Matador Network's Blog, page 2227

Busker tears it up in Seoul [vid]

WE DON’T ALWAYS pay much attention to our buskers. We’ve got somewhere to be, and we didn’t factor in time to listen to an impromptu concert.

But sometimes the buskers get the right crowd in the right place, and they do something awesome with it. That’s the case with South African busker Aancod Abe Zaccarelli, who started playing the song “One Candle” by the awesomely named K-Pop group g.o.d. (standing for “Groove Over Dose”), and got his audience to join in with him.

Also, kudos to Zaccarelli for singing the whole thing in Korean. Not speaking the language myself, I can’t tell how close he is on the pronunciation, but I’ll be damned if I can sing any song other than the Macarena in a different language.

12 people you'll meet cycling Japan

Photo: Elvin

1. The couple living out of the back of their van

You sleep across the tatami from them on the ferry, and then bump into them at three different locations. They take your “no thank you” to coffee as a “yes” to corn soup. They’re driving around the country making the most of discount coupons.

2. The couple who invite their friends to look at you

A friend of a friend finds you a place to stay in distant Kushikino. The middle-aged husband-and-wife duo ply you with quality sushi and tempura and compliment you on your ability at both speaking the Japanese tongue and using the Japanese chopsticks. You wave away their compliments, as is the custom, and then repeat this as a line of neighbours and guests file in to see the exotic specimen on the couch.

3. The gap year student whose dad’s Japanese golf buddy hooked him up with a sweet gig in Miyazaki

You soak up his admiration for the awesome challenge you’ve undertaken and advise him to come back to Japan after he’s finished uni. As you’re telling him about the pretty decent salary you get over here for teaching English, you realize that perhaps your vision of what constitutes a decent salary is awry. He just came from an internship at a brokerage in Hong Kong, he informs you. You sigh and eat gyoza.

4. The retired civil servant who’s bored out of his wits and wants to electrocute you

After spending 45 years in a suit working from dawn till dusk, retirement came as a bit of a shock. At 68, he’s a bit older than your regular couchsurfing host but he’s desperate to please. And desperate to show off his medical equipment. He sticks the pads on your forearm and cranks it up to 10. Your fingers touch your elbow.

5. The English teacher who’s just here for the money

“I’m just starting my fourth year,” he says as you drive through the rice fields toward the ramen shop. “I don’t really like the job anymore but I’m saving shitloads.” You nod. “I play Final Fantasy a lot,” he adds. You each pay for your own ramen and then fall asleep as he plays Final Fantasy. He plans his classes over breakfast the next morning.

6. The onsen receptionist who doesn’t want your dirty money

You look a little bedraggled after cycling across Kyushu and approach the reception desk at the onsen (hot springs) with your wallet out. She takes one look at you, assumes you’re a homeless person, takes pity, and let’s you in for free.

7. The girl who tells you that you look a lot older than you actually are

“Foreigners are so difficult to age,” she squeaks after her eyebrows have descended from behind her fringe. You point out you’re only a year older than she is and ask if it’s your receding hairline that prompted her guess. She bashfully denies that and you take it as a compliment.

8. The “lifer”

He’s in his 40s and came to Japan on a whim 23 years ago. He’s been married twice but that hasn’t put him off. He’s in purgatory — his foreign friends come and then leave and his Japanese friends will never embrace him as truly one of their own. He’s jealous of your trip and looks nostalgically into the middle distance.

9. The trucker who gives you a ride

You’re cycling merrily along when you’re confronted with a sign: No bicycles on the Akashi Bridge. To be fair, you weren’t relishing the thought, since the Akashi Bridge has the longest midsection of any suspension bridge in the world. You hold out your thumb and your hiragana sign and smile. A long-haired guy in grey, oil-streaked overalls deftly chucks your bike in the back of his truck and whizzes you to the other side. You take a photo of him and he takes one of you. You bow like men and go your separate ways.

10. The lonely housewife

She invites you into the huge house. Tatami mats bedeck every room except the kitchen and bathroom. You compliment her on her beautiful home. “It belongs to my husband’s parents but they live somewhere else,” she says, sipping her ice coffee. “My husband got transferred to Saitama and all the other mums around here have jobs, so I just wait for the kids to come home from school. The house is a nightmare to clean so we only live in these two rooms.” She oozes loneliness. “I just baked some bread. Are you hungry?”

11. The guy who joined the gym primarily for the bath

He gives you a spare key and tells you to make yourself at home. You rotate on the spot and absorb the entire apartment. He pops out for a couple hours. On returning he explains that for ¥5000 it’s much cheaper to bathe at the gym than pay ¥400 a day at the bathhouse. You ask if he ever takes a shower in the apartment. He looks bemused and answers, “I’m Japanese. I need a bath.”

12. The incomprehensible old lady in the countryside

She shuffles in your direction, her stick and slippers moving alternately like an injured spider. Her toothless grin is lost among the deep wrinkles on her face. She stands over you and mutters something that ends in “ne.” You smile and nod and add your own “ne.” Her eyes go all glassy and you worry briefly for her life, and then she farts ostentatiously before shuffling away. You thank her for her gift.

How do you give back as a traveler?

Photo: Alex

Whenever I get back from traveling in a developing country, I always feel like I need to give money to someone. Travel perforates the veil of privilege like nothing else, and that can do three things:

It can make you feel really lucky.
It can make you feel extremely compassionate toward those less fortunate.
It can make you feel incredibly guilty.

These three elements have a tendency to combine and morph into a strong desire to help in one way or another. But this desire is often blind. What should I do? Should I give to the local Kiwanis Club? Should I like this Invisible Children video? Should I tweet at Barack Obama?

There are obviously some things that work — contacting politicians and news outlets, giving to certain charities — and some things that don’t work — liking Facebook videos, giving to certain charities. But it’s hard to know which is which. Here’s a starter guide for some of the things you can do to be both a traveler and a giver.

The “Help While I’m There” Approach

To be honest, the jury is out on voluntourism. It’s a new field, and it’s often ineffective, harmful, or even straight-up criminal. The basic rule of thumb is this: If you’re going to travel somewhere to help, try to help with something you have experience and training in. As Pippa Biddle points out, your presence may simply be a burden — you may actually be making life harder for those you’re trying to help. So if you’re a doctor, great! Go help sick people get better. If you’re in construction, awesome! Build that house. If you don’t know how to do these things, chances are you’re not helping.

That said, there are some good voluntourist sites to check out. One of the best is ResponsibleVacation.com (ResponsibleTravel.com if you’re in the UK). They’ll help you find a trip, and can also help you book it.

The “Help as Many People as I Can” Approach

The Australian philosopher Peter Singer implores philanthropists to consider one thing when they give: How can I get the most bang for my buck? In his incredible TED talk, he uses the example of blindness. In the developed world, it costs around $40,000 to train a seeing-eye dog. In a developing country, however, it costs $20-$50 to cure someone with glaucoma. Singer argues that the most ethical thing to do is to cure the 400 to 2,000 people in the developing world rather than provide one blind person in the developed world with a guide dog.

Several of his proponents have put together, with his cooperation, a website named “The Life You Can Save,” which is designed to help people get the biggest bang for their buck when they give. They only recommend 10 charities — charities that don’t waste their money on bureaucracy and manage to affordably fix big problems. It’s an incredible site if you want to get a lot done when you give, and it helps ensure you’ll help as many people as you possibly can.

The “Think Globally, Act Locally” Approach

There are plenty of stories of people traveling to small towns in Africa or Asia and finding that certain products they use in their day-to-day lives back home are made in an appalling factory in the town they’re passing through. Or maybe they’ll see young kids wearing secondhand, discarded Western shirts trumpeting the traveler’s high school senior prom. All of these are possibilities because we live in a very globalized world. And that’s probably not going anyway anytime soon — barring the collapse of modern civilization.

So the “Think Globally, Act Locally” Approach to living is a good place to start. By changing the way you behave at home, you are helping change the lives of people elsewhere. Unfortunately, there’s almost too much information to keep track of in order to live this way. Not only do you need to buy local food and drive your car less, but you need to make sure the products you’re buying don’t outsource their manufacturing to factories with terrible labor conditions.

Here are a couple places to start: First, calculate your carbon footprint. You can use that to figure out what areas of your life are contributing most to climate change. Second, if you have a smartphone, download the Buycott app and use it to scan your everyday products so you can determine if they’re in line with your ethics or not.

The important thing to remember is that globalization has made a hypocrite of everyone. It’s very likely that you’re against slave labor, but are perhaps unaware it’s responsible for many of the products you use (here’s a calculator for that). That’s okay, as long as you’re trying to fix that hypocrisy. You’ve gotta start somewhere.

The “Fight the System” Approach

Of course, a lot of problems are systemic and aren’t going to be changed simply through volunteering, giving, or by living sustainably. Sometimes, you need to campaign. If you’re living in a democracy, you have the fortunate ability to change the way your society works. First, Americans, find your representative. There are people who are specifically employed to read your emails, snail mail, and tweets, and to field your telephone calls. You may not think you can make a difference, but you’re wrong. Democracy, bitch.

Second, you can join campaigns and groups that are geared toward making the world a better place. A really good spot to start is at Amnesty International. Ultimately, there are a billion things you can do to make the world a better place. The key is to start doing them now.

14 signs you're from Glasgow

Photo: Robyn Ramsay

1. You regard Edinburgh as part of England.

The animosity between Scotland’s largest city, Glasgow, and its capital, Edinburgh, runs deep along the M8 motorway connecting the two. Glaswegians are suspicious of the capital dwellers’ accents, lack of hospitality, and salt and sauce and snobbery, and deep down we regard the city as part of the Auld Enemy, England.

2. You feel a surge of pride when the city’s grim crime statistics are reported.

Civic pride takes perverse forms in Glasgow. The city has undergone a huge amount of regeneration in the last few decades, although its reputation as a hotbed of violent crime has not diminished. Curiously, while Glaswegians enjoy a new-found identify as sophisticated urbanites, there’s an underlying machismo that seeks to retain the hardman status.

Whenever the latest crime statistics are published, I find myself checking to see if Glasgow is still level with Moscow. Think of it as a masochistic alternative to checking the football scores.

3. “Being baltic” doesn’t mean hailing from northeastern Europe.

It means it’s very cold. And this is usually the case during the 50 weeks of the year when it isn’t summer. Glasgow’s rich vernacular, or “patter,” means almost any phrase in the English language will have an alternative meaning.

4. You take your top off when the temperature soars above 15˚C.

For those two magical weeks of the year when Glasgow isn’t baltic, half the city phones in sick to enjoy this novelty weather event. Streams of skinny bone-white Glaswegian men beeline to the city’s parks to catch, if not some rays, then perhaps a mild cold and declare, “It’s pure roastin’ man. Taps aff” (i.e., “The weather is rather clement; we should remove our tops”).

5. “Yer maw” is an appropriate response at any juncture in a conversation.

No further explanation required. You either know it or you don’t.

6. Joining a “young team” doesn’t mean a youth sports association.

A group of teenagers congregating in a city park drinking bottles of Buckfast, wearing Kappa tracksuits, listening to happy hardcore techno, and engaging in casual violence — this is a “young team” and it’s a common youth pursuit in Glasgow. No wonder we mourn the decline of our national football team.

7. Your house appeared in an episode of Taggart.

Sometime back in the 1990s, I was walking home from school when I noticed a congregation of cars, trailers, and guys with beards, cigarettes, and cameras talking conspiratorially while pointing up and down my street. I ran home anxiously and burst into my living room crying, “Maw, there’s a film crew out there. Do you think they’re…?”

“Aye, son,” she interrupted gleefully. “They are. They’re filming an episode of Taggart.”

I lived off this story for weeks in the playground while perfecting my delivery of the show’s infamous catchphrase, “There’s been a murder,” in guttural Glaswegian. However, we weren’t a privileged few. The series ran for 28 years, so the chances are if you lived in Glasgow over this period they would eventually film an episode on your street. Who knows, there might even have been a murder in your house…

8. A mate from school is a world-class artist.

Yes, that’s wee Malky from fourth-year biology collecting the Turner Prize.

Like a bleak post-industrial renaissance Florence, Glasgow boasts a world-class creative arts scene to balance its violent hard-drinking reputation. From a relatively small population base of 600,000, the city punches significantly above its cultural weight and is home to numerous national cultural institutions such as the Scottish Opera, the Scottish Ballet, and the Royal Scottish National Orchestra. And, in the Glasgow School of Art, the city possesses one the world’s best-regarded art schools. In the last two decades the latter has fostered a community of artists who have dominated the Turner Prize to such an extent that commentators have coined the phrase “the Glasgow Miracle.”

Chuck in some of the best theatres in the UK, glorious Victorian and Art Nouveau architecture, thumping underground clubbing, and a contemporary music scene that Time favourably compared to Detroit at its 1960s Motown zenith, and it’s a wonder that wee Malky didn’t win the Pulitzer Prize and a couple of Grammys while he was at it.

9. You know over 50 phrases to describe inebriation…

Blootered, pished, steamin, reekin, mingin, gassed, jaiked, fu, bevvied, miroculous, wasted, mangled, mad wae it, stoatered, hammered, rat-arsed, stotious, legless, fleein, jiggered…

I could go on. Just as Eskimos have over 50 words for snow, Glaswegians have over 50 words for drunk.

10. …yet you know only one phrase for salad.

A “Glasgow salad” doesn’t involve anything green or nourishing. It’s a euphemism for deep-fried chips and forms the cornerstone of the city’s notoriously unhealthy diet. Add some chicken pakora to that and you’re approaching a balanced meal.

11. There are only two football teams in the world to support.

All Glaswegians at some point have been asked aggressively, “Who d’yae support?,” or a markedly less polite variant of this question.

The answer can only ever be one of two teams: Rangers or Celtic. Otherwise known as the “Old Firm,” the bitter rivalry and hatred between these Glasgow sides is infamous. Even if you don’t follow football, you’ll often be expected to pick a side. And no, answering that you support Glasgow’s other team — Partick Thistle — doesn’t cut the mustard. You’ll only receive the menacing followup question, “Aye, but whit wan d’yae really support? If you hud tae,” at which point you rapidly calculate a) which team the inquisitor supports, and b) the likely aggravation caused should you say the opposing team.

12. The Clockwork Orange is part of your daily commute.

The world’s third-oldest underground system connects central Glasgow in a circular loop across the north and south sides of the River Clyde. It is affectionately referred to as “the Clockwork Orange” due to its garish orange trains. Somehow I can’t believe it’s a coincidence that the Glasgow subway shares its name with Anthony Burgess’s classic novella exploring disaffected youth and recreational violence in a dystopian near-future (see “young team” above).

For a fun-packed day out, you could buy a day pass and try the Clockwork Orange pub crawl, or “sub-crawl”: one drink in the closest pub to each stop. There are 15 stops. Only lightweights have anything less than a pint at each. Good luck at Shields Road Station.

13. You’re more likely to manage a football team than play on one.

Okay, I should qualify this — a world-class football team.

While Scottish football has steadily declined at both a national and domestic club level over the last few decades (cue pelters in the comments, but come on let’s not delude ourselves), Glasgow has been blessed with a succession of distinguished managers, including greats Sir Alex Ferguson, Sir Matt Busby, and Jock Stein. A few years ago, of the 20 managers in the globalised English Premier League, seven came from within a 13-mile radius of Glasgow’s city centre. In fact it was a clutch of fearless Glaswegian footballing sociopaths who transformed Manchester United and Liverpool into the European football powerhouses that they are today.

14. You’ve ended up in The Garage.

The Garage, Scotland’s largest nightclub, festers at the tail-end of Sauchiehall Street in Glasgow’s city centre. But I don’t need to tell you that. You’ve been more times than you care to admit and certainly more times than you can remember.

Nobody plans to go to The Garage. You end up in The Garage. It’s usually at the end of a long and messy evening, when you’ve been knocked back from more discerning establishments and someone utters the words, “Fuck it, let’s go to The Garage.” You spend the next few hours drinking cheap vodka and cokes from plastic cups and peeling your shoes from the rancid sticky dance floor.

If you manage to drag yourself to the shops the next day to buy a bottle of ginger and some aspirin and you have the misfortune to meet someone you know, they’ll assess your pasty complexion and ask, “What did you do last night?” You’ll reply, “I ended up in The Garage” with a rueful shake of the head. No elucidation is necessary. It’s shameful, it’s embarrassing, but we’ve all been there.

You've never fished like this [vid]

FISHING ISN’T TOO SPECTACULARLY DIFFICULT an endeavor. If you’re doing it recreationally, you just bait the line, pick a good place to cast it, and then wait…possibly while sipping an ice cold beer. And if you’re a commercial fisherman, you can just trawl the sea’s depths with nets. It is rarely — except maybe in the case of The Deadliest Catch — an endeavor associated with tremendous skill and badassery.

Enter Kevin and Pauro, who took this video while harpooning for mahi-mahi, also known as dorado or the common dolphinfish (not the mammal dolphin, by the way — dorado are not an endangered or even at-risk species).

It looks incredibly difficult. They aim their harpoon from a moving boat on relatively choppy seas, and also have to factor in the refraction of the light through the water. It’s truly impressive. Hats off to anyone who can fish like this.

Antarctica: A year in photos

I arrived in Antarctica on October 1, 2012, with the plan to work there for four and a half months and then continue my travels. Somehow I ended up staying for 14 months. My friends joked that if there was anywhere on Earth I’d “settle down” for a bit, the bottom of the world was quite fitting for me.

No one owns the continent (despite seven countries claiming part of Antarctica), but many nations have research bases there. The Antarctic Treaty of 1961 only allows the continent to be used for peaceful purposes (e.g., science and tourism). McMurdo Station is the base and jumping-off point for almost every type of science project you could imagine, like:

An astronomy project that helps shed light on the birth of the universe

A biology project that tracks more than 40 years of the Weddell seal population in McMurdo Sound

A “Stream Team” that figures out how life is created in the streams of the Dry Valleys (under conditions similar to those found on Mars)

Climate-change projects that track melting ice and rising sea levels

Antarctica is a center for groundbreaking scientific research. My job in this frozen land was to support science. This led to some of the most amazing experiences of my life, which I was able to capture through the lens of my camera.




1

September

After the long, dark Antarctic winter, the days are finally full of light, and the continent comes alive again. All except for these starfish that were somehow washed up on the shore and frozen during the winter months. No one's figured out how this happens.

2

September

McMurdo Station is best accessed from Christchurch, New Zealand. A variety of wheeled and ski-equipped civilian and military airplanes assist the United States Antarctic Program (USAP) in their scientific mission. My first trip to “the Ice” (as it's fondly referred to by USAP workers) is relatively luxurious on a five-hour flight aboard an Airbus 319 leased from the Australian Antarctic Division—luxurious compared to an eight-hour flight in military seating aboard a ski-equipped US Air National Guard LC-130.

3

October

Penguins are one of the first things that come to mind when someone mentions Antarctica. I luck out and see my first Emperor penguin just 10 days after arriving. They're smaller than I expected.

Intermission




7
Field notes from a conservation biologist in Antarctica
by Max Seigal



49
Twilight of the Travel Guidebook?
by David Page



15
10 of the most impressive mosaics around the world
by Carlo Alcos












4

October

The ocean around Antarctica is frozen for much of the year, and the surface of the sea ice almost doubles the size of the continent. Here, an iceberg (a piece of freshwater ice broken off from a glacier or ice shelf) is frozen into the sea ice (frozen ocean/salt water).

5

November

November is always a busy month. Most of the field camps are in place, and most research projects are in full swing. Weddell seals, too, are busy, caring for their pups, which weigh about 60 pounds when they're born. They grow fast (gaining up to five pounds a day!) to take advantage of the short summer season.

6

December

Not all of Antarctica is covered in ice. The Dry Valleys region receives little snow and often has very high winds that blow the limited snowfall away. The red area above, Blood Falls, comes out of the Taylor Glacier and is colored red due to the super salty, iron-rich water that flows from underneath the glacier and rusts (creating iron oxide) when it hits the air.

7

December

Compared to many other Antarctic stations, McMurdo is a sprawling metropolis. The big brown buildings in the upper left are the dorms, and the blue building in the center of town is where the galley and store and most offices are located. You can see almost 20 miles beyond the sea ice to open ocean, which is the thin blue line in the upper left corner of the frame.

8

January

Ross Island, where McMurdo is located, was a starting point for many Antarctic expeditions. Three intact huts are located on the island: two from Robert Falcon Scott and one from Ernest Shackleton. These are provisions left in Scott’s Cape Evans hut, where he and his crew spent the winter of 1911. Both Scott and Shackleton were attempting to get to the South Pole. Shackleton never made it to the Pole because he knew he didn’t have enough provisions to survive the return trip. Scott reached the pole only to realize Roald Amundsen had beaten him there by just 33 days. Scott and his men perished on the return trip.

9

February

The sea ice around the station is mostly melted by February, and ships start to arrive to bring fuel and supplies for the next year. Most of the station is working around the clock to unload and reload shipping containers onto the resupply vessels, while the rest of the station works to take down all the remote field camps.

Intermission




13
Controversial art or just crap?
by Jason Wire



5
22 exceptional snow sculptures around the world
by Kristin Conard



3
Daytripping through Philadelphia’s Magic Gardens
by Jason Wire












10

March

March signifies the closing of the station for the summer season. The last flight departs on March 9, leaving only 141 people in town for the long, dark winter. I expected to be filled with dread when I saw the last plane leave, but instead I'm filled with curiosity and excitement about the upcoming winter.

11

March

Fresh food is always a precious commodity at McMurdo, but this is especially apparent as our last lettuce leaves start to wilt in March. This south polar skua (a bird I'd consider part dirty seagull and part ingenious raven) dive-bombed an unsuspecting worker carrying food and scared the person into dropping one of the last salads of the year.

12

April

On April 24 the sun sets for the last time for four months. Some of us view it from the hills above McMurdo Station. We stare into the last sliver of the sun until our eyes hurt—after all, we'll have four months for that pain to go away. As with the departure of the last flight of the season, I feel more excitement than I expected, rather than fear of the darkness.

13

May

In May the darkness finally sets in. There isn’t much light left during the day, and the wonders of the night (or day, depending on how you look at it) really start to show themselves. This is by far my favorite and most popular photo from the thousands upon thousands of images I took during my 410 days in Antarctica.

14

June

June is the darkest month, and the night sky reveals its brighter secrets—even in the middle of the day. This is from the top of Observation Hill, which rises 600 feet above McMurdo. Saturn is the bright dot in the sky on the left, McMurdo is the bright sprawl of lights, and New Zealand’s Scott Base is the small, bright light in the center. The central red dots are the wind turbines that are almost always turning, and the tiny light on the right is the sole beacon from the ice runway, awaiting flights when the sun rises again.

15

July

After a few months of darkness, “winter brain” starts to set in. Thanks to the lack of sunlight and mental stimulation, people forget words, thoughts, names of coworkers, even words for meals, like “dinner.” Yes, winter brain is real. Months after the winter, and leaving the continent, I'm still blaming every mishap in my life on winter brain, but my friends and family aren’t buying it anymore.

16

August

After four months of no sunlight, the sun rises again on August 19. The preceding weeks of twilight and sunrise-colored clouds leading up to my first vision of the sun are the hardest parts of the long winter. The anticipation, the need for sunlight, is dire. Initially, the sun is only visible from the hills above McMurdo; the light won't hit the buildings of our little community until almost two weeks later.

17

Antarctic: A year in photos

From above, it's easy to see why there are no people indigenous to Antarctica and only a few hearty creatures make the coastal regions of the continent home. Unfortunately, the continent's unexplored secrets may never be known. The ice at the bottom of the earth holds the key to our survival, but it's melting faster than we can imagine. It may disappear before we can save this frozen landscape—and ourselves.

Trolltunga: Beautiful and terrifying

Photo: Scott Sporleder

If you’ve ever watched an episode of Looney Tunes and seen the parts where Wile E. Coyote is standing on a slim ledge that then snaps off, sending him crashing to the desert floor below in a puff of dust, and thought, “Man, I’d love to do that sometime,” then I think I’ve found the place for you.

The place is called Trolltunga, and it’s both incredibly beautiful and incredibly terrifying. Trolltunga — which, as you may have figured out already, is Norwegian for “Troll Tongue” — sits at a height of 2,300 feet above the lake Ringedalsvatnet in Norway.

Natural formations like these seem to have been created less through processes involving plate tectonics and erosion, and more out of nature’s desire to basically dare humans to do stupid things, because the scenery around Trolltunga is breathtaking, and the ledge itself is pretty much the perfect photo spot. It’s also popular for incredibly strong people who want to show off in front of a dramatic and very possibly deadly backdrop.

Photo: Dag Endre Opedal

As terrifying as it looks, though, there are no recorded fatal falls from Trolltunga — and that’s with the ledge lacking any sort of handrail, which authorities have declined to put in so as not to ruin the view. Man, that would not fly in America.

For more views of this incredible rock formation, check out Scott Sporleder’s photo essay, shot on location for Fjord Norway.

Photo: Scott Sporleder

Las Vegas trip planning cheat sheet

MY FIANCE WANTS his bachelor party to take place in Vegas (thanks, Hangover…). I’m not a huge fan of the city myself, so I can’t really help him plan anything good, but this infographic pretty much provides the perfect amount of information a first-timer, or even a Vegas veteran, could benefit from. The next time I am in this city, I’ll be sure to make use of the $1 frozen Margaritas at Casino Royale.

Image via Visual.ly. Click to enlarge.

11 things you'll miss about Portland

Photo: Slack12

1. All the Mainers here

If you’re a born-and-raised Maine kid like me, you’ve probably found that Maine is an incredibly difficult place to ditch. You’ve most likely spent time shuffling through our state’s assortment of “things”: You’ve done the “Bar Harbor thing.” You’ve done the “working as a raft guide up at the Forks thing.” You’ve done the “living above your Mom’s garage and hanging out with the group of three random kids from high school who are still here thing.”

Now you’ve completed your stint at the “Portland thing.”

2. Mediocre street performers

The guy in the L.L. Bean barn jacket who robotically shakes a Bible at you outside of Planned Parenthood every Friday. Plus the guy who sits behind him with a sign that reads: “Shut up!” (Bless his heart.)

The breakdancers who kill it to Prince outside of MECA every First Friday, usually shirtless no matter the season. (Sexy. Don’t ever stop.)

All the “fire breathers” down at Tommy’s Park kind-of twirling batons around but mostly just sitting cross-legged on the ground comparing face tattoos.

That huge steel-drum band that congregates on a random side street, blocks your car in, and forces you to listen to steel-drum music on a random Tuesday.

3. Parking bans

A parking ban is when everyone in the entire city of Portland has to move their car out of the downtown area and into tiny-as-fuck designated parking lots scattered around, miles away from anywhere you would possibly want to be (e.g., way, way down on Commercial Street next to a dark lumberyard).

These are great because 1) gunning into the last spot at some random daycare center in the West End fuels your competitive side. And 2) the entire city basically throws up its arms and decides to completely shut down. So everyone can congregate at Geno’s, drink snakebites, and discuss the outcome of The Wire again. And 3) you have to retrieve your car by 7am the next morning. So way before sunrise, the streets fill with snowsuited-up zombies carrying shovels.

It’s a community experience.

4. Portland’s singular strip club

PT’s-way-out-in-the-middle-of-nowhere-fucking-Showclub. PT, who are you and when will you bring topless females to actual downtown Portland? Why must we drive all the way out to big-box-store and one-star-hotel land? Do you know how weird it is to have your cab driver exit his vehicle and enter a strip club with you? Fix this, please.

5. ’90s Night at Bull Feeney’s

Every Thursday night in the Old Port an onslaught of bros stampede the upstairs bar at Bull Feeney’s to sing all the words to Barenaked Ladies’ “One Week” and drunkenly stick up for Eddie Vedder.

6. ’80s Night at Bubba’s Sulky Lounge

Every Friday night, the same group of bros dress up like your scary high school gym teacher so they can get in for free and grind against any, absolutely any girl with a crimped side-pony and off-the-shoulder sweater who will not turn around and say, “No.”

7. Friendly, joyous, carefree people everywhere

I once backed my ’99 Mercury Sable into a Prius in the Portland Whole Foods parking lot. The guy got out of the car and we LAUGHED ABOUT IT.

8. The odd little groups of people everywhere

Those men who knit at coffeeshops. The swing dancers who give free swing dance lessons and then dance with you afterwards, even though you’re awful and wearing the wrong shoes. My book club, that gets wine-wasted once a month and took a topless group photo one time. The scooter gang! That goes on a 15-mile scooter ride every summer!

9. All the fantastic nom-noms

The pulled-pork johnnycakes off of East Ender’s brunch menu are the best thing that ever entered my body.

10. All the places to swim

Dipping in the ocean at the East End beach, even though you bring your dog there to take a dump every morning.

Going over the bridge to Willard and trying to secure a postage stamp of real estate amongst the hundreds of high school girls in the same H&M bikini.

Tubing down the Presumpscot River with a couple six-packs in tow, each in its own flotation device.

11. All the free and pretty-much free events

The First Friday Art Walk, where you can casually walk into someone’s tiny studio space, nod at a painting they did, and down two solo cups of free wine while stuffing four complimentary egg rolls into your mouth / purse.

The Alive @ Five free concert series in Monument Square, where you can sort-of acknowledge a local band, sneak under the barrier around Shay’s Bar and Grill, and nibble off of someone’s abandoned plate of fries.

Green Drinks, where you can pay five bucks to get in and drink beer in the early evening with a bunch of 9-to-5ers, sip out of the gigantic stein you brought from home, and pretend to listen to the presenter (who is impossible to hear anyway because nobody bothered to turn the microphone on).

If I had 1 more day in Kyoto

Photo: Agustin Rafael Reyes

If I could go back to Kyoto for a day…

I’d fly into Osaka International this time, and cut my transit time to the city center in half.

I’d hop on one of the regular buses headed toward the city and prepare myself for the near-hour of silence, as I don’t speak Japanese and the driver doesn’t speak more than five words of English. He’d turn up his Japanese radio or news station, and I’d sink back into my travel playlist for the six tracks of juice I’ve got left before my iPod dies. I’d wait for the things passing outside the window to look familiar. They never do.

I’d get off the bus at its first main stop, across the street from the Avanti Department store downtown on Higashikujo Nishisannocho. I’d cross the street and head into the department store, not because I want to do any shopping (yet), but because I remember a not-so-secret my grandmother told me on my last trip. I’d head straight for the basement, to find an enormous plaza of stalls serving every kind of food imaginable.

Photos clockwise from bottom left: Hideya HAMANO, Robert S. Donovan, Trey Ratcliff, Evan Leeson

I’d immediately gorge myself on the freshest maguro sashimi I could find, dipped in enough wasabi to make up for the lack of caffeine I’ve had so far. I would marvel at the amount of fish I was getting for the price, and entertain the fleeting notion that perhaps Japan was not that expensive after all. To balance out the healthiness of the tuna, I’d probably supplement with some shrimp and sweet potato tempura, and round it out with a Red Bull. After all, I’ve got a big day ahead of me.

I’d grab a Pocari Sweat for the road and return to Higashikujo Nishisannocho. Midday, I’d begin my incredibly sticky 2.9km trek, knowing full well that I’ll be soaked in sweat by the time I get to my destination, not out of exhaustion but out of humidity to a degree far more unpleasant than I’m used to.

Almost an hour after leaving Avanti, I’d finally have arrived at the very edge of the Shinkyogoku shopping arcade. I’d grab another Sweat — partially for the novelty, and partially because I’ve found the lemony oily drink strangely addictive — and take a moment to search my memory.

I’d recall the hours I spent here with my uncle and younger brother on my last trip, mentally retracing every step and desperately trying to remember where the store I’m looking for is hiding. Though the image is clear (neon lights and brightly colored toys, kitsch of the coolest variety, lots of nerd-paraphernalia, and a life-size foam statue of Giger’s Alien in a batmobile as the centerpiece), I’d be unable to remember its name or which of the zillion identical side streets it’s on.

I’d spend a few hours ducking and weaving through the crowds and the commerce, up streets and down alleys. Struggling and a little anxious, I’d overshoot the shop and find myself at the far end of the Teramachi district, just in time to grab some Shakey’s pizza for lunch, and I’d chuckle to myself about eating lackluster pizza in Japan.

Photos clockwise from bottom left: Slices of Light, Ayanami, Terao Kaionin, Slices of Light

Shortly after lunch, I’d realize that I’m wasting my time searching for a single store halfway around the world, and I’d resolve to spend my time more productively. With two main spots on my agenda, I’d pull out my phone and quickly do a Google Maps search for Nanzen-ji Okunoin. Nope, too cool for Google.

Flagging a cab, I’d ask for Nanzen-ji temple, and catch my breath in the air-conditioning for the 15 minutes it takes to get there. Rejuvenated, I’d get out and sidestep the crowd of tourists visiting the main temple that day. Running parallel to an old red aqueduct, I’d head up into the hills, through Kotoku-an. Further up and away from tourists and people in general, eventually I’d arrive at Nanzen-ji Okunoin, the shrine and waterfall in the woods.

I’d lose myself in my thoughts for a couple hours there, feeling like I’d walked right into a Final Fantasy video game, and marveling at how I managed to miss this on my last trip. I’d muse over what the other 2,000-some Kyoto temples must look like, squirreled away in the furthest reaches of the city.

I’d head back down the hill in the late afternoon, this time on a dinner mission. Passing by Shinjoin and Konchi-in, I’d cross Niomon Dori quickly before picking up the Tozai line at Keage Station. Another 15 minutes, and I’d change trains at Karasuma Oike Station, the halfway point, and take the Karasuma Line north into residential Kyoto. At Kuramaguchi Station, I’d hit the street moments before sunset, stomach growling like a gutted boar.

Photos clockwise from bottom left: ORAZ Studio, bass_nroll, Trey Ratcliff, Janne Moren

I’d head just a few blocks northwest, to the temple of Kanga-an. I’d poke about the gardens and candlelit premises casually, hoping to stumble on the secret that in recent years has been made slightly less-than-secret: a fully loaded bar hidden in the back. With luck on my side, I’d start by entertaining a Guinness, to complete the Japanese-Italian-Irish trifecta that represents both my unusual blend of ethnicities, as well as my culinary exploits of the day. After, I’d sip some homemade umeshu while inhaling course after course of house-specialty fucha ryori. I’d try to slow down, to take in the experience, the sights and smells, and the idea of being in a temple-bar-restaurant that was formerly the Emperor’s holiday retreat.

I’d completely lose track of time.

I’d check my phone and realize it’s much later than I thought. Swearing aloud and profusely, I’d realize the only way to make it back to the airport in time to catch my flight is to take a cab, so I hail one and collapse into the backseat while frantically blurting out “Osaka Airport” to the driver. He’d give me a look that I’d misinterpret as an “are you crazy” glance, but start the hour-long journey to the airport.

¥11,974 later, I’d rush into the airport and make it through security in a remarkably timely fashion. Twice I’d head in the wrong direction, misreading signs in my hurry, but I’d make it to my gate just in time to catch my flight home.