paradise.
1. Salt Cay, Turks and Caicos Islands
Photo: Loretta
I thought I’d never write about Salt Cay. It’s a special place to my friends and family, truly a second home, just a low-lying slab of coral, sand, and memories 90 miles north of Haiti, as far from the corruption and resort glitz of the capital island Provodenciales as you can get in the Turk and Caicos islands (which are south of the Bahamas).
Salt Cay is the most beautiful island I know, not because of the sunsets, empty beaches, neighborly humpback whales or free-range donkeys, but because of the pious, good-humored and hard-working people who live there.
the project of the whole island being ripped in half for a mega-resort, complete with golf course and yacht marina came to a halt recently, but the future of the island is looking grim. The airport has been lengthened to accommodate private jets and the rapid growth of tourism on the island has already damaged the coral reef and the shorlines.
The development in the Turks and Caicos is getting ugly. I wonder if I’ll ever go back there, and I can’t write about this anymore.
This article was originally published on May 4th, 2008.
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November 29, 2014
Write the Details. Write the World.
Photo: Lulu Lovering
Cars and trucks glittered in the neon. I was looking hard, seeing details: the hippie couple ahead of me, both white kids with dusty dreds, the woman in a raggedy patchwork skirt, skipping like a kid. I was looking hard. I was thinking of the Black cop in Reservoir Dogs; “…get the details was the soap yellow liquid or that gritty pink powder?” — Journal entry, 2/16/95
I read my way through the shadows of my childhood. My mother intended to give me a love for books. She succeeded — in equal measure by intention and by going psychotic again and again. I learned to pay attention to the details: the ambulance parked in our driveway, the still figure on the gurney, the empty pill bottle left on the bedroom rug.
Once she had tried suicide a second time, I began to watch for signs. The descent was more terrifying than the final act — always an attempt that occurred in time for my father or me to find her. I learned the details. Her face would begin to lose color. Her eyes would go flat. There would be a casserole on the kitchen table, a note, and that stillness that I would see as color. Yellow-gray.
There was no one to tell. It was 1946, 1948, 1950, 54, 56, and 58. No one spoke of bipolar disorder or even mental illness. They might have whispered, “Lillie had another nervous breakdown.” with the same horror they would say of another, “He had the Big C.”
There was no one to tell. My father was terrified. It was 1946, 48, 50…men were not supposed to be afraid. Or helpless.
In all of this, I had no idea I was being trained to be a writer.
I told no one. Then, on a day my mother’s mind was clear, she took me to our little farm-town’s library, tucked into the basement of the one bank. It was the only place that was cool during the humid northeastern summers. The librarians were all women of a certain age.
My mother signed me up for my own library card. I walked into the children’s section and understood I had found shelter.
I read every night. Summer was best because even after bedtime I could read by the long, generous eastern twilight outside the western window. I read till my eyes ached. And, when I finally crawled into bed, I pulled the covers up over my face and watched the stories play out behind my eyelids.
For 10 years I read and carefully watched my mother; then, I found myself watching the rest of the world with almost as much attention: the way December twilight turned the snow to sapphire; how maple leaves went not just scarlet, but each red in my watercolor box; how lightning was a brilliant opening in a midnight sky.
I was twelve the first time I wrote a story. It was a northeastern version of Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings’ The Yearling. The little boy became a little girl. The deer became a raccoon. The devastation became the bulldozing of the creeks and hills of my homeland. In fact, Kodak and Xerox had expanded. Suburbs spread everywhere. In my story, the raccoon lost its woodland home. There were abundant details: sapphire light, alizarin crimson leaves, lightning seaming the July sky, how a field of ragged stumps was a carcass.
I wrote. I had no idea what I was doing. I had no idea I was detailing a world.
To do: Sit or stand or walk for 30 minutes. Do nothing but pay attention to the details: light, colors, sound, scent, how the air moves, light and shadow. Write later and see if the details fill out the writing. See if they make a sliver of the world.
First published at Matador’s travel journalism school, MatadorU.
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